#of course she’d rather they hate her than to let something go that badly

[quietblueriver]

Wading into an Imodna au? Meet equine therapist Imogen, children’s vlogger Laudna and her co-host Pate, and the various other current and future employees of Camp Prudaj.

-

Imogen was tossing an eggshell into the trash, her ramen bubbling happily on the stove, when her phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.

She gave herself one moment of exhausted frustration before taking a deep breath and preparing to answer. This was a new ritual, in the months since she sent in her MSW applications.

She hated speaking with strangers. Hated it. But declining risked the option of panic-ignoring the voicemail or, worse, having to leave one of her own, and she had years of practice working retail for some of the most unpleasant assholes in, she’d wager, a 300 mile radius, so she could manage the almost unfailingly polite university employees who had begun to call her about interviews and application supplements, and, most excitingly, scholarship offers.

She reminded herself of this last possibility specifically as she said, in her best customer service voice, “This is Imogen.”

“Ms. Temult. I’m glad I caught you. My name is Ariks Ehsteross. I’m a friend of Wilmer’s.”

Well. That was unexpected. It took her a beat longer than it probably should have to answer.

“Hi, Mr…”

Shit. Shit. The source of the call, not to mention hearing her boss called Wilmer, had distracted her so badly she hadn’t paid good enough attention and now she was going to butcher this man’s name.

He laughed, not unkindly, before she could spiral too much further. “Eshteross. But Ariks is absolutely fine.”

No way in hell she’d be calling any friend of Mr. Faramore’s—Wilmer’s—by their first name like that, but it was a nice thing to say.

“Sorry, Mr. Eshteross. Um, what can…what can I do for you, sir?”

“Well, Ms. Temult, do you have a few minutes to talk?”

She eyed her ramen, the clock, and the burner, resigned to the loss of her egg.

“Of course.”

It felt, strangely, like an interview, and thankfully, she’d had enough of those recently to answer well despite her lack of preparation and, well, total lack of information about what, exactly she might interviewing for.

She must’ve done well enough, though, because fifteen minutes and one surreptitious removal of a saucepan later, Eshteross said, a smile evident in his voice, “Thank you for that. I know this is out of the blue, and I do apologize. I hope to make up for it now.”

“It’s not…it’s no problem, sir.”

“Very polite of you, after twenty minutes on the phone with a strange old man.” She was silent, because she was entirely unsure what to say to that, but he seemed not to expect a response, chuckling to himself before he said, still cheerful, “Now, Ms. Temult, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

-

It had been a good proposition. Great, even. Nearly perfect, she might say, if she weren’t so wary of jinxing it.

Estheross was looking to resurrect a summer program on his farm, and he wanted Imogen to help lead equine therapy. He’d run it for its founder for nearly two decades before she got sick and they made the decision to close while she recovered.

“Unfortunately, she died a few years later. And I…” he cleared his throat. If he were her daddy, or Mr. Faramore, or basically any other man she knew, she would’ve tactfully pretended she didn’t notice.

For some reason, he felt different, so she did something different.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” It was immediate and, from what she could tell, sincere rather than embarrassed. “Ellia was a wonderful woman, and many of us felt her loss deeply.” Another clearing of the throat. “Which is, I fear, why it took me much longer than it should have to get the program up and running again. It’s been nearly a decade since we last had children on the farm, and that’s far too long. I’m sick of the quiet, and we’ve got too much of everything here to let it go to waste.

“I understand you’re likely heading this way for graduate school.”

She hadn’t made the decision, officially, but unless she got miracle money from U of Issylra (and even then, she wasn’t sure she wanted something somehow more rural than Gelvaan), he was right.

“Yes, sir. I haven’t made a final decision yet, but I’m…it’s looking like I’ll be up there to start in the fall.”

“Well, from what I hear, anywhere would be lucky to have you, but you’ll forgive me if I say that selfishly, I hope you land in Jrusar.”

And that was interesting, because Imogen was fairly certain Mr. Faramore didn’t like her that much. Or really at all, if she was honest. She wondered what exactly Mr. Eshteross had heard from him. Maybe more importantly, what he hadn’t heard.

She’d waited too long again.

“Thank you, sir. That’s…that’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all. And of course, there’s no pressure, but I do hope you’ll think about my offer. And either way please let me know if you’re coming this way. I’d love to have you for supper, even if you decide work at Prudaj’s isn’t for you.”

Turned out Imogen was much better at dealing with assholes than men with manners, apparently, as she once again found herself a bit speechless.

“Thank you. Again. I really appreciate it.”

“Absolutely. Good luck, Ms. Temult. Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

Her egg was, as predicted, rubber by the time they hung up, and she ate her lukewarm noodles around it while she thought about Eshteross’s offer, clumsy as always with her chopsticks.

She was qualified for the job. Faramore knew that, and it was obvious from her LinkedIn, which she hated updating and avoided checking if at all possible but which had gotten a suspicious number of views in the last three weeks.

It made note of her equine therapy certification, which she’d received while she was in college, and her volunteer and later paid work at the program affiliated with the local university for two summers and her last year of school. It had been a few years since she’d been there in a long-term way, but she still did a few weeks for them at least twice a year, and her profile reflected that, too.

She felt a twinge of smug pride as she thought about her daddy’s regular and disapproving reminder that she was forgoing a paycheck for no reason every time she went over there, no matter if Mr. Faramore gave his approval and liked being able to put her certification on his website. It was ugly, but she was alone with her ramen and a job offer, so it lingered longer than it otherwise might’ve.

She added another tick in the pro column as she picked over the spinach in the bowl. It would be an additional paycheck and a steady summer gig. She’d get to do work that she knew she loved and get actual money for it. Not only that, it would be relevant for her program.

By the time she was slurping down the last of her broth, rubber egg sitting forlornly on a triple folded paper towel waiting for the trash, she was wondering how hard it would be to get her time at Prudaj’s counted as experiential learning. Eshteross said they had certified therapists on staff…

A week later, when she got the official scholarship offer from U of Issylria—generous but not enough to compete with Jrusar—she made two calls.

First, to the Jrusar admissions officer who had been ridiculously nice to her through this whole process. She was more enthusiastic than Imogen could’ve hoped, and it buoyed Imogen into an almost giddy state for the five minutes it took her to finish the intent to enroll form.

Second, she called Eshteross.

“Oh, wonderful! I couldn’t be more excited that you’ll be coming to join our team.” He sounded, incredibly, like he very much meant it. “Actually, there’s someone near Gelvaan that I’ve been looking at, and I wonder if you wouldn’t mind having coffee with her and giving me your impression?”

She worried, more than a little, about how much faith this man was putting in her but relaxed as he added, “I’ll be sending down a manager, Orym, to do a formal interview if all goes well. I did things a little differently with you, but, well, I’ve known Wilmer since we were children, and frankly, if you’ve lasted this long with him, that’s its own endorsement.”

He was right, of course, but she couldn’t exactly say that, so she said nothing for the second it took for him to fill in the blank himself.

“No need to respond to that. Apologies. In any case, her name is Laudna Bradbury, and she’s an…interesting art therapist. Academically qualified but she now runs a somewhat popular show on…the apps, apparently? You might’ve seen it. She does crafts, and there’s a stuffed rat-like creature called Pate who tells stories.”

Quite the sell. She was glad to be able to say, with honesty, “I’m not really on…the apps.”

“Ah, me either. Fearne, another…well, she does a little of everything really, but I suppose manager is as good a title as any, found her.

“She’s in the Taloned Highlands right now, it seems. Not terribly far from Gelvaan. I have her contact info, if you wouldn’t mind sitting down with her? Maybe Pate will join you!”

While he laughed at his own joke, Imogen forced herself to wait to look up Laudna’s name until after their call and tried not to get carried away imagining a rat…creature telling stories to children.

“I’d be happy to. Of course.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll send you her information now.”

[fanficshiddles]

The Redbridge Hunts, Chapter 44

Claire found it rather surreal that she was currently in a big crowd, dancing around to a band that Chris was singing for. She hadn't realised he had such a good voice.

‘As much as you dislike your brother, you can’t deny he’s talented.’ Claire said to Loki between songs.

‘I know.’ Loki said reluctantly with a huff.

Loki did clap after each song, though didn’t show much more enthusiasm aside from that. Although, Claire swore that she spotted him mouthing along to some of the lyrics now and then, which made her heart hurt in a way. She wished she knew what really made them drift so far apart to the hate they have for one another now.

When Chris finished, he joined the group for drinks when they went to the main arena.

‘Well, you surprised me, Chris. I didn’t know you could sing so well.’ David said as he patted his shoulder.

‘Thanks.’ Chris shrugged. ‘It’s just all for fun, a little side thing we do.’

‘You could go far if you wanted to. You’re all a really talented bunch of guys.’ Spencer commented.

‘Perhaps in the future, the school is my main focus right now.’ Chris said nonchalantly. ‘What about you, little brother. Did you enjoy it? You are my biggest fan after all.’ He smirked at Loki.

Loki glared at him and shrugged. ‘Not terrible, I suppose.’ Was all Loki said, then he headed off to get some drinks from the bar.

‘I think he enjoyed it more than he wants to let on.’ Claire gave Chris a little smile.

‘What about you, did you enjoy it?’ Chris asked as he folded his arms over his chest.

‘Surprisingly, I did. I didn’t realise you had quite a set of lungs on you.’ She teased.

Chris smirked. ‘Should invite that sister of yours next time. Maybe she’d like to hook up with the lead singer, go for a bite to eat.’

Claire shook her head and rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, that won’t be happening.’

Everyone enjoyed the rest of the afternoon and start of the evening, they were drinking of course but not quite as heavy as the previous night. It was slower and they made sure to eat plenty between drinks, too.

‘Has anyone seen Spencer?’ Jessica asked the others.

‘No, actually. Where did he go?’ Michael frowned.

‘I think he said he was going to the toilet, but that was a while ago.’ Loki said with a frown.

‘We should go look for him. I’ve just heard that there’s been a few… incidents. Very drunk young… people. Drinking things they shouldn’t be.’ Jessica said worriedly as she looked at Loki with a certain look, that Loki and the other vampires picked up on instantly.

‘Yeah, let’s go find him.’ Matt said and everyone agreed.

They headed for the porta loos first, Loki raised his nose up to the air and sniffed. Of course, he could smell the disgusting typical porta loo smells, but through that he could also smell a lot of exposed blood… but what made his stomach drop was it was Spencer’s blood he could smell.

He rushed around the back of the toilets, the group quickly followed him, knowing he had picked up the scent of something. As they got closer, the other vampires could clearly smell him too.

‘Oh god.’ Claire cried when they found him round the back, dying. He was bleeding badly from a bite to his neck, coughing and spluttering.

There was another couple of humans round there too in the same predicament.

‘Shit!’ Loki gasped and wiped a hand down his face.

‘We need to save him! Someone needs to change him!’ Jessica sobbed as she put her hands over her face.

‘Not without permission… We can’t.’ Loki said reluctantly.

‘Fuck permission. I am not losing another good teacher.’ Chris snarled as he pushed Loki out of the way and rushed over to Spencer.

He crouched down and tried to sit him up, supporting him at his back.

‘Stay with me, Spencer… This will hurt, a lot.’ Chris said sheepishly. ‘It will be over quickly though.’

Spencer was pretty far gone, so didn’t really take in what Chris said. Though he soon found out as Chris bit his neck, his fangs sank into him and Spencer’s eyes widened for a moment before they closed. The vampires could all sense his heartbeat, it had been slowing down but had a slight spike when Chris injected venom into Spencer’s blood via his fangs, but then his heart began to rapidly decline.

Chris swiftly bit his own wrist, then made sure to drip enough of his blood into Spencer’s mouth that he had to force open. Once Chris was sure he’d gotten enough, he focused on his heartbeat and waited a moment. All the others were waiting too with baited breath, though Michael was at the back, horrified at what he was witnessing. In disbelief.

Spencer suddenly gasped and sat bolt upright, he coughed a few times and spat out some blood. His new fangs were emerged and he looked terrified.

‘It’s alright, calm down, Spencer. You’re ok. You’ll be feeling funny, but you’re going to be ok. Just trust us.’ Chris said calmly.

Spencer looked wild eyed as he glanced around, his senses were heightened and he was struggling to focus properly.

‘I’ll get him back to his tent. Meet me there.’ Chris said to the group, who nodded in agreement.

Chris was able to put Spencer over his shoulder, then he took large leaps and levitated over the crowds and back to their camp. He didn’t care in the moment who saw, he just needed to get Spencer to calm down and focus.

When the group turned around to head back, they were faced with Michael. Who was white as a ghost and looked like he was going to pass out.

‘Ah… Michael… We uh, need to discuss a few things back at camp.’ David said as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

When the whole group got back to their tents, Chris had managed to calm Spencer down enough to explain to him everything going on.

Loki and Matt took Michael to the side and explained to him too, he took it surprisingly well considering what he’d just witnessed. Though he was still in shock.

Jessica went to comfort Spencer in their tent while the others remained outside.

‘What the hell do we do now?’ Matt asked.

‘There’s nothing to do.’ Hannibal shrugged.

‘We’ve got two humans here, where it’s clearly not safe anymore. There are obviously some young vampires running around feral. They should have smelled Jessica on Spencer, but still went ahead anyway.’ Matt argued.

‘Matt’s right. Plus, Spencer isn’t going to be in any state to enjoy the rest of the night or tomorrow now. He needs time to adjust to his new senses.’ Chris said with a sigh. ‘I think we should head home.’

‘I agree. I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy myself without worrying now.’ Loki said as he looked at Claire, who nodded in agreement.

‘We’ve had our fun, but if it’s getting too dangerous now, there’s no fun in that.’ Claire said quietly.

‘I’m getting my weekend tickets worth, whether you guys are staying or not.’ Hannibal said defensively and Will nodded in agreement with his partner.

‘Are you sober enough to drive?’ David asked Chris.

Chris nodded. ‘I’ve only had a few beers over the course of today.’

‘Let’s get packed up then.’ Loki sighed.

Everyone apart from Hannibal and Will began to get their things together. Spencer managed to help a little. Chris went back to get his own belongings and said he’d meet them at the bus.

‘I’m sorry we’re leaving already, love.’ Loki said softly to Claire as he pulled her into a hug.

‘That’s ok, it’s not your fault. It’s safer for everyone if we do. Besides, I’ve seen my favourite bands today, there’s not anyone I’m disappointed about missing tomorrow.’ Claire smiled up at him.

Loki kissed her forehead.

‘Besides, you really need a shower. You stink already.’ Claire teased.

‘Speak for yourself, smelly girl.’ Loki laughed as he stuck his tongue out at her.

They were all packed up pretty quickly and made their way to the bus to meet up with Chris. He was there waiting for them already. Before they knew it, they were on the road home.

Spencer and Michael had a lot of questions, which everyone else happily answered. Spencer seemed calmer now he was away from all the noise and high stimulation. It let his senses settle better, though he did often glance at Michael or Claire with a weird look in his eye. It would take him some time to adjust being around humans when his new instincts were telling him to feed from them.

Claire was next to Loki on the way home, leaning into him. She fell asleep for half the way, the alcohol and late night catching up on her.

‘Finally, Demsdale is in sight. You guys absolutely reek.’ Chris called back to the group.

‘Well, we’re not all rich enough to afford glamping. Plus, it was only one night. We can’t be smelling that bad.’ Michael argued.

‘Us vampires have a very strong sense of smell. Trust me when I say, we stink already. All that alcohol, sweat, and vomit from a few…’ Loki chuckled.

‘Huh… Fair enough.’ Michael sat back in his seat. He was going to take a while to get used to the whole vampire thing.

Loki and Claire were dropped off first, which they were glad of. Loki decided to leave Bat with his dad for the night and they’d go get her in the morning.

‘I’m showering first!’ Claire bolted straight upstairs.

‘I don’t think so!’ Loki called after her and ran up behind her. He grabbed her ankle when she was almost at the top step, she let out a screech as he pulled her down a few steps but then she turned over and he paused over the top of her with a grin.

‘Not fair, you’re faster and stronger. You’ll always beat me.’ She pouted.

‘N’aww, my poor little smelly vampire slut.’ Loki mocked and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘How about we both win tonight and shower together, hmm?’ He asked in a sultry tone as he trailed his finger down the side of her neck.

‘If I say no?’ Claire asked defiantly and raised an eyebrow.

‘Well… Then I’ll dump you in the bath while I shower myself.’ Loki shrugged. ‘Though it would be much more fun to share the shower, since it would also include an orgasm.’

‘Make it two and you’ve got a deal.’

Loki laughed and pressed his forehead against hers. ‘You drive a hard bargain, but I’m sure I can manage that.’

Manage that he certainly did. They didn’t take long to get worked up in the shower, washing one another’s bodies. Loki then had her pressed against the glass door while he fucked her good and hard. The first round was fast and needy, both of them clung to each other tightly like their life depended on it. Loki was growling and grunting like a crazed animal with Claire whimpering and whining with every thrust.

The second round was slower, more sensual. Loki moved deep and slow, driving Claire crazy with how deep he was inside of her because they were stood up, with only him supporting her. There was lots of sloppy kisses, Loki couldn’t keep his mouth off of hers.

‘I still can’t believe you’re mine. I love you, my darling.’ Loki whispered over her lips when they finished together.

‘I love you more.’ Claire whispered back with a little giggle.

‘Not possible.’ Loki slid his hand up her spine, making her skin tingle.

After getting dried off, they climbed into bed and both groaned. Even though it was just one night spent at the festival, it was still nice getting back into their comfortable bed.

‘Maybe next time we should do glamping too. Considering the bed feels this good after just one night.’ Claire suggested.

‘Agreed.’ Loki laughed.

-

The following morning, Loki and Claire woke up in bed to the news that the festival had been closed down last night. There were twenty-seven bodies found in the festival site, the police weren't sure what the cause was. They said it looked like a wild animal had been loose, but there were no witnesses for it.

‘Fuck.’ Claire gasped and put her hand over her mouth when Loki finished reading out the headline that was all over social media.

‘I’m so glad we left when we did.’ Loki said as he swallowed hard. ‘At least it’s over five hours away, not near Demsdale. So I’d say we don’t need to worry about feral vampires being here. Not more than our usual, anyway.’ He assured Claire as he put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

‘Thank you for keeping me safe, as always. Coming home was the right choice.’

‘I wouldn’t have let that happen to you even if we stayed. I’ll always protect you, my love.’ Loki said as he hugged her tightly.

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry x reader] pt. 9

read part 8 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, literary gore, major character death

a/n: we are winding down on this series, so if you have any requests or suggestions please leave them for me! i need some inspo for my next story, but I'm also gonna do some short stuff in between.

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I’ve been sitting outside of Mindy and Chad’s place for way longer than appropriate. I know that they probably know I’m here, but I can’t make myself get out of the car.

It’s not that I don’t want to see them. I really, really do. I want to see them so badly that I swallowed my grief and guilt and got cleaned up for the first time in days. I just can’t shake the way Ethan looked at Chad and me earlier. I clench the steering wheel tighter. I’ve never seen that kind of rage, like he wanted to–

No. I push that thought away. It’s time, anyway, for me to stop being a baby and go inside. I double-check one last time that I have my bag, keys, and phone, before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

I can hear music coming from the house, even though the door is closed. The twins have a habit of blasting their speakers, which the neighbors hated until they moved away over the summer. Now, Mindy and Chad can destroy their eardrums whenever they please. 

Letting myself in, I drop my bag in the mudroom before following the sound of voices to the kitchen. Chad is hunched over the stovetop, and Mindy is sitting at the kitchen island with her chin in her hands. She perks up when she sees me, giving me a signature Mindy smirk.

“Well, look who decided to show up, huh?”

Chad throws me a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, leave her alone, Minds. She’s just in time for dinner!”

“Thanks, you guys,” I say. “What are we having?”

“Only my original pasta dish, of course,” Chad steps aside to reveal a mess of tomatoes, Parmesan containers, and empty plastic sleeves of bacon, for some reason. “It got a little out of hand. But it’s delicious!”

I laugh, and Chad smiles even wider. It fills me with something I haven’t felt in a while: contentment. There is literally nowhere else I’d rather be right now.

Mindy and Chad usher me to the dining room table, which they actually set with real cloth napkins and placemats. I’m impressed. Usually, my dinners at the Meeks-Martin house have been chips and cold pizza at 3 AM during sleepovers.

The food is perfect. I don’t know what Chad put in it, or where he found the recipe (if there was a recipe), but the food puts me in a good mood. We laugh and talk until we’ve finally stuffed ourselves. Chad is the last one to tap out, and he immediately retires to the living room to digest, claiming chef privileges that exempt him from cleanup.

“Clear the table with me, Y/N?” Mindy asks.

“Of course.” I grab a couple plates and silverware and follow Mindy back to the kitchen. I start folding placemats as she loads the dishwasher.

“Thanks for the dinner. You got all fancy for me, I see,” I tease. “Where are your parents, by the way?”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, you love that we’re spoiling you. They’re at a friend’s house tonight or something. Won’t be back until later.”

“What about Anika? I thought she’d come for sure.”

“Nah, her parents have her under house arrest. They’re spooked by– um. You know. Even though it wasn’t some psycho this time. It was just… Tara.”

I go quiet. Mindy is choked up again.

“I just can’t believe she’d do it,” she whispers.

“I know,” I say. “I guess sometimes it just gets to be too much–” “No, that’s the thing though,” Mindy interrupts. “It wasn’t. I was just talking to her about the attacks last year, right before. She said she felt like she was finally free, finally moving on. And it’s like I said, we were making plans. Real plans. She started an application to college. And she was looking for summer jobs, trying to save money for room and board. These aren’t things suicidal people do, Y/N.”

My throat feels tight. “What are you saying?”

She puts a hand over her forehead and takes a deep breath. “I’m saying that something isn’t right. What if some, like, freaky Ghostface disciple actually killed her?”

“Jesus, Mindy, are you serious?” I turn to see Chad in the doorway, a pained expression on his face. I didn’t hear him come in. 

“This isn’t one of your horror movies,” he continues, and I hear his voice trying not to break. “Sometimes life is just unfair.”

“But think about it!” Mindy continues. “She was partying, she was living. Yes, she was mad at Sam, but she got in those fights all the time! And the report said she hadn’t deadbolted the door that morning, and I know she hadn’t cracked that copy of The Bell Jar they found– she was just saying she had to SparkNotes the whole thing for class.”

“Enough, Mindy, I’m fucking serious.” Chad’s voice is raised, louder than I’ve ever heard it, But Mindy doesn’t back down. She turns to me, expectantly.

“You were basically her best friend, Y/N.” Her voice is low and intense. “Seriously. What do you think? You know that Tara wouldn’t do that.”

I look between their faces, and all of the guilt I thought I had started to let go of rises to the top. I have to tell them the truth. 

I shut my eyes tight and a tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” I feel Chad put a hand on my shoulder. It’s getting hard to breathe again. 

“I- I-” I stammer. “Me, and Ethan, we–”

But I’m cut off by the sound of strangled screaming. I open my eyes and my blood goes cold.

Mindy’s throat is slashed, dripping blood down her neck onto her t-shirt. Behind her is a figure in a black cloak and a white mask: Ghostface.

Ghostface lets go of Mindy, and she sinks to the floor. Even though I can’t reach her to check, I feel in my bones that she’s gone. My stomach turns into knots. I back up towards the countertop. Dear Diary: This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.

Chad fumbles for a weapon on the knife block, but all of the knives have been removed. He grabs a meat tenderizer from the counter. “Fucking run, Y/N,” he roars, and I’m snapped out of my trance.

Ghostface lunges towards Chad, but he gets one hit in with the kitchen implement, hitting him in the chest. He stumbles backward, and I make a break back towards the dining room. I hear the sound of plates hitting the ground and animalistic sounds of exertion, but I stop dead in my tracks when I hear Chad screaming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the glint of a knife as it plunges in and out of Chad’s chest. Chad coughs up blood as he falls to his knees, but Ghostface doesn’t let up. He raises his knife and delivers one last blow, clean into Chad’s heart.

I let out a guttural scream. Ghostface turns towards me, wiping his knife clean between his robed fingers. I’m paralyzed with fear. Any survival skills I might have picked up from watching countless horror films are gone– I can’t even run.

He stalks towards me, and I close my eyes, preparing for the worst. But the blow never comes. Instead, I’m enveloped in an embrace of fabric.

I open my eyes to see the eyes of the blood-stained mask staring right at me. Slowly, the figure raises their hand, grabbing the base of the headpiece. My breathing quickens, and I can feel my heart beating out of my chest as he slowly pulls the mask off to reveal a mop of brown curls.

No.

No.

Ethan gives me a big toothy grin. “Hey, beautiful.”

I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything. He must be able to tell, because he lets out a throaty laugh. “Surprised?”

“How– how could you?” I manage to choke out. “Why… would you do this?”

“I did it for you, Y/N. For us. Do you know how close that freak Mindy was getting to figuring out the truth? You heard her. And then we’d both be in prison. Separate. Alone.”

“But Chad,” I sob. “Why would you hurt him?”

His face darkens. “Now that one, I have to admit, was fucking selfish. He wanted you, I know it. He fucking wanted you, but you’re mine.”

I can’t say anything. I’m shaking with fear, anger, confusion, everything. 

Ethan frowns. “I worship you, Y/N. I'd trade my life so you can live. I killed them for you.”

“No, no, I didn’t want– I never asked–”

“I love you, Y/N,” he growls. “Tell me you love me.” His grip grows tighter, and I finally notice the tip of the knife at my back.

What else can I say?

“I love you too, Ethan,” I concede, voice wavering.

He relaxes, and the knife clatters to the floor. “Good,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

He grabs me by the wrist and leads me out the door. As we travel through the kitchen, I shut my eyes tight. Ethan stops us. 

“Look,” he growls.

I force my eyes open and choke down my nausea at the sight of the twins’ bodies. Ethan grabs my face and pulls me into a deep kiss.

“For you, Y/N. All for you.”

taglist: @miawastakens

[jodilin65]

SATURDAY, MAY 21, 1988 I’ve come to have quite a crush on singer Gloria Estefan.

I got my hair extensions. It looks good so long as I style it to hide where my own hair is. It cost $140. Ma hung up the phone on me when I told her.

Claire and Tammy, the girls who did my hair extensions, said if I want another row to thicken it up, it would cost $200, so I’m avoiding that by doing all kinds of braids and tails with it. Love it so far.

I quit La Baron cuz I got so sick of it. I don’t know if my heart was really truly ever in it. Mom and I are gonna check into getting me back into school for just the manicuring, rather than the whole hairdressing course since they fucked up my financial aid application anyway.

Sasha has been limping quite badly the last two days and Ma said to ask Nervous if he’d take me to the vet with her, but I’ve had enough of that jackasshole.

MONDAY, MAY 9, 1988 I am here on my lunch break with some very interesting news. First of all, Nissan proved to be the jerk I began to suspect she was and she is history.

Last Friday in school I accidentally ended up singing and they loved it and there was this new girl Elliot who said she knew this guy who had a band and knows the business really well. I had my doubts as I’ve heard this before but she called me and I spoke to the guy. His name is Jimmy. Of course, I told him up front I’m gay and I don’t get along with males and he said he doesn’t mix business with pleasure. Who knows for sure? They all say that. I just don’t want to be with males or travel with them but this guy sounds as serious as I am and like he knows what he’s talking about but I’ve learned never to trust or listen to a male. Especially a black one. I’ll have to see for myself but I’m sure if I sing with this band, either he or someone in the band will try to hit me for sex. I’ll kill them. No way am I gonna get into a situation I can’t get out of. It scares me to have to put my trust in someone. If this follows the usual pattern in my life, then he’ll prove to be a crock and I’ll know something’s punishing me. But this really sounds positive. He and Ellie are supposed to come to my place today or tomorrow.

FRIDAY, MAY 6, 1988 Last Saturday went great. Nissan and I got to know each other a lot better. Kevin was impressed although I saw her Tuesday and it was the pits. I fucked up bad and discovered she’d really never want me. I wrote a list of 30 encouraging hints Nissan gave me which I thought were signs of her being interested in me and I showed them to her like a fool. Guess what? She stole them! Must’ve been when I went to the back of the bus. And come to find out all those things weren’t true. It wasn’t until after I got off the bus that I realized she took them. I had asked her if she was going to tell her girlfriend Julie and she said no, but why else would she take them? Obviously to show Julie. She hates me. I know it and I’m petrified about getting on the bus tomorrow. She probably won’t even let me on! And if she does, what if Julie’s there? What if she lies or denies it? She could never want me yet Emily, Nellie and Philip said maybe she took them for herself because she was flattered or so I wouldn’t tell Julie. No way! She wouldn’t take them for her own reading pleasures. I never stood a chance with her and I never will. Even she told me, “I’m spoken for and I’m used to people liking me.” I’m afraid to get on the bus tomorrow, but if I do, I will confront her and ask her what’s going on.

[compulsoryroyalty]

“Oh Didelphi--I can’t feel any of my bones.”

Pain. Endless amounts of pain. That is all she can feel right now and she hates it. She hates it soooo much.

But, she saw that little show-boater somewhere around here. She knows he’s here--otherwise she’d already be crowned as champion.

She just... has to find him first. The overwhelming fog sure didn’t help any.

But once she does find him, all she has to do is just... give him one last punch, right?

Easier said than done, of course, but what else can she really--

Is that him?

She started to walk over to the... extremely tiny figure, shrouded in shadow. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was him or not, but...

She had to make sure.

Maybe she was walking towards a baby sized ref or something--who knows what some weirdo witch could do.

But, no--when the fog wasn’t entirely covering his form, he really was as tiny as she thought.

“Goodness! You shrunk a whole lot more than I expected.”

Thank Didelphi he did, though.

“Hey, I- “I didn’t mean any of that stuff from earli--”

“Shhhh.”

She crouched down.

Picked him up.

And held him.

She gave him the most sympathetic, motherly smile she could.

As if he were a cute little kid.

“Ya beat me. It’s over.”

“Wh-What? Really? I did???”

“Well, yeah! Can’t you feel my arms trembling? I can’t throw a punch like this.” She is so flipping glad she doesn’t have to throw a punch. She just wants to go home and take a nap.

“You were... bluffing?”

And so, she started to walk.

“ ‘Fraid so, friend. “Honestly, I just got incredibly lucky. You’re the real winner in my book!”

Looks like the fog was starting to dissipate a little. Enough for her to see where she’s going.

She could see the sun peaking out.

His guard was let down almost entirely at this point. Not that he could do anything like this. Seemed like as soon as he shrunk the battle was already decided.

“Buuuuut, I’m afraid my daughter needs that prize money rather badly--”

“You’re a Mom?”

“So I hope you don’t take this personally.”

And finally, they exited the ever present steam and fog.

She extended her arms, going just over the edge of the arena.

And, as she let go--

Plop!

---

“Well I’ll be damned.

“Looks like we had our miracle, Ricky.” She snickered.

Just as she hoped.

“I adamantly refuse to respond to that nickname.”

She stood. She packed away her glasses, her theater binoculars, her various other objects. Her and Friedrich took their exit simply and quietly, without much more than a nod or a wave towards anyone else.

“Certainly an exciting bout, wouldn’t you say?”

“It was...” he paused.

“Interesting, to say the least.”

Sounded like his mind was elsewhere. Always moving a mile a minute. Always taking in every option. She appreciated that about him.

Oh, right!

“Ricky, when we get back to the castle, could you set up an appointment with our new champion?”

“Your Majesty, that’s... really more of a job for a secretar--”

“Sometime next month would be lovely.”

A heavy sigh. “If you insist, ma’am.”

[somnambulants]

i love your writing!! could you maybe do something with exes to lovers with nat?

word count: 3.9K notes: thanks for the request! i’m glad you like my writing! i also may...have started thinking about writing a second part because im super attached to this fic. let me know if thats something you guys would be interested in!

“Barton, you’re such a –“

Your world stops turning at the sound of that voice, everything else becoming static. It doesn’t matter that you’re standing in a room full of people that you’re supposed to be impressing.

It’s been over ten years since you’d last heard that voice.

Vaguely, you know that Captain America is speaking to you but the only thing you can pay attention to is her.

You turn slowly, and the second you lay eyes on her you know for sure.

It’s definitely her.

You see it the second she spots you too.

In all the time you’d known her, she’d always been so much more proficient at hiding things than you but you still see the way her eyes widen as she takes you in and the way her face shifts into something that resembles shock before she manages to mask it.

“Nat!”

You startle a little, having now somehow completely forgotten that Captain America was next to you and that you were in the middle of a tour of your new workplace the second you’d landed eyes on her.

Oh god.Your new workplace.

Your new workplace that was also clearly her workplace.

As she approaches, you futilely look for every possible way you can escape. “This is Y/N. Fury’s informant while Agent Emery is on reconnaissance. Y/N this is Natasha Romanoff.”

Natasha? Romanoff? Absurdly, you have the sudden urge to laugh.

She really couldn’t have come up with a better name after fleeing the country all those years ago? It’s a surprise to you that you hadn’t heard about her sooner with that alias.

Pushing that thought away and hoping that your face shows the professionalism you’re trying to convey, you straighten your spine and clear your throat. “Nice to meet you.”

Captain America’s eyes flick between the both of you. Maybe you’re not doing as good a job as you’d thought.

Natalia-Natasha takes the hand you extend to her and shakes it. “Likewise,” she says, and you hate the way your body still reacts to her voice all these years later; hate the way her touch still makes you feel.

Even more so, you hate that you don’t know what it is you’re feeling more of as you look into her eyes: fury or heartbreak.

She makes a flimsy –well flimsy to you – excuse and leaves the conversation after that. You watch her walk away, clenching the hand she’d touched into a fist as you resist the urge to put it through the wall next to you.

Somehow you think you’d have a hard time explaining it to the man still standing next to you, who is now watching you with a thoughtfully puzzled but not suspicious expression.

Not yet, anyway.

--

Your dreams that night are fitful and full of her. The first time you’d met, you’d been nothing more than children.

There are no children in red room though. Only fighters and a fighter, she definitely was.

You? Not so much. You’d never been designed to last more than a day in that place and you wouldn’t have, if not for her.

Natalia throws you back against the mat, again and then again and again. Each time you stand up with more difficulty until eventually, she throws you down so hard your vision blurs for a second.

You never had a chance against her, something you knew before you even stepped foot into the room and you know they must have known that too when they set you up against the most experienced fighter here.

It’s abundantly clear you’ve been set up to fail.

The next time she hits you, your legs give out beneath you and you can’t bring yourself to get up this time, even though you know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t.

You know how this works.

Bracing yourself for impact, you close your eyes and wait. It’s pathetic. You know.

The final blow never comes. When you finally crack open an eye, you find Natalia, arms crossed, just gazing down at you.

It might have been your imagination but her eyes don’t seem quite as hard as they had been before.

She extends a hand after a second of her just watching you and you watching her. A little part of you is convinced it’s a trick; that the second you take her hand, you’re going to fail whatever test this is.

Still, against your better judgement you take her hand and, rather than the macabre images playing out in your mind, instead she actually helps you stand, surprisingly gentle as she does so.

She gives you a second to reorient yourself and then her whole demeanour changes, turning cold and stiff as she crouches down back into a fighting position.

“Try again.”

Just as abruptly, you’re thrown into another and another. Quick flashes of the past that still haunt you.

Natalia taking you on your first mission.

Natalia holding your hand as you cried over the body of the first man you’d killed.

Natalia lying beside you on your mattress, running her hands through your hair gently when your nightmares became so bad you’d go days without sleeping.

Years and years of training. Years of bruises and broken bones. Mission after mission. Somehow, it’s all maybe not-quite worth it but it almost is – almost – because of her.

When you kiss her for the first time, you think that might be the first time either of you has had any control over what you do with your bodies. 

You can't remember a time where you'd had something you'd ever wanted and you wanted her so badly.

You can’t get enough of it. Or her.

And then, one day, you wake up and she’s just... gone. 

--

The next morning, feeling irritable and exhausted from your disturbed sleep, you walk into the avengers training room and find the one person you’d been hoping wouldn’t be there.

Of course, your mind spitefully whispers because of course it wasn’t enough for the universe to thrust her back into your life but it had to throw her in your face too.

When you enter, she has her back to you but you know she knows you’re there by the way her back stiffens slightly.

You watch as she stands up straighter at the words you throw at her back, unable to help yourself: “What is this? Babysitting duty? I think we’re passed that, aren’t we?”

She turns to you. “I usually come here early,” is all she says. She doesn’t respond to the bite in your voice.

You make a non-committal sound and then just decide to ignore her, stomping past her to make your way to the far corner of the room. You work by yourself in peace for about ten minutes before you hear the sound of footsteps and all of a sudden she’s in front of you.

“I need a partner,” she says. 

You have the urge to laugh in her face, before it strikes you how cathartic it would be to punch her right now, no matter how childish it might be, so you stand, letting the weight you’d been holding drop back to the floor with a loud thud, and follow her across the room.

You both crouch down in anticipation and you take a second to really look at her.

Her expression is unreadable. The pang you feel when you realise that surprises you.

There had been a time when you’d known her like the back of your hand and now she's nothing more than a stranger standing in front of you.

It hurts a lot more than you’d thought it would.

--

This continues for weeks. You don’t know why you let it happen but you do. You get up early; you go to the gym; you spar with her and then you fulfil the duties you’d been hired to do.

It’s almost easy to slip back into that headspace of your whole life revolving around her. Because it does. All you do is think about her when you’re not around her.

Over those weeks, you still barely speak a word to her because at least if you don’t speak, you have some kind of power.

To your surprise, she lets you ignore her, lets you pretend you don’t hear her whenever she speaks and you resent her a little more for that. You’d rather she hated you as much as you want to hate her.

It would make it all so much easier.

--

Eventually, though, you break.

You’re not strong enough to ignore your desire to know everything; to know how she’d ended up here. And why she’d clearly cared enough to stick around and try and save the entire world when you, a single person, hadn’t even been worth enough for her to stay.

“Why,” you pant, mid spar one morning. She’s kicking your ass, as usual. “Why here? Why the avengers?”

You’d sworn to yourself you’d never ask her this question but the yearning to know has been burning inside you since you’d walked into this building over a month ago now.

Equally as breathless, Natasha drops the careful façade she’d had up and looks at you with those eyes; the ones that could have made you do anything at one point in time. You’re not convinced they still couldn’t. “I wanted to do better… be better than what we were…. Isn’t that why you’re here, too?”

That answer hurts you more than any of the hits she’s landed on you this morning. And there’s been a lot. She’s still the superior fighter, even if she had left so long before you.

God, those words hurt to hear. Especially to have you lumped in with the clearly bad part of her life, whether it was her intention or not.

Maybe that’s why you say what you say next. Maybe there’s a little part of you wishes this whole situation would hurt her as much as it hurts you.

“How… uncharacteristic of you,” you ignore the last part of her sentence because honestly: you don’t know why you’re here. You feel like you’ve been lost and drifting your whole life and the only thing that had ever made sense to you was her.

You know your bitterness has bled into your voice with your words but you don’t make any effort to mask it. And if you can hear it, she definitely can too.

In the blink of an eye, she stops sparring with you, straightening up quicker than even you can catch. You let out a breathless huff of air as she grabs the front of your shirt pulling it so you’re forced forward until you’re almost nose to nose with her.

You hate that for a split second, before you can control yourself, you lean in slightly. As much as your mind can’t stand her, your body has no such feelings and it still wants her. You know you have no hope of hiding it from her so you don’t even bother.

“You don’t know me,” she says. The words come out of her mouth fiercely but the look in her eyes is soft, beseeching, like she wants you to hear her. “I'm not that person anymore.”

Like it matters.

It’s like you’re suspended in time for a second, and all you can think of as you look into her eyes is of the woman you knew.

You hate that you still miss her.

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes that you want to believe mirrors the torrent of emotions currently taking over you – the sadness, the anger, the grief – but you know better than to have hope when it comes to her.

You know all too well how it ends. And you’ve had enough of false hope.

Typically, in a fight, you know Natasha would come out on top – has every time -- but she’s never had your anger directed at her the way it is now and she isn’t expecting the way you’re practically vibrating with it as you shove her away, so hard that she stumbles backwards, only just managing to stay on her feet.

“Clearly,” you spit at her as you straighten up, and start walking towards the exit.

You know she’s still just standing there in the same spot. You can feel her eyes on you.“Yeah, run away,” she mutters under her breath.

It’s the first time she’s shown you the attitude you’d been giving her for weeks and her reaction is justified, you can admit it, but you don’t care.

You spin around, fury overtaking you as you advance on her until you’re pinning her against the wall behind her. “Sorry,” you hiss, glaring into her eyes. “I forgot you’re the only one who can do that.”

“That was different.”

You laugh. It’s not a nice one. It sounds like an injured animal trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. 

“Why? Because it was you doing it? Excuse me for not being —“

All of a sudden, she’s kissing you. Or you’re kissing her.

Either way, you’re kissing and you don’t know how exactly it happened but you know that you can’t get enough of her; can’t get her close enough even though there’s no longer even an inch of space between you.

She flips your positions, tugging you closer, and you’re abruptly bathed in cool air as she rips your shirt off you, shoving you against the wall.

Your heart picks up rapidly as she kneels in front of you, easing the rest of your clothes off in one fluid moment.

“I hate you. So much,” you tell her as you step out of your pants and it’s not convincing even to you. Still, you repeat it again and again as she kisses down your body – so tenderly and gently that your voice starts to wobble.

You hate it. You hate her.

She looks up at you from in between your legs, now on her knees. It’s such a vulnerable position that you find you can’t look at her and you have to close your eyes. Natasha digs her nails into your thighs as she forces them apart.

“Look at me,” she demands. Her grip tightens until you obey; you know you’re going have crescent shaped bruises tomorrow. Her gaze is soft and tender and just all consuming. You know there’s no coming back from it. You’d never had a chance, even back when you didn’t mind not having one. “Don’t look away.”

You don’t, not even when she finally, finally, touches you and your head falls back against the wall. 

You hold her gaze the entire time knowing how incredibly stupid this is and not caring at all about how much you’ll regret it later when you’re thinking straight.

--

And regret it, you do.

You stop working out early. You walk the other way in the halls if you see her. You know people are catching on that something is going on between the both of you; have caught multiple avengers giving you quizzical looks whenever you’re in the same room and it makes you feel even worse than before.

You channel all that regret into something more meaningful and commit to doing a damn good job at what you were actually here for. And you do. You can admit you do a fantastic job.

Every time you hand a report in or come back from a mission, you swear see a glimmer of approval in Fury’s eyes. Something you’d heard was notoriously hard to come by.

You must have done something really shitty in a past life though because after weeks of throwing yourself into your temporary duties, you walk into your temporarily office and are immediately flagged down by Fury, who debriefs you on the details of a mission he’s sending you on.

You’re thrilled for about three seconds until you see the name of the person you’re going with.

Agent Natasha Romanoff.

Fury is looking at you with a scrutinising expression when you look up from the file. Every time he looks at you it’s like he can see inside your soul. “Is that a problem?”

You grit your teeth and force yourself to smile. “Of course not, sir.”

--

It is a problem. A big problem, in fact.

You don’t speak to her on the flight there. Even though it’s only the two of you confined in the aircraft. You don’t even so much let yourself look at her. You can feel her looking at you multiple times, though, even though she’s piloting and should only be looking at the course in front of you.

There are no words exchanged between you all day beyond the times you absolutely have to speak. 

At least not until you reach the tiny hotel room you’d been given.

The second the door closes behind you both, she turns to you and opens her mouth and maybe it’s cowardly but you cut her off before she even start speaking.

“I’m going to have a shower,” you say and flee the room with your entire carry-on, worried that if you pause to sift through your things, she’ll keep talking.

Still in the same spot, the look on Natasha’s face when you emerge from the bathroom is full of clear exhaustion. You hate the way it makes you feel. Empty. Sad. It’s exhausting for you trying to convince yourself you hate her.

“I’m sorry I left,” she says and you freeze. “I wanted to come back. Find you. I just didn’t know - i didn’t know if you even wanted me to.”

You’ve wanted to hear those words for so long. Now you have you don’t know what to do. “Why did you leave?”

She hesitates. The look in her eyes tells you you’re not going to get a full answer. That as open as she’s trying to be, you still don’t get to know why she abandoned you. “It’s a long story.”

The evasion stings. “An apology means nothing if you won’t tell me why.”

It’s an unfair thing to say. You know that but you don’t really feel like being fair right now.

You chance a look up when she doesn’t respond and find her looking down at the floor. It makes you wonder what — or who — she must still be protecting by not telling you. 

It becomes apparent that she’s not going to say anything else after the silence between you drags on long enough that the tension in the air becomes almost unbearable.

You don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing the tears in your eyes so you flick the light off and turn the lamp on your shared nightstand off, throwing the both of you into immediate darkness. It’s definitely too early to be sleeping but you don’t care.

Eventually, after laying there rigidly for what feels like hours and listening to the sounds of Natasha tossing and turning in the other bed, you finally fall asleep and are immediately thrown into dream after dream that quickly turn into fitful nightmares.

Nightmares that may be more aptly called memories. After one particularly bad one that thrusts you back into consciousness, you bolt upwards, still half asleep. 

You only narrowly manage to avoid bumping straight into Natasha, who’s hovering above you, because of her hand on your shoulder holding you in place.

You flinch away from her instinctively and she backs up to give you a little space.

The only sound in the room is your heavy and desperate gasping for air. Natasha, now perched on the very edge of the bed, bites her lip, looking at you as if she knows exactly what you’d been dreaming about.

She probably does. It doesn’t take a genius to guess.

“Are you –"

“I’m fine,” you say flatly. You stare up at the ceiling, absently counting the tiles as you try to slow your breathing.

You’re hyperventilating, you know it, you just can’t get yourself to stop. You’re also sweating, it’s disgusting. You can feel how all of your clothes are stuck to you. Your hair flattened to your neck.

If you hadn’t been dealing with this for so long, you’re pretty sure that you’d think you were having a heart attack instead of a panic attack.

But you have. Been dealing with it. It’s just something you’ve come to expect now. You just never thought she’d be here to witness it.

All of a sudden, as you’re still trying to calm your breathing, the bed dips below you.

Your eyes fly open in shock to find Natasha sliding onto the mattress beside you, still on top of the covers.

Gingerly, she rests her head on the pillow next to your head and fixes her gaze on the ceiling.

It’s slight but her hand brushes against your own a few minutes later.

You suck in a breath between your teeth, but despite yourself, you let her move closer, until she’s so close you’re almost touching, and you can hear her quiet breathing.

Against your better judgement, you let your eyes slip closed again. Seeming to understand you’re not going to push her away, Natasha shifts closer, until you’re both shoulder to shoulder, the way she used to lay next to you when you had bad dreams when you were kids.

She grabs your hand, and slowly, hesitantly, she moves it to her chest where you can feel her heart thrumming rapidly under your fingertips. Surprisingly, it still works; you breathe in and out, in out in out, in time with her heartbeat.

You must at some point fall asleep because all of a sudden you can hear birds chirping outside the window and the sounds of people outside in the street.

When you open your eyes, you expect to find the spot next to you empty and the covers unruffled, as if she’d never been there at all but to your shock she’s still there beside you, awake and on top of the covers.

The circles under her eyes make you think she must not have slept at all.

You slide out of the bed and head towards the bathroom without saying a word, where you turn the shower on and just sit under the spray for what must be at least an hour, letting the water run over you and trying not to think.

This time when you return, she’s gone.

--

The rest of the mission goes smoothly. If nothing else, you both work well together as a team. You can still read her movements like a book, and she knows to anticipate what you’re doing before you even know yourself.

The days go fine. The nights not so much. You don’t speak about it but every night you’re woken up by the same dreams and every night you wake up to find her kneeling beside you.

If you were stronger willed, you would’ve shoved her away the first time, but you can’t bring yourself to. Maybe it’s a little selfish but you can’t find it in yourself to care. 

The last night of the mission is when you finally break, though. Something shifts in the air when you wake yourself up gasping and meet her eyes. The same eyes that had been blank and lifeless in your dream. 

You know she feels the shift as well by the way she’s looking at you, cautiously hopeful.

You don’t say anything though and neither does she. You just lay there, side by side, and watch each other carefully for what could be seconds, or it could be hours.

Her eyes are begging wordlessly: Truce?

Despite yourself, as you gaze back at her, you find yourself giving in. For tonight at least.

Truce.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 1: Adopted

AO3 @maribat-bdbwm

Adopted. Adopted. Adopted. Adopted. The word runs on a loop through Marinette’s head as her world crumbles around her. She was adopted.

“What? Maman, I don’t, I don’t understand.” Marinette says, her voice cracking as she tries to act like this isn’t bothering her. Like she doesn’t feel as though her entire world is changing.

“Marinette, sweetheart, just take a breath. That’s it, breathe in...and out. Very good.” Her maman says, holding her hands as she breathes with her slowly. Marinette swallows thickly, trying hard to ignore the way her hands shake in her maman’s.

“Maman, why didn’t you tell me?” She asks, confusion and self doubt swirling in her mind. Why was she adopted? Did her birth parents not want her? Could they not take care of her? Was she a mistake? Did they hate her? Did her maman hate her now? Is that why she’s telling her? Is she going to be kicked out? Is she going to have to leave Paris? What if-

“Marinette?” Her maman’s soft voice pulls her out of her thoughts. Marinette frowns when she realizes that she has tears running down her face.

“I-I’m sorry.” She says, pulling her hands away to furiously wipe at her tears, trying hard to ignore the sympathetic look her papa keeps giving her.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Marinette. Are you feeling up to an explanation? Or would you rather not talk about this?” She asks, her face covered in worry.

“I wanna talk about it.” Marinette says quickly, before slapping her hands over her mouth. She didn’t mean to say that. What if that’s not right? What if what her maman has to say is just going to hurt more? What if-

“Okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry we waited so long to tell you.” Her maman apologizes, scooting closer to wrap an arm around Marinette’s shoulders. Her papa wraps an arm around both of them, his presence calming Marinette enough so that she can think a little more clearly.

“Why did you wait? Why now?” She asks, still confused why she decided to break the news today of all days.

“We were going to wait until you were sixteen. Let you be at an age where you would understand it a little more, understand that being adopted isn’t wrong. And that you didn’t do anything wrong.” She explains, rubbing her shoulder gently.

“But then, why now?” Marinette asks, frustration starting to build. Why say they were going to wait and then not actually wait? Why would they-

“Mme. Mendeleiev called. You’re starting a unit on genetics and biology, and she knew that you were adopted. She just-” She sighs, frowning. “She didn’t want you to be blind sided or caught off guard in class if things didn’t add up.”

“But why does she know?” Marinette asks with a frown.

“Because we were both friends with your birth mother.”

--- Walking into class, Marinette tries hard to avoid the worried glance from Mme. Mendeleiev. All of the information from yesterday swirling through her head; her maman was friends with Mme. Mendeleiev. They were both friends with her birth mother, Bridgette Le. Her birth mother didn’t just give her up, she did want her, her maman had reassured her repeatedly. But she had died. And Marinette had almost died as well. And her parents? Didn’t hate her now. They didn’t love her any less, they reassured her of that several times before Marinette asked to be excused to go to bed. Tikki had had to watch for akumas most of the night. Breathing shakily, Marinette sits and immediately starts doodling on her notebook, hoping that no one else will put two and two together once their genetics unit starts. Hoping that no one will know or ask her. About adoption. --- It was two weeks after Marinette found out that she was adopted that she decided to talk to her maman about it again. After ranting to Tikki for several nights and spending time thinking about it, she had slowly started to accept it. It didn’t mean her parents loved her any less. It didn’t mean that she was any different or anything. It just meant that she had two more parents. A birth mother who had apparently wanted what was best for her, naming Sabine Cheng as her godmother even before Marinette was born. And a birth father. A man that Marinette was determined to talk to her maman about. Surely the woman would know something about him, given her close friendship with her birth mother.

“Hey Maman.” Marinette says, walking into the kitchen and sitting at the counter. Her maman smiles brightly at her as she continues to fill the dumplings.

“Hello sweetheart. How’s your commission for Jagged going?” She asks, her face filled with pride. Marinette grins and nods.

“It’s amazing. The shape of the suit is much different than anything else I’ve made before, but I think it’s going to look really cool!” Marinette says, a wide smile on her face before she remembers the whole reason she came into the kitchen. She clears her throat. “Maman, could I ask you something?”

“Of course Marinette.” She says, closing and filling dumplings before placing them in the steamer.

“When we talked about my...adoption. You didn’t say anything about my birth father. Did you know him too?” Marinette asks, staring down the counter to avoid looking at her maman.

“I didn’t know him very well, I’ll be honest. Bridgette met him when she went to the US for a year. I’m not sure what happened, but she did write a letter for him. I have it in the lock box though, she didn’t put an address on it and I wasn’t sure where to send it.” She explains and Marinette frowns at the lack of information.

“Does he- did he even know about me?” She asks.

“I’m not sure. Bridgette didn’t talk about him much. All she really said was that the town wasn’t fond of her and she didn’t want you to grow up in that environment, said it was terribly dreary. And that he was obsessed with his work. He worked for some big company, but I’m not sure if he still does. ” Her maman adds and Marinette nods.

“Is that all?” She asks, trying not to show her disappointment.

“Let me grab the letter. I can’t remember his name, but it should be in there.” She says, turning and washing her hands before walking away to get the letter. Marinette lets out a long breath, hoping that she isn’t making a mistake by looking for this information. --- Bruce Wayne. That was apparently the name of her birth father who lived somewhere in the US. Her maman was right about that. The letter didn’t have an address and Bridgette hadn’t put anything specific about the location. Besides her birth father’s name, the letter was a dead end. How generic could a name be? Bruce Wayne. It was like finding out her father’s name was Thomas Williams or John Smith or something. There must be thousands of Bruce Waynes in the US. Walking into Mme. Bustier’s class, Marinette trudges to her desk in the very back and drops down into her seat. Dropping her head onto her desk, she barely notices Adrien walk in.

“You okay, Mari?” He asks, frowning as he takes the seat next to her.

“I got a name.” She mumbles into the desk, knowing the boy would understand. She turns her head so that she can glance at him, frowning at the wide smile that takes over his face.

“Really? That’s great!” He says and she huffs.

“Not really. It was the most generic name ever, and the letter that Bridgette wrote didn’t have a location or anything.”

“Why do you want to talk to him so badly?” Adrien asks and Marinette sits up, frowning.

“I don’t know, I just-” She sighs. “I guess I just want the chance to meet him. Maman’s told me so many stories of Bridgette since I found out, and I’ve loved getting to know little things that we have in common. I just want to know if I have anything in common with him.”

“If you really want to meet him, I’ll do everything I can to help you find him.” Adrien says. Marinette looks at him, relief and gratitude coating her face.

“Really? You’d do that for me?” She asks, hope and faith that this could actually work rushing over her. Adrien nods, gifting her a small smile.

“Of course, Mari.” He says. Marinette opens her mouth to thank him again, when Mme. Bustier barges into the classroom.

“Students! Listen up, I have an amazing announcement!” She cheers, clapping her hands together. Marinette looks at the woman wearily, unsure of what the woman could be so excited about. She’d had a meeting with the woman earlier to talk about the end of year trip. They hadn’t talked about much, just the budget and trips that they could feasibly do. Marinette had also shot down some of the woman’s….less than ideal options. Seriously, who thought a trip to Gotham was a good idea? Even Marinette, with her lack of knowledge about the world’s big names and celebrities, knew that Gotham wasn’t a great place. It was quite literally crawling with villains, and unlike Paris, there was no Miraculous Cure to fix everything. Marinette blinked as the class suddenly erupted with cheers.

“What happened?” She asks Adrien, zoning back into the situation around her.

“We’re apparently going to Gotham for our end of year trip.” Adrien mutters, clearly not thrilled with the turn of events. Marinette nods, then freezes as the words register. Well shit. --- Marinette huffs as she rushes into the empty hotel lobby. Key word: empty. Well, okay it wasn’t completely empty, but it definitely didn’t have the entire class (and teacher!) that it was supposed to have. Instead it just had a tired looking concierge and a bowl of bruised apples. Fantastic. Grumbling under her breath, Marinette pulls out the itinerary that she had been forced to create for this trip she was forced to be on. She wasn’t trying to be dramatic, but between Hawkmoth and all of her responsibilities as Ladybug, going to a city like Gotham was the last thing that she wanted to do. Its villains, or Rogues as they preferred to be called, seemed to have no fear. At least Hawkmoth was smart enough to hide behind his goons. Gotham’s rogues had no such qualm, and instead ran around to personally cause mayhem. Glancing down at the itinerary, Marinette suppresses a groan. The entire class left early. Of course they did. Whatever, she still had plenty of time to get to their scheduled tour time at the Gotham City Museum of Modern Art. It had been Alix’ suggestion, as the girl’s father was friends with someone who had helped in its most recent street art exhibit.

“Marinette!” A small voice yells. Marinette glances down at her purse and raises an eyebrow at the concerned look on her kwami’s face.

“What?” She whispers back.

“You’re not really going to walk by yourself in Gotham, are you?” Tikki asks, her eyes wide with concern.

“I’ll be fine, Tikki. And I plan on getting a cab.” Marinette says, giving her purse a reassuring pat before walking out into the dreary mist outside. Hailing a cab with surprising ease, Marinette tells the driver her destination and sits back, watching the gargoyles and architecture stream past. She’d have to sketch something later, because a million ideas for a Gotham inspired line was floating through her head. When the cab stops, Marinette smiles and thanks the man, handing him the fare and a tip.

“No problem, Miss Wayne.” The driver says, tipping his cap before zipping away from the museum. Miss Wayne? As in her father? Marinette shakes that thought away almost as quickly as it appears. What are the odds that she’d be in the same city as her birth father? Must’ve mistaken me with someone else, Marinette thought to herself, almost as if she was reassuring herself that there was no chance of seeing her birth father. No chance of someone seeing her and saying, “oh, are you Bruce’s girl? You sure do have his nose”. No chance of the man himself running into her and seeing a perfect blend of himself and Bridgette and- No. No need to panic about this right now. Pushing the thoughts away, Marinette rushes into the museum and nearly runs over Adrien.

“Mari! Are you okay? Where were you? I didn’t see you in the lobby so I got on the bus to look for you and you weren’t there and then I tried to get off to find you and-” Marinette cuts Adrien’s rambling off with a tight hug to reassure him that she’s there. She’s there and she’s safe.

“I’m okay, I promise. I got a cab surprisingly easily.” Marinette reassures him, mumbling into his chest. He freezes momentarily before returning the tight hug.

“Marinette! Now that you’re here we can start the tour. The tour guide suggested we start in the Comedians Hall of Fame and then loop around and end at the new graffiti display.” Mme. Bustier announces, clapping her hands excitedly. Marinette pulls away from Adrien, blushing slightly as he squeezes her once more before fully letting her go. Wandering through the Comedians Hall of Fame, Marinette’s eyes dance over the exhibits. She wasn’t necessarily passionate or inspired by this section of the museum, but it was still interesting. A big bang made Marinette spin around and frantically look for the exits. The uncontrollable laughter started seconds later. Shit.

“Welcome, welcome to MY hall! Except someone apparently forgot my picture. No worries though, I’m sure we can add one with all of your smiling faces in it as well.” A voice echoes in the hall. Marinette’s blood instantly freezes. The Joker. In a room. With her class. Oh my God, someone is going to die.

“What’re you doing?” Adrien hisses out. Marinette blinks and realizes she had unconciously taken a fighting pose. She was so used to protecting the class as Ladybug against Akumas, she just immediately fell back into the role. She straightens immediately, but it’s too late.

“Ah, a brave little girl. Who do we have here?” Joker asks, and the sickening realization that he’s holding a gun washes over her. There would be no Miraculous Cure. No Lucky Charm. Marinette grits her teeth and stares at the man’s yellow teeth stretched into an unnatural smile.

“Marinette.” She says, leaving out her last name. No need for her parents to panic because her name is trending at the site of a villain attack. Assuming nothing goes wrong and the heroes show up and she doesn’t die by the hands of the Joker. Not that that would be traumatic, or anything.

“What, no last name? Or did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?” Joker asks, pushing her hair out of her face with his gun. Marinette sees Adrien’s fists clench out of the corner of her eye, a wave of determination running through her. She needed to keep Joker distracted so that he wouldn’t notice Adrien and try to hurt Adrien. Since obviously, as an Agreste, he was a much better hostage than the daughter of bakers. Well, and the biological daughter of some random American man who doesn’t even know she exists.

“It’s Cheng.” She retorts, dropping her father’s last name off in a desperate attempt for her full name to stay off the internet.

“Is it? Are you sure? Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re a new Wayne. Much smaller than the others, and a girl is different, but maybe Brucie’s just changing his type.” Joker taunts and Marinette’s head spins. Wayne? It can’t possibly be her birth father...Wayne must be a much more common name in the US than she originally thought and maybe even though she hadn’t even thought about contacting him yet or trying to find him, maybe it would be much harder than she could’ve ever thought because it’s such a common name and he probably has no idea that she wants to even try and find him and there’s probably no chance that he even wants to meet her and-

“Are you even listening to me?” Joker’s annoyed voice cuts off her internal spiral. Marinette quirks up an eyebrow and shakes her head.

“No, not really.” She says, eyes widening and face instantly turning red as she realizes that this was not the kind of villain she could smartmouth like she did Akumas as Ladybug. She’s not even Ladybug right now.

“You’re odd. Maybe you’ll be even more useful than I thought.” Joker says after a moment of tense silence. Marinette glances around the room, noticing how the goons that came in with Joker were more focused on Joker’s weird reaction to Marinette than the other hostages. Making eye contact with Adrien, Marinette has a silent conversation, hoping that he’s suddenly become a mind reader and will start getting people out of the room while the bad guys are distracted.

“I doubt that. I’m failing science.” Marinette says matter-of-factly. It was true, though she wasn’t usually this bad at science. But it was really hard for her to focus on genetics and biology with everything else going on. So her parents didn’t really blame her either, though it did dissapoint Mme. Mendeleiev.

“You’re kind of a smart ass, aren’t you?” Joker taunts, haphazardly waving the gun around.

“It’s um, one of my better qualities.” Marinette stumbles over her words as the gun stops waving to once again point at her face. Joker smirks, his face suddenly darkening as a crash echoes throughout the room. Marinette pales as she watches Joker turn and shoot through the wall next to the door that Lila was currently walking through. Lila yelps and drops to the ground, and for the first time ever, Marinette is certain her tears are real.

“I see what you were trying to do, Frenchie. You were trying to get my hostages out of here. But why? Why would you play hero like that? What would YOU get out of that?” Joker taunts, moving the gun so that it’s pointed right at Marinette’s face again. This time, Marinette could feel the heat radiating from the end of the gun. From the gun being shot at the wall. Near a classmate. Granted it was Lila, but it was still someone she knew. Someone she couldn’t save with the Miraculous Cure because this would be it. The smoke filling the room pulls Marinette’s attention from the gun in front of her, and instead to the hulking figures that suddenly entered the room. Four people, three of them tall but one of those three towering over everyone else in the room. Marinette blinks as her eyes attempt to adjust and she sucks in a breath in shock. Batman. Batman and Nightwing and Red Hood and Red Robin. Of course she knew the vigilantes here, she had done extensive research on anything to do with the hero scene in Gotham. Mostly to keep herself and the class safe in case of an attack, which now that she thinks about it is actually impossible to plan for. Marinette’s feet seem frozen to the ground as she glances around at the bodies hitting the floor. She couldn’t see clearly, but she was almost certain that they were the goons that had arrived with Joker.

“Oh come on, I was just trying to greet this lovely young lady. Say Batsy, don’t ya think she looks like she could fit with the other Wayne brats?” Joker taunts as Batman closes in on them. Joker had shifted her so that she was pressed up against his chest, the gun now situatated at her temple. Batman stops several feet in front of them, a clear grimace on his face.

“Let the girl go, Joker.” He demands in a gruff voice. Marinette inhales sharply as Joker tightens his hold on her.

“I don’t think so, Bats. See, I need this one to guarantee that I get outta here without taking a trip back to my cell. So how about instead, I’ll take her on a little trip and leave her somewhere you can find her later.” Joker offers.

“I don’t think you’re in any place to attempt negotiations.” Batman replies, his face an unwavering mask.

“And why is that?” Joker asks, and Marinette can hear the wide smile in his voice, though she can’t currently see his face.

“‘Cause you’re the asshole who didn’t bother to focus on the rest of us.” A gruff voice from behind taunts. Joker sputters in shock, but seconds later his arms loosen and Marinette dashes towards Batman, glancing back in time to see the man collapse to the ground.

“Is he?” Marinette asks, unsure how to feel about watching a potential death. Even if the man was horrible, he hadn’t killed her or any of her friends so she couldn’t wish him dead. No matter how much it would help her sleep tonight.

“No.” Batman says. Marinette nods before turning her attention to the head of the Batfamily. A wide smile spreads across her face and she extends her hand for him to shake.

“Well then, thank you for saving me, Monsieur. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Next

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (2)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, hella nervous!bucky, dangerously sweet!y/n  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“What the hell do you mean ‘you’re not going’?”

Bucky shrugged, taking a bite of the bagel Steve picked up on his way to the apartment. He flinched as Steve flung open the curtains, expelling a cloud of dust as the sunlight invaded the living room, illuminating over months of untouched mail on the coffee table and crumbs in the carpet.  

Sam kept his eyes burning on Bucky from the other end of the table. “You can’t back out now, Barnes. She’s expecting you!”

“What’s this about again?” Steve asked as he slid into the chair beside Bucky.  

“Book club. Y/n. Barnes is being a coward again,” Sam explained a little too nonchalantly for Bucky's taste.  

“I’m not being a coward,” Bucky grumbled, avoiding Sam’s eyes and very much proving his friend’s point. “I’ve just— I’ve got better things to do.”

He regretted it the moment it left his lips because both Sam and Steve exchanged a less than subtle, irritatingly familiar glance.  

“Yeah, like what?” Steve scoffed. He extended his arms out to gesture to the empty apartment. “You got tons of plans this week? Think you might see sunlight again or did someone hang garlic in the hallway?”

“Shut up,” Bucky warned, rolling his eyes. It had been a few days since he’d ventured out to the VA for the first time and it was more than he’d done in weeks. It should have been enough for these two, but it never was. They always wanted more out of him. They couldn’t just leave him to rot in his apartment, could they?

“It’s Sunday, you know,” Sam said, devilish smirk rising on his face.  

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”  

“Come on, man!” Sam groaned, slamming his hand on the table enough to cause a ripple in the coffee mugs. “I saw the way you were looking at her. You can’t tell me seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go...”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed red. They burned hot on his skin and it only seemed to make it worse. He’d never been like this before he was discharged – flustered and easily embarrassed. He supposed before he came home with one less limb and baggage the size of his living room, he didn’t have much to be embarrassed about. He was a flirt, a bit shameless about it, too. He’d had girlfriends and hookups and never thought much about it.  

But now? The vague idea of even presuming to be interested in a woman was borderline laughable. What chance could he possibly have? He was washed up and broken, missing a few pieces, and half off his rocker. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d go for a guy like him. It was easier to just pretend like he didn’t care, give into the empty void he believed his heart to be, and waste away.  

“Seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go,” Bucky said flatly, much to Sam’s annoyance. It was a bold-faced lie, one all three of them were well aware of, but it didn’t mean Bucky needed to give them the satisfaction of admitting it.  

He thought of you in that sunset red sweater, holding a book tight to your chest with that sort of bright starlight look in your eyes as you listened intently to a retired vet go on and on about his personal connection to some corny book. He’d only met you for maybe a span of a few minutes, and still, he could somehow still picture your smile. He wanted to see it again.  

But there was a sharp pain in his left arm; it burned, enough for Bucky to reach across his chest and try to put pressure on it, only to slip through thin air and land against his ribs. The pain remained, like an extension of himself, on an arm that was no longer apart of him. There and not there all at once. He groaned.  

“It’s not a good enough reason, Sam,” Bucky repeated. “I’m not going. She probably won’t even notice.”

Another lie.  

Sam shook his head, the smile quickly leaving his face in favor of one Bucky knew all too well. Disappointment. Frustration. The thing was, it didn’t hurt as much when Bucky was purposeful in creating it.  

“I thought you liked her?” Steve asked cautiously, eyes catching Sam’s for only a moment before he turned back to Bucky. They’d been talking about him. He hated when they did that.  

“I don’t even know her, Steve,” Bucky shot back. He shouldn’t be getting angry with them. They were only trying to help. And yet here he was – pushing away the only two people left in his life that still managed to tolerate him. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, trying to push past it. “She’s nice, okay? She’s pretty. Is that what you want me to say?”

Steve sat back in his chair, exhausted. “I want you to be happy, Buck.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, well, shoulda thought of that before I got myself blown up.”

“Bucky--”

“Let it go, man,” Sam sighed, setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.  

Bucky felt like he could sink straight into his chair. Why did he always do this?

“I hope you change your mind,” Sam said simply, gathering up his things as he and Steve started to make their way to the door. “It could be good for you.”

Bucky knew what he meant by that, the underlaying message hidden just beneath the surface: she could be good for you.  

Right on cue, the pain started up again in his arm that was both there and not there, and Bucky tried to grit his teeth through it, though Sam could spot the tells almost immediately: his right-hand gripping to the arm rest, the flinch in his jaw, the short tense breaths.  

Sam sighed, pausing in the door frame. “We’ll be back in a few days. Try to clean up the place, will you? It’s a shithole in here.”

“Ma said she’d bake you cobbler if you promise to eat it,” Steve offered, too hopeful for his own good. It had been Bucky’s favorite once; the sort of dessert he talked about on desert nights when the mess hall served day old meatloaf and bland potatoes. He didn’t have much of an appetite these days.  

Bucky forced out a smile for his friend’s sake and nodded.  

A familiar silence swept over the apartment as the door closed behind them. It had been a comfort once; a darkness that swept around his shoulders like a blanket. It kept him isolated and suffocated and still, safe.  

Now, it mocked him.

He stared at the knob on the door, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. He’d done this about a dozen times before, trying to convince himself to do something more with his days than waste away in an expensive one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.  

Steve was right. What the hell else was he going to do today? Stare at the wall for a few hours? Pretend to watch TV and not catch a single word of dialogue? Make a meal he wouldn’t eat?

He thought of you again. How you might scan the room in search of him and a frown might pull at the corner of your lips to not find him amongst the crowd. He wondered if you’d be dressed in yellow or orange or if you’d resemble a cloudless sky as the sun touched over the peaks of the city in soft pinks and purples.

He wanted to know so badly it was killing him.  

“Fuck.”  

He dragged his feet to the bedroom to find something half decent to wear.  

***

It had been a less than ideal start to your day.  

The children’s reading presentation at the library got a little out of hand when the speaker – a local theater student – got caught up in the voices and scared half of the toddlers to tears as he took some interesting liberties with The Cat in the Hat.

Then, a rather unpleasant woman yelled at you for twenty minutes about a man sleeping on the bench outside the near the entrance as if it were a personal affront that this man, a little down on his luck, dared to catch a few minutes of sleep in a public place.  

The internet was shotty all day, leaving a few college students red in the face and with fat tears matching those of the toddlers in the next room over when hours' worth of work had suddenly disappeared in front of their eyes.  

And of course – the teenagers. A band of four boys who hid under the brim of baseball caps with skateboards tucked under their arms, who found it rather amusing to stalk out the adult section and flip through the sorts of novels with bare chested men on the cover until their snickering could be heard from the floor below.  

It warranted a coffee, at least.  

The only solace was that it was Sunday. Your favorite day of the week. It meant a few hours at the VA and catching up with the guys. You hadn’t seen Natasha in a while and you were hoping to see how her new job at the security firm had gone. She was exceptionally qualified and you were almost certain you had her interview answers memorized by the time you’d finished practicing together.  

But there was something different about this Sunday, something that left a few butterflies in your stomach where an easy contentment usually belonged. You were nervous, but there was an excitement, too.  

There’d be a new face in attendance.  

A beautiful face.  

A face that you imagined required a double take were you to see it for the first time on a busy street.  

“You’re smiling again there, darling.”

You looked up to find Mrs. Jefferson keeping a careful eye on you from over the top of her reading glasses. She wore a smile upon her face, one that blended into the laugh lines by her eyes. Her hand trembled with a familiar quiver as she reached up and slid the glasses off her nose. They rested comfortably on a purple beaded chain as they hung around her neck.  

“You always have so much going on inside that head of yours,” she quipped, chuckling to herself. She was a slow mover as she turned to the computer to begin typing in her code. “Have you checked out the books for the VA yet?”

“Already done,” you confirmed, your mind still a little in the clouds. Coffee would definitely need to be a requirement before you stepped foot in the VA.  

“Get a move on then,” Mrs. Jefferson said, gesturing to the door with a trembling hand. “I know you like to get donuts for the kids.”

You still had a few minutes left on shift, but Mrs. Jefferson was always so understanding. She had a son who was in the military once who saw about four tours. Always had a habit of going back, she’d said, like he was testing his luck. You weren’t sure how he’d died, but you knew he didn’t have the chance to go back for a fifth.  

She was a part of a group no one wanted to be in: those who have lost someone to war. Membership cost was steep and there was no going back once it was paid. It was a lonely group, one far too many people occupied. Your own membership card was heavy in your pocket.  

You glanced toward the door. The sun was shining bright on the pavement. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course, dear. Tell the boys I said hello.”

“Yes, ma’am!” you called as you gathered your things and the shoulder bag stuffed with books and quickly scurried out the door before another disaster could reel you back inside.  

The sun was warm on your skin and you took a minute to savor it before shoulders started to bump into you, forcing you off balance. You could see your breath in the autumn air, and still, the sun touched your cheeks and left behind a comfort there. Smile on your face, heavy bag draped over your shoulder, you resided to grab coffee and donuts at a café close to the VA before book club started.  

It was one you visited a few times before, right across the street from a painfully busy Starbucks. The quaint coffee shop was often empty inside, save for a few college students with headphones in, typing away at their laptops, and a regular you often saw nursing a black coffee by the front windows, watching the people as they walked by.  

It smelled of coffee beans as you stepped inside. Fresh. Aromatic. You took in a deep breath.  

“Ah, Y/n!” a voice called from the back in a thick Colombian accent. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Hi, Luciana,” you laughed as the woman who owned the shop rounded the corner behind the counter and ran out to give you a hug. She was a tiny woman, short and shout, but her hugs could render even a giant of a man to a puddle.  

“Donuts for your friends down at the VA again?” she asked, releasing you from her embrace, though she still managed to pinch your cheek on the way out.  

“Yes, please!”

“And coffee for yourself?”  

She knew you too well.  

“I could use a bit of a pick-me-up,” you admitted. She knew your order by heart.  

“You should see if that Sam wants to have some good coffee for a change at his next event instead of the bean water he serves our veterans now,” Luciana inquired as she pulled on a pair of gloves and began to stack your box with assorted donuts. She had that smile on her face you recognized well. She asked about Sam a lot.  

“I’ll be sure to get his thoughts,” you replied, trying to stifled a smile.  

“Have him come by,” she offered rather smoothly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen his pretty face and I could use a little pick-me-up myself.”

She winked at you and set the box of donuts on the counter. Then, your coffee; lid pressed on top, cardboard around the edges to protect from heat. You reached for your wallet but she snuck her hand over the counter and grabbed your wrist.  

“No, no, not today, my dear. My treat.”

You parted your lips to protest but she shook her again.  

“Tell those kids to come visit me every once in a while, okay? I’ve got a discount for ‘em,” she offered, bright smile over painted red lips. She waved you off and you knew there was no arguing with her.  

“That’s very kind of you, Luciana. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”  

“So will my business, dear.” There was that wink again.  

You laughed, heading for the door. “I’ll see you next week!”

The bell rang on your way out.  

The VA wasn’t more than a few blocks from Luciana’s, but the bag piled high with books was starting to weigh on your shoulder. It didn’t help that you had to weave expertly between the pedestrians to balance your coffee and the donut box, too; tourists walking about 10 mph too slow and locals stuck in their path with no qualms of shoving you out of their way if you managed to jump in their trajectory.  

As you approached the VA, the crowd began to disperse. There weren’t too many people who frequented this street as there was little more than the VA building itself to occupy the tourists. You were surprised to find a man standing in front of the doors, staring up at the building as if it offended him in some way.  

Dark brown hair tucked under a baseball cap, just barely peeking out at the nape of his neck. Right hand tucked deep into his pocket, rigid in his stance as he stared down the double doors. He was talking to himself, you realized, judging by the soft clouds of chilled air by his mouth.  

James Barnes.

Bucky.

A smile suddenly took over your face, enough that you had to bite down on the edge of your lip in an effort to suppress it. You’d hoped he would come, but Sam had talked about his friend Bucky long before you met him in the empty library of the VA a few days prior. He didn’t say ‘yes’ to much of anything and he seemed to be the sort of soldier that got left behind by the system when he returned home.  

But he was sweet. You could tell that just from the small interaction you’d had. Quiet. A little flustered. Maybe reserved. But he had beautiful eyes; blue, like they could capture even the faintest colors in the sky and the sweep of a current in the Mediterranean. He’d only barely lifted the corner of his lips to a smile that day and it left you wondering how lovely he was when it touched his eyes.  

“Bucky!” you called, moving a little quicker now as you approached, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Still focused on his staring match with the building, it seemed. For a moment, it seemed as though he might be turning to leave and your stomach twisted.  

You were nearly at his side, a little out of breath when you called his name again and it registered this time. Only, it must have startled him because an arm jutted out in your direction, knocking the coffee from your hands. You were too stunned to do much of anything about it as they coffee flung itself to the pavement, the contents spilling to the ground and over your sneakers. You clutched the box of donuts tight to your chest.  

Bucky froze, almost as still as a statue, his eyes focused on the coffee spilled on the sidewalk. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch and slowly, his eyes drew up to meet yours. He stared at you for a moment, mouth falling agape. His ears were burning red.  

Then, he seemed to come back to reality as he blinked a few times, his eyes darting from the shock on your face to the coffee on the sidewalk.  

“Y/n! Shit—fuck! I am—so sorry,” he started to ramble, his hand reaching out, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “I didn’t realize you were-- fuck—”

“It’s alright, Bucky,” you tried to ease him, a laugh in your voice. “Don’t worry about it. Probably didn’t need the caffeine anyway.”  

“I should, um,” he looked around desperately, scanning the street for the nearest coffee shop, his hand clenching and releasing at his side in a repetitive squeeze. It was really sort of sweet. “Let me buy you a new one.”

You smiled at him and he softened a bit. “That’s really not necessary.”  

He gritted his teeth as you bent down to pick up the empty cup and shook the excess coffee off your shoes. They were old sneakers anyway and you were looking for a halfway decent excuse to get new ones. Then came a shy ex-soldier barreling in from the sky with a strong aversion to your coffee.  

“I knew this was a bad idea...”  

He was talking to himself, grumbling under his breath, and you realized why he was staring at the building for so long. You took a step closer to him, studying the way his chewed on the inside of his cheek and shoved his right hand into his pocket.  

“Is it?” you asked.

Blue eyes flickered to yours, brows furrowed. He didn’t think you’d heard him. “Sorry?”

You just smiled at him, shaking your head. You’d been working at the VA long enough to recognize the man behind the soldier; one who’d been beaten and bruised and left to waste the second he was dropped back on American soil. Constantly beating himself up, constantly wondering if he was doing the wrong thing and struggling to be the version of himself he was before the war.

“So, James Barnes,” you grinned, “you decide if you’re coming in or not? It’s a little chilly out here. Don’t want you catching a cold.”  

Bucky stared back at you, unsure. But you could see the tension easing off his shoulders. His right hand was hanging back at his side again as his eyes flickered up to the doors again.  

“Come on.” You smiled at him again and you noticed pretty quickly that he softened when you did that. It made your stomach flutter. You took a step forward, hoping he’d follow behind. “There’s shitty coffee inside we can share before book club starts.”  

“I don’t even know what you’re reading,” he admitted, that sweet nervousness taking over again.  

“You don’t need to,” you shrugged and his brow scrunched up again, confused. You glanced back at the doors. “Well, I’m going inside. I hope I see you there.”

With that, you turned and shouldered your way through the doors, donut box clutched tight to your chest. You waited by the entrance until you heard the soft grumble of a graveled voice outside, and then, footsteps as they approached the door.

You smiled.

[weasleylangs]

swipe right / f.w

Summary: Finding your best friend and your biggest crush on Tinder is always awkward.  Pairing: Muggle!Fred Weasley x Muggle!Fem!Reader Warnings: Discussions of sex, language, alcohol, food/drink mention.  Word Count: 6.9k (this is the longest thing i’ve ever written)

AUTHORS NOTE / hiiiii... this is my first fic in SO long but thank you for waiting for me!!! a huge thank you to my lovely rosie @spacexcowgirl for inspiring this fic and also listening to me ramble on about it for hours on end as i was writing it and for also beta reading it guys this fic rly wouldnt exist if it wasnt for rose so.........

/ also, george’s girlfriend in the fic is named ‘em’ and she has no physical description besides also using she/her pronouns. i’m trying this out so even people who aren’t (primarily) fred simps can self insert in this fic!!!

taglist / @amourtentiaa​ @weelittleweasley​ @lumos-barnes​​ @lumosandnoxwriting​​ @loveboyhalo​​ @harrysweasleys​​ @freds-slut​​ @rcwenaclaw​​ @barneswidow​ @fandomhideout​​​

-------------

Y/N stared at her screen, the Tinder profile of Fred Weasley staring right back at her, teasing her ominously. She eventually decides to lock her phone to avoid the familiar and unwelcomed feelings rising in her throat. The last thing she ever expected to see during her mindless swiping at 1am was her best friend’s Tinder profile. 

She knows it’s hypocritical to feel this way but she’s also not stupid. She and Fred both have had their fair share of dates and hookups thanks to dating apps- they’re in the twenties and single after all. But she can’t shake how weird she feels finding Fred. Like she’s stumbled across something private.

Y/N unlocks her phone again, curiosity eventually making her cave after staring at her ceiling blankly for way too long. 

‘Pros: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that's a good thing). Cons: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that’s a bad thing).’

It’s a short and simple bio, much like her own but she has to stifle a choked laugh. She and George’s girlfriend have said these to both the twins and she feels a sense of accomplishment that she can’t explain. Almost like Fred thinking of her while he sets up his dating profile means something. 

She hesitates a moment, debating between swiping left and never thinking about Fred and dating profiles ever again and swiping right just to see what happens. Y/N’s definitely making it a bigger issue than it has to be, which is why she doesn’t realise when George’s girlfriend and her roommate suddenly appears in her doorway holding chocolate.

“Em, it’s 1am and you have work tomorrow?” She questions and the girl in the doorway shrugs, making her way into the room and sitting down without an invitation.

“I can vaguely hear you monologuing next door,” she laughs as she breaks a line of chocolate off the bar and hands it to Y/N. She groans, in her moment of panic she completely forgot about the fact it’s late and their bedroom walls are paper-thin. “All I heard was something about Fred and the word fuck. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” she winks and Y/N cringes, Em’s usual 15-year-old boy humour shining through as she pops the piece of chocolate in her mouth. 

“You’re hilarious,” Y/N says rolling her eyes but she can’t deny the fondness that’s there for her best friend. “No, you’re not interrupting anything, rather the opposite actually, look.” She passes her unlocked phone to Em and Y/N wishes she could have captured the shocked look on Em's face.

“Fred has a fucking active Tinder?” She’s quickly swiping through his profile and she hates to admit he has good pictures, but when she gets to his bio she snorts and rolls her eyes. “That’s something you say, Y/N.” 

Y/N feels her face go red at Em’s comment. She’s acknowledged this already but when someone else says it she feels like she isn’t being as far fetched as she’s convinced herself. While she outright refuses to acknowledge her feelings for Fred to anyone who isn’t herself, she knows Em knows without having to tell her. Call it best friend instinct, ‘dating-his-twin-brother’ instinct, whatever she pleases, which is why when there’s a mischievous glint in Em’s eyes, Y/N immediately is reaching for her phone. “No.”

Em whines, rolling onto her back. “Why not, you’re so boring!” 

“I am not swiping right on Frederick fucking Weasley.” She feels her face becoming warmer as she says it. Em gives her a look as if to say ‘I believe you’ with a glint in her eye that makes Y/N know she doesn’t. “I’m just never going to open the app again!”

Em rolls her eyes but the fond smile on her face is unmistakable. “And do what, love?” 

Y/N falters for a second before shrugging. “Not perceive his profile. It’ll be gone into the abyss of people who live in London and I’ll never think about it again.” She’s smiling, thinking she’s concocted the most perfect plan.

-----

It wasn’t the most perfect plan, for when Y/N is hanging out with Fred two days later she’s faced yet again with the ‘Tinder Predicament’ as dubbed by Em. Fred and Y/N are sitting in their favourite park, the new spring weather of London on their skin as they soak up the friendly sun rays after a harsh winter. Y/N is laying on her stomach, the book open but she’s barely reading as she pretends to listen to Fred ramble on about only God knows what. 

It’s 11am, not too early for the park to be empty but busy enough that other people are turning up, mostly couples. Y/N tunes Fred out, quickly getting lost in her own thoughts. Do other people think we’re a couple? she thinks to herself. She knows if Em could read her mind she’d say yes and Y/N is quick to push the thought out of her mind. 

Everything is interrupted when her phone lights up with a ‘You’ve got a new match!’ notification and before she can hide it from prying eyes, Fred’s wolf-whistling. 

“You’ve got dating apps, do ya, Y/L/N?” he teases and Y/N wants the Earth to swallow her up, she can’t think of a worse situation to be in. 

“Yeah, don’t you?” The second the words leave her mouth she regrets them. Fred’s smirking at her, a signature smirk of his he only does when she knows he’s up to something. Unfortunately for her, she is on the receiving end of that something.

“Something along the lines of ‘looking for a golden retriever boy?’. Ring any bells, darling?” Y/N feels her blood drain from her body and Fred releases a laugh that can only be described as a full-body chortle. “You know I have one, darling. Besides, you popped up last night. I already knew.” 

Y/N groans. This shouldn’t be as embarrassing as it feels but it’s Fred and knowing Fred has seen her dating profile was low on her wishes for this week, or for her entire life for that matter. 

“Did you at least swipe right on me?” 

It’s said with a teasing manner, falling right out of Y/N’s mouth before she can stop it. Her curiosity always gets the best of her and she wants to kick herself for it. But she doesn’t even notice Fred’s slight falter, the red tint kissing his cheeks and emphasising the freckles across his face at the comment. “You’ll have to swipe right on me to find out.” 

She can’t tell if he’s joking. But Fred is always joking. So she laughs and pushes him slightly, “If I come across your Tinder profile, I’m reporting it.” 

“It would be a blessing from the universe for you to come across my dating profile. I’m sure you’d appreciate my bio.” 

“Let me guess. ‘6’3 if it matters’?” Fred scowls looking down at her and she knows she looks way too proud for that comment but she doesn’t care and after a few seconds, Fred doesn’t care either. He starts to feel a small shred of jealousy from knowing Y/N has a Tinder profile, but he swallows it, tabling it for later when he isn’t with her.

“Why do you have the app?” He blurts out, annoyed at himself for letting it slip out. “Just… Curious, y’know?” He adds on when he notices Y/N looking up at him with an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t really want to know, but the words are out there and the cute scrunch of Y/N’s nose as she thinks of an answer almost makes it worth it.

“Male validation, mostly,” she laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck when she hears Fred laugh along with her. “I don’t know, Freddie.” She says, exasperatedly. “I barely use it. What about you?”

“Sex, if I’m honest.” Now it’s his turn to awkwardly laugh because he knows he answered that way too quickly and a little too honest for his own comfort. Y/N’s been his best friend for years, probably knows him best besides George but she didn’t really need to know he uses his Tinder profile to hook up with people. 

When Y/N doesn’t respond immediately, Fred takes it badly. He knows she would never judge him, not about anything and especially not this, but his thoughts get the best of him and sometimes he can’t help it. He has no idea Y/N is in her own head, jealous other girls get to hold Fred at a distance closer than she ever will. 

He clears his throat and checks his phone to see no notifications besides a direct message from Lee Jordan. He knows George isn’t expecting him home- cursing his brother when he remembers George demanded the flat to himself (and in turn, also Em) today for a few hours. “Hey, uh. I’ve gotta go. Emergency with George apparently.” 

He knows he shouldn’t have lied, it’s not even a good lie but it was the first thing he thought of. He notices Y/N’s eyebrows furrow before she shrugs, nodding before closing her book. “That’s okay, I was getting tired anyway. I might pop back to my flat for a nap.” 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Fred asks and his chest feels warm when Y/N meets his face with a smile. 

“Of course, Freddie.” 

She watches Fred leave, her thoughts getting the best of her. She knows for a fact there is no ‘George emergency’- she knows George is with Em probably being sick and in love and she’s sure Fred knows this too. The realisation Fred made an excuse to not spend time with her hits her like a truck, her mind frantically searching for what she could’ve possibly done to upset her best friend. 

“Fuck,” she whispers to herself, the second she realises.

-----

To: Em > if you come home tonight dont mind me being drunk x 

Y/N sends the text as she stands in the kitchen, pouring herself her second glass of wine before it has even hit 6pm. On her way home, she stopped by the liquor store, picked up her favourite wine and decided to drink away the anxieties of upsetting Fred.

From: Em > ill be home. ill pick up chinese on the way. save me some wine!!! x

She smiles down at her phone, knowing Em would always be there without even realising it. She sits down on their couch and turns on the television- old reruns of early 2000s sitcoms playing on almost every channel. 

It’s 20 minutes late when Em turns up. She’s nursing the Chinese food as if it’s a child as she tries to unlock the front door without dropping the food or her bottle of wine. She smiles proudly at Y/N the second she gets in, putting the food on the table before she grabs her own wine glass. 

“What happened today?” 

Y/N is caught off guard but she shouldn’t be shocked. She doesn’t usually drink and when she does, it’s very rarely without Em. “Nothing’s wrong!” she says, skulling the rest of her wine when Em gives her a knowing look.

“You were with Fred today and now you’re sad drinking. What happened?” Usually, she loves when Em is her all-knowing best friend, but right now she wishes she’d shut up. 

“Nothing happened!” She’s adamant to not say too much. She knows it’s probably all in her head, that she and Fred will be fine in a few days but when Em gives her one more knowing look, she breaks. “Okay, fine. I think I upset him today.” 

Em’s confused, to say the least. Fred, for as long as she has known him, has never been upset with Y/N- even on accident. She has the tall redhead wrapped around her finger. “How?” she questions, because she truly can’t think of a single thing that Y/N could do to hurt him. 

Em places Y/N’s food in front of her when she starts speaking. “We were talking about Tinder- don’t give me that look he saw a notification and it came up and he asked why I had it. I said I don’t know and when I asked him, he said he uses it for sex,” Y/N says softly, pouring herself another glass of wine before continuing. “I didn’t say anything when he said that, because… Well… You know why.” 

Em does know. She knew the second she became Y/N’s roommate their first year of University that she had feelings for Fred and she knew immediately Fred liked her too but Y/N’s never believed her. “You think he got upset you didn’t say anything about sex?” 

“I think he thinks I was being judgemental.” Em sighs at Y/N’s response. She loves both her best friends- they’re her favourite people besides George but she knows they can be idiots. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the forks against their Chinese containers before Em grab’s Y/N’s phone, unlocking it.

“Well if Fred’s using Tinder for sex, so should you!” she says matter-of-factly and when Y/N groans from the kitchen sink, Em speaks again. “It’s true! He likes you but won’t tell you, you like him but won’t tell anyone! Who’s a good meaningless shag going to hurt?” 

That’s how they end up in Em’s bed, cuddling under the duvet with ice cream and Y/N’s Tinder profile open on her phone. “You’re so fucking picky, holy shit,” Em says when Y/N scrunches her nose up at the sixth consecutive guy. “It’s a shag, not a hand in marriage, love.”

“They don’t do it for me!” Y/N is avoiding the elephant in the room- that she’s comparing every guy that pops up to Fred. “I have to be attracted to them for this meaningless shag you’re preaching about… See, he’s cute!” His name’s Cormac, he’s 21 so only a few years younger than Y/N and he’s not bad looking. 

“He looks like a douchebag!” Em exclaims and Y/N groans. 

“You told me to stop being picky!” 

“Stop being picky doesn’t mean saying yes to the first conventionally attractive guy we see!” Em exclaims as she swipes left on poor Cormac. Y/N gets up to pour herself and Em one more glass of wine each and she hears Em starting giggling to herself when the new profile shows up, hiding the phone from Y/N’s eyes when she walks over. Without even questioning Y/N, Em swipes right and immediately she starts howling laughing. 

‘New Match!’ the screen reads and Y/N feels her breath hitch when snatches the phone from Em’s hands and she sees who she matched with.

Fred, 24. 2km away.

“I remembered after dinner, you said he told you to swipe right to see what he did,” Em says proudly, and Y/N regrets even mentioning it to Em offhandedly. Y/N’s eyes are transfixed on the tiny screen. There’s no way he seriously swiped right, she’s sure it’s only a joke- people jokingly match with their friends all the time. “So here you go, Freddie swiped right on my lil Y/N/N.” 

Y/N shakes her head at this. “I’m sure he only did it as a joke. People do that when they find their friends on Tinder all the time!” she says, sitting back down on the bed and cuddling up next to Em. “You were telling me to swipe right on him last night, after all.” 

Em looks at Y/N and sighs, clearly sensing how uncomfortable Y/N is feeling right now from the confrontation of her feelings for Fred. “I was telling you to swipe right because I know you’re in love with him,” she says softly, not missing the way Y/N’s eyes soften at the mention of her feelings for Fred. “I’m sorry if I’d known-”

“Don’t apologise! I’m just going to ignore the fact we matched,” she says softly, unlocking her phone and immediately exiting from Fred’s profile. The tension from a few moments ago quickly dissipates as Y/N receives another match, this time from a boy named Neville who Y/N knows is friends with Fred’s little brother. 

“When did you swipe on Nev?” Em asks and Y/N shrugs. She knows she probably did it to be funny, like what she thinks Fred’s done to her, but the more she thinks about it, Neville isn’t a bad match. He’s nice, friendly and now he’s in his twenties, he isn’t bad looking either.  

“Nev’s sweet. If he asked me out I’d say yes.” She says. She isn’t lying- there’s been times she’s considered going on dates to avoid her feelings for Fred, to get over him once and for all but whenever it gets to that point, she chickens out. “I know you want a meaningless shag, but I think maybe a date would be a good idea. You know?”

Em nods, pulling Y/N closer to cuddle her and suddenly feeling bad about preaching for meaningless sex. “Maybe you’re more of a date before shagging kind of girl, and that’s okay.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

-----

Em’s fast asleep and Y/N’s overthinking next to her when she gets a message from a match. Y/N rolls her eyes when she sees the time reads 2am; knowing whoever's messaging at this time is just looking for a booty call but she opens the notification nonetheless.

From: Fred > i can be a golden retriever boy :) 

She smiles at the message, Fred’s presence always does that to her. She never expected him to message her on tinder considering she’s convinced it was just a joke swipe right, but this is probably just a joking message too. She checks his bio is still the same Aries joke before quickly replying.  

To: Fred > good thing im a big aries fan then ;)  > how tall are you though? im sure youre well aware it matters

She hopes Fred laughs at her messages because making Fred laugh is her favourite pastime. The three dots signalling Fred’s typing pops up and her heart starts to race.

From: Fred

> im 7’5 if its that important :/ 

She giggles and when doesn’t know how to reply after that, she exits out of their messages, but it’s not like she has to keep a conversation with Fred going. She’s trying to think of a funny message to send Fred when she gets another message; this time from Neville.

From: Neville > hi Y/N! i hope this isnt a weird time to message you, i just finished grading some work. i was wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime this week? we were kind of friends at school, after all, and it’ll be nice to catch up :) 

The message from Neville is sweet, and she almost feels guilty reading it. Attached is his number and everything and Y/N feels her throat closing up. She would feel terrible going on a date with Neville despite what she claimed earlier, knowing her heart currently belongs to Fred. 

But Fred’s lack of interest in her is eating at her as much as her own feelings for him do, and she knows she deserves better than to sit around and wait for him any longer. If Em was awake the date would already be confirmed, she knows that much so she decides to say yes to Neville, to at least put herself out there. She can imagine the little Devil version of Em dancing on her shoulder as she begins to type out a reply to Neville.

She doesn’t even think to look at who it’s being sent to before clicking send. But by then it’s too late- she doesn’t even know how she ended up back in Fred’s messages but now she wants to roll up into a ball and die.

To: Fred > hi neville! id love to grab dinner one day, here’s my number and we can organise it tomorrow because im going to bed now! x

She’s staring at the message for so long she doesn’t even notice the ‘???’ she gets back from Fred. She quickly copies and pastes the message to the right recipient this time before plugging in her phone and rolling over to sleep.

Em’s slight snoring lulls her to sleep, thoughts of Fred filling her mind before she passes out for the night. What she doesn’t know is that while she falls asleep, Fred lays awake, staring at his ceiling. Contemplating the knowledge he has knowing Y/N’s potentially organising a date with one of  his little brother’s best friends. 

-----

Fred hates this feeling; this feeling of jealousy in his stomach that’s threatening to spill out of his throat. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about Y/N accidentally messaging him about a date with another person all morning and he knows George is getting annoyed with him. 

“Why are you being such a prat this morning?” George had asked when Fred scowled at his brother for simply standing in the kitchen. Fred had huffed as a reply, grabbing the milk for his tea before sitting down at their table to munch on his toast.

“Not being a prat,” he says, words muffled by the food in his mouth and George gives him a disgusted look before taking a bite of his own toast. “Do you remember Neville Longbottom?” 

George nods, of course, he knows Neville. “Ron’s friend? Super nice bloke. Think him and Hannah Abbott just broke up, why?” 

Fred shrugs, he’s almost positive it’s the same Neville now. “Think Y/N’s going on a date with him, that’s all.” When George raises his eyebrows, Fred speaks again, “Just wanted to make sure she wasn’t going on a date with a prat.”

“Wanted to know who she is going on a date with in general, more like it,” George mutters under his breath. He knows Fred better than he knows anybody, better than he knows his girlfriend and almost better than he knows himself. “You sure you’re not jealous?”

Fred squints at George. “Why would I be jealous?” Fred stands and makes his way to the kitchen to wash up his dishes and he almost drops them in the sink when George speaks again.

“Because you’re in love with Y/N?” He says it so casually Fred almost chokes on air. He’s never thought about himself and Y/N in that way. Sure they like to cuddle when they’re drunk and they spend every waking moment together but he’s not in love with Y/N.

Is he?

“What makes you say that?” Fred asks quietly, hoping to hide the red blush forming on his cheeks. George might be his best friend and twin brother but he knows he would never live it down admitting he has feelings for Y/N. 

“You two are worse than Em and I, and we’re actually dating,” George speaks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When Em first met Y/N, she asked how long you and she had been together for, mate.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Fred says a little too quickly. 

“I’m sure it doesn’t, Freddie,” George smirks as he speaks, getting up to wash his dishes now. Fred stands in the kitchen, nursing his cup of tea as he contemplates George’s words. Sure, he always knew he had some kind of feelings for his best friend, but being in love was another whole ordeal. It means wanting long term commitment, probably a house together, maybe marriage, perhaps kids if Y/N wanted them and the longer Fred sits with these in his mind, he quickly realises he does want all that and even more with Y/N. He’s probably wanted it with her for a while and he just hasn’t ever realised.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, low enough for George not to hear but when Fred doesn’t have a rebuttal to George’s words he knows he’s accidentally sent Fred into an existential crisis. 

“Look, Fred. If Y/N going on a date bothers you, you need to tell her.” George knows he’s about to cross some lines that he promised himself he would never cross but it’s getting dire in his eyes. “Y/N likes you and deep down you know you like her too, even if you’re oblivious. She deserves to know and if you’re too much of a chicken to admit it to her, then you don’t get to be bothered about her going on a date with Neville Longbottom.” 

Fred huffs. He knows George is right, but he can’t help but feel like he truly noticed too late. He swiped right on her on Tinder hoping she would swipe right back and they could go from there. But he knows Y/N only swiped right to see if he had done it first, that she only swiped right out of curiosity and right now, Fred is cursing the app under his breath. 

“Well, fine, yes I like Y/N, but I can’t just stop her from going on a date. That’s controlling and mean.” Fred states and George just sighs. “I’ll talk to her after her date, if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

George stares at him. “Since when are you mister Que sera, sera, Freddie?” Fred shrugs, not understanding the reference George made. “Since when are you just letting it happen?” George translates when he notices the blank stare on Fred’s face.

“Since right now. I don’t want to come off controlling to Y/N.” Fred says. In actuality, even though he knows George would never lie to him, he’s scared. Y/N is his best friend and the last thing he ever wants to do is ruin his closest friendship all because of some jealousy. 

“Okay fine, but if she gets a boyfriend, I’m sorry mate,” George says and he knows putting the threat of losing Y/N romantically on the line is harsh, but it’s what he has to do. He’s watched the pair pine for each other for years and he’s sure this is the last straw. 

“We’re going out with the lads in a few days, by the way! Maybe you can stop moping enough for a shag!” George calls out and Fred flips him the finger as he walks off to his bedroom. 

-----

Y/N and Neville decide on getting dinner together three days later. It’s a Friday so neither of them has to worry about work or coursework the next day, which is perfect. Neville tells Y/N about his favourite Italian restaurant right near Old Street subway station in Shoreditch, so that’s where the pair decide to meet. 

It’s rather busy when Y/N gets to the station. Neville has apologised profusely for still being fifteen minutes away but she reassures him it’s fine and that she’ll meet him outside the station so they can walk to the restaurant together. 

Y/N’s on her phone, texting Em and telling her she’s safe when she feels a presence next to her. She tenses up quickly but she soon relaxes when she looks at the person next to her and realises it’s Fred. 

“Hi,” she says, smiling. She hasn’t seen him since the day in the park, but they’ve texted and called so she’s sure everything is fine. “What are you doing all the way on this side of London?” 

Fred smiles and shoves his hands in his jeans pocket before replying, “Grabbing a drink with the lads tonight, love. What about you?” His tone is casual and Y/N has to stop herself from checking him out. He’s dressed in a nice dress shirt, it’s orange and on anyone else, it would clash with his hair but Fred somehow manages to pull it off. He’s got a black jacket over the top of his shirt, alongside black jeans that show off his long and muscular legs on and his outfit is paired off with a pair of boots on his feet. 

He’s not making it easy to get over him, that’s for sure. 

“I’ve got a date,” she’s shy when she says it, looking away from Fred and then back down at her phone. The time reads 6:47pm and Neville’s train will be getting in any second now. She’s trying to get over Fred and the last thing she needs is Fred lingering when said date turns up. 

“Ah yes, with Neville, if I remember correctly,” Fred’s teasing and Y/N has to force a laugh out. She blocked out the fact she’d accidentally messaged him instead of Neville and was hoping he would forget as well. But this is Fred she was talking about, and Fred never lets up a chance to tease Y/N for something.

“Yeah, Neville Longbottom,” she says and she catches the look of recognition that flashes across Fred’s face. “He was friends with your brother in school.” 

Fred nods in acknowledgement while he can’t decide whether or not he’s happy with the confirmation that he was right. He’s sad and jealous, that much is obvious, but he’s a little happy. Happy that even though Y/N is going on a date with someone who isn’t himself, it’s someone he knows would treat her like she deserves. 

“Neville’s a good guy, I’m happy for you,” he forces out and Y/N smiles up at Fred and he wants to sink into the Earth. The smile on her face is one he wants to be the cause for forever. “I should get going, tell Nev hello for me!”

He pulls Y/N into a quick hug, presses a quick kiss absentmindedly on the top of her head before letting her go and crossing the street and making his way to the bar he’s meeting Lee, George, Harry and Ron at. 

Y/N watches him leave, dumbfounded. The kiss on the top of her head is nothing less than usual; Fred’s always been touchy with her but now it feels weird. All she wants is to call out to Fred and demand the redhead take her on a date instead. 

But before Y/N can do anything drastic, she hears Neville call out her name and she turns around quickly. He’s just as sweet and cute as she remembers and even if she wishes Fred was the boy she was on a date with, Neville is someone she would be friends with above anything. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long!” He says when he reaches her, kissing her cheek as Y/N pulls him into a hug. His presence is comforting and he smells like cinnamon and Y/N feels herself instantly relax.

“Not too long!” She replies as she begins walking towards the restaurant with Neville. During Spring, the cold weather still returns at night so their hands are shoved inside their jacket pockets to keep warm but they’re walking closely together. “I ran into Fred just before, so he kept me company.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Neville says as he grabs the door to the restaurant, “can’t have a pretty girl waiting outside a subway station alone.” Y/N feels her cheeks heat up at his comment. 

They’re quickly seated and wine is ordered. They’ve been placed in a booth right near the window, where they’re able to watch the City of London go by. “How’s teaching going?” Y/N asks when she remembers Neville recently graduated and got an immediate job offer at the Agriculture department at a college in Surrey. 

“It’s going well! I specifically teach the floriculture courses so I love it, of course,” Neville’s smile couldn’t get any wider. Y/N specifically remembers his constant fascination with plants and flowers in school and she couldn’t be happier for him to be doing what he so clearly loves, “What about you?” 

“Being hammered by my postgrad coursework,” she says, laughing and taking a sip of her wine. “My job at the bookstore near my flat doesn’t suck but I definitely don’t work as much as I used to, unfortunately.” Neville raises his glass, almost to say I’ll drink to that when the waiter comes over to take their order.

Dinner goes quickly, conversation flows easily between the two and soon enough the bill arrives and Neville grabs the cheque before Y/N can even say anything. “You can grab it next time.” 

Y/N falters at this. She knows she should say something to Neville; that this has been nice but there won’t be a second date. She’s too caught up in her panic and she’s beginning to curse Fred Weasley under her breath when Neville gently places his hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the restaurant. 

“Are you okay?” Neville asks when they get outside. He noticed the tensed look on Y/N’s face the second they got outside and when she nods and sighs he takes it as a sign to stop walking.

“This has been nice, Nev,” she starts and she feels terrible even though she knows it’s better, to be honest. “But I don’t think I’m-”

“Ready for a relationship?” Neville finishes for her, and he’s not condescending when he says it. He could tell even before dinner was finished that she probably felt that way and he doesn’t mind. “I don’t think I am either. But this was fun, was it not?” 

Y/N nods, smiling as the anxieties of hurting Neville wash away. “It was fun!” she says, “I hope we can do it again. Even as friends?” 

He nods back, a warm smile gracing his cheeks. “Of course.”

They walk back to the station together, promises of seeing each other again soon leaves their mouths as they walk to their respective platforms. 

From: Neville  > thanks for tonight. i forgot to mention, please tell me when you’re home safe!

She smiles down at the text, shooting Neville a reply of reassurance that she will before opening her messages with Em to let her know she’s on her way home. She’s jumping through her apps, Snapchat that she only uses for filters, Facebook she only uses to check the ‘Dogspotting’ group until she lands on Instagram. 

She sees a story from George and when she opens it, she immediately regrets it. It’s their friendship group, that much she expected but she sees a girl sitting next to Fred nursing what looks like a Gin and Tonic and Y/N feels sick. 

She immediately closes the app, pretending she didn’t see it. She has no right to be upset over this but it plagues her thoughts for the entire subway trip home.

That’s when she decides she’s going to demand answers from Fred. She doesn’t know how, or when or if she’ll even do it without Em forcing her to, but she knows she deserves better. That she doesn’t deserve to hang on the end of every touch, every word of Fred’s in hopes he’ll hold her closer than arm's length while she desperately wants more. 

-----

The next night, Fred’s laying on his couch in an uncomfortable position searching Netflix at 10pm when he hears a knock at the front door. He knows it isn’t George, or any member of his family for that matter and any normal person would ring before coming over this late at night. So when Fred gets up and looks through his peephole to ensure he’s not about to be murdered, he’s shocked to see an angry-looking Y/N.  

He opens the door and she’s immediately inside, pushing past Fred’s body and when she turns around, she has the most determined look on her face he’s ever seen. 

“I’m annoyed at you.” Fred’s taken aback, he tries to think back at their interaction the evening before, trying to piece together anything that would annoy Y/N but he’s coming up blank.

“What did I do?” He wearily asks and when Y/N purses her lips together and looks like she’s about to cry Fred has to resist the urge to apologise without knowing what he needs to apologise for.

“I’m annoyed at you because,” she pauses and takes a shaky breath, “I’m annoyed because I went on a date last night. I went on a date with the loveliest man I’ve ever met. And I spent the whole fucking time wishing I was on a date with you. And I’ve spent all of today debating coming over here and telling you that so I drank half of Em’s bottle of wine for some liquid courage and here I fucking am!” 

That’s the last thing Fred was expecting to come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Well, that’s not-” 

“I’m not finished.” She stares at Fred and he immediately shuts up. 

“I’ve been in love with you for years and it’s not fair on me anymore, Freddie.” Her voice is shaking like she needs to get everything out as soon as possible. “I need to know if you feel anything for me, even in the slightest, because if I need to move on, I’m begging you to be honest with me.”��

Fred feels his heartbreak at how sweet, how broken, how defeated Y/N looked standing in front of him right now. He can see the need for an honest answer swimming in Y/N’s eyes and he’s never felt braver to admit his feelings than he does right now.

“I’m an idiot,” Y/N scoffs but lets him continue, “because I didn’t realise how fucking in love with you I am until I almost lost you. I thought…” he pauses, looking for the right words and when his eyes meet Y/N’s, there’s a softness there that wasn’t there previously. “I thought what we had was normal; the cuddling, the constant need to be with each other, the constant subtle touches. But George knocked some sense into me.” Y/N lets out a breath as she laughs, of course, it was George’s doing.

“I’m in love with you, and I think I have been since we were 17. So I’m so fucking sorry, for ever letting you think you meant any less to me, my love.” 

Y/N’s eyes are overflowing with tears at his words and Fred panics for a second before he sees the biggest and most loving smile overtake Y/N’s face. “Fucking hell, you big dummy.” 

She crosses the room, quicker than she’s ever moved before and pulls Fred’s 6’3 frame into her arms. She feels Fred pull her away, only slightly, so he can look down into her eyes and cup her cheek with his hand. His thumb is providing comfort as it strokes across her cheek and wiping away any stray tears. 

She cups the outside of his hand with her own and brings her face to the side to kiss his palm. This is the closest the two have ever been and both their hearts feel like they could beat out of their chests at any moment. It’s the adrenaline from this moment that causes Fred to blurt out his next question, without any hesitation.

“Can I please kiss you before I die?” 

Y/N laughs as she looks up at Fred. She doesn’t even give him an answer, she just pulls the tall boy down before locking their lips together. They’ve both kissed plenty of people, had many first kisses whether it be with first dates or partners but they can both agree this is the best kiss either of them has ever experienced. 

Y/N is pouring everything she can into the kiss, knowing she will never get tired of the taste of caramel that she will forever associate with kissing the love of her life. She presses her lips harder against his, her tongue running along Fred’s chapped lips asking for more before he opens his mouth to massage his tongue with hers. 

Fred decides to be a tease, pulling back slightly before capturing her lips again and biting her bottom lip slightly. This action pulls a moan from Y/N’s throat, soft enough that Fred almost misses it but he can’t help but smirk into the kiss. He wants nothing more than to kiss Y/N for the rest of his life, but eventually, he has to pull away to catch his breath and the whine that leaves Y/N’s mouth might be the cutest sound he’s ever heard in his life. 

“I hope to God you know I’m never letting you kiss anyone else ever again, holy shit,” she says, cheeks flushed red and when she looks at Fred she thinks she’s fallen even further in love with him. His hair’s messy, thanks to her running her hands through it and his lips are slightly swollen. She thinks this might be the most beautiful she’s ever seen Fred in her life and if this is how gorgeous he looks after a few minutes of kissing, she’s secretly anticipating how gorgeous he’s going to look laying in her bed, naked. 

Fred smiles dopily down at her, “Don’t worry darling, I never want to be with someone who isn’t you ever again.”

[faofinn]

21. 'Does This Look Infected To You?'

@sicktember

It wasn’t that Fao had been doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, but he also hadn’t been doing something that he strictly should have been. And of course, it had gone badly. It always went badly when you were pushing the boundaries of what you were meant to be doing. 

Checking out a bar that was doing more than it should, Fao had been having a nice evening when he’d had a knife pulled on him. Of fucking course, because why not? He thought he’d gotten away without getting hit, but right at the last moment one of his attacker’s mates had pulled another knife, and slashed right down his back. Straight across his shoulder blade, and it was murder. 

He’d managed to get himself home, got Ely to patch him up (though she swore at him the entire time, told him he was an idiot and she hated him, and was very pale by the time she’d finished). He looked after it the best he could, but it was deep and it hurt and he couldn’t see it very well. 

It had been getting better, but the past few days it had been worse. Painful, and really hot. But Fao couldn’t see it properly, just because of where it was, and he struggled to give it a thorough clean when he started getting worried about it. He didn’t dare tell Ely, and then she went away for a few days, some anaesthetics conference somewhere. 

In the end, he had to admit defeat, and headed down to see Steve. At least he could give it a proper look at and clean. And Ely wouldn’t be there to tell him off. Hopefully the fact he’d been freezing cold for the past few days, and consistently nauseous was just a coincidence. 

“Steve?” He called. 

Steve appeared out of his office, frowning at Fao. "Afternoon, Faolan. Everything okay?"

“Faolan?” Fao echoed. “Oddly formal, Fao’s fine. Can you take a look at something for me?”

"What have you done this time?"

“I got this cut the other day, it’s just gotten more and more sore over the past couple of days, I’ve felt a bit run down with it too.” He said. “Take a look for me?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. "How deep of a cut?"

“Ely threw a few stitches in it for me.”

"For fucks sake, Fao." He rested his head against the doorframe, his jaw clenching. "Go sit down."

“It’s Fao now, is it?” He shot back, perching on the edge of the bed. 

"What would you rather?" Steve asked, rummaging in the drawers. "Idiot?"

“Fao is fine.” He retorted, and pulled his shirt off over his head. “What do you think? Does this look infected to you? I can’t see it properly.”

Steve took a steadying breath. "What do I think? I think you're even more of an idiot than I thought."

“I’m going to take that as a yes?”

"Yeah, it's a definite yes. Let me get the local, I'll be nice."

“Oh, I get basic human decency do I?” Fao grumbled. “Guess I’ll get comfortable, then.” He settled on his stomach, comfortable so Steve could work. 

"You know the rules. You fuck up, you deal with it."

“I didn’t fuck up! I got it sorted as soon as I got home.”

"I like Ely as much as the next person, but she's not able to deal with this sort of thing. You should know that. Her skills don't lie in the surgical area." 

“When I came back with it, none of you guys were around. She might not be a surgeon but she has enough skills to close a wound. She cleaned it at the time and made sure to take it slow, I told her everything I wanted doing and she did it. What else was I supposed to do?” Fao grumbled. 

"Come to one of us sooner. We can't afford you to get ill."

“Except it was fine.” He said grumpily. “Just fix it and I’ll fuck off out of your hair.”

"Yeah, it really looks fine."

“Yeah, well, I’m here now. Fix it and I’ll leave you in peace.” Fao couldn’t help but snap. If Steve kept on being a dick, he’d end up storming out and trying to get Finn to sort it later.

"Watch your tongue."

Fao sat up, wincing. “Seriously?”

"Lie back down and let me sort it out."

“I will, when you stop acting like a dick to me.”

"You got yourself into this mess, shut up and let me fix it."

Huffing, Fao settled back down on his front, his head resting on his forearms. There was no point getting into an argument with Steve, they’d just both end up frustrated.

"Try stay relaxed, okay? Just going to give you the local."

Fao hummed. “Sure.”

"Sharp scratch."

Fao exhaled, ignoring the sting. He was quiet for a moment, letting Steve finish what he was doing to make sure the whole area was numb. “Have you been busy?”

"Busy enough."

“Anything interesting?”

"Not really. I wasn't meant to be here today."

“Oh? It wasn’t me, was it?”

"No. Not you."

“Good. Didn’t want to have left you in the lurch.”

"I couldn't get any overtime at the hospital either."

“Didn’t fancy a day to yourself? Lie in and that?”

His jaw tensed. "Not today. Can you feel that?"

“Mm, no. All numb.”

"Good. I'm going to start, okay? Let me know if you need a break."

“I’ll be fine. You going to open it an’ clean it?”

"I'm going to have to. It's all infected."

“Alright.” He said softly. “Am I okay like this? Got enough light?”

"You're fine." He said tiredly. "Just stay still."

“Okay, yeah.” He said softly. “Shout if you need me to move.”

"You're fine." He repeated. It wasn't easy work, but he'd done it a thousand times over. He knew he had to focus, and it allowed him to pull his attention to make sure he did it right. 

The more time dragged on, the harder it was to ignore them, ignore the squeal of tyres and the scrape of metal biting against metal. He was grateful as he finished the final few sutures, dropping the instruments into the tray with a clatter. He shoved it on the side and discarded his equipment.

"That's done." Steve said sharply, stalking off and slamming the door behind him. He couldn't breathe, the grief rising to his throat and strangling him. Fao would need antibiotics and fluids, but he just needed five minutes, needed to get back in control; he was no use to anyone like this. 

It had been a painful, awkward silence as Steve worked, the older man clearly not interested in conversation. He was very different to the Steve Fao knew normally, who would have told him off but at least teased him and made jokes as he sorted it out. All he could hear now was just his breathing, and the sound of him working. It didn’t hurt, though, and Fao could just sit through it, letting his mind wander to other things. He’d even managed to doze a little, comfortable on his front. 

Steve dropping his stuff with a clatter brought him back to reality, making him jump. His voice was cold, and he heard him walk away, the door to the office slamming behind him. 

Slowly, Fao sat up, mindful he’d been laying down for ages. Steve hadn’t emerged, as he glanced around the basement, and he frowned. “Steve? Are you alright?” He called, standing up to go and knock gently in the office door. “Is everything okay? Do you want me to leave? I can come back later…”

Steve took a shaky breath to steady himself, clearing his throat before he spoke. "Everything's fine. You need antibiotics."

He pulled the door open, pushing past Fao. "You'll need IV."

Fao frowned, stepping back. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He didn’t even protest the notion of IV, too confused by the way Steve was acting. 

"I've said everything is fine. Do you want to sit on the sofa? Or the bed?"

“Uh, bed?” Then he was a little more out of the way. And maybe he could nap, stop bothering Steve about things. 

"Right. Get yourself settled down."

Fao sat, still very on edge. He was perched on the edge, uncertain. He didn’t want to piss Steve off any more. 

Steve sorted out the antibiotics, as well as some fluids, and signed them out before heading across to Fao. "Arm?"

Fao offered it wordlessly, looking at his lap. 

Steve didn't bother with the usual small talk as he tried to find a vein. The infection certainly wasn't helping, and he struggled more than usual. Eventually, he seemed to have one he thought he'd be able to use, flushed it, and sat back.

“All okay? Sorry they’re so shit.”

"Does it hurt?"

“No, it’s fine. Shoulder’s hurting though.”

"You can take some paracetamol for it."

“Alright, yeah.”

"Do you need something else?" 

“No, no. I’m sure paracetamol will do the job, I’ll take some when you’ve finished with this.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, giving the antibiotics and connecting the fluids. He stood with a quiet huff, grabbing some paracetamol and passing it to Fao. "There."

Fao hummed his thanks, avoiding Steve’s gaze as he took the tablets dry. He wasn’t about to complicate matters by asking for water. 

He glanced over at Fao. "Have you taken them?"

Fao nodded. “Yeah.”

"Really? Couldn't wait for a glass of water?" He muttered to himself, turning away to tidy up. 

“Didn’t want to bother you for one.” He said simply. “Less work for you.”

"Until you choke."

“I’m careful, don’t worry about it.” He said. “Besides, if I choked it’d be less work for you overall.”

"Might as well just leave you to it."

“Exactly.” Fao muttered, swinging his legs up onto the bed. He was too sore to lay on his back, so he settled on his side (he’d get tangled in his IV on his front) and closed his eyes. 

Steve let him sleep. He didn't have the energy to continue with Fao. He also didn't trust him not to do anything stupid, so that meant he had to stay in the basement too. 

It was a distraction, whether good or not didn’t matter, not really. But the longer he worked in silence clearing and cleaning up, the more his head caught up with him. Distracted, he sent his coffee mugclattering to the floor, where it shattered into pieces. He swore loudly, the pile of folders he'd just dumped on the side toppling to the floor too. He yelled in frustration, and swiped the rest of the bench clear before dropping his head to his hands.

Fao startled at the ruckus, quickly sitting upright, his heart pounding. A little disoriented, he half expected to see his uncle throwing things across the room, but quickly realised it was Steve. 

He didn’t want that anger turning back on him, and so he settled back down, eyes closed. If Steve thought he was still asleep, he couldn’t be mad at him. 

It wasn’t long before Fred appeared in the doorway, having heard the noise from his office. 

“What the fuck is going on down here?” He exclaimed as he walked in, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Steve. His voice immediately softened, and he crossed the room to the other man. “Steve? What are you still doing here? I thought I’d sent you home.”

Steve turned, hand pressed to his lips and tears in his eyes. "I couldn't."

“You’re just as daft as the boys.” He said fondly. “I don’t expect you to be working, today of all days. You were supposed to take today to look after yourself.”

"I had to do something. I couldn't go back." He admitted quietly.

Fred reached out to squeeze his arm. “You need rest.”

"I can't."

“I know you want to stay busy, but they wouldn’t want you working yourself to the bone.” Fred said gently, his voice low. “At least come upstairs and be with us?”

"Fao needs someone to keep an eye on him."

Fred finally noticed Fao, curled up on one of the beds, looking asleep. “Ah. Can’t he come up too?”

"He'll need to be back down for some more antibiotics. And I need to clean all this up." 

“Let me help.” Fred offered, crouching to start to clear the floor. 

Steve stuck his arm out. "No, don't. It's my fault."

“That doesn't matter, I'll help you.”

"Fred, please. Just let me finish up. I'll come up later, bring Fao up too."

“Let me help you out, though.”

"No." He pushed Fred's hands away. "I've said no."

“Come on, don’t be so stubborn.”

"I'm not." He said sharply. 

“Steve…”

"So I can't do anything now? I can’t come to work, can't tidy up this crap?" He turned away, shoving things roughly onto the bench, and muttered under his breath.  "Can't fucking save them."

“Hey, hey. Nobody is saying you can’t do things. I told you not to come in because I thought you needed time for yourself. I’m trying to help you tidy up, not say you can’t tidy up.”

"Whatever."

Fred sighed. “What would they say about you being so stubborn, hmm?"

Steve didn't move. He hadn't expected Fred to bring them into it again. He turned away, heading into the office and shutting the door sharply.  

Rolling his eyes, Fred set about finishing clearing things up. He threw what remained of Steve’s coffee mug away, and cleaned the floor. He didn’t know how best to rearrange the bench; the basement wasn’t his domain, after all, and so he left it. 

He’d not seen Fao jump inches when the door slammed, and instead headed out of the room. He’d tried his best and he’d not managed to get through to him. He’d try again later, give him his space for now. 

Meanwhile, Fao hadn’t slept at all, overhearing the whole conversation. It dawned on him then that Steve wasn’t being a dick for no reason. Everyone knew he was with Fred because he’d lost his family, and Fao realised it was more than likely an anniversary of some description.  That explained why he was a bit touchy, why he’d been so upset with Fao. 

Fao felt bad. He’d caused fuss for Steve when he’d obviously just wanted to be on his own. But he couldn’t go anywhere now, he still had fluids running. He wanted to apologise, but he’d wait until he emerged from the office, rather than seek him out. 

Steve had locked himself in the office and slid down the door, head in his hands and wood hard against his back. He'd tried so hard to keep it all together, but it hadn't worked. It never did. The sobs weren't unsurprising, but unwelcome, and he did his best to stay quiet. He'd made enough noise for Fao already, and it wouldn't be fair on him - he knew he'd been short with him too. 

Fao didn’t hear anything at first, the basement oddly quiet after the shouting and slamming doors. But soon enough he was sure he could hear crying. Oh, Steve. 

It broke his heart to hear him like that, and Fao drew himself up to sitting. He was torn, didn’t know whether to go to him or leave him. He wanted his peace, probably. He didn’t want to be seen crying, and he doubted he wanted Fao when he’d been the source of his frustration. 

Eventually, Steve emerged, his eyes red despite his efforts to hide his tears. He glanced over at Fao, a flare of embarrassment as he saw he was awake. He swallowed thickly. 

"Your fluids are pretty much done. You can go back upstairs."

“Oh, thanks.” Fao murmured, not looking at him. “Do I need to keep the cannula?”

"Yeah, I'll wrap it for you."

“Thank you.” He murmured, offering Steve his arm. 

He worked quickly, making sure the cannula was tucked away and not likely to be pulled or caught. "There, it's done."

Fao stood up, turned to leave and then paused. “Steve?”

"What?"

Fao wrapped his arms around Steve, pulling him close. “Thank you. For everything.”

Steve tensed, suddenly choked up. He returned the hug, careful of Fao's injury. "Thank you Fao."

Fao sighed happily, glad Steve had returned his hug. “I know today’s a shit day an’ all… but you’re family to us, too.”

He squeezed his eyes shut to stop his tears, holding Fao tight. That meant more to him than the kid would ever know, and he knew he didn't deserve them.

[vannahfanfics]

A Storybook Romance

Word Count: 5800

Drama, Romance, Hurt and Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: Lucy and Gray take a mission to resolve a curse on a storybook, a copy of The Little Mermaid. However, they are sucked into the book! To escape, Gray and Lucy must progress the story. But the story is changing, and it is looking more and more like Lucy is going to have to suffer the mermaid's fate... but Gray won't let that happen.

Vannah’s Vibes: “The Little Mermaid” by Megurine Luka

Lucy blew air through her lips in irritation, making them flap loudly. She was draped over one of the guild tables, bored and miserable. It seemed she’d been left behind after an influx of missions. Natsu and Happy had teamed up with Lisanna and Elfman to hunt a strange beast that had been stalking the woods outside a small village a few miles north. Erza had taken a job at a cake shop and had dragged Wendy and Carla with her, determined to obtain some succulent strawberry shortcake. Thus, Lucy’s normal team had been flung to the winds, leaving her to mope around the guildhall and try to find a job that she could wrestle on her own. Of course, she’d grown powerful in her time at the guild, but it still was difficult—and significantly less fun—taking on a job by herself. 

She rolled her head over the wood table, staring across the guildhall at the bulletin board containing all the available missions. As she debated dragging herself to her feet to trudge over there, the floor creaked beside her and she turned to see Gray standing there. 

“Hey, Lucy. Thinking about taking a mission?” he asked. With a small sigh, Lucy pushed herself up, her cheeks puffed out as she pouted. 

“Yeah. Everyone up and left me behind! I’ll have to find something easy…” 

“Well, why not team up with me?” he suggested. “Juvia went out with Gajeel and Levy, so that leaves just you and me of our regular partners. I’d be willing to tag along. I’m losing my mind just sitting here.” Lucy perked up at his proposition and found herself nodding without thinking about it much. She’d team up with anybody rather than have to complete a mission alone, and besides, Gray was both familiar and capable. She rose from the table and together they walked across the guildhall to inspect the board. They’d only debated a couple of the posted jobs before Mirajane called out to her. They both turned to see her trotting up, waving a piece of paper above her head. 

“Hey, Lucy! I have a job I think you might like!” the white-haired woman called. She set the paper down in front of Lucy, who picked it up to inspect it—and she had to admit, it did pique her interest. 

“A cursed book, huh?” she hummed thoughtfully. The owner of the famous fairy tale novel The Little Mermaid was petitioning the guild to rid the book of a curse, which had been placed by a disgruntled ex-friend of theirs. Apparently, the owner was planning to give the book to their child for their birthday, but obviously couldn’t with the curse attached; all their efforts to remove the curse had failed, and time was running out, so they’d reached out to professionals. “I like it! Thanks, Mirajane. Wanna go take care of a cursed book, Gray?” 

“Sounds better than just sitting around here,” he shrugged, so Lucy took that as a “yes.” With the job description in hand, they headed off to what hopefully was a straightforward job. 

They arrived at the book owner’s house and announced themselves, finding a young woman who looked admittedly badgered. Dark rings sagged under her eyes and her brown hair was in a disarrayed bun atop her head; she looked downright miserable as she gazed at the book sitting on the coffee table between them. 

“I’ve tried everything,” she lamented. “This is a limited-edition illustrated version of the story, and my daughter wanted it so badly for her birthday… I would hate not being able to give it to her because of that spiteful bitch’s curse!” 

“Not to worry, ma’am,” Lucy said with a placating raise of her hands, watching the woman’s mood turn more sour by the minute. “We’re here to help! We’ll take care of the curse, no problem, and make sure your daughter has an excellent birthday.” 

At Lucy’s assurances, the woman sagged back into her couch with a deep sigh. Lucy then looked down at the book, which, by all appearances, looked completely ordinary. 

I don’t see any runes, she thought as she ran her finger over the glossy hardcover, where a dramatic painted rendition of the mermaid pranced under the waves. Cautiously, she lifted the cover to peer at the blank pages, eyes scanning for any strange markings. Suddenly, with a life of its own, the book sprung open and a strange light began to glow from within the crease. She and Gray could only exclaim in alarm as the light burst forth and enveloped them. Surrounded by whiteness, Lucy instinctively grabbed Gray’s hand and squeezed it tight, and then she had the sensation of falling… 

Bubbles exploded in her vision as she opened her eyes. They swirled all around her, threaded in her tresses of golden hair and kissed her face. Beyond the curtain of little clear spheres, an endless expanse of blue stretched all around her; far above her head, beams of light filtered down to cast her in a white glow. She was underwater!

She felt something tug on her hand, and she turned to realize that she was still clutching Gray’s. He writhed in the water, clutching at his throat as he struggled to breathe. Oh, no, he’s drowning! She realized, but as she swam toward him, she had the oddest sensation in her legs. She looked back to see that she didn’t have legs; where they should have been, there was a ginormous golden tail with wispy yellow fins gliding through the water. 

She exclaimed in shock, but rather than choking on the water, her voice actually carried through the liquid. She was a mermaid!

Gray released a stream of bubbles from his mouth with a muffled scream. She didn’t have time to worry about her strange transformation right now. Grunting, she looped her arms underneath Gray’s armpits, resting his back against her chest so she could swim toward the surface as fast as she could. Her tail churned in the water, propelling her powerfully like a torpedo, so their heads broke the surface in a matter of seconds. Gray coughed and spluttered in between greedily sucking down air, and Lucy pushed his sodden hair from his eyes while she held him. 

“Agh… Ack… Ugh… Lucy, where are we?” he managed through hoarse coughs. She looked around to see a writhing sea, with thunderclouds just dissipating several miles away. She was a mermaid, and they were stranded in the middle of a sea that had just witnessed a storm… 

“I think we’re in the storybook!” she realized, and Gray looked at her in shock. She used her buoyant body to support him as she thought out their situation. “The curse must have drawn us into the book and changed us into the main characters— so if I’m the mermaid, you must be the prince, Gray.” 

“Ya don’t say?” he said, looking down to discover that his outfit had changed. He was now wearing a sailor’s uniform, snug-fitting. The white fabric was soaked, revealing the planes of his muscles. It would be sexy, if Lucy hadn’t seen him bare-chested more times than she could count. “All right, then, how do we get out of this?” 

“Well, I’m familiar with these types of curses,” she said. “We have to complete the story in order to break the curse. The woman who cast it really was a bitch!” she huffed as an afterthought, and Gray laughed. Still, there was nothing for it— this was their mission, and somehow or another, they had to complete it. Given that it was their only option as well as the method of advancing the story, Lucy paddled Gray to shore. 

Still coughing a little, Gray crawled out of the surf and immediately rolled over to collapse on his back. Lucy rested on some rocks in the shallows, flicking her tail as she watched him just lay there, breathing in and out as he recovered. While they waited for the next part of the story to happen, Gray turned his head to squint at her. 

“Hey, Lucy… In the original story… Doesn’t the mermaid, you know…” He swallowed thickly, and then added in a whisper, “die?” 

Before she could answer, shouts rose up on the beach. They both looked to see royal attendants hurrying over the sand shouting, “The Prince! There’s the Prince!” Not wishing to be seen, Lucy dove down into the waves, but once she was safe in the murk of the ocean, she poked her head above the water with sad eyes. While his attendants fluttered around him like mother hens, Gray was desperately searching the horizon for her, concern etched into his face. With a small, mournful croon, Lucy sank back below the waves. 

Yes, the mermaid did die in the original story. So, what was going to happen to Lucy if they played out this storyline? Lucy was beginning to wonder if there was more to this cursed book than a spiteful friend, but unable to do anything about it, she just followed her internal compass into the sea. 

Down, down, down into the depths she swam until she arrived at a magnificent palace constructed of coral and rock. Lucy breathed in awe as she swam through coral-encrusted arches and seagrass gardens, over steps hewn from stone adorned with shells, and through a grand throne room where luminescent jellyfish clustered at the ceiling, bathing the room in light. She allowed the story’s guiding force to lead her down into a room, where an elderly mermaid sat sewing an ornate belt from pearls and kelp. 

“What bothers you so, my dear?” the old mermaid said when Lucy swam in, her white hair drifting around her face in the water currents. “You have such a sad expression.” 

It took Lucy a second to recall the conversation at this point in the story, but when she did, she drifted over to lay her head on the older woman’s lap, looking forlorn. 

“Grandmother, do humans live forever?” 

“Yes and no,” she replied, smiling while she continued to work on the belt. “Mermaids live for three hundred years, but humans have a lifespan of less than a third of that. However, unlike mermaids, who when they die turn into seafoam and cease to exist, humans possess an eternal soul that passes into Heaven when they perish. Why do you ask, my child?” 

“I was just curious,” she responded, rolling over to nonchalantly stretch her arms above her head, but truthfully, the information perturbed her. It would be problematic if Lucy died in the story regardless, but if she did as a mermaid, would she turn into seafoam and cease to exist? It was a scary thought, and it made her heart thump in her chest. 

I have to get to Gray as soon as possible, she thought, bidding the grandmother character farewell and swimming on, heading to find the fabled sea witch. This story was rapidly turning scary, and she didn’t want to face it without him. 

As if mirroring her internal turmoil, the sea grew darker and darker around her. With no light from the surface able to pierce this deep, the only luminescence was provided by the strange creatures drifting through the gloomy trench and the glowing coral-like structures clustering the walls. As Lucy approached them, she could sense they were imbued with some sort of magic— was this the sea witch’s doing? She looked down into the deep, and was barely able to discern an opening in the sheer rock face before her. 

Squid flitted away from her as she swam slowly into the cave. Shuddering from the cold, she ran her hands up and down her arms, feeling the goosebumps rise while she drifted into the gloom. After what seemed like forever in the gloomy tunnel, she came to a large, spherical room shining with the glowing coral, and someone hovering over a bubbling cauldron while singing a tune in a language she couldn’t understand. 

“The daughter of the sea king?” the sea witch asked, turning a pair of bright purple eyes upon her. Her tail was not a tail at all, but rather the twelve tentacles of a lavender squid. She swam around the edge of the cauldron, two of her sucker-lined tentacles sliding over its rim to flick a few bubbles back into the pot. “What an honorable guess. Why have you come, my child?” 

In every rendition of the story, the sea witch was cunning and sly, always wishing to manipulate every situation for her own gain. Lucy knew this, but unfortunately, she had to commit to the curse to advance the story and reunite with Gray. 

“I wish to become human,” she answered, swimming slowly up to the witch. The sea witch purred, eyes narrowing into pleased slits before she began swimming around the room to grab various ingredients. 

“Human? I have such a spell, but be warned—magic has a price,” she said, swimming over to a large piece of rock fashioned into a makeshift table. With her back to Lucy, she began preparing the various ingredients into a potion. “I can give you legs, but you must give me something in return—something you value immensely,” she said, looking over her shoulder with glinting eyes. “I hear you are the most beautiful singer of all the Sea King’s daughters…” 

Sensing what she was leading into as well as recalling the story, Lucy replied, “Then you may take my voice.” 

“What hope do you have to woo a human man with no voice?” she laughed, and Lucy gasped. “That’s right, girl,” she purred as she swam back to her holding a glass of bubbling blue liquid. “Do you think I don’t know? I see much more than you know.” She waved the glass in front of Lucy’s face, watching with amusement as she swallowed thickly in apprehension. “Do not think you’re the first to desire what a human has—a soul.” She said with eyes that glittered with cold amusement. “You have until the dawn of the third day. If you fail to make the human man yours...” 

“I understand,” Lucy nodded solemnly before she could finish and then took the glass. She peered at the strange bubbling liquid, then gulped nervously. I have to do this to find Gray… I'm sure that between us we can figure out a way to break this curse and go home! With that in mind, she closed her eyes and drank the potion before she could change her mind. 

It didn’t taste terrible like she expected; it went down her throat easy, reminding her of crisp, clean freshwater. However, as soon as it met her stomach, her entire body pulsed. She dropped the glass with a gasp, hands flying to her chest. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as the strange magic coursed through her veins and arteries down into her very cells. As she went to scream, no sound came out—instead, a strange golden orb floated up out of her throat, which the sea witch captured within a clamshell. 

“Take her to the surface,” she ordered, and two sharks swam up from the deep. As Lucy writhed, light swirling around her golden tail, the two large fish abutted her so she could grab onto their triangular-shaped fins. They spirited her out of the cave, swimming swiftly for the surface as Lucy thrashed between them. It was painful, the feeling of the scales breaking off her tail as it split in two, and she threw her head back with a howl. Water flooded into her mouth, but with no gills to expel it, she could only choke and gag on the salty liquid. 

The sharks broke the surface with her, and she hacked and coughed up the seawater she’d nearly swallowed. She leaned heavily on their sandpapery bodies while they swam as close to shore as they could without beaching themselves, leaving her to half-swim, half-crawl her way to the shadows. She collapsed as soon as her hands met the sand, half-in and half-out of the water. The naked skin of her legs burned with the new sensations, the water crashing over her legs and the sand squishing under her thighs. 

“Lucy!” 

She could see through the foamy water swirling in front of her nose that Gray was bounding down the beach. She reached out for him, but with no strength left, her hand only flopped uselessly into the sand. He picked it up when he fell to his knees beside her, then ripped off his white cape to bundle her naked body into it. When he brushed his hand over her leg, she let out a silent scream, and he hurriedly retracted. 

“Lucy,” he sighed softly as she settled into his arms, head flopping back and chest heaving. He brushed her hair away from her face while she looked at him with tired eyes. “I’ve been looking for you every day…” he murmured, casting his gaze down her entire form. “I was hoping you wouldn’t commit to the curse…” As he looked back up at her, her consciousness was fading. She could hear voices in the background, but Gray ignored them, leaning down to press his forehead to hers.

“I won’t let you die. Not in this story or any other,” he whispered as everything faded into darkness. 

The first thing Lucy became aware of was the ocean. The gentle ebb and flow of the waves rang in her ears like the sweet morning bells, rhythmic crashing in the near distance that filled Lucy with a sense of ease. She gradually realized that she was dressed in a silk nightgown and laying beneath soft cotton sheets, and when she opened her eyes, she was greeted with the bright light of the sun. She slowly sat up and drew in a breath, immediately wincing with the way her throat stung from the salt that had scratched it the previous day. She ran her hand over the front of her neck, feeling the muscles contract when she tried to speak, but no sound came out. All of this is really happening, she realized with a sigh. I’m trapped in a storybook…

“Lucy!” 

Gray burst into the room with a cry of her name, followed by an unamused royal attendant. Gray immediately sat down on the bed beside her, cradling her face in his hands and pushing her sleep-tousled hair out of her face. “Are you all right?” 

Lucy gave him a smile and a nod, but his mouth turned down into a frown. His hand dropped to where hers still laid against the front of her throat. 

“Prince, I understand that you are grateful for this young woman for rescuing you from the storm, but I do not believe your wife-to-be would appreciate you being late for breakfast in favor of consorting with another woman,” the attendant droned, glaring at Gray from the doorway. Gray whipped around with a glare and clenched teeth. 

“I already told you, I ain’t marryin’ that snake!” Gray snapped before looking back to Lucy, whose eyes were knitted in concern. 

“Something’s wrong… The witch is here,” he whispered. Lucy’s eyebrows shot up to her forehead. That shouldn’t be possible! In the original version of the story, the prince was engaged to a princess of another kingdom already and would not fall in love with the mermaid. The sea witch shouldn’t play any further role than she already had! “She’s got a necklace with your voice, and she used it to bewitch the king to agree to marry us! I’m not sure what’s happening, but the story is changing.” 

Lucy thought back to her interaction with the sea witch. In the original story, the only thing that would happen to the mermaid if she failed was that she would return to being a mermaid. Could her fate in this story be different?

“I confronted the witch, and she said that if the curse isn’t broken, you’ll die and turn to seafoam, Lucy!” 

Though she couldn’t gasp, Lucy’s mouth still fell open in shock. What were they going to do? In the original story, the mermaid had to get the human man to fall in love with her so she could obtain a soul. But this was Gray! And if the curse was different now, what were the qualifications for breaking it? 

The attendant marched up to Gray to grab him by the arm and pull him off the bed. 

“My prince, we have many preparations to make for your wedding tomorrow morning. Come now, the young mistress will be taken care of and will see you this afternoon for lunch.” 

Despite Gray’s very vehement protests, he was dragged away. Lucy just sat in the bed amongst the fluffy pillows and fine silks, completely at a loss with what to do. Overwhelmed by apprehension and fear, she buried her face in her hands, letting a few tears slip out of her eyes. What were they going to do? Was Lucy doomed to die in this storybook? Was Gray going to be trapped within it forever?

No, Lucy refused, steeling her nerves and wiping her tears away with the heels of her palms. I can’t give up! No matter what, we have to break this curse and escape the book! 

However, this was easier said than done. With so many uncertainties, Lucy’s mind could only spin uselessly around in circles. The day came and went, leaving Lucy still ruminating on their predicament. She sat on the little bench in front of the large, arch-shaped window in her room, looking at the moon and stars gleaming beyond the panes of glass. Her hand rose to the column of her throat; it didn’t feel any different, but when she opened her mouth, she could produce no sound. It was a strange and scary feeling. 

Still… Even being trapped in this askew story with not even a voice, Lucy still found herself calming as she gazed at the stars. They had always reminded her of her celestial spirits and the bond she shared with them. She could not call out to them trapped within this storybook, but she knew that they were with her nonetheless, and if push came to shove, they would find their way to her. She could never be truly alone. 

Lucy nearly jumped out her skin when her bedroom door slammed open. She whirled around to see Gray running across the room. He snatched her by the wrist and all but yanked her off the small seat, making her stumble forth. Though she was voiceless, she still had air in her lungs to gasp. 

“Lucy! Come with me!” he said breathlessly. His face shone pink in the low light, like he’d run all the way across the castle. When she looked at him in perplexion, he just insisted, “There’s no time to explain. Just come with me!” 

She really didn’t have much choice, as he just dragged her out of the room. She stumbled clumsily after him, barefoot and in her nightgown; Gray was still in his trousers and balloony white shirt from earlier in the day. They looked like two young lovers fleeing in the night. The thought made her heart leap up into her throat and pound, pound, pound against her useless voicebox. 

In a flurry, he spirited her out of the castle and into the spacious gardens spanning the front of the castle grounds. The emerald leaves of the neatly-trimmed hedges glowed with a silver sheen in the moonlight; the stone pathway seemed to soak up the light, too, to gleam pristine white. It felt like they were running on a path made of the stars themselves as Gray led her through the twisting and turning trails between hedges, trees, and flowerbeds. Finally, they arrived at the west side of the garden which faced the sea; as Lucy pulled her hand away from Gray’s to hold it to her chest while trying to catch her breath, she saw the gilded white arch interwoven with white lilies and green ivy standing against the backdrop of the glittering midnight sea. 

The wedding altar, she realized, spinning on her feet. Two rows of white benches sat in the grass on either side of the pathway, the white ribbons affixed to their surfaces swaying in the breeze rolling in from the ocean. She looked at Gray in utter bewilderment, and he stepped up to her to take her hand again. 

“Lucy… No matter what, I won’t let the witch get away with this.” He gave her hand a tight squeeze, and when she looked into his eyes, they shone midnight blue like the ocean stretching out on the horizon. “I don’t know why the story is changing… I don’t know what this curse is really all about… But I do know that I can save you. So that’s what I’m going to do.” 

He fished something out of his pocket and held it out to her. Lucy sucked in a breath when her eyes fell to the gleaming diamond ring sitting in the middle of his palm. She quickly looked back up to him, her eyes filling with tears on reflex. Gray smiled softly, then used his free hand to gently take her left one. 

“Lucy, let’s rewrite this story. If I marry you, then the witch’s plans don’t matter. We’ll let this story be what we make it… Even if we end up trapped here forever.” He slipped the diamond ring onto her left ring finger. It was cold against her skin, but in a refreshing way; heavy, weighted with the sincerity of Gray’s conviction. He stepped closer to her again, now cupping her cheek. 

“Lucy Heartfilia… I, Gray Fullbuster, take you to be my wife—” he started in a gentle whisper. One would think that Lucy would be opposed to this, that she would be screaming No, it’s all too fast, but she just… didn’t. Something about this felt so right that she couldn’t find it within herself to be opposed at all, and so she just stared into Gray’s eyes, her tears of joy and amazement glittering on her lashes as they caught the starlight. “—to have and to hold, from this day forward. For better or worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.” 

Oh, how she wanted to repeat the vows. And it had nothing to do with escaping this cursed book. 

Lucy couldn’t speak the vows like she so desperately wished. Instead, she leaned her face into her touch and gazed at him with dewy eyes. She didn’t need to speak for him to understand her. He smiled warmly, and, without pulling his gaze from hers, gently slipped the gleaming diamond ring onto the ring finger of her left hand. 

“You may now kiss the bride.” Gray’s voice was husky with emotion; it sent a shiver running down her spine. Ever since they had fallen into this story, everything had been so confusing. There was just one certainty, surfacing like a rock as the tide rushed away. 

Lucy loved Gray. She’s loved him for a long time now, even if she didn’t realize it. And that’s why she was already leaning forward to kiss him even before he spoke. And that’s why, when their lips finally met, it was like she was coming home. Soft as silk against her lips, his mouth melded with hers—like they were two pieces of a puzzle finally snapping into place. It felt so good that she dizzily wondered why they hadn’t been doing this for a while—his lips like honey on her own, his hand moving from her cheek to the back of her head to hold her steady, their chests pushing against one another’s with every breath. 

“Lucy…” he breathed when they finally pulled apart. Lucy knew that she couldn’t say his name, but she tried anyway, her mind stilled cottony from the satisfying kiss. 

“Gray…” 

Their eyes both widened at the same time. 

“Lucy—you spoke!” he exclaimed just as she gasped, “I spoke?!” 

As she clutched onto him, hands planted on the curves of his biceps, the diamond ring gleamed almost unnaturally in the moonlight. Wait, no—it was glowing! A bright white light began to shimmer in the depths of the gem, growing bigger with each passing millisecond. It blossomed brilliantly, slowly enveloping them in its cool shimmering sheen until it swallowed them whole. 

The light faded, and suddenly they were back in the client’s living room. The woman screamed from where she was curled up in a ball on the couch. 

“You were—!” she spluttered, pointing at the book. “But you—then you—ohhhhh, dear…” As she groaned, she buried her face into her hands. Lucy didn’t know quite how, but they had apparently broken the curse and were back home. She went to look at Gray with joy, but then realized they were still clutching on to one another, their faces mere centimeters apart. 

Lucy jerked away from him and loudly cleared her throat. 

“Ah-ahem! It appears that we have solved your problem,” she said to the client, trying not to look as awkward as she felt. She couldn’t think about what just happened right now—even though it was insane. There were more pressing matters to attend to. As the woman slowly uncurled herself, Lucy sat down on the edge of the sofa beside her. “Ma’am, are you sure that this curse was placed by an ex-friend of your daughter’s?” 

The woman looked at her owlishly. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and then she nervously stammered, “W-well, I’m not exactly sure. I never actually saw her do anything, and she hasn’t even been around here. But she was the one who told me that the book was cursed. Now that I think of it, though… I was so mad at the time that I didn’t even notice, but she didn’t seem to be gloating about it. In fact, she seemed worried.” 

“Has anyone else handled this book that you are aware of?” 

“N-No… Although… My ex-husband was here not too long ago. I stepped away for just a moment to collect some of his things that I’d missed, and he was coming out of my bedroom where the book was.” Both she and Lucy came to a startling revelation at the same time. The woman shot up like a rod, her eyes huge, and cried, “ That girl… Her parents are his neighbors! That’s how she was friends with my daughter! You think she actually overheard that he cursed it?!” 

“I think he may have,” Lucy nodded. She glanced at Gray, who was just watching the entire exchange with his arms crossed. “It was a very complex curse. In fact, if Gray hadn’t been transported into the book with me, I very well would have died.” 

The woman buried her face into her hands with a mournful sob. 

“I should have known… Our divorce was very messy… I got custody of our daughter, but he is so resentful for that. I want to have a good relationship for our daughter’s sake, but he… he…” she trailed off as she began to weep. 

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Gray said, stepping forward. “We will report this to the proper authorities, and until the matter is resolved, we will make sure a Fairy Tail member is stationed here to ensure you and your daughter’s safety.” 

They stayed with the woman for a while until the local authorities had arrived. Lucy made sure to check and re-check the book to ensure that it was curse-free and no harm could come to the little girl. After she was satisfied, she and Gray set out back for Fairy Tail. 

It wasn’t until she was halfway there that she realized the diamond ring was still on her finger. 

“What the—?” she cried, stopping in the middle of walking. Gray turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow, which traveled further up his forehead when she showed him the ring. 

“Well, whadaya know.” The smirk dancing over his lips was downright devilish. Heat rushed to Lucy’s cheeks, only growing hotter when he stepped close to her. He stared down at the ring, the light refracting off its surface dancing in his deep blue eyes. “Looks like I’ve got myself a little wife.” 

“Wh-what?!” she sputtered. “Gray, come on—that was just pretend!” 

“Was it?” His eyes shot up to meet hers, and it was like an electric current zapped out of them, making her entire body go rigid. “Come on, Lucy, you aren’t stupid. You know how that curse got broken.” He stepped closer again, close enough for his breath to ghost over her lips as he brought his close. “True love’s kiss, right?”

A hard lump formed in Lucy’s throat, and though she tried to swallow it, she couldn’t; it just bobbed in her throat, thick and suffocating. Gray continued to smirk, flashing his teeth in the moonlight, as he traced the tip of his finger over her jawline. “I meant those vows, Lucy. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner…” His gaze dropped down to his feet, guilt darkening his eyes. “I… I find it so easy to love you, but so hard to love myself. I wanted to wait until I felt worthy of you… but I… I also felt like that was unattainable. But when I was faced with the prospect of you dying, I… I just…” 

“Oh, Gray…” Lucy whispered as he trailed off. She gently put her finger under his chin, lifting his face to look at her once more. Her heart broke at the sorrow in his eyes. She moved her hand over his cheek, feeling the slight stubble that had grown during their time in the book. “It’s okay. I know now… and that’s all that matters.” 

“You mean…?” It was almost childlike, the way his expression flooded with hope. It made Lucy giggle. 

“Yes, Gray. I love you too.” 

Gray smiled at that. He tilted his head to the side, taking a moment to just admire her. It was a little embarrassing, just standing there while his gaze slowly roved over her face—like he was trying to commit everything to memory. And as soon as he had, he closed the distance between them to claim her lips once more. 

And once more, they kissed passionately under the moonlight. There were still an infinite number of things Lucy didn’t know and probably never would know. But she knew one thing, and that was that she loved Gray. 

That was enough.

[kusagrasskusa]

Yandere! Itachi X Reader Headcannons

The reader is precieved as a normal civilization rather than a ninja.

ALSO I learned how to do the "read more" thing on my phone and now I'm happy uvu- and to any friends that read this, I'm so sorry but I've never been so dedicated to a fandom in a long time lol. I might make a oneshot later for this, too, and I do, you should see a link under this paragraph somewhere.

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🖤 Itachi is a mature and collected person, so I'd think it'd be unlikely for him to just grow obsessed at once. Itachi would have to come across Y/N many times before releasing he's in love.

🖤 The way he'd meet Y/N would be when he'd be scouting an area for a particular enemy. He'd happen to come across her, who interacted with him a little but nothing interesting happened. Overtime, the two would see each other here and there, until eventually everyday.

🖤 When his enemy he was looking for had been eliminated, he said his goodbyes to Y/N before leaving. He expected to move on, but his mind would wonder back to her no matter how hard he tried.

🖤 Eventually, Itachi would see Y/N whenever he had free time. He'd make room in his day to spend hours together; they'd go out to eat, participate in festivals, talk, and more.

🖤 On Y/N's side, it didn't take long before she started to feel romantic interest. Afterall, Itachi was calm, collected, smart, strong, fun to be around, and seemed genuinely interested in her. She was definitely in love before he was.

🖤 Around the time Itachi would visit the Leaf Village to find Naruto, he strangely started to worry a lot about Y/N learning about who he was and fear him. He couldn't help but want to shield her from the truth, and if the people around them learned that the man Y/N was with was wanted, it would end bad for them.

🖤 Itachi was inevitably worrying a little too much about the possibility of her finding out. He went to see her and did his best to distract her from any gossip or drama whatsoever to ensure she'd never hear about the Akatsuki. His time spent with her increased from a few hours to half the day.

🖤 Itachi wouldn't ever want to kidnap or drag people into his life. He hates killing, he hates being "evil", he hates everything about his dark lifestyle. The decision to either abandon someone he began to care for or to take her away was a very hard one.

🖤 Itachi realized something in the process of thinking of a solution. He loved Y/N; he loved her to the point where the thought of her hating or fearing him scared him so badly. Even with Sasuke, the thought of him having him was terrifying but something he could live with.

🖤 It was releasing to learn about his own true feelings. He was desperately in love with Y/N, to the point where she was like air, or food, or water. Like in order to live, she had to be around.

🖤 As word spread about two strange people walking around Konoha and that Orochimaru took the last Uchiha, it was inevitable that Y/N would learn about the info. The next time she saw Itachi, she brought it up to him and expressed her discomfort in the fact that she could be among evil people.

🖤 He was scared. So scared that she would hate him for his lifestyle after finding out about who he really is. So that was it; his mind was made. He took Y/N away that night.

🖤 When word about the Akatsuki in Konoha, he received a lot more looks when he was in public than normal. He'd usually have a normal kimono on and have his hair in a different, though similar, style in order to appear normal. But he knew deep down in his heart that people are bound to start suspecting him of being an Akatsuki. And overhearing someone talk about an S class Uchiha member is what did it.

🖤 "You've been asking about where I live for a whole now. Would you like see my home?" Itachi asked. Y/N happily agreed to go, and sorta expected his home to be outside of her village. But the further she traveled, she grew a bit nervous and wanted to return home (as you would if you were led outside of your village into deep woods)

🖤 Itachi wasn't escorting Y/N alone. Of course, the Akatsuki is bound to learn about that girl Itachi insisted on bringing up in most of his little amounts of conversations. It was obvious he was obsessed with her, as much as he would try to hid it, but he just couldn't get her off his mind. So the night where he choose to bring her home, Kisame was watching the two frkm afar in case something happened.

🖤 Before that day, Itachi had mentioned that he wanted to protect Y/N. Over the three months Itachi spent with Y/N, he had plenty of time to talk about her enough to where the other members basically knew her.

🖤 Itachi actually got a few of the members (ex. Kisame, Deidara) were interested in Y/N as well. How could someone as "heartless" as Itachi Uchiha fall in love, and in such a dramatic way at that? They were sorta curious to see what was so special about her.

🖤 Anyway, you can imagine how Itachi convinced Y/N to go far enough into the woods to go to a small little cottage. Was it part of the Akatsuki hideout? No. Itachi would never trust the Akatsuki members with Y/N alone, and she needs her freedom to walk around a house.

🖤 The inside was sorta minimalistic, but not completely empty. To the far right was a kitchen was a small dining table with two chairs, and on the opposite side was two rooms. In one room was a single bed with a closet in it, and in the other room was a bathroom. Between the kitchen and two rooms was a small living room with a couch, coffee table, and more. There were bored games in a little dresser in the living room, along with a full bookshelf with books of all genres.

🖤 "Care for dinner?" Itachi had asked. He wanted to tell Y/N why she's there over a dinner he made and had prepared in advance. It turns out he was amazing at cooking.

🖤 It wasn't very easy, but Itachi managed to explain his feelings towards Y/N. Of course, Y/N happily excepted and was quick to hug and express her feelings towards him. He returned the hug and spoke about how he loved her very much, however he had so much more to say to her.

🖤 Justifyingly so, Y/N was frozen in shock when Itachi told his story. He killed everyone in his clan aside from his brother, the well-known Uchiha. How he fled his clan after committing the murders and joined an infamous group; The Akatsuki.

🖤 While displaying himself as calm, he was so overwhelmed and scared within his mind. He knew he'd have to tell her why she's staying at the house and why, from now one, she'll never leave. But he was smart enough to know she wouldn't simply except living here out of love. He would have to be a bit manipulative to keep Y/N.

🖤 Y/N was mortified and didn't notice the tears pouring out of her eyes. She fell desperately in love with a murderer. She felt so sick, so scared. She stood up, begging to go home so desperately, trembling over her own words. She was so scared for her life now, and what Itachi's intentions were. Truly, Itachi's heart broke at this.

🖤 "Y/N, darling," Itachi spoke, his words laced with love as she softly grabbed Y/N wrists and leaned close. "I had to take you away. I couldn't let them take you from me."

🖤 He was very delicate with Y/N as he calmed her down, as if she was glass. His heart ached at her pain, but he truly believed it was for the best. In a way it really was; people saw Y/N with the tall raven boy many times in public, and her parents and friends had met him too. Once they find out that boy is the Itachi, Y/N could be killed if they think she was aiding him.

🖤 Itachi did his best to show her around and make her feel comfortable. But no matter what he did, Y/N felt so broken, so empty, so confused. There's no way that sweet Itachi she loves is a killer. He has to be lying.

🖤 Over the course of a few days, Y/N learned to except the fact she's held at that small home. She tried to think on the good side; she could decorate it how she wants, has more freetime, can focus on her hobbies and learn to cook new things, and more! Even if she's never allowed to leave the house, Itachi let's her do basically anything around the home.

🖤 Y/N still loves him. As months go by of being alone for a few days without Itachi, some days with him for a little bit, and some full days with him, she still couldn't help but appreciate him just as much as before. No, she appreciates him more even. She just can't help but love him, and he loves her too.

🖤 Itachi felt much more relaxed around Y/N and tried to spend every second he could with her. He was so shameful of keeping her from her home, but it was for the best wasn't it?

🖤 Most of Itachi's emotions about keeping her was all because he lived her and never wanted to see her with anyone else. But he had always found an excuse as to why it's for the best that she's never with anyone else.

🖤 Kisame had met Y/N a few times. She was never comfortable with him however and was typically holding onto Itachi's sleeve, or leaning on him when he's around. However Kisame would be around when Itachi wasn't sometimes to keep watch.

🖤 As long as Itachi or Kisame was present, Y/N is allowed to go outside and visit close villages other than the one Y/N is from. She would be allowed to buy anything she wanted and could afford from these places, but she had to go home eventually.

🖤 At the end of the day, Y/N had quite a lot of freedom and eventually, she was happy. She was happy to be living with Itachi and was perfectly happy calling him her husband.

🖤 Itachi never wanted a marriage though. He was going blind and he planned to be murdered by his brother and he never dared to make her a young widow. When Izumi had died, he felt so distraught and he knew Y/N is bound to feel the same, but even worse if they got married.

🖤 When Itachi died, as said, Y/N was distraught. No, she was mortified. Absolutely mortified. Even if she was free, she had lost the last person she had a connection with. And she carried that sorrow to her grave.

[leiawritesstories]

Rowaelin Month, Day 11: Surprise kisses

Word count: 1168

Warnings: Just language, I swear. In apology for what I did yesterday...

When she heard the word “homecoming,” Aelin Galathynius pictured the cheesy and definitely unrealistic scenes of Netflix rom-coms. Assemblies where the entire school smiled and cheered as loudly as possible, the football team dominating Friday night’s game, and of course a packed hall of girls in semiformal dresses and guys in tuxes, dancing and shout-singing along to the fast songs and cooing at the handful of picture-perfect couples who took to the floor for the slow dances. 

She really should have known better than to expect Hollywood at Orynth High.

Did they have an assembly? Yes, of course. The student body president sported a rather badly painted depiction of their mascot on his chest, and only about half of the students actually visibly gave effort during the cheer. And the ones who did were clearly ogling the cheerleaders. Aelin snickered, remembering her freshman (and only) season in cheer two years ago, when she learned of the simple and very effective single-finger gesture the cheer squad used to tell the pervs where they could shove their ogling.

Was there a football game? Absolutely. Did Orynth win? Yes, to the utter shock of everyone in the stands, they did. Rifthold High got ahead early in the first half, but somehow, Orynth picked up on defense and on actually receiving the ball, scored three times in a row in the second half, and held Rifthold to only one field goal that half to win 36-24.

It was their first win of the season. 

And the dance? Well, it certainly wasn’t as “formal” as the movies showed.

~

Rowan Whitethorn had never had much love for school events, particularly homecoming, but when one was the star senior quarterback, one made sacrifices. 

He’d genuinely thought the team was screwed at the end of the first half. The locker room was quiet, all the guys disheartened by the disaster that had been the first thirty minutes. And the Coach Bryaxis walked into the room, threw his clipboard at a locker, and told the team in very few words that if someone didn’t catch a goddamn pass, every single goddamn one of the goddamn pansies on this goddamn team would goddamn well be running stairs until they shat themselves. 

A very different team walked onto the field for the second half. And they won. Coach was so happy that he poured the Gatorade cooler over his own head and yelled something unintelligible that probably meant “My team finally fucking redeemed themselves!”

After a game like that, Rowan couldn’t bring himself to skip the dance, even if it meant being subjected to about thirty different freshmen and sophomore chicks in skimpy dresses, stilettos, and cakey makeup flirting with him. If he was lucky, only twenty of them would be teetering on the edge of intoxication. Sure enough, within five minutes of him and the rest of the team walking into the crowded but shockingly well-decorated gym, a girl who couldn’t possibly be old enough to have a driver’s license sauntered over, her boobs practically falling out of her spangled minidress, and in what she must have thought was a flirty voice, asked if Rowan “wanted to show her his moves.” 

Before Rowan could open his mouth to redirect her, Lorcan Salvaterre, his wide receiver, stepped forward in all 6′3″ of his glory and said, “Oh yes, I would.” He was halfway into the crush of dancing bodies before the girl could even squeak out that she hadn’t been talking to him. 

As the rest of the team dispersed, finding their way onto the dancefloor, Rowan slipped to the edge of the throng, just close enough that he could pretend he was looking for a partner, and eyed the clock. Thirty minutes, then he could go home. 

But then someone caught his eye.

~

Aelin walked into the gym with Lysandra, Elide, and Ansel, and immediately regretted her choice of dress. The emerald-green, sleeveless sheath hugged her upper body and flared slightly into a skirt that ended just above her knees. It had clear elastic straps to keep the top from falling off, which for her was a requirement. She couldn’t accidentally flash the entire student body of Orynth High at a dance; their Instagram stories would never let her forget it. The moment she and her friends entered the building, Aelin could feel the floor vibrating beneath her three-inch heels. The budget strobes the committee had managed to find in some attic somewhere flashed in a predictably boring rotation of green, blue, violet, pink, yellow, and white. 

“El! Some chick’s dancing with your man!” Lysandra yelled over the music. 

Elide looked over at the floor, where Lorcan was indeed dancing with someone, his face predictably emotionless. She snorted. 

“It’s his gentleman act again; he’s probably saving Rowan’s ass from the little sluts who think they can catch the attention of the big hunky QB. Give me about twenty seconds and you’ll see chica over there running for the hills.” 

“Or just the baseball team,” smirked Aelin. Elide winked saucily at her and headed in Lorcan’s direction. 

Making her way partially into the horde of dancing students, Aelin smothered a grimace. She’d forgotten just how much she hated these things. Everywhere she looked, there was grinding, groping, body odor, half-shirtless guys who thought unbuttoning the top buttons of their dress shirt made them look hot, and an abundance of awkward dance moves that vaguely resembled, as Ansel so elegantly put it, “Dance Moms on lots and lots of crack.”  

In short, a typical Orynth High dance. 

She glanced at her phone. Thank God. Thirty more minutes and she could get the hell out. As she danced her way through the edge of the crowd, she ran smack into a solid chest.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn--”

“Aelin?”

“Rowan?”

For a few seconds, they just stared at each other, each disbelieving that the other was actually present at the dance. Rowan ran a hand through his hair. “God, this is awkward. Dance?”

Aelin chuckled. “Sure, but please, for the love of God, over by the doors. I need some real air.”

“Agreed. And an easy getaway.”

So they danced back through the crowd, finally ending up over by the exit doors. When the song changed, Rowan grabbed Aelin’s hand and pulled her outside. She looked up at him, brows raised. 

“Done already? Hmm, I thought you had more stamina than that.” There was no mistaking the innuendo in her voice. 

Rowan’s voice dropped about two octaves. “Comment on my stamina again, I dare you.”

Before Aelin could make a snarky retort, Rowan’s lips met hers. She sighed into his kiss, twining her arms around his neck. When he pulled back some time later, his eyes were bright. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Standing outside their high school gym, totally ignorant of the cool night breeze, Aelin kissed her boyfriend again, reveling in his presence. 

“You came to the dance for me, didn’t you.”

He smirked. “I’ll never admit it, Fireheart. But yes.”

[harry-writings]

Arrogant Son of a Bitch

- The one where Harry and Y/n are separated, but Harry gets jealous when he sees Y/n getting ready for a date with another man 

Masterlist 

-

It was the last thing Harry wanted to see, really — Y/n in a tight red dress, hooking gold earrings into her ears while she rubs her lips together,  spreading the crimson lipstick upon the surface, legs ending at her black stilettos.

But that’s exactly what Harry sees when he walks into her apartment to pick up their six-month old son, and he’s never had so much of an urge to gouge his eyes out from their sockets and leave them lifeless upon the ground.

There’s someone else. Y/n’s dolling herself up, wearing her Sunday best, letting her hair down in loose curls even though she hates curling her fucking hair, for somebody else — for somebody that’s not him, for somebody that’s not her husband.

“Hey, Harry! Thank you so much for coming early. I don’t want to be late!”

She still has yet to look at him — still scrambling around her living room, gathering everything she needs — and Harry doesn’t even know if he wants her to. One glance from her when she looks like this... and he’ll be a goner, he knows it, and he can’t afford to get all jealous and possessive in front of the very woman he broke things off with not just one year ago.

It was his idea to file for divorce, at the end of it all. Y/n had tried everything she could to mend the marriage that was in constant shambles, but Harry was always too stubborn and too prideful to admit to all the things he’d done wrong. And he did everything wrong.

He didn’t treat Y/n with the kind of love he had once given her — with the kind of love she always deserved. He treated Y/n like an obligation rather than a choice, a burden rather than a need, yet she always kept her promises and lived by her vows because it wasn’t just a casual relationship that could be thrown away and forgotten about, it was marriage.

She signed them up for marriage counseling, but Harry failed to show up to half the meetings. And when he did, he’d just sit there with a scowl on his face saying that talking about their feelings wouldn’t help any because there were no feelings. She tried working around his schedule to go on getaway vacations together to respire their connection, but he always spent the portion of time he could have spent with her working on more of his music.

And when she got pregnant with his baby, Y/n was desperate and silently hoped that the little bundle of joy growing inside of her would help fix all that had been broken between them. But it was no avail. If anything, it only made them grow further apart. Perhaps it was because he felt more bound to her when he didn’t want to be with her at all.

He told her he wanted the divorce half-way through the six month mark of her pregnancy. She was big, she was struggling, and she was absolutely exhausted, yet Harry couldn’t find it in his heart to push it aside any longer. He needed to let her go.

But as Harry stands here, watching Y/n looking as gorgeous as ever for another man that isn’t even hers, makes him want to take back everything he had ever done.

And it’s not that he didn’t before — he’s wanted to take it back from the second he walked into their home with divorce papers in his hands, his pregnant wife sobbing on the kitchen counter, asking why it had to be this way — it just feels like a fresh wound on his already scarred and fragile heart, and he genuinely feels as if a part of him has died.

“You’re going on a date.” Harry says knowingly, his frown deepening in the corners of his lips. And he knows he has no right to feel the way he does — so upset and hurt, like his heart had been ripped in two — but he can’t help himself from falling apart.

At the end of the day, she’s still his wife. Sure, the divorce papers had been filed, but there was still so much that had to be done for their last final steps. But of course, just like everything else that involved Y/n, Harry didn’t make the time for it.

Y/n shrugs, her thumbs twiddling together with her head down, eyes casted at the ground beneath his feet.

It’s been a year since Harry brought the divorce papers home, and Y/n’s barely looked at him since. Sometimes he’s thankful she doesn’t, but sometimes, in times like these, he wishes she would… even if it’ll hurt.

“Yeah, I guess. Just some guy I met the other night at the grocery store. Couldn’t reach one of the cereals for Topher and saw me struggling. Guess he thought I was pretty or something and told me he wanted to take me out.”

“I didn’t ask.”

She knows she should have stopped herself from talking sooner, but being around Harry makes her head spin and her body disassociate from herself. She doesn’t ever know what to do, or what to say, whenever he’s around.

There’s a part of her that tries so desperately to act as if everything is normal — like nothing had ever happened — mainly for Topher’s sake. But the other part of her knows that that’s such an impossible thing to do no matter how hard she tries.

Y/n purses her lips, dropping her hands at her sides in defeat. “Right.”

And it’s not that Harry wants to talk to her this way — like he doesn’t care about her, like he can barely stand the sight of her anymore; it’s the farthest from the truth, really, he’s just utter shit at saying how he feels or what he’s thinking. He’ll lie, and lie, and lie — chew on the truth and spit it out if it means he doesn’t have to apologize.

And right now, that’s all he wants to do. He wants to break down and drown in his tears, hold her to him and tell her how sorry he is for everything he’s put her through. But he has this unexplainable, unsettling wall built around him that he can’t knock down no matter how hard he swings at it.

He curses his career for it, really. He wishes he could be one of the celebrities that says fame hasn’t gotten to his head, but it has. In the most selfish, most arrogant of ways, fame has made him so prideful that he never puts himself to blame for anything that happens in his life.

His mother was the first one to tell him, and still never fails to remind him now that the divorce has been put in place.

You never fight for anything in your life. She’d always say. You think you’re too good for your mistakes. Put your wife through hell, making your kid go through hell, all because you swallow the two words that could fix everything you’ve ever broken. 

But he wants to fight for Y/n. Oh, how badly does he want to, but at this point, it’s just too late. All the damage had already been done, and no woman could ever forgive a man that left her during the nine months she needed the man she loves the most.

“Didn’t mean it like that, just —“ he croaks brokenly, gulping down the cries he doesn’t deserve to weep. “Does he know you’re married?”

The question makes her feel guilty — really guilty, the kind of guilty that makes her stomach swim with bile because nothing she does is ever going to feel right, for either of them. And she knows going on a date when the divorce hasn’t been set in stone is just making everything so much harder.

But what is she to do? Wait around for Harry to finally take the time out of his music to go to the courtroom so she could finally move on? She can’t keep being legally bound to a man that no longer loves her, she can’t keep doing this dance by herself because she’ll never have the heart to find somebody else.

And she just needs somebody else.

Because she’s still so deeply in love with Harry, it hurts. Everyday feels like the world is grabbing her at her feet, sucking her into its core until she’s floating in the midst of everybody’s life except her own. She’s living day by day stuck between the confines of marriage and separation and the worst part is, she feels not only separated from Harry, but also from herself.

It was so good. Everything about them was just so good… and Y/n doesn’t know what she had done wrong to make Harry fall out of love with her.  But somewhere between their picture-perfect relationship hid an unbearable amount of blame being put onto Y/n for things that weren’t her fault, or her responsibility, or her obligations.

The stupidest, littlest of things would set Harry off — leading to heart-wrenching periods of silence, an uncomfortable amount of tension, and constant reminders that her love wasn’t enough to make him happy.

And she just can’t keep living with that anymore. She can’t stand the fact that she has to keep thinking of him because he’s still here, all the time, swimming in the same gray area she’s been drowning in.

“That’s not fair.” Y/n frowns, her eyes briefly looking up to get a glimpse of his face, which is red and as broken as ever, and she curses her wandering eyes.

“I don’t go out with other women because you’re still my wife.” Harry nearly sobs the last word, still finding it hard to speak after everything they had been through. Because really, is she his wife, or just the ghost of her? “I still love you just as much. I’d be cheating on you if I even thought of it.”

And it’s true. Harry hasn’t looked at or even thought of another woman since the moment his heart found hers. She’s the first one he sees — in a room full of people, in his daydreams, in his music — she’s the only one he sees, in everything. He couldn’t even imagine it.

Y/n flutters her eyes closed to keep her composure, wishing now more than ever to be sucked up into the earth’s core again because she doesn’t want to be here anymore — in a room so close to him, feeling his every breath, hearing his every word echo in her head.

“Harry… I’m not your wife anymore. We’re separated. You’ve made it more than clear to me that you don’t love or want me anymore. I can’t keep living my life on your time.”

Y/n’s looking up at him as if begging him to understand, but he doesn’t. He may have fucked up one too many times down the line, but at the end of the day, he’s never once told Y/n he didn’t love her anymore. And he couldn’t even dream of telling Y/n he didn’t want her anymore, he’d throw up if he so much as tried.

There isn’t a universe Harry wouldn’t want Y/n in. She’s all he’s ever wanted.

“When have I ever said that?”

He asks it like her words sucked all that was left out of him and she almost wants to take it back, but she won’t.

“You didn’t have to.”

His eyes drop to the floor and a new wave of tears begin to rise at the surface, pushing at his throat.

He has nothing to say for himself.

Y/n sighs, her eyes wandering around the room as she waits for Harry to break this deafening silence, but he doesn’t. So, she lifts her purse higher upon her shoulder before coughing awkwardly to the open air.

“Topher is in the car seat all ready to go. His binkie should be in there, too. I would love to stay and chat but I really need to get —”

“Please, don’t go.” Harry interrupts, his voice cracking as he closes his eyes, loose tears falling down his cheeks and hitting the hardwood floor below them, hand inching closer to hers. “Stay here with me.”

She’s frozen still, the feeling of her hand being this close to his knocking the breath straight out of her lungs and nearly sending her to her knees. Because how badly does she want to — how badly does Y/n want to break the laws of reality just to be with her Harry again, even for a second, but she can’t keep letting herself believe they will ever come back from this. She can’t keep going back to Harry.

She has to stop choosing Harry.

“I can’t, Harry.” She breathes out, not having the heart or the strength to look up into the very eyes that never fail to make her fall in love. “I can’t stay with you any longer. I have to go.”

And before Harry could reach for her any farther, she was already gone.

-

Y/n was practically dead to the world — all her apartment lights shut off, all doors and windows locked, phone turned off and buried somewhere beneath all the covers she’s been hibernating in — before she heard someone practically beating down her front door.

She rolls over to her nightstand, groaning as her eyes blink to adjust to the blue light reading 1:04AM vibrantly in the dark. She sits herself up on her elbow, huffing out a breath as her hands reach up to rub the dryness out of her eyes.

She looks around her room as her brain scrambles to process reality, but it isn’t until another series of knocks jolt her up from where she sits, nearly losing balance in the process.

“Why? Why can’t I have nice things?” Y/n whispers to herself as she makes her way out of her bedroom to her front door, way too far out of her mind to bother checking her peephole before unlocking the knob and swinging it open.

“Mitch!” Y/n shrieks, her arms held out stiffly in front of her as Harry’s body is thrown into them — not so sure if holding him up is the appropriate thing to do considering they haven’t even touched each other once since the separation. “What the fuck!”

“You don’t answer your fucking phone!” Mitch fumes, his eyes bewildered and unsteady as his body is so visibly angry he doesn’t even know what to do with himself — pinching his lips between his fingers, practically walking in circles, trying his hardest to breathe through the pit of fire burning in his chest. “Needed to get him the fuck away from me!”

Mitch knows it’s not Y/n’s fault that she wasn’t answering his calls — it is well over midnight, after all — but he has been so pushed over the edge that he doesn’t have time to think about anything else other than being as far away from Harry as humanly possible.

Y/n’s struck with confusion because in all the four years she had been with Harry, he never had any problems with Mitch. Sure, they’d bump heads about which notes sound better in certain songs, or bicker a bit after long hours at the studio, but never anything like this.

“Been pissing me off all night about your stupid date! Proper fucking idiot, he is. Files a divorce with you, for what? To get jealous at every man that makes eyes at you? Arrogant son of a bitch, had half the mind to knock him in before I decided to bring him here.”

“Shut up, Mitch!” Harry growls groggily against the skin of Y/n’s shoulder.

Mitch turns his body to face Harry’s back, one hand on his hip while the other rubs along the roots of his beard, his face scrunching with what Y/n can only consider to be a look of complete malice.

He knows he shouldn’t be throwing Harry under the bus about their private conversations, especially ones that consist of Y/n, but there’s only so much he could put up with.

It’s sickening, really — having to constantly be there for Harry when everything that’s gotten him to this point has been his own fault. Harry doesn’t deserve comforting, but Mitch has been alongside him for far too long to not care about his feelings and emotions… no matter how wrong they are.

And what’s even more sickening is seeing how badly he’s hurting his own self by avoiding the divorce entirely instead of taking responsibility for his actions. Mitch could go on and on about all the ways to make things right again, yet still in some way, somehow, it always seems to go right past Harry’s head.

Because trying to sway Harry’s mind or his decisions is practically like pulling teeth — he’ll always find a way to go against what everybody else says and it drives Mitch up the wall. He’s sick and tired of wasting his breath all because Harry’s too stubborn to take anybody else’s path but his own.

“You couldn’t just bring him home? Where the hell is Topher?”

Y/n is struggling to keep Harry up because she’s not even sure if she’s doing it right. He’s got his entire body pressed up against hers, all of his weight being held by her still half-asleep arms and he shouldn’t even be here.

“No, I couldn’t bring him home because the first three times I tried, he wouldn’t get out of my damn car.” Mitch growls through clenched teeth, the side of his fist taking one last swing at Y/n’s open door.

He takes a couple deep breaths, his elbow leaning against the doorframe and he squeezes his eyes shut to regain his composure. “Topher’s with Sarah for the night. Now, for the love of fuck, make Harry grow a pair of balls so he can finally talk to you and not me, please.”

His eyes are pleading with Y/n’s silently, and she nods her head at him in response. She can’t leave Harry like this if she wanted to, anyways.

She sighs, holding Harry against her chest now to get a proper grip on him, and she can feel him press a small kiss against the crook of her neck.

“Have a good night, Mitch. Take care of yourself.”

She smiles softly at him, and for a moment in time, she feels like everything might be okay.

Maybe she only feels this way because this is the first time she’s touched Harry in a year now and it gives her the sense of clarity she’s been missing for so long. Or, maybe she feels this way because Mitch was always the one who was rooting for them despite everything they’ve been through, and knowing he still cares enough about the both of them to bring Harry to her apartment to talk gives her the smallest bit of hope she’s been needing.

“You too, Y/n.”

Mitch gives her one last reassuring look before he shuts the door, leaving Y/n and Harry alone in the confines of her apartment with absolutely nowhere else to go.

She guides him to her couch, which was a bit more difficult than she expected considering Harry is nearly twice her height and much stronger than he realizes. It takes almost all the energy out of her to get him to take a few steps of his own until he’s finally sitting upon the cushions.

“Your date.” Harry mumbles against her shoulder while she lays him down upon the couch, his glossy eyes looking up at her with genuine hurt and concern when his head lays upon the pillow. “Did he treat you nice?”

Y/n smiles softly to herself, reaching for the blanket sprawled atop of the couch — the very blanket Harry gifted her for the first Christmas they spent together. It’s been her favorite ever since.

“I didn’t go.”

“You didn’t go?”

Harry can’t deny that he feels happy about it — happy that she didn’t spend the night with somebody else, happy that she couldn’t find it in her heart to move on from him quite yet. But another part of him — a bigger part of him — suddenly feels guilty, and empty, and like his insides have all been set on fire until they all melted to nothing.

She’s been alone all night. She’s been alone every night. And sure, she had Topher to keep her company throughout the week… but she’s lonely and she’s sad. He can see it in everything she does. And tonight was her one night to be herself again, and somehow, Harry managed to find a way to take it all away from her, just like he’s done with everything else.

She was going to go if he hadn’t guilt-tripped her and begged her not to leave. And she looked so pretty, so fucking breathtaking, for nobody to see it. And that alone is enough to make the last bit of his heart completely shatter until his chest becomes a voided pit.

Y/n nods her head, emotionless, as she pulls the blanket up to his chin. “You were right, we’re still married. It wasn’t fair of me.”

She knows it would have been fair either way, but after seeing how upset Harry looked upon the realization that she was going out with somebody else, she couldn’t stomach the thought of spending the rest of the night trying to make another man happy — one, she’s sure, wouldn’t have even made her happy.

She still didn’t choose Harry, but she didn’t choose anybody else, either, and to know that puts her head at rest. At least for a little while.

“With that being said,” Y/n coughs a bit, blinking away the tears that were mere seconds from falling, “You really need to pick a court date, Harry.”

He knows he does. He’s been draining himself out trying to think of the best time to get it all done — it has taken him twelve months, after all. But the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he doesn’t want to be done — not with their marriage, not with her.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever want for it to all be done. And so whenever he plans to meet with his lawyer, he can only get as far as parking his car in the lot because he never has the strength to actually walk inside.

Because he knows once he does, there’s no going back, and he can’t imagine himself not going back to her.

So, he’ll cry. He’ll scream, he’ll punch at his steering wheel, he’ll hit his head against the headrest over, and over, and over again until he’s so worn out he can hardly breathe. Because he can’t do it. He doesn’t want to do it.

There have been five appointments he couldn’t bring himself to go to, and she has no idea.

“I can’t.” Harry whispers with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands — refusing to look at her because he doesn’t know what will happen if he does. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to leave you?”

Y/n’s breath hitches in her throat because of all the things she expected him to say, that surely wasn’t one of them.

Deep down, she knows he’s hurting, but she never expected it to be so hard on him. Besides, he made it seem so easy — to leave her, like she meant nothing to him after the four years they had been together. And she couldn’t count the amount of times Harry had reminded her that he didn’t have feelings for her anymore.

So that’s what she always believed — that he didn’t love her, that he didn’t want her, that he didn’t need her. But hearing Harry cry out those very words, do you have any idea how hard it is to leave you?, makes her question everything she had ever known.

Because he did leave her — has left her on her own for a year now and has never given her a reason to believe he wanted it any other way until this very moment; Harry laying drunk on her living room couch, crying over the thought of her with another man. He has barely looked at her, has barely even touched her, until now — until it’s been far too late.

“You’ve already left me.” Y/n whispers, the tears she once blinked back now falling freely and silently down her cheeks.

There’s a crack in her voice that Harry can feel down his spine, shaking him to his core and leaving him frozen still. He’s never heard her sound so hurt and broken before and he feels his chest hallowing from the inside out; he is the only one to blame.

If he could just tell her everything he hasn’t — if he could just prove to her that not a single fiber in his body has let her go — no matter the consequences, he would in a heartbeat.

But Harry really hasn’t fought for anything in his life, he wouldn’t even know where to begin — he wouldn’t even know what to say, or what to do, to pick up all these pieces. And the worst part is that he wants to, so badly, but he worries that it won’t be enough — that he won’t be enough — and he won’t be able to handle it. His entire world would collapse.

He blindly reaches for her hand because she’s the only one that can ground him and he feels like he’s falling into a never-ending abyss with no safety-net. Truthfully, he’s been feeling that way for an entire year, until now, with her hand in his.

“Not even a little bit.” He breathes out from quivering lips, eyes unblinking, staring helplessly at their intertwined fingers.

Y/n sobs behind her pursed lips, squeezing her eyes closed as she stomps her foot down upon the floor because this can’t be happening. He can’t be doing this, not now — not when she’s this far into grieving his loss, not when she was finally taking her first step away from him. He can’t.

“Harry —”

“Before you say anything please, please just listen to me.”

Both of his hands are now cradling hers in his palms, slightly tugging at her arm because he is wholeheartedly desperate to say everything she needs to hear.

If he doesn’t get it all out now, he may never have her again. And if he has to spend the rest of his goddamn life being so lonely that he begins to loathe the world for moving on when his own stopped turning, he’d rather do it knowing he at least tried.

And if there’s one person he’d try anything for — do anything for — it would be his wife.

“When I filed the divorce it — it wasn’t because of you, okay? I didn’t — fuck — I thought it was my only choice. And it wasn’t because I didn’t love you the same, or because I wanted to be with somebody else, it was because I wasn’t what you deserved.”

Y/n’s staring down at him with furrowed eyebrows and open lips, everything around her moving so quickly she can hardly keep up.

These are answers she’s been begging for for nearly two years now, yet somehow, nothing could have prepared herself for them. She’s gotten so used to wondering — so used to questioning how the universe will take control of their destiny that now, having all the answers seems to defy all forms of faith.

It’ll all be in her hands now. What they’ll be in a year from now, where they’ll be a year from now, or who they’ll be with a year from now is all up to her. Because at the end of it all, Harry wouldn’t be pulling her closer, sobbing into her hand, breaking down all his walls and boundaries if he didn’t want her to break off the divorce.

“I would be away from you for months on end, so goddamn far away that god forbid something were to happen to you, I couldn’t be the first one by your side. I couldn’t be the first one to make you smile each morning, or be the first one to keep you together whenever the world was breaking you down.

“I wasn’t your first, for anything. I couldn’t be. And it was tearing me apart, knowing you were all alone every day and every night. But then I’d come home and it would feel — it would feel so good, like time hadn’t passed between us… but it did, so, so fast, and in a blink of an eye, I’d have to leave you again.”

His mind thinks back to all the times he’s had Y/n crying on his shoulder the nights before he had to leave the country, clinging onto him and begging him to stay with her just a little while longer.

They were so in love with each other that they hardly wanted to spend any time away from one another because they had a connection that was so raw and so real, they couldn’t find it in anything or anybody else. So each time he had to wake up at the crack of dawn to travel the world, Y/n pouting on the bed watching him pack his life together, would break him in two every single time.

The world meant nothing without her.

“The hole that kept swallowing me up every time I had to walk out on you became too much. But I couldn’t tell you that. I couldn’t tell you that because — because I wanted to hold it together so badly for you. I needed to keep it together because I knew if I couldn’t, you wouldn’t be able to, either. It was already so hard on you and I knew that and I kept leaving. And if I had told you that I spent every single night away from you crying my fucking eyes out, you’d sacrifice everything else you had to come be with me… and I couldn’t do that to you.

“And the more I kept bottling it up, the more I took it out on you. I didn’t want to — didn’t even mean to — but I did, in ways that I couldn’t justify to you because I couldn’t even justify them to myself. Then there was a part of me — the worst and most selfish part of me — that couldn’t apologize for it because the world had somehow convinced me that I didn’t need to.”

By now, Y/n’s knees are pressed against the front of the couch as Harry hooks one of his arms around her legs, his forehead making a home at the front of her hip.

“I’d just get more upset with myself, more angry, more ashamed. It was this constant cycle — feeling like I wasn’t enough for you, then blaming you for all my mistakes, pushing you away even farther. Then you got pregnant.”

They both let out a sob.

“And all I could think about was… if I couldn’t be there for my wife, how could I be there for my son? How could I show him the world and give him everything he ever wished for if I couldn’t even do that for you — for the one person I would choose over anything?”

His chin rests where his forehead once did, his red and puffy eyes trying their best to stay open enough to take a good look at her.

“I loved you beyond words. I looked at you and I saw my entire life in front of me. You continuously blew me away, every single day. Being away from you was — it was dangerous. You weren’t beside me and I was just this empty pit wallowing in hotel rooms that I didn’t even want to be in. I couldn’t get enough of you no matter how much I tried. You consumed me whole, and yet I still found a way to convince you that you were the one who wasn’t enough for me.”

He lets out a laugh through his cries, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’s capable of destroying such beautiful things — things that were eternal, things that were once unbreakable.

And here he is, praying that he can also be the man that fixes them.

“Then I thought… if she found someone else that could give her everything she deserved, maybe he could be a better father to our son, too. And I was so scared and so angry and so sad I just — I did what I thought would make you happier instead of being a fucking man and owning up to it. But I didn’t, and now look at what’s in my hands. You’re all alone because of me. You’re crying because of me. Topher has to go back and forth between his parents because of me. I’m skipping meetings with my lawyer because I decided to file for a fucking divorce I didn’t even want. I broke our family apart, I broke us apart, I tore you from the inside out and didn’t even tell you that I was sorry.”

His eyes are closed, mouth open as it chokes out sounds of sorrow and pain, sounds of collapsing lungs and a torn chest.

“And I am so fucking sorry, baby.”

He speaks between sobs, his words broken and cracked but Y/n hears them loud and clear. He’s got her hand cradled against his soaking cheek, her palm pressed against the corner of his mouth that Harry keeps kissing.

He can’t fucking breathe and he really thinks this is it — that these are his last moments on earth and the next time he blinks, he’ll never open his eyes again.

Would he even want to, if Y/n isn’t the first thing he sees?

“I’m so sorry that I wasn’t the husband you needed me to be. I’m sorry that I let you down. I’m sorry I let our son down. I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been waiting on me and held yourself back because of me. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t loved.”

He keeps kissing at her hand, rubbing at the back of her legs, holding onto her like he’d collapse if he dared let her go. He knows he’s going to have to eventually, but he can’t think about that right now.

He needs this — to feel her, to smell her, to soak her all in before their new forever begins, spent apart and living lives so far away from one another that they couldn’t cross paths even if they wanted to.

This is his goodbye. He knows it. She’s not going to forgive him no matter how much he begs for her to understand — how could she? He can’t blame her. He hasn’t even forgiven himself and doesn’t expect anything more from her now, other than to listen to him one last time.

“I love you so much and there will never be a universe where I don’t, or won’t. I think about you… everyday, every second. To this day, I wake up reaching for you at least three times a night, wondering why you aren’t with me. Every time I come to pick Topher up I spend an hour in front of my bathroom mirror telling myself that I have to hold myself back from you. And then when I see you, I have to keep myself together and hold myself in place because you just get more and more beautiful with every day that passes and — and it breaks my heart all over again.”

Y/n reaches her hand down to his hair, gently brushing her fingers back against his scalp because he needs her — she knows he needs her and she can’t choose to be selfish now.

Right now, he doesn’t need her to be anything but his wife, and this may be the last time she’ll ever be his.

They keep each other embraced for a while, silently, unmoving and bracing themselves for the fall they’re each going to have to take.

These are their dying moments — their final moments before the casket gets shut and thrown six feet below them — and it won’t be long before the dirt from the ground gets piled up again, over their bodies, leaving them to decay in the life they once believed belonged to them.

They know it’s to come, because this is the first time that they have been so close to each other, yet feel so lonely all at once. And it’s not supposed to be this way.

“I can’t pick a date, Y/n,” Harry breaks the silence with a whisper, almost losing his voice along the way because what he’s about to say is enough to kill him, “but if you give me one I’ll — I’ll do it, okay?”

He holds her hand even tighter than before.

“If that’s what will make you happy, I’ll do it.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 14 - ao3 -

If Lan Qiren hadn’t had any idea on what to do with Cangse Sanren to begin with, he had even less of an idea of what to do when he received a letter from his sworn brother which, after some deciphering of the small talk and insincerely meant pleasantries that could just as easily be read as implicit threats, seemed to boil down to so I hear you have a lover now? and also come to the Nightless City at once.

I do not have a lover, Lan Qiren wrote back crossly. You should send whatever spies you have packing because they are clearly completely useless to you. Also, I have classes that I have no intention of missing. If you want company, recall that you have a wife.

That won him a few weeks of blissful silence, possibly due to Wen Ruohan’s shock but more likely due to Lan Qiren having spitefully chosen to send his reply by usual post rather than by special post, which was more expensive and also generally reserved for important sect matters and not for obvious fishing attempts for gossip about the personal lives of juniors.

Which Wen Ruohan should be above, anyway. What did it matter to him?

The response, not long after that, went something along the lines of so what you’re saying is that you haven’t won the immortal mountain’s disciple yet? if you come to Qishan, I can advise you and that irritated Lan Qiren most of all, because right up until that point he hadn’t known that Cangse Sanren was a disciple of the famous Baoshan Sanren, the best-known immortal still in contact with the mortal world.

Mostly because Cangse Sanren hadn’t ever bothered to introduce herself.

It bothered him, a little. More than a little. She knew how much he valued people acting according to the rules; even if she didn’t care for them, shouldn’t she respect his inclination?

(It turned out that she didn’t introduce herself because she didn’t have a proper name, just the title that everyone used for her. Baoshan Sanren let everyone keep the name they came to the mountain with, but Cangse Sanren had come too young for any name at all, and so she’d never gotten one in all the suspiciously unspecified years she had spent on the timeless mountain. It was a pretty good reason not to introduce yourself, as such things went, and it also belatedly explained why she took offense to people calling anyone old.)

I am not trying to win anyone, he wrote back to Wen Ruohan. And even if I was, which I am not, I would still have classes and am not currently at liberty to travel. Has there been some sort of terrible tragedy such that your Wen sect is so desperate for additional people in the Nightless City?

You are not just any person but my sworn brother, Wen Ruohan responded. Am I not entitled to see you? Maybe I want to see this beard you’re reputedly growing.

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes and threw the letter into the box he was keeping all the others. He was trying to grow a beard, as it happened, though being a newly-turned eighteen it was a slow and frustrating process. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked the itchy feeling of it growing, either, but stroking his chin as if in thought was nearly as cathartic as waving his hands, only more socially acceptable; he liked that part very much.

He’d always had a tendency towards strange motions – moving his hands or arms, tapping on things, or rocking back and forth when he was especially distressed – but his brother had always hated it especially, always quoting Do not move arbitrarily at him even though he knew that that wasn’t the fundamental meaning of that rule. That wouldn’t have been so much of an issue, except most other people seemed to agree with him, citing the importance of acting in a dignified and restrained manner, limiting unnecessary movement and remaining still and calm as a placid pool of water no matter what the circumstance.

The beard was an acceptable compromise. Given how common beards were in the sect, it would be hard to criticize Lan Qiren without accidentally insulting an elder – and it felt so good to be able to move freely, the action serving as an aid for emotional regulation that he desperately needed.

Of course, Cangse Sanren thought it was ugly.

Lan Qiren didn’t agree, but he also didn’t think it was any of her business what he did with his face. Even if it was ugly, so what? He wasn’t particularly egotistical.

Accordingly, he thanked her stiffly for her opinion and then proceeded to ignore it.

Apparently, that didn’t sit well with her, a fact Lan Qiren only discovered when he woke up one day, groggy and unclear as to what had happened the night before, to find himself shaven clean and Cangse Sanren beaming at him from within his own room, to which he had never invited her.

He did not react well.

Stories of your shouting have reached even Qishan, Wen Ruohan’s next letter said. Was what your little lover did really so bad? I hadn’t known you were so sensitive. It’s not as if it won’t grow back.

This is your fault, Lan Qiren wrote back, irrational and upset, his calligraphy rough from the way his hand shook – though whether in rage or something else he couldn’t quite tell. I don’t want to hear from you.

Truly his reaction had been out of proportion with Cangse Sanren’s offense. Shaving a beard, especially a half-grown thing like that, was little more than a childish prank, even if it had taken him several months to get as far as he had; in the end, it was really only a blow to his vanity, and perhaps the loss of a convenient emotional crutch.

And yet, when he’d woken up and seen her there where she wasn’t welcome – when he’d realized that he couldn’t remember the evening before, just the way he couldn’t remember what had happened in the Nightless City that day, waking up to Wen Ruohan smiling at him and an oath he didn’t know nor want – when he’d tasted the sour taste of day-old liquor on his tongue –

He’d panicked.

She’d realized it, he thought in retrospect; the ever-present smile had slowly dripped off her mouth as he stared at her blankly for the first few moments, frozen, and had morphed into an expression of shock when he had broken through his paralysis to start screaming at her to go, get out, leave – he’d even picked up some of his own things to throw at her, just to make her leave faster.

He continued smashing his things after she’d gone, unthinking in his frenzy and unsure why he was so upset, and in the end when clarity had returned and he realized what he’d done he’d been so ashamed that he’d grabbed his guqin and slunk away, retreating to the rooms where the Lan sect entered into seclusion. He couldn’t go into real seclusion with so little preparation, of course, but he was practiced enough at inedia that he could skip meals for a few days and not need to see the world for at least a week.

Part of the feeling of shame was that he didn’t know why he had reacted so badly. Wasn’t it normal for peers his age to play that sort of trick on each other? It hadn’t been meant as a real insult.

He had no right to feel so betrayed.

And yet, he did.

Cangse Sanren had visited later that day, her hand tapping lightly on the door bound by wards and her normally brash voice murmuring explanations and not-quite apologies – saying that she hadn’t realized what it had meant to him, that she wouldn’t have done it if she’d known, asking if he wouldn’t come out to talk to her about it and let her apologize properly.

He ignored her.

He ignored her the next day and the day after, too. His hands were unsteady when he tried to play calming songs for himself, his music tangled and knotted up like the feelings in his chest.

On the fourth day, she came and sat by his door in the evening, late and near to curfew.

“I didn’t know, you know,” she finally said after sitting there for nearly a shichen. “About what happened to you in the Nightless City.”

His hands froze over the guqin.

“Drinking liquor comes as easily to me as breathing,” she continued. “No one’s ever been able to play a trick on me because I got drunk – it’s everyone else who falls over in the end, not me. Maybe what why, when someone told me how badly your family handles its liquor, I thought only of how funny it would be…and not how it would feel, waking up and realizing that you didn’t know what happened. What someone could have done to you.” She was silent for a moment. “What I did do.”

Lan Qiren shut his eyes tightly.

Yes, he thought to himself. She was right. That was why he was so upset.

It wasn’t about the beard at all.

“An oath made when you didn’t know it doesn’t count, you know.”

He laughed harshly, the sound catching in his throat like thick mud. “It does,” he said, and his voice was hoarse from the lack of speech. “Of course it counts. It’s my honor, in the end…anyway, there’s no reason for me to lose my head over it. Sect Leader Wen’s powerful and influential; there are those who would cut off their right hands for a connection with him, much less an oath of brotherhood.”

He wasn’t even all that angry at Wen Ruohan for doing it, either, not really. There wasn’t much point – his few experiences with the other man so far showed that that was just what he was like, always taking instead of asking, and scheming was as innate to inter-sect politics as fighting. Might as well be angry at his grandfather for the ancestral weakness to liquor in the Lan lineage.

It had only been the shock of Cangse Sanren’s unexpected actions that had made it feel like a knife stabbed into his back, a scabbed-over wound suddenly ripped open again.

“You didn’t trust him,” Cangse Sanren pointed out. “You trusted me. And I scared you.”

Perhaps that was true.

“You’re still you, you know. Even while drunk.” She chuckled. “You talk more, care less what people think of you; you’re a little more willing to stand up for yourself, a little more bitter, a little less consciously kind. You told me all about music, something that went over my head, then went to sleep in just the right and proper way, albeit right on the floor. I had to wait until you were asleep to shave you.”

That was a relief to hear. Lan Qiren hated the idea of being so vulnerable.

Although – perhaps he wasn’t. According to Lao Nie, he’d apparently kneed Wen Ruohan in the balls that night for bothering him with nonsense or possibly for trying to leave before he finished explaining something, sometime either before or after their oath.

(After, he assumed. If it had been before, it seemed more likely that he would’ve ended up dead.)

“Anyway, I wouldn’t have done anything serious,” she added. “You wouldn’t have woken up married or anything.”

“It’s not you,” he assured her hastily, alarmed by the thought. “I didn’t mean to imply anything about your character, which I know is good; I know you wouldn’t have done anything like that. It’s only – you don’t always know what people think is enough, coming from the immortal mountain as you do. If someone really wanted to push the issue, or if you didn’t have the background you did, just you being in my room unattended might’ve served as an excuse. And then where would we be?”

She was silent for a while.

“You really don’t want to be married to me,” she finally said. “You’re not playing games or anything; you really don’t.”

Lan Qiren felt something lurch in his chest.

“No,” he said, painfully honest. “Did – did you?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, and Lan Qiren winced. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to him, not even when others had suggested it.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” she said, and her voice was warm. “Don’t worry about me, Qiren; I’ll get over it soon enough. There’s no pain I won’t forget a day later, never learning anything, it’s just the way I am.”

He gnawed on his lower lip. “…can I ask why?”

“Why you, you mean?” He could hear her shrugging through the door, the fabric of her clothing rustling against the wall she was leaning against. “You care about things, deeply and truly. Rules, honor, the right path…I like the way you think, the way you care. You have a good heart and a good brain. Why not you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and felt rather a wretch over the whole thing. “I didn’t mean to…to…”

She laughed. “You didn’t lead me on, Qiren! You only ever treated me as a friend, and I was, I think. Maybe still am?”

“You are,” he said, and looked down as his guqin, then sighed, picking it up and going to the door. There was no point in pretending to be in seclusion now that the knot in his heart had loosened, and he was starting to get hungry. “Come on, let’s go. I feel a need to graze on the kitchen’s leftover vegetables, as if I were a wild rabbit.”

She beamed up at him, round face shining like the moon.

The next day, after he finished doing penance for missing classes without advance notice – two dozen strikes, but no more – Lan Qiren went down the mountain and purchased some tea said to have especially strong stimulant properties, and gave it to Cangse Sanren.

She blinked at it, then looked at him.

“If you brew this in the morning, you won’t be so tired all the time,” he told her, and shrugged. “Since we’re friends and all.”

He didn’t have that many friends – so few as to not even have recognized her as being one. He was determined to cherish them.

She smiled.

The next day after that, there was surprising news in the Cloud Recesses, the gossip reaching the classroom faster than the messenger sent there specifically for that purpose.

Wen Ruohan had come to pay a visit.

[azucanela]

Could you do another Sokka with the fire nation reader and maybe something domestic? Something after the war potentially? Please and thank you!!!

SERENE SHORES | SOKKA X READER

SUMMARY: after years of chaos, Y/N can’t help but feel weird when everything is peaceful. but hey, weird can be nice. especially when weird is with sokka.

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

WARNINGS: kissing, soft, pretty basic.

A/N: this is gonna be the least heartbreaking thing i’ll ever write super domestic 10/10 soft. also it feels wrong to not write something thats like 10k words of pining askhdkjsah also this is weirdest title ever im sorry

The sun poured into the room, indicating that Sokka had in fact, awoken, and opened the curtains, much to Y/N’s dismay. They were on vacation and yet he still insisted on waking up at the most ungodly of hours to work. Y/N had no doubt that he’d heard the whispers in the Southern Water Tribe, he’d done so much for the small nation that Y/N wasn’t shocked when rumors of Sokka potentially becoming the next chief came about. He was still young, but that didn’t stop people from talking, and maybe thats why he was putting so much pressure on himself.

But it was vacation, on Ember Island, alongside the rest of their friends. They’d agreed to head out later in the day together, to the beach to catch up with one another. Regardless, Y/N couldn’t help but groan, running a hand through her hair when she realized Sokka had gotten up early for no reason. Y/N had searched him prior to their departure to the island, ensuring he had no work at all, and yet here they were.

Sitting up in the bed, she stretched out her arms, allowing the sun to hit her face. Y/N squinted at the sudden brightness as she moved to stand, a wave of dizziness washed over her momentarily, causing her legs to wobble as she took her first few steps of the day. Y/N quickly recovered as she made her way outside of the room, bringing a hand to her forehead as she sighed. The Ember Island rooms were like small homes at this point, so Y/N wasn’t shocked to find Sokka in the kitchen, cutting up some fruits into the bowl. 

He looks up at her, a smile on his face as he put the knife down and tries his best to lean against the counter alluringly, only for his elbow to miss the edge of the counter. Sokka stumbles slightly, causing Y/N to laugh as she greets him, “hi there.”

“Hey, beautiful.” Sokka greets, recovering from his fall as he jogs over to press a kiss to her cheek, wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her closer.

Y/N hums in response, wrapping her arms around his torso, “why are you out of bed?” She presses a kiss to his jaw before resting her head on his chest.

“I was making breakfast, per usual.” Comes his reply. Y/N had found that Sokka was actually a great roommate, he tended to wake up early to handle his duties in the Southern Water Tribe. Which meant he’d cook breakfast for the two of them, and get his fair share of cleaning done. 

Y/N is pulling herself away from him to grab his hand and pull him towards the bedroom, “let’s go back to bed.” It was vacation, and they could probably order some sort of room service seeing as Ember Island was practically a resort.

“We have to meet the others later.” Sokka reasoned, resisting her aggressive yanks at his arm, feet remaining firmly planted on the floor.

Y/N playfully glares at him, “yeah, later. Not now, we have time. I don’t know why you woke up so early.” She’s scolding him, mostly because he’s been having trouble sleeping lately, and refuses to drink the tea she offered him. Iroh had kindly taught her how to make a ‘proper’ cup of tea, as he’d put it. 

“It’s midday.” He points out, causing Y/N’s eyes to widen a fraction, her eyes flickering over to the windows momentarily as she tries to understand how she managed to sleep well into the middle of the day.

Her mouth opens and closes for a moment, brows furrowing in confusion as she looks to Sokka, “are you serious?”

Sokka blinks once before throwing his head back in laughter, “yes!” 

With a rather aggressive tug at Sokka’s arm, Y/N pulled him closer bringing her free hand to his cheek as she pulled him in for a kiss. Sokka melted into it, bringing both his arms to hand loosely around her waist

It was peaceful. Watching him look so happy, the way the sunlight gleamed on his face as Y/N practically tackled him onto the bed, the bright smile on his face lit up the room more than the sun ever could. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen these things and she certainly hoped it wouldn’t be the last. And given how few threats of war and death and chaos there had been lately, Y/N had a feeling that she wouldn’t have to worry about losing Sokka to some insane enemy anytime soon. 

Y/N hated how weird it felt. Being able to relax for once because there’s no threat of impending doom, no need to be alert despite the habit she’d developed to always have a hand ready to grab the knife at her side. Y/N hated that she couldn’t allow herself a moment of peace even though there was nothing to worry about. 

Even when the war had ended, Y/N had to be on her toes for all the riots that started across the world. She and the rest of Team Avatar weren’t necessarily prepared for all the diplomatic work that had to be done to repair all the damage that had been done to the world during the 100 years of war. Aang had a lot of other issues to handle as the Avatar, Katara and Sokka had to work on rebuilding the Southern Water Tribe, Toph had to handle her parents though she had favored spreading the wonders of metalbending instead. Zuko was rebuilding the Fire Nation was simultaneously tearing down the century’s worth of brainwashing. And as for Y/N, she was just trying to figure out where she fit in to all this.

For the first time in a long time, nothing was going on. Y/N didn’t need to bring her weapons, and she didn’t need to look over her shoulder ever moment for potential enemies. And it felt weird.

They’d returned to Ember Island for a vacation, a reward to themselves for everything they’d done. And it had been a while since they’d been able to actually catch up, Y/N wouldn’t deny it, though they saw each other fairly frequently when it seemed the world was about to end, time to talk was rare. And now that they could talk, she didn’t know what to say.

Yeah, it felt weird.

Sokka’s arm had wrapped around her waist, and Y/N found herself watching as he threw his head back in laughter at something Toph had said. The girl in question seemed pretty pleased with herself, Zuko on the other hand was looking rather embarrassed. Not that Y/N was really paying attention to the conversation. They had gotten to the beach not too long ago, and Y/N had a feeling they would stay awhile, but she was a little busy getting lost in her own thoughts. 

Was it wrong of her to wonder what happened next now that they had entered what would —hopefully— be an era of peace? The only person who could probably remember such a time was Aang, seeing as he was born before the war started, officially started that is. 

Pushing away those thoughts, Y/N returned her attention to the conversation at hand, “you know what, the rest of you never grew up with Sokka’s whining in the mornings— Y/N knows what I mean, right?”

Y/N found herself straightening beside Sokka, “actually, Sokka cooks me breakfast in the mornings, and he’s surprisingly neat, so I have no complaints.” She lets out a small laugh, and Y/N can feel Sokka’s eyes on her figure as everyone else laughs once more.

“Thank you Y/N, see I can be a fantastic roommate.” Sokka asserted, throwing a playful glare to Katara as he squeezed Y/N’s side gently. She and Sokka had gotten together shortly after the war, and they’d been living together for a while. Seeing as they travelled together for over a year, there wasn’t really much of an adjustment period if Y/N was honest, and Sokka was a model roommate. 

Sokka sits up suddenly, causing Y/N to raise a brow at him as she shifts in her seat, only for him to extend a hand to her, “I’m going for a walk, wanna come?”

She takes his hand, offering him a smile as she sits up as well, “yes.” 

From the corner of her eye, Y/N can see Aang move to speak, only for Toph to swat at his chest when he tries to stand, and Katara to glare harshly. Zuko simply watches the interaction in confusion, brow furrowing as Katara beams up at the couple, “have fun!”

Sokka fought the urge to roll his eyes as he took Y/N by the hand and began to drag her away from the campsite. He’d noticed her behavior, something was bothering her. Of course, Katara was reading into things again, she and Gran Gran had grown a little obsessed in regards to his relationship with Y/N. Mostly because Gran Gran insisted that she had to live to see the wedding.

Oh god, Katara must’ve thought he intended to propose—

Y/N had gathered that much as well, it wasn’t something the two had discussed yet, mostly because they’d never had time. When they officially got together, everything was so chaotic they just never had the time, and now that they had the time, well neither of them had tried to broach the topic. Katara on the other hand seemed to continue her meddlesome ways, trying to put the idea into Y/N’s head time and time again during their conversations.

Y/N did not approve.

The pair walked silently across the coast line, water washing up against their bare feet as Sokka comically swung their hands back and forth, earning a small laugh from Y/N. She came to the realization that as badly as she wanted to avoid this conversation, it was necessary. Looking up at him, her brows furrowed as she spoke, “don’t let Katara... pressure you into anything, okay?”

Sokka frowned, pausing as he walked, “don’t tell me she’s been talking to you about-”

“Marriage.” They both muttered, simultaneously. The pair burst into laughter, and Sokka simply shook his head. Katara had obviously been discussing the subject with the both of them.

Sokka simply facepalms, and Y/N finds herself smiling as she watches him, “I’m sorry that she’s been bothering you about that, even though I told her not to.” He turns back to look at the camp, that’s still visible in the distance, Katara is giving him a thumbs up alongside Toph, though the young girl is facing the wrong direction. A show of support as he attempts to ‘propose’ to Y/N, though he didn’t intend to, not today at least. 

Y/N offers him a nervous smile, pulling his attention away from their friends as they continued to walk, “it’s fine.” Another silence consumes them, and Y/N finds herself biting her lip as her gaze returns to Sokka, “have you thought about it though?” 

“Marriage?” Sokka asks, looking to her with wide eyes, “of course, I have. But we’re still young...” He trails off, tilting his head at Y/N as he mumbles, “have you?”

She shrugs, looking to the horizon, where the sun is slowly disappearing and the night sky begins to reveal itself, “honestly? Not really, no.” Y/N can practically feel Sokka deflate beside her, and quickly continues, “not because I don’t want to marry you. I just... I don’t know I never had...”

“Time. To think about it?” Sokka offered when she trailed off. He understood, in a way. They weren’t able to think much of the future while on the run, mostly because the future was a luxury that they were unsure they’d ever get. 

Y/N simply looks to him, nodding slowly she can feel her cheeks warm as she exhales deeply. “I want to though.” Her voice is quiet, probably because its the first time she admitting it to herself, that she does want to marry Sokka. There was always a small part of her that wondered what that would be like, and maybe moving in with him solidified the idea in her mind. Y/N didn’t know.

Maybe it was cliché but Sokka had known since they’d met. 

“I’ve thought about it for a while.” He mumbles, fidgeting with her hand. 

A smile graces Y/N’s face as she raises a brow, “what have you thought about?” She can’t help but feel curious, she’s well aware of how meticulously he plans things, and if he’s thought about their potential wedding it means he not only sees her in his future, but he also likely spent a lot of time considering minor details about the wedding. 

Sokka’s eyes are glued to her hands as he responds, “you would look really pretty in a wedding dress.” If Sokka was honest, she looked pretty in everything, but the idea of marrying her? It had crossed his mind in the past, several times.

She’s never seen him this shy and subdued before, and Y/N can’t help but feel shocked at how soft his voice sounds when he speaks. So, she finds herself considering what this imaginary wedding would be like. Yet all she manages to say is, “I was thinking about how I would never get married on a beach.” 

A small laugh escapes Sokka, “you hate sand.” They’d learnt that the hard way the last time they were at Ember Island, just before the end of the war. Sokka had spent about an hour convincing Y/N to come down to the beach despite her hatred of sand. She ended up agreeing— more accurately being forced to head down to the beach seeing as Sokka practically threw her over his shoulder and carried her there. Y/N vividly recalled the violent words she’d yelled at him when he threw her into the ice cold water.

Y/N is laughing alongside him, nodding,  “I do.”

She’d be saying those words again, not too far in the future. And maybe this possibility is why Y/N decides that she likes this whole peace thing, standing on the serene shores of Ember Island. Life is good when you aren’t worried about impending doom all the time, and its even better with Sokka in it. Y/N wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her life with him.

“Let’s prank Katara into thinking you proposed.” She suggested, grinning at Sokka. If the girl was so insistent on meddling with their relationship, then why not get a little revenge?

Sokka seemed to like this idea, as his eyes iit up at her words, “I love you, so much.” He exclaimed, grabbing Y/N’s face with both hands and pulling her into a kiss. 

Y/N finds herself smiling into the kiss, pulling away to say, “I know.”

“You’re supposed to say it back.” Sokka is pouting now, trapping her in his arms as he awaits the response he wants. 

Y/N hummed in reply, a pensive look on her face as she pretended to consider his words, “I guess I love you too.”

“You guess?!”

Hopefully their honeymoon would be far less chaotic, and further away from sand. 

A/N: lol writing something happy when you are sad is not it so im sorry that this is bad but i tried 🥺

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