imagine that hermes’ favorite toy is that toy sheriff he’s gonna get, right? and since its his favorite toy, the sheriff just so happens to end up his favorite person

Lost and Found

Pairing: Yuji x Reader

Summary: You’ve always wondered what happened to that pink haired boy who had become your closest friend in the very early years of your life and you finally get the answers you’ve been searching for.

A/N: This is for the Anilysium Server’s SFW collab. Masterlist can be found here!

The first thing you notice about Yuji is his pink hair. There are lots of kids your age playing in the park, laughing and talking to each other in the sandbox, on the swings, at the playground. But it’s that shocking head of pink that grabs your attention and with childish innocence and curiosity you make a beeline for the boy you don’t know, ignoring your mom’s warning to stop running. And it’s with embarrassment that your mom chases after you, profusely apologizing to Yuji’s grandfather when you grab a tuft of that soft pink hair in your little fist in awe.

But fortunately for the both of you, the older man just smiles and waves away your mom’s mortification and Yuji giggles, light brown eyes sparking as he grabs a strand of your hair in return, commenting on its color.

It might be the strangest greeting either adult has ever seen, but it seems to work as you both release each other’s hair and instinctively reach for each other’s hands as you race towards the sandbox, chattering about what the two of you can build together with the little plastic buckets and shovels sprawled about.

Yuji’s always been a social child, boys and girls naturally drawing towards his sunny disposition and outgoing nature. So it’s not shocking to see how quickly he’s befriended you. But what is interesting is how attached he is to you and his grandfather smiles in amusement when Yuji instantly searches for you first when he goes to the park each day, flat out ignoring the excited cries from his other friends to join them, either perking up or pouting depending on if you’re there or not. And to both his and your mother’s entertainment, you seem equally enamored. The two adults exchange knowing smiles when you practically drag your mom into a sprint upon seeing your new best friend.

Your parents take turns taking you to the park depending on their work schedules and on the weekends the three of you all go, enjoying a day off as a family. The Itadoris get to know both your parents well and the adults picnic and chat amicably and easily as Yuji and you romp and run around the park.

But it was only a matter of time before your curiosity got the better of you and for once Yuji is quiet when you ask him why it’s always his grandpa who brings him to the park.

“Where’s your mommy and daddy?”

There’s no malicious intent and you quirk your head in confusion when he doesn’t immediately answer what seems like an easy question to you.

“I don’t have a mommy and daddy.”

You’re not sure what to do or think of that reply, so you easily move on to your next question full speed ahead in a way only children can, leaving the weird feeling surrounding Yuji and you far behind. And this time it’s Yuji’s turn to cock his head in confusion with your next inquiry.

“Do you want to get married when you’re older?”

“Married? What’s that?”

“Married like my mommy and daddy! It’s when two people really like each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together.”

The concept of a mom and dad aren’t foreign to Yuji. He knows it’s normal, knows he’s the odd man out even at his young age with only a grandpa to take care of him. But he’s never dwelled too much on why he doesn’t have a pair of parents, fully satisfied and happy living with his grandpa.

But marriage...that’s a new concept he can’t quite understand, something he’s never seen firsthand or grown up with in the household. And he listens in awe as you ramble on with your explanation.

Is that why your parents always seem so happy together? Is that why grandpa sometimes seems so sad? Because he isn’t married? Yuji wants to be happy too!

“Let’s get married!”

You stare wide-eyed at the enthusiastic boy staring intently at you, surprised by the decisiveness in his tone.

“I really like you and I want to play together with you forever!”

Well when he puts it like that…

You grab his hands in yours and excitedly nod your head.

“I really like you too! Let’s tell my parents and your grandpa!”

Three sets of mouths gape at the two of you when you determinedly stand in front of where the adults are seated, hands entwined as you announce that the two of you are going to get married. And then there’s laughter and your parents and Yuji’s grandfather are cooing and shaking their heads in amusement at how adorable the two of you are.

“Marriage is for when you’re older, so Yuji and you have to wait a little longer until you get married, okay?”

“Okay!” you both scream before running off to play on the slide, promise already pushed to the back of your little heads as you shriek and giggle about who can get down the slide faster.

Life continues on and despite how months pass and then years, the two of you never tire of each other, only seeming to become closer and closer. So it makes it that much more jarring when Yuji suddenly disappears.

Your parents don’t know what to do, cursing themselves for not exchanging numbers with Yuji’s grandfather and their hearts break watching you patiently sit alone on a park bench, refusing to play with or meet anyone else, telling everyone you’re waiting for your best friend. They hope it’s just a one day thing, but one day becomes two, two becomes three, and when Yuji and his grandfather never appear for an entire month, you also stop going to the park, the location only causing you more distress than good.

Fortunately this happens not too long before you enter middle school and your parents sigh in relief when you become too busy acclimating to a new school environment and making new friends to continue crying over the sudden loss of your best friend. Sadness is more fleeting in your youth and they’re grateful for this, warmly welcoming the new friends you bring back home after school to study with.

You never forget Yuji. You don’t think you could ever completely forget the boy who had been your first ever close friend. But he begins to become a distant fond memory, a mystery you think you’ll never solve. You think of him from time to time, especially as you get older and gossip about cute boys in high school, giggling and asking each other how many kids you want when you’re older, who you’re going to marry.

A wistful smile spreads across your face and you remember how sure you had been as a child that Yuji was going to be your husband, confident promises from two children who didn’t know the first thing about marriage and love. You wonder what he looks like now. Is he as happy and easygoing as he used to be? Is he as loud and talkative? Does he have a girlfriend?

You get your answer sooner than you had expected and you freeze in the middle of the busy Tokyo streets when a familiar shock of pink hair enters your line of sight. The boy’s back is turned to you and you tell yourself you’re being overdramatic. It’s Tokyo. People dye their hair all types of colors now. So what if someone else has pink hair?

But your heart tells you differently. It’s been over a decade since you’ve seen that little boy, but you swear it’s the same exact shade of pink you remember grabbing in your tiny hands back then. And before rationality can catch up to your soul, your body is already moving, drawing closer and closer to that broad back.

“Yuji?”

The name comes out softer than you intended and you wonder if he heard you. But then he’s turning and your throat begins to choke as a pair of familiar light brown eyes lock with yours. There are millions of people in Tokyo, hundreds swarming around the two of you as they make their way to the next destination. But at this moment, it’s only the two of you and before you know it he’s rushing towards you and you gasp at the feeling of a calloused thumb gently brushing your face.

“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s really you.”

You don’t even realize the tears streaming down your face that Yuji is desperately trying to wipe away. Oh, that’s why he looks so blurry right now and you give him a happy watery smile before flinging your arms around him, soul at peace when you feel him return the embrace.

He’s so different from the young boy you knew. Taller, bigger, stronger. And yet, despite the many years that have passed, you can’t help but feel like not much has really changed at all. It feels completely natural for him to lace his fingers with yours like he used to and you let him lead you to a nearby cafe where he prattles on and on about what he’s been up to since you last saw him.

It feels surreal, like a rose tinted dream, and you tightly clutch at his hand even when you’re seated across from each other, afraid that if you let go, he’ll disappear and you’ll wake up all alone again. Turns out he’s just as talkative as he used to be and you find comfort in the familiarity of his tone despite the fact that his voice is a few decibels lower.

His grandfather suddenly got so sick that they needed to send him to a hospital and with no other adults to take care of Yuji, he couldn’t go to the park and tell you what had happened. You only cry harder when Yuji becomes teary eyed himself when he tells you how he went to the park almost everyday when he was old enough to go himself in middle school, hoping to find you so he could explain what had happened all those years ago. And Yuji joins your watery breakdown when you tell him how you waited a month for him (eternity for a young child), how you sat alone and never played with anyone else because you were always hoping that he’d show up again.

When your drinks and food arrive, you sniffle and laugh, drying your eyes, one hand each still firmy locked in each other’s grasp on the table.

“No more crying. We’re going to make up for lost time.”

Your parents are stunned when you bring Yuji back home with you that day and there’s more crying when they find out what had happened and of Yuji’s grandfather’s death. But they’re quick to welcome back the boy in their little family and Yuji becomes a common sight in your household and at your dining table, joining your families for meals and birthdays, studying with you, watching anime and playing video games late into the night, helping your mom with cooking and your dad with chores around the house. And the confirmation that he’s part of the family is only solidified when your parents tell you that all four of you will be going to visit Yuji’s grandfather’s grave together to pay your respects.

There’s not a single dry eye as you all picnic and sit in front of the tombstone and Yuji gratefully accepts the forehead kisses and hugs your parents shower him with, never once letting your hand go as you chat to Itadori-san’s spirit. You give your parents some alone time, letting them talk at length to the old man they had grown so close to while Yuji and you had played.

The two of you reminisce on those carefree days, teasing each other about who can build a bigger sandcastle now. You giggle and ask him if he remembers promising to marry you, joking about how silly and innocent the two of you were then. And you turn to Yuji, expecting to see him laughing with you, but there’s not a hint of humor on his face as he resolutely stares at you, light brown eyes concentrated as they gaze at you.

“I still want to marry you.”

You gape at him, waiting for him to break character, laugh and make fun of your dumbfounded expression. But it never comes and instead he tentatively grabs your hands, holding them in his, thumbs brushing soothingly over your trembling knuckles.

You’ve never seen Yuji nervous before. You don’t think you even thought it was possible for him to be afraid of anything. But standing in front of you, light brown eyes uncharacteristically flitting about as he tries to find adequate words, he looks so vulnerable, so sincere, so genuine. And you wait with bated breath, hope fluttering in your chest.

“I like you, like really like you. I know I said that when we were kids, but it’s still true, just like it was true back then. We lost a decade together and I know we’re still making up for that lost time, but I can’t help but feel like what we have hasn’t changed a bit. If anything I like you even more now…”

He trails off and your chest feels like it’s about to burst in fondness when you watch him trail off, uncertainty and embarrassment obvious in the way he shifts from foot to foot, a pink flush gracing his cheeks.

“I like you too, Yuji. Like...really like you.”

You giggle at the pout he gives you at the teasing tone of your voice as you use his words against him. But then it’s your turn to shift your weight from side to side as you also try to wrap your tongue around the feelings Yuji’s stirred inside of you since your reunion.

“I think I know exactly what you mean. We aren’t little kids who only run around and play in sandboxes and playgrounds anymore. There’s a giant gap between then and now that we’re trying to bridge. But I feel like reuniting at this age and seeing how well and easily we connect even now only makes me like you even more. It’s like our souls have grown together in a way despite the distance, like we were always destined to be joined at the hips.”

You stifle a chuckle at the way Yuji perks up, looking all the world like an eager puppy who’s spotted their precious owner, anxious energy surrounding him as he waits on your next words.

“So I guess what I’m saying is TBD on marriage, but if you’ll have me, I’d like to try dating.”

Your sentence isn’t even fully complete before you watch in mortification and giddiness at how quickly Yuji drops to one knee, the picture perfect of a man about to propose (if it weren’t for both your high school uniforms making it very obvious that this isn’t a typical marriage proposal).

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

There’s only one answer and you simply utter a “yes” that turns into a squeal as Yuji practically lunges at you, sweeping you in his arms and twirling you around.

Beautiful Stranger || Minghao

artist!minghao x f!reader

w.c: 4.5k

warnings: angst, fluff, its a little suggestive, self doubts

notes: In celebration of my baby’s birthday I did a thing and I’m not sorry. Happy Birthday Hao!!!

Enjoy and let me know your thoughts.xx

masterlist

Xu Minghao is a beautiful mystery that was often left unsolved.

He prefers it this way.

Minghao realizes this after his first heartbreak. Then again after his second heartbreak. After his third, he decides to give up. If love wasn’t in the cards for him then why should he bend over backwards to reach it?

When he reached his twenties and everything spiraled out of control way too fast for his liking. He painted like his life depended on it because realistically in his universe it did. He got around using people for his pleasure and then left them out in the cold just like it had been done to him. Minghao didn’t have time for love, nor did he want it. He reserved his love for his canvases, paintbrushes, and different colors of monochromatic paints.

Then he met you.

His monochromatic colors were replaced by the sweet strawberry pink of your lipstick. His paint brushes swirled around his canvases to the melody of your laughter. Before he knew it a piece of you had infiltrated all of his paintings. Whether it was the exact shade of blue from the shirt you wore that day or the sparkling gaze behind your eyes that resembled his night sky.

He had fallen for you, for the girl that visited the university gallery every Wednesday morning to sit in front of his atrocious paintings that were unfortunately displayed as part of his final project before graduation.

At first, he never said anything, just watched you from afar wondering what thoughts were running through your head as you admired. Did you think his paint stroke pattern was lacking? Did you think he should’ve chosen other colors? Did you think his choice in reds was too dramatic?

Whatever you were thinking, it drove him insane not knowing.

He would pace for minutes before entering the gallery every Wednesday morning. Sometimes he hoped you wouldn’t be there so he could judge his own paintings in silence. His wishes never came true, as none of them ever did but it didn’t hurt to try.

“Are you stalking me?” You asked one Monday morning. After your fourth visit, you had noticed him silently walking around the gallery, sneaking glances at you from the peripherals of your eyes. At first you had assumed he was an art enthusiast like you, and admired the artwork that was displayed. Then you caught him waiting for you outside of the gallery one morning, only entering a few minutes after you had. It could’ve been just a coincidence that morning, but when it started happening more often it scared you.

So you changed your visiting dates. Opting for every Monday instead of Wednesday an hour later than your usual time. It had gone smoothly for a week until he caught on and that’s where you were now.

“Hello,” You waved your hand in front of his face, his features paralyzed in shock only until he caught sight of your hand. “Are you stalking me?

Minghao shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets, “N-No, I-I um...these are my paintings.” He shrugs and signals with his head around the four paintings that haunted him day and night.

“So, you’re telling me you’re the The8?” You ask in disbelief as Minghao cringes. There were days when he regrets choosing that as his pseudonym. After all, he was eight when he created it after coming home from his first art lesson. But letting go of it  would be letting go of that little boy whose dreams were bigger than his body and he couldn’t disappoint him especially not now.

“Just Minghao is fine.” He nods and takes his hands out of his pockets before drying them against his jeans. “Do you actually like my paintings?”

You scoff before rolling your eyes, “No I just like sitting here.” Minghao’s face falls causing you to let out a shy laugh before shoving his shoulder away playfully, “I’m playing with you I love them actually.”

“Why?”

“That’s a stupid question the The8.” Minghao rolls his eyes before breaking out into a smile as he waits for you to continue. “They’re not peaceful, in fact, I sometimes find them overwhelming to look at but they bring me peace.” Minghao’s cheeks have never felt hotter than before, his heart is palpitating at an uneven time. No one has ever described his painting the way you have and he feels like he’s going to throw up.

“That’s a stupid reason.”

Minghao is now painting nonstop

“When are you going to paint me like one of your French girls?” You ask, chin on his naked chest as you draw patterns against the ridges of his stomach. You have no artistic talent but you love creating invisible masterpieces against his skin. He’s the only one that can see them and he loves it.

“I don’t have any French girls.” He rolls his eyes before sitting up against your headboard and grabbing his discarded boxers and putting them on. “And that’s not the quote.”

“Alright Titanic enthusiast, let me live out my fantasy.” You joke and Minghao laughs as he lays back down bringing you along with him. You pout, “When are you going to paint me?”

“Who says I haven’t already?” He smirks down at you and captures your lips with his in a slow sensual kiss. You sigh against his lips and pull him close, “I think you’re lying.”

“Impossible lying is a sin and I am a child of God.”

“And here you are consummating outside of marriage, God is disappointed in you Hao.” You peck his lips one last time before sitting up. You stand up taking your sheets along with you. Minghao stays laying down on your bed like it was his very own. He watches you closely, taking in the way your skin glows against the light of the rising sun. The way your hips dip when they meet your thighs and he can’t wait to go home again to his canvas, monochromatic paints, and paintbrushes.

If he knew that meeting you would cure his unfortunate art disease he would’ve tried a little harder to find you.

Six months ago his mornings consisted of him rushing out of bed, getting dressed as fast as possible so he makes it to the university art gallery before you. Now his mornings consist of him rushing out of bed, getting dressed as fast as possible to bring you breakfast before you leave for your morning class.

Most days though, you end up pinning him against your front door before he could mutter a ‘good morning’ to you. He doesn’t complain though, he loves the way your body melts against his. Like you were made for him, and fuck he loves it so much he wants to die.

If he were to believe in soulmates he would think you were his.

Minghao’s parents find out.

When he went away for university Minghao lied and told his parents he was studying business communications. He wasn’t sure if they had believed him or if he didn’t care but he had spent four years studying art without their knowledge. He was living in a peaceful fantasy not sure when he’d have to wake up and tell his parents the truth. That their trust fund had gone to a degree where nothing was guaranteed.

He guesses that time is now.

Minghao and you have officially been dating for two months. And he decides to take you home for Christmas.

At first you had declined, told him that he should spend Christmas with his parents and that you were fine staying on campus alone until New Years. Your parents had gone on a couples retreat. It was needed they weren’t doing so hot for years now so you didn’t mind. Minghao on the other hand wouldn’t take no for an answer and that’s how you ended up with him hand in hand on the front door step of his childhood home.

“I should’ve stayed Hao, what if they don’t like me?” You practically yell at a low volume. Minghao rolls his eyes and brings your palm up to his lips. He leaves behind a reassuring kiss before ringing the doorbell again.

“It’s impossible to dislike you. By the end of the night they’ll probably like you a lot more than me.” He reassures bumping his shoulder against yours lightly. You stumble a little and Minghao pulls your hand to keep you from falling. His arm comes to your waist and he’s about to kiss you when the front door falls open. The two of you caught, the guilt rushing towards your faces as his parents stare back at the two of you with wide smiles.

“Don’t stand out there for too long, you'll catch a cold.” His mother's soft voice sounds and wraps around the warm porch light. They open the door further, Minghao’s grip on your hand gets tighter as he pulls you into his home. The warmth wraps around you like a protective blanket and you find yourself never wanting to leave.

For the remainder of the night until dinner Minghao doesn’t leave your side. His hand is on you at all times whether it’s on your arm, or appropriately placed against your back. His mother shows you around the small but big enough for their tiny family house, while his father finishes dinner in the kitchen. When the three of you reach Minghao’s childhood room you feel the tears brimming in your eyes.

His walls were covered with paintings he had made while growing up and seeing them displayed makes you feel proud. You see the improvement and growth in every single one as they’re sequenced by years. Your favorite one is the one he painted when he was thirteen. He notices you lingering on that one for longer than usual as his mother’s voice echoes off his navy blue walls. He never understood what it was about his art that made you forget the world around you, and you never once could explain why to him without changing the subject right away. He just hopes that one day he can get it out of you to understand your admiration.

“You like it?” Minghao whispers in your ear and it makes you jump. He chuckles as his arms find their way around your waist, the panic rushes through you at the speed of light.

“Minghao your mo-“

“Dad called her down to help, it’s just us right now.” He kisses your cheek and stays there before  trailing soft kisses down your neck. He kisses it lightly, the goosebumps appearing against your arms. “This was a mistake I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

You go frigid against his chest, as he continues to kiss down your neck until it reaches your sweet spot. “W-Why?” You move your head to the side, giving him more room. He smirks, sucking the spot he’s memorized like it were his color theory notes.

“I’m immorally thinking of every single way I can have you falling apart while my parents are downstairs.”

“Dinner is ready!”

You should’ve kept your mouth shut, that was a problem you always had and it never resulted in anything good.

Somewhere in the midst of dinner you had briefly mentioned your love for Minghao’s artwork and how proud you were that his paintings were being displayed at the University gallery. But you hadn’t known that Minghao had lied and never told his parents what exactly he was studying.

“We’ve been paying for a useless degree?” His father forcefully drops the fork against his plate, a loud clang sounds through the small dining room.

“It’s not useless, it's what I love.” Minghao fights back and stands up, “This is why I didn’t tell you, I knew you wouldn’t approve.” He pushes in his chair, hitting the table making you and his mother jump.

“Of course we wouldn’t, you’re never going to get anywhere in life with an art degree. I didn’t raise you to be a lowlife artist.”

“You barely raised me at all.” Minghao tugs at his roots, he sends you a glare and leaves the room. The tension evident in the room and you don’t know if you should stay seated or follow him. When you hear the front door shut and you go with the latter.

“I-I’m sorry, dinner was amazing.” You stood up and pushed your chair in carefully. You knew you should’ve stayed home, but that was before when you feared his parents weren’t going to like you. Now you should’ve stayed home because your big mouth was always causing trouble.

You made your way around Minghao’s house as fast as you could and walked out forgetting about your coat and purse.

The bone chilling cold gives you whiplash as soon as you walk out. Your eyes land on Minghao, his foot tapping impatiently against the snow covered ground. He’s looking at head into the dead of the night while a cigarette burns in between his fingers. You knew he smoked but he had reassured you it wasn’t a problem and he only did it to relieve himself of all the unnecessary stress. He had stopped though, when you had become his stress reliever instead, but now you were the cause of his stress.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t know.” You hugged yourself in a poor attempt to keep yourself warm. Minghao scoffed and brought the white stick up to his lips. His eyes closing in pleasure as he takes a long drag. “If I had known I wouldn’t have sai-“

“Sometimes I wish you would just stay out of my business.” He huffed. He flicks his finished cigratte onto the ground and crushes it beneath his boot. “You had no business in telling them.” He sends you a glare and shakes his head in disappointment. You feel the tears start to well in the corner of your eyes and you dig your nails into your arms to keep yourself from letting them go.

“I didn’t know. What was I supposed to do?” You throw your hands up in the air. You were frustrated with the situation and upset with yourself. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go, but you always managed to ruin every good thing that came into your life. And this was no different.

“I don’t know, not say anything.”

“I just wanted to show them that I don’t care what you do because I’ll support you no matter what.” You sigh, a shiver goes through your spine as he stands up. You take a step back, the look in his eyes giving the bitter winter cold a run for its money.

“I don’t want it.”

Minghao misses you.

Since Christmas he hasn’t been able to paint anything. His mind keeps going back to the look of hurt on your face as soon as the words left his mouth. The tears that fell when you walked down the steps of his porch, shivering, out into the freezing cold. He didn’t run after you because he was afraid you finally saw him for who he was. Someone that was undeserving of your heart of gold. But he stayed and smoked two more cigarettes before walking into his childhood home.

Minghao hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks and tries to fill the void with his cigarettes, to let the poison smoke consume his entire body. Every time he finishes a pack in one sitting he feels even more disgust towards himself.

He wonders if he should call you and apologize for that night. His mind constantly tells him no while his heart continues to yearn for you. He misses your delicate touch burning his skin, he misses getting lost in your soft eyes. He misses your voice and how it sounds like a warm melody even when you’re upset. He misses you like crazy that he feels like he’s losing his life.

The blank canvas before him laughs at him, his constant frustration with himself grows as the night envelops his makeshift studio in his tiny apartment. He needs to paint. He needs one more painting before graduation, one more and he'll be out of the educational art cuffs. One more and he’ll be free to do whatever he wants. But  he just can’t because all he sees is you, your hurt, the greyscale of his cigarette smoke and the bright light of his phone as his thumb hoovers over your contact name.

He almost lets himself cave in too. If it wasn’t for the soft knocks on his front door he would’ve finally called. He feels the blood go up to his ears as he realizes the time. No one in their right mind would show up at his front door at two in the morning. Unless it was you.

He lets his feet carry him towards his door. Minghao knows he shouldn’t get his hopes up but had always been a hopeful kid no matter how many times his hope had been knocked down. He takes a deep breath, his long fingers wrapping around the door handle and he rips it open like a two day old band aid. Your tired eyes meet his miserable ones for the first time in three weeks and he feels like he can breathe again.

“I-I...um...come in.” He steps aside scratching the back of his neck. His hair was getting long again. He usually would’ve cut it by now, but you had once told him you loved how boyish it made him look. So he keeps it.

“I’m here to pick up my stuff.” You walk past him. Your oversized hoodie swallows you whole and he can’t help but want to feel your warmth against him. He stays put in his side of the room taking in your appearance, your hair was a different color, a lighter shade than the one he had last seen you in. He loves it. “Minghao my stuff please, I’m tired and want to go home.”

Minghao panics and he closes the space between the two of you, his arms find their way around you and pulls you close. “Don’t leave please, I’m a coward who’s scared and I lo-I-I’m just sorry for everything I know you deserve better than someone who’s never going to amount to anything but please for tonight don’t leave me alone. You can forget about me in the morning if you want, just not tonight please.” He begs into your neck.

Minghao has never once cried for another person,  not during his first three heartbreaks, not when his dog died. But the thought of losing you forever shatters him and he finally allows himself to weep.

After the initial shock of having him close to you again after missing him for what seemed like years. You hug him back. His sobs take over the dead silence of the night as you hold him, smoothing out the wrinkles of his paint stained t-shirt. You missed him more than air and although you were still upset with him. The two of you still had many things to talk about, all you wanted to do was hold him the same way he’s held you during moments of pure vulnerability.

“I’ll stay.”

Minghao is in love and he doesn’t know how to tell you.

His paintings don’t hang in the university art gallery anymore. They’re locked away in the storage closet in his apartment. All of them collecting dust, except for two.

When the two of you graduated. The art gallery took down his paintings to display the incoming freshman’s artwork. You had gone with him for  moral support as the two of you watched his most hated--your favorite paintings come down. It was a bittersweet moment for the two of you but you could tell it had affected him more than he led on.

“When I get my first paycheck I’ll buy one off you.” You whispered to him as he walked you back to your dorm room. Minghao stops dead in his tracks, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he grips his two largest canvases in his hands.

“Why would you do that?” He shakes his head before closing the distance between the two of you.

“Because I love your paintings idiot.” You roll your eyes and hold the small canvases you were holding against your chest. “And I love you.”

Minghao’s world stops. It freezes and goes blank. He swallows slowly to make sure he’s heard you right, and when he notices your shaking hands gripping his precious canvases he’s positive he has.

“No you don’t.” He blurts out before he can think and he sees the hurt flash across your perfect features signaling that he has fucked up. He doesn’t know how to handle your confession. Everyone he has ever loved laughs in his face and tells him he was an idiot for thinking they would ever feel anything for him. He almost waits for you to retreat your statement but when you don’t he feels his heart against his throat.

“Fuck, fine sorry I said anything.” You scoff and turn around, walking as fast as you could to create all the distance between the two of you. You knew you should’ve never confessed, you knew he would never feel the same way as you did. You were chaos, too much to handle, at times to clingy and not even that good of a fuck to keep a man. But there had been a little pocket of hope in you reserved for Minghao and sometimes he stared at you for longer than a person should stare at another. So you took your shot. Knowing you could have possibly read all the lingering touches and stares and blatantly obvious signs wrong. That you would end up in another heartbreak but you had really thought your subconscious had been wrong.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, girl.

Wait, wait, stop walking.” Minghao yells looking around frantically and setting his paintings against an isolated light post. He uses all the energy he has left in him and runs after you. His shoes forcefully stomping against the cracked pavement. Minghao’s mind is running at miles an hour and the only thing he can do is laugh because of how badly he wants to kiss you. Tell you you’ve been the sole owner of his heart ever since the first time he spotted you silently admiring his terrible paintings all those months ago and paint.  

Is this really the life of an artist?

He’s an idiot, the biggest one on this planet but for the first time in his life, he’s determined to not let the best thing that has ever happened to him slip away.

You have no choice but to stop at the streetlight and Minghao catches up. His breathing is ragged, his fake glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose, and his hands are shaking from the adrenaline surging through his veins.

He places his hands against your shoulders making you jump, “Minghao forget I said anything it was a mis--.” His mouth is on yours before you could finish your sentence. His hands travel down your back and he pulls you closer, crushing his paintings in between your bodies.

“I love you too,”

Minghao is nervous.

The day he’s been looking forward to and dreading for the past three years has finally arrived. His nerves course through his body like shocks of electricity and he feels like throwing up. When he met you all those years ago, the only person who encouraged his unachieveable dream, in the stupid university gallery, he never once thought he would end up here.

“Baby, are you ready?” You peak your head into the green room, the dark shade of red adjourning your lips catches him off guard. His hands itching to grab the sketchbook and pack of pastels he kept in his bag for moments of random inspiration. He refrains when he remembers he has people waiting for him. People who have gone out of their way to come to see him, his paintings and the opening of his highly anticipated art gallery.

You walk in and close the door behind you. You stand in Minghao’s path and he stops pacing.“I can tell Jun to stall for a few more minutes. He has the crowd wrapped around his finger with his terrible jokes, I mean some of them aren’t that bad but still they aren’t good.”  You put your hand against his cheek, your thumb soothing away the worry lines around his perfect mouth.

“How many people are out there?” He whispers and puts his forehead against yours. He thought his nerves were bad on his wedding day, but he’s sure this takes the cherry. He won’t tell you, even though he has a hunch that you already know.

“Last time Mingyu and your father updated me we had reached a few hundred.”

“A few hundred.” Minghao’s eyes grow wider than the moon, his nerves get worse. “I can’t go out there. What if they don’t like me?”

“Look at me Hao.” You place two fingers underneath his chin and raise it. His pupils are wide with uncertainty and you do everything in your power to keep yourself from laughing. Nothing was cuter than Minghao when he was nervous. “You always sell yourself short, these people fell in love with your paintings and I have no doubt in my mind that they’ll love you. I mean honey look at where we ended up.” You offer him a smile before leaning in to place a soft kiss against his plump lips.

“Yeah but that’s different. I was a nobody back then, no one had a preconceived notion of me then. I’m afraid these people might expect a broken artist with a smoking habit and that’s not me. At least not anymore.”

“Who cares what they might think of you, this isn’t about them. This is about you and your dream, don’t let the opinions of strangers ruin this for you.” You nod your head rubbing your thumb over his lips to get rid of the residue left behind by your liptstick. “If it makes you feel better I’m here and so are your parents and your friends. We’ll always support you baby.”

Minghao takes a deep breath and nods shyly. “Can you just hold me for a while. I want to be yours only for these last few minutes of freedom.”

“Minghao you’re making it sound like you’re selling your soul.” You giggle and fix the loose strands of hair that had fallen against his forehead.

“I’ll stay.”

Xu Minghao is a beautiful mystery that was often left unsolved.

Until you walked into his life and took your time to solve it.

You’re Safe Now

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Warnings: mentions of rape and swearing. 

!! This topic is a very serious matter and may find this disturbing or triggering to read so do be warned. If you feel uncomfortable reading, please don't feel bad for leaving and going to read something else.

Word count: 2,407

Summary: You’re a kook and you and JJ have recently broken it off, so Sarah persuades you to go out to a party to try and get over him. 

A/N: i know pogues and kooks don’t usually go to house parties together but let’s just pretend they do in this

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The weight she felt is back. Well, it never really left her. It was just numbed with the excessive amount of alcohol that she consumed, leaving her with a pain in her head and the all known feelings of sharp and sudden pangs in her chest. 

 The pain was unusual to her, as before, heartbreak was a mystery. But now it's only gotten worse. The swooping sensation in her stomach has risen and has the feeling that everything is slowed down, as if running in water has hit rock bottom.

 Sarah has checked on her multiple times in the past week but she just wanted to be alone. Alone to her thoughts. Thoughts on why he left. Crying, sleeping, drinking and thinking about him had been the only tasks she could bring herself to do. But was that really helping her? It didn't seem to be, but the pain of seeing someone else who was happy, and them not feeling what she was, hurt her the most. She knew once Sarah left her room she would go out and live her life like normal and be happy, so why couldn't she be like that?

 Staring at the ceiling, Y/N heard two faint knocks on the door, followed by it opening. She didn't bother to look because she knew it would be her best friend coming to check up on her like she has done almost every day for the past week. Trying to get her to do the basic tasks of showering, eating and drinking anything other than what her parents had in their liquor cabinet and cupboards.

"Y/N? How are you feeling?" Sarah asked cautiously as she made her way to sit beside her on the side of the bed. Ignoring her, Y/N just sat up and lent against the headboard and played with her hands that were seated in her lap.

"Listen, I know you're not in the mood, but I think it will be a really good idea for you to come out with me tonight." Continuing to ignore her, Sarah sighed and began speaking again, "there's not gunna be a lot of people there, the Kooks are just throwing a small thing, close friends, and a couple of Tourons, so you can get your mind off of him. You can shower, get changed and leave the house to get some fresh air. It will do you good."

Y/N wanted to disagree with her, she really did. But deep down she knew Sarah was right. Staying in bed and feeling sorry for herself wouldn't get her over him and fix her. She wouldn't heal and forget about him if I didn't carry on living her life. 

Looking up at her best friend, positioned beside her on the bed, she sent her a small nod and returned the intense gaze she had back to her hands on her lap.

"Okay, I'll run you a shower," she said enthusiastically as she stood up and walked towards the bathroom that was connected to the bedroom.

An hour later, Y/N and Sarah stepped along the sidewalk outside of the big kook house that held the party. Sarah said the party was going to be small, with hardly any people. But boy was she wrong. Y/N instantly regretted her decision to go and started backing up, stepping away from the house and its loud music further wishing to be tucked under the covers of her bed.

"Y/N! I'm so sorry, I honestly thought it was going to be small, I guess the word got out." Sarah saw her movements and grabbed her hand before she could go anywhere.

"It’s okay," Y/N returned in such a quiet voice she was surprised she could be heard. Sarah gave her a small smile and began to lead her into the house.

The music was so loud that it made her skin tingle and her lungs feel like mush. Not that that was how she was already feeling anyway. Over the roar of music, a distant, hazy chatter could be heard. She couldn't make out any words, but laughter rang in her ears and wouldn't seem to stop. A simple task that she found extremely hard to do in the past couple days. She found it sad that she couldn't bring herself to laugh, but couldn't blame herself. All she is, is sadness, every other emotion pushed from her being. 

Following Sarah through the house, being held by her arm, they made it to the kitchen, where Sarah poured herself and Y/N a drink. Gladly accepting. Neither of them knew what it was made of but it tasted good. As she was taking a sip, letting the familiar feeling of the alcohol travel down her throat, she again felt her arm being pulled and led away from the kitchen making her feet follow.

Weaving in-between masses of people, they finally arrived at a group of people Y/N recognised as Sarah’s friends from her classes, some she knew from hanging out, others she had never spoken to but were friendly nonetheless. Sending everyone a friendly but emotionless smile to be polite, she ignores all of their conversations, sipping her drink quietly to herself and falling back into the recent familiar state of feeling alone.

Looking around at the people in the crowded room, it is full of kooks, tourons and pogues. Everyone is feeding off of the smiles and fast drinking. It's wall to wall of people dancing to the music or standing in individual groups, chatting, drinking and playing games. There's no room for any more people to go. One of the busiest parties Y/N has ever seen. 

Then she sees him.

Stealing her breath and the heat from her skin. He was sitting on the edge of a sofa across the room from her, staring at his beer bottle that was in his hands. Wearing his signature grey board shorts, his classic grey, sleeveless shirt and his old worn out boots that she had to move one too many times for being in the way, thrown on her bedroom floor.

He had dark circles under his eyes and the few day stubble decorating his jaw, told her he also hasn't been looking after himself. The obvious weight loss could be seen around his neck and face making his jawline look more prominent and his neck even smaller. 

Surrounded by the pogues, she could tell that he too, wasn't invested in the party he was at, and all of the conversations happening around him. His expression was of one being forced to endure an unpleasant odour. Was he being forced there too? Was he hurting just as much as she was? With her mind wondering, other questions popped into her head. Did Sarah know he was going to be here? Is that why she made her come? 

Y/N knew Sarah had been seeing John B (not that anyone else was supposed to know) so was this all one big plan that they came up with to get the two of them back together again?

Her eyes slowly began to fill with tears as she continued to watch him. Watch his movements. Watch his hands move around the bottle in his hands while trying to remove the paper on its side. Watching his eyes move as people walk past him or sit down around him. 

Before she began to cry in front of everyone and he could see her, Y/N stood to her feet and walked away making her way through the masses of people to find an empty section of the house. 

Just as she made it out of the crowd of people and into an empty hallway, the wall of tears burst like water from a dam, falling down her face. She felt the muscles of her chin tremble like a small child and looked toward the window, as if the moon light could soothe her. She hears her own sounds, like a distressed child, raw from the inside. It takes something out of her I didn't know she had left to give. 

The door to the room next to her began to open, making her quickly wipe away the excess tears that were down her cheeks and taking a deep breath in to try and calm her rapid breathing. Looking at her reflection through the window that was opposite the door, she could see two heavily intoxicated guys stumble out of a bedroom, followed by Rafe Camron.

She didn't know what was going on inside of the room, but she knew it was something to do with drugs by the way all three mens pupils were dilated and all had slight residue of white powder around their noses.

He was wearing the usual kook fashion that most at the party dressed in, of khaki shorts and pink and white polo shirt as well as his signature slicked back hair style. He was drunk, but not as much his friend who he was just with. 

His blue eyes followed the other two as they stumbled down the corridor,still standing in the doorway before he landed his eyes on Y/N. He continued to stare, making her so uncomfortable that she began to turn away, to find another quiet place in the house to be alone.

“Y/N right? Sarah's friend?” he asked, stopping her by positioning his body to block the route she was going to take back to the party.

"Uh yeah, but I, I need to um.. I need to go and find Sarah now," she stuttered quietly, cursing at herself for how obvious the discomfort in her voice was. Not wanting to get into a conversation of why she's crying to the person who hates the pogues, and more specifically JJ, the most. 

“You know, I've alway had a thing for you,” Rafe’s raspy voice said, looking down on her. Watching her every move without taking a blink. She backed herself more into the wall, a way of hiding from him. He stalked after her, trapping her. She felt the walls begin to close in every step Rafe took. “But I lost all respect for you when I heard you got with that dirty pogue.”

“Please Rafe, just let me go” she felt more tears burn in her eyes and they began to fall. 

“Now now, don’t cry,” Rafe cooed, shivering when she felt the rough texture of his hands brushing a stray tear from her face with the other hand slightly above her hip. Her body automatically tried to get away from his but his tight grip on my body only made it harder. Pinning her further into the wall.

“I haven’t got laid in awhile,” Rafe said. Y/N’s stomach dropped to the ground. 

Y/N let out a choked sob. “Please,” she pleaded again.

Her watery eyes enlarged and the hairs on the nape of her neck stood up from fear. She tried to scream or make any sort of noise to gain the attention of anyone, but the inside of her mouth lacked any moisture and a croak was all that could make it past her lips. She felt the panic begin like a cluster of spark plugs in her abdomen. 

Rafe placed a chaste kiss on her neck, his stubby fingers curled in her hair and he still had his body pressed against hers against the wall.

Out of nowhere, a balled fist collided with Rafe’s cheekbone, flinging his neck backward like a willow caught in the wind. He stumbled backwards, releasing his body from the terrified girls, rubbing his cheek with his palm. 

“Rafe, what the fuck?” a girl’s voice shouted. Sarah. Y/N collapsed to the floor trying to take in air through her trembling body. Sarah following trying to help calm the petrified girl on the floor

“JJ! Get off of him, you made your point!” another familiar voice shouted. John B.

Looking up through watery eyes she saw the commotion that was unfolding in front of her.

JJ.  

He saved her from Rafe as if he could hear her silent prayers and pleads.

She saw as John B held a struggling JJ from attacking an already bruised and bloody Rafe led on the floor trying to pull himself up.

“Rafe just leave” you heard Sarah say from beside you, as she continued to stroke Y/N’s back.

Gazing over at JJ, his menacing eyes were a blazing red staring at the man as he walked back to the main party. His head tilted down making the rest of his features indistinguishable.

As Rafe left, John B let go of the angry teen and he instantly made his way to her. Before she could draw in the air her body desperately needed, JJ knelt down on her other side and helped her up with help from Sarah.

Standing with his support, she melted into his form. Feeling his firm torso and the heart that beats within. His hands are folded around her back, drawing her in closer. She can feel her body shake. Releasing the current event and seeing him and touching him for the first time since they broke up.

Sarah backed up and clung to John B as tears welled in her eyes as she watched the girl in JJ’s arms. She always saw Y/N as this tough Kook who wouldn’t take shit from anyone. And seeing her best friend so vulnerable at the hands of someone she trusted, hurt.

JJ pulls his head back and wipes the tears that fell from Y/N’s eyes with his callous fingers. Even the roughness of his fingertips brings more relief then her heart can hold. He is eating her with his eyes, running his hand through her Y/H/C hair.

"Hey, hey, it's okay.. you're safe now," he spoke in a quiet hushed voice. Kissing her forehead like they would always do to each other to try and calm themselves down.

In that moment all she could think about was him. Why they broke up and went their separate ways in the first place. It's as if all that love became pain, pain became fear and the fear sowed hatred. Hatred strong enough to break them. Ironic isn't it. Maybe that's the way things go, a strong hate to break a strong love.

"Thank you"

idk if this can be triggering but can you maybe do a sokka x reader who’s struggling with mental health? those fics make me feel less alone <33

Hey, anon! I hope you enjoy this oneshot, and know that my DMs are always open <3

The After

Sokka x Reader

TW: Descriptions of panic attacks + mentions of canon realistic injuries

Firebenders rise with the sun. Taking from the power its primal energy, they stayed as close to it as they could get, like child to mother. Waterbenders gained strength under the moon, changing and shifting with its phases as easily as the tides flowed. Earthbenders and airbenders were luckier as they were constantly surrounded by the source of their power, and yet it could be taken away.

Y/N rose when all others were asleep.

It had started at the beach house. Before Ozai was thrown to rot in a jail cell, she couldn’t let herself sleep. Something about staying right under the enemy’s nose made her skin crawl, let alone in one of the beds once occupied by them. The nightmares were horrendous that first night, leaving her to wake in a cold sweat, stifling a scream for everyone else’s sake. Her chest had tightened, throat constricting as if she were being crushed by a python. Y/N’s head went light, and her breathing shallow. Spirits, what was happening?

She needed to get out of there. The white sand under her bare feet grounded her, the salt-scented air opening up her airways. Even Momo, who snuffled from under the duvet to follow her out, licked the tears off of her cheeks, staring at her with those massive, inquisitive eyes. Giggling, Y/N scratched his head, focusing on his purrs.

A solution came to mind; she would stay awake whilst her friends slept. If she was awake, she could prevent them being ambushed, ensure their survival and victory. So, every night, Y/N and Momo sat on the stairs to the beach house, weapons in hand. Under a blanket of starlight, illuminated by Yue’s gentle glow, she would stay until Zuko awoke where she would creep back to bed and catch an hour or two. The beach was lovely to sleep on too, Y/N convincing her friends she was just relaxed.

The oncoming battle was insane, but they made it.

Y/N came out mostly unscathed. Her only physical scars were the burns along her forearms, trophies from her glorious victories against Fire Nation soldiers. Everything was fine – great, even. However, when it came to staying within the walls of Zuko’s palace, other scars came to light.

“Y/N?”

She looked up from her seat on Zuko’s doorstep, eyes glazed over and not quite focused. Taking a moment, the blue in her vision and the low, concerned voice was all she needed to work out who it was.

“Hey, Sokka.” Y/N quirked a smile, resting her cheek against the heel of her hand. “What’re you doing up?”

“I could ask the same of you,” He said, raising an eyebrow.

Patting the floor next to her, Y/N welcomed him to join her. As soon as Sokka was sat by her, her head tilted until it rested on his shoulder, her body relaxing in a sigh that took with it all of her energy. Frowning, he wrapped an arm around her, chin atop her head until they were practically tangle.

Sokka was warm, warm enough to sooth her into something close to sleep. Beneath closing, fluttering lashes, Y/N watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, moving past his still broadening shoulders to look at the gardens. It was later than she had thought as she looked at the turtle ducklings snuggled up with each other on the grass, their mother close by. The way the turtle duck stayed only inches from its children, half-awake and protective.

Y/N shot up. “I can’t fall asleep.”

“What do you mean?” Sokka yawned, nuzzling his head against her neck. “I could fall asleep right here.”

“No!” She shoved off of him, unsheathing her blade. “I can’t fall asleep, because if I do, Zuko’s in danger! The Kyoshi Warriors aren’t here yet, and I’m not risking his safety again!”

Sokka’s eyes widened as he rose slowly to his feet, hands out. “Okay, Y/N. We can stay here if you want, but you don’t need your sword out.”

Breathing hard, she absorbed the emotions on her friend’s face, realising the fear in it. Clattering to the floor, the sword slipped from Y/N’s hand as she began to tremble. As tears began to pour, Y/N couldn’t reach for the Ember Island sand, nor the open sky, and not even Momo. A crushing pressure pushed on her chest, leaving her gasping for breath that seemed stolen from her. Seeing how her hands shook, she looked at Sokka.

“I’m so tired, Sokka.”

Stepping towards her, he tested the waters, placing a hand on her shoulder. With no outwardly negative reaction to it, Sokka engulfed Y/N into a hug. Gripping his shirt into her hands, she shook out shallow breaths, trying to ground herself as she focused on the feelings around her. Sokka’s gentle hand threading through her hair was rhythmic, methodical even, and the shirt on his chest was soft in her grip.

As her breathing levelled, Sokka pulled away from their embrace, taking a gentle hand to cup her cheek. Brushing away stray tears with his thumb, he studied her face with such care. Y/N stifled a giggle.

“What?” He grinned at her. “You don’t laugh at my jokes, but you’ll laugh now?” Leaning into his hand, Y/N gave him a watery smile. “I’ve never seen you so careful with something that isn’t your boomerang.”

Sokka gasped, scandalised. “I am very careful, I’ll have you know.”

“I’ve seen you walk into a canal because you were too busy impressing a girl.”

“That was different,” He huffed, crossing his arms and leaving her cheek feeling suddenly cold. “I can be careful whilst impressing a girl.”

Y/N sniffed. “Oh, yeah? Prove it.”

His grin made her wonder whether she should have challenged Sokka, but it was too late as he hoisted her up into his arms, protests or weight be damned. Since his broken leg had healed, and he had more time to grow into his shoulders, he had only gotten stronger, and Y/N had only gotten more bashful about the fact it was harder to see him as just a friend.

The guards seemed unwavering at the sight, Y/N only catching a single smirk as she was carried away from Zuko’s quarters and towards the kitchens. Only when Sokka had decided the coast was clear did he finally put her down, placing her up on one of the countertops.

“What are we doing here?” Y/N asked, going to slide down to the floor.

Sokka’s hand stopped her, firm on her knee. “You haven’t been sleeping properly, so I’m gonna make us some tea!”

“You? Tea?”

“Yeah,” He said, hand still on her as he rummaged through shelves of dried herbs. “Iroh taught Zuko, who taught Katara, who ranted to me a lot about some medical nonsense, but I picked some stuff up.”

“Please don’t poison us,” She laughed, placing a daring hand over his.

He looked up at her, deadly serious. “No promises.”

Snorting a laugh, Y/N pushed down the clingy need to whine as he moved away from her, watching Sokka begin to heat tea. In the water, he strained some brown roots and dried purple flowers into the water. It didn’t look like poison, and it certainly didn’t smell like it. Nevertheless, she found some joy watching him focus on the tea, tongue stuck out to the side as he did.

After a few minutes, Sokka had served the tea in cups he had swiped from another cupboard. Tapping their cups together, they both took a sip.

“It’s certainly...” Y/N grasped for a word, “Memorable.”

“It’s not as good as Iroh’s, that’s for sure,” Sokka frowned, but still sipping at the tea.

“I like it,” She beamed, basking in the warmth of the herbal blend.

The smile on his face made her comment worthwhile. Tentative, he took a step towards her, placing his cup down at her side. “Do you feel better?”

“A little bit,” She said, looking down into the remains of her tea.

“I know you haven’t been sleeping properly for a while, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Y/N startled. “W-what do you mean?”

“Y/N, I’m not just a pretty face,” Sokka smirked, though it fell into concern near immediately. “Do you not remember ending up in your bed every time you fell asleep on the beach?”

Huh. She did remember that.

“I’d always assumed I had made my own way there and was too tired to remember.”

There was that hand again, soft against her cheek. “I’m not gonna leave my best girl to sleep on sand.”

“Oh.”

“Hey.” His voice brought her gaze to his eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

She nodded. His lips ghosted hers. The kiss tasted of bitter valerian root and was all the sweeter for it. She leaned into the warmth of his touch, feeling more content then than she had in months. Smiling against his lips, Y/N snaked her hand up the back of his head to untangle his hair from its wolf tail, running her fingers through it. Sokka only seemed more enthusiastic as he pulled her closer until she was flat against him on the very edge of the counter.

For a moment, he pulled away, and she couldn’t help the small whine that escaped her lips. “You need to sleep.”

“What?” She barked out a laugh. “You go from kissing me to saying I should go to sleep? I wasn’t that bad.”

“No! No, no, no,” Sokka said, panic overtaking his face. “I just worry about you, Y/N.”

Nuzzling into his neck, she grinned. “I could sleep right here.”

“Could we at least move to somewhere comfier?” He whined, wrapping his arms around her. “My room has a sofa I could take.”

Y/N looked at him. “And a double bed.”

With a low laugh, Sokka pecked a kiss on her nose. “Sure.”

Despite the laughs - and the kisses - Sokka made it known that he could be her safe space, and was happy to be it for her.

Izumi felt accomplished, she had been able to spar against every hero at the agency, and over half of them had been enthusiastic about having her use her quirk on them after she promised to leave their brain and hearts alone. 

She had also worked her way into Eren and Ari's lives, she was armed with promises of more work studies offers for herself and Shōta, and the couple's cell phone numbers and promises to keep in touch between the tri-yearly inturning opportunities. 

Izumi and Shōta had left midday Saturday so they would have that night and the next to try correcting their sleep schedules. The train ride home was quiet, Shōta falling asleep on Izumi's shoulder again. He had a deep purple bruise on his jaw, one of the other pros had spared with them the night before and had hit Shōta hard enough to knock him out, Izumi had been frantic until the dark haired male woke up again. 

Brushing her fingers along Shōta's jaw she lost herself in thought. 

"Next stop, Ultra station." The speaker blared, breaking Izumi out of her thoughts, her cheeks red and eyes wide. 

"Shōta." She whispered and shook him a little, he didn't say anything as he got up and made his way to the door, and Izumi was thankful. 

Once off the train Izumi forced herself to give him the brightest smile she could.  "See you on Monday Shō." She chirped before spinning on her heel and jogging away. 

"Dad! Dad! We have a problem!" Izumi yelled as she burst into the house and ran to the living room. 

"Izu-nee?" Keigo asks from where he's sitting on the floor working on something on the coffee table. 

Izumi collapses into the floor and tries to suffocate herself with the carpet. 

"Ugh! Rosefinch, growing up sucks. Don't grow up ever, you catch stupid things like feeling." Izumi says in utter despair. 

Izumi hears Nezu's squeaking laugh and footsteps enter the room and whimpers. 

"Daaaaaaaaaad!" She whines in protest. 

"Sadly Izumi I can't help, try Kayama-chan or Mitsuki-san. I do not understand most human emotions, but what you are feeling is very much out of my knowledge." Nezu doesn't sound sad, he sounds gleeful like he's about to watch absolute chaos. 

"But I just want them to go away!" Izumi whines again as she rolls over to pout up at the two males. 

"Ah, but I need you to understand them so you can help Keigo when he's older." Nezu argues, and Izumi feels panic well up in her. 

"No." She says and gets on her hands and knees to crawl over to Keigo, she sits behind him and wraps as much of herself around him that she can. 

"Nope! My rosefinch isn't going to grow up ever." She pouts harder up at their dad. 

"Yes." Nezu tells her again and Izumi saggs all her weight onto Keigo who actually squawks like a surprised bird. 

"Fine." She groans.

"What's wrong with feelings? The commission said they were bad, and Izu-nee is making them sound bad too." Keigo asks from half under Izumi.

"Nothing!" Both Izumi and Nezu say firmly. 

"Nothing, Izumi has a crush. From what I understand, she likes a person romantically." Nezu tries to explain, and Izumi is sure he is doing the best he can. 

"Like dad said, I have a crush. It means that I want to date, hug, and kiss them." Izumi expands on Nezu's explanation. "When you're a little older you will understand, and probably will have it explained better by your teachers and peers." 

"Then why don't you like it?" Keigo asks her, he sounds so confused and it kills Izumi a little inside. 

"I had a bad childhood, not like yours, but people used to be really mean to me. I don't like complex emotions because I grew up with very few basic ones. It scares me cause I don't fully understand them." She explains in simple terms. 

Keigo nods but still looks confused, Izumi figures he has accepted he needs to be older and have more experience with life. 

"Go shower and get changed. We are to meet with the Bakugou's for our new clothes." Nezu tells her. 

Izumi scrambles up the stairs, to follow his directions. She's as quick in the shower as possible for a girl with thick curly hair. Dressed in the only outfit she had been allowed to buy herself, a pair of bright pink skinny jeans and a black tank top with the kanji for tee-shirt on it, over her arm she's got a gray zip up hoodie that has bunny ears on its hood. 

When Nezu sees her he just shakes his head and herds Keigo to the door, Izumi follows close behind pulling on her hoodie and shoes. 

Izumi did not hesitate to ring the bell this time, she had given herself the evening after they had first met to mourn her auntie Mitsuki and uncle Masaru, she could now face Suki and Masaru. 

"Suki!" Izumi jumped at the blonde woman. "I need female advice." She all but demands and drags Mitsuki away. 

Izumi pauses long enough to greet Masaru and snatch Katsuki up in her arms before she takes the woman to her own kitchen. 

"I have a crush." Izumi says in the most serious tone she can. "On my two best friends." She slumps into a chair at the table and snuggles Katsuki closer, he is awake this time and watching her. 

"Oh." Mitsuki sounds halfway between surprised and thrilled. "When do I get to meet them?" It's not a question Izumi knows but a demand. 

"Suuuuuuuuuuki!" Izumi wails quietly.  

Mitsuki laughs as she starts the electric kettle and pulls out two mugs behind Izumi. "Oh come on, Zuzu. It's not every day your little sister comes to you about a crush." 

The kettle clicks off and suddenly Izumi has hot chocolate in front of her. 

"Fiiine, I don't know but I need help. It's two boys, they are two of my first four real ever friends Suki, I dunno what to do. And they are totally opposite of eachother." Izumi says as she wiggles her fingers at Katsuki. 

"Why isn't Nezu helping you through this?" Mitsuki asks curious, but not judging. 

"He's not human, he doesn't understand complex emotions, and with all the time in the hospital I don't really understand them either. So expect Keigo in a few years." Izumi tells the blonde seriously. 

"Kay, but tell me about these boys and how I can help." Mitsuki prompts her. 

"Well, Zashi is stupid tall. Like he's six and a half feet tall. He is really kind and happy, a bit of a dork. He has a lot of energy and is loud even without his quirk. He's really amazing with kids and isn't afraid of how smart I am." Izumi sighs and untangles a clump of her hair from Katsuki's grip. 

"Then there is Shō. He is logical, and tired. He's been hurt a lot by people just like I have. He likes to put up this front that he doesn't care but he's so good and caring. He's even better with kids, Keigo took to him right away. He uses my strength to push himself both physically and mentally, but he's already so, so strong and smart." This time Izumi's sigh is longer and more frustrated. 

"I realized that I liked them when I was on the train home from inturning and Shō had fallen asleep on me." Izumi blocks a baby fist from hitting her in the throat and laughs softly at the fact that Katsuki was a fighter before he could even walk.

"They sound like good kids, how do I help though?" Mitsuki says after Izumi falls quiet. 

"What do I do?" Izumi asks softly, she's feeling very vulnerable. 

"Whatever you want." Mitsuki answers, at Izumi's look of confusion and betrayal she keeps talking. 

"Seriously brat. Tell them if you want, but tell them together. Don't tell them and see if the feelings fade. Personally I would tell them, it could give you the most amazing thing in the world, and the worst that can happen is they don't feel the same and you have a bit of a strained friendship for a while." 

Izumi nods reluctantly, she will think about it, Mitsuki is probably right anyway. Maybe talking to Nemuri a little will give her some more insight. 

Izumi sighs deeply again, before chugging her now cool hot chocolate. Katsuki is starting to fuss and Izumi hands him to Mitsuki. She leaves the mother and child alone and goes to find the males. 

Stay With Me [LTY]

Genre: A n g st

Synopsis: Taeyongs heart aches for her love but she's with another man, leaving Taeyong broken and alone, wishing nothing more for her to be happy, even if it's tearing him apart.

Authors note:  Wow I found this piece on my laptop and decided to rewrite it a bit and upload! It's really just angst. It's completely based on a song, which means a lot to me, so it'd be totally amazing if you might listen to it while reading – it definitely adds more feeling! I hope you enjoy it nonetheless ♥ btw. Seriously this is in no way written in a romantic kind of way and this is absolutely not what a healthy love should be like. Please keep that in mind. + I hope all you guys are safe and healthy these days.

Song: Jesse Barnett – Stay With me

words: 3,8k

                                              xx

„Ah, I'm so happy that you're finally meeting him!”, the girl exclaimed happily, smiling brightly at Taeyongs direction. Her long, lovely brown locks fell down her head, meeting the glowing skin over her collarbones just perfectly. Taeyong couldn't resist but stare at her every movement. How she flipped her hair back, when she turned her face to look into his eyes, how her eyes seemed to hold the whole universe with all its stars and galaxies in them, twinkling whenever she lifted her mouth into a smile, which could end wars. Oh, he couldn't even count the times he told himself he had to end this for his own sake but he was too weak. He couldn't live without her light.

He tried his best to smile back as enthusiastically as humanly possible and hoped she wouldn't notice his discontent about the situation. Her smile got even brighter, not sensing anything. Or maybe she didn't care what he was thinking at all. Not anymore.

Taeyong oppressed a deep sigh as he looked away, trying to avoid eye contact, unable to stand her mesmerizing gaze much longer.

“He is really nice. You really don't need to be worried, I promise.”, he heard her say as she squeezed his arm lightly with her warm hand, which immediately made his legs feel as weak as jelly. He cursed himself for reacting to her simplest touch like that. He hated it. He didn't want to feel this way but it felt like a basic need to stay with her and follow her wherever she went, like he was drawn to her simple presence no matter what.

“But it's important for me that you like him. You're my best friend, Taeyong.”, he squinted his eyes as her words traveled through his ears, making their way into his mind and body.

Best friend. He bit his tongue, giving her a mild chuckle to overshadow his abused soul.

“Well, I assume he's a good guy from all the things you told me.”

“He really is. And he makes me happy. He really does.”, she said with a dreamy smile on her face. She looked absolutely angelic with her cheeks blushing in the slightest shade of pink while she brushed a strain of hair out of her perfectly shaped face. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful women in the entire world. But she would never be his. It wasn't meant to be.

Taeyong felt his throat becoming sore. Of course it was the most important thing in his life for her to be happy. He didn't want anything more than her being as happy as she could possibly ever be. Her happiness meant everything to him, even when it led to him not being the reason why. It hurt but as long as he had her by his side it was fine, even when he was just her friend. He preferred being her friend than being nothing at all.

“There he is!”, a bright, loving smile appeared on her face as she waved towards a tall, black haired guy waiting for them on a park bench.

Taeyong looked over the man. She already told him how handsome and gentle he was and a thousand other things which Taeyong didn't even want to hear but he needed to be a good friend for her to stay in her life.

The guy was indeed good-looking and much taller than him. His hair was just a bit shorter than his and well-styled, it had this messy look but it still looked perfectly good on him which made Taeyong anxious. He couldn't compete with someone like that. Compared to him, Taeyong felt just like the most unattractive human on earth. He was too skinny, too pale, too short. His lips were too thin, his facial features were cold and too sharp for his slim figure. His eyes wandered over the guy again. His shoulders were broad, not like Taeyongs slim ones. He seemed to be in a  good shape based on what he could see, unlike Taeyong who still felt like he looked more like a child than an adult.

From all the stories he heard about the absolutely charming guy he remembered that it seemed he was good at everything. Art, music, sports. She even claimed that he was the smartest guy she'd ever met, which also hurt. But he just smiled all her comments away, like the good friend he was.

“Hi. I'm Johnny. It's so nice to finally meet you. She told me so much about you.”, the guy chuckled and hugged her tightly, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek which made Taeyong looking away for a second. He really wanted to kiss her, too. He wanted to know what her soft skin felt like under his lips and hands.

“Yeah, nice to meet you, too. I'm Taeyong.”, he smiled at Johnny, trying not to stare at him too much.

It was awkward to walk with the two of them, feeling like the lonely third-wheel he actually was. He felt how the air left his lungs, leaving him grasping for the much needed oxygen silently. His throat felt sore again and his legs barely kept him up standing but he had to pretend everything was fine. He couldn't risk to lose her.

After all, she really seemed to be more than happy, she seemed to have real deep feelings for Johnny. The way she looked at him with nothing more than pure and honest love in her eyes, which shined brighter than the burning summer sun. Her laughter filled their surroundings, leaving Taeyong with a warmth in his body, even though he wasn't the reason for her behavior. He wished he was. His heart wanted her to look at him like that with such desperation it consumed his soul.

Of course he was skeptic for her boyfriend. He already met someone before him whom she was dating and after a very long 2-year-relationship he left her absolutely shattered and broken and he'd do anything to prevent that from happening to her ever again. The memories of her being nothing more than a ghost in a human shell hurt him even now. He remembered so clearly, how she stopped eating and didn't say a word anymore. She'd gone completely silent for weeks. It was only him she had left as her anchor and he did everything he could to be strong for her when she needed him most.

But Johnny truly seemed to be sincere with her. He took care of her bag, holding her hand tightly, not being able to keep his eyes off of her. Taeyong tried his best to take part in their conversations but it drained his energy. Pretending like everything was fine and him not having any romantic feelings for her was getting harder each day. All these years he managed to play his role as her best friend nearly perfectly but the older he got, the harder it was. It's not like he didn't try to fall out of love with her. He went on many dates, met new people but not one of them was like her – not even close. It didn't matter how pretty the girl he dated was – she'd always be prettier. She'd always be funnier, smarter, more caring and just the girl he was so hopelessly in love with.

Of course she noticed Taeyong's lack of interest in girls and got sceptical once, asking him why he was behaving so non-natural for boys his age but even then he managed to tell her some kind of excuse, telling her how busy he was and that he just haven't met the right women for him yet. Of course she believed him. She'd never assume that he had feelings for her. Or maybe she ignored it on purpose to spare his feelings. Maybe she knew.

He nodded here and then, chuckling at some lame jokes Johnny cracked at which she laughed until she was out of breath. He wasn't even that funny, Taeyong thought. He tried to make as much smalltalk as he could bear, asking questions here and there. Questions he didn't even want to know the answer to, but he didn't want her to be mad or some kind of worried. He just wanted her to keep on liking him and needing him in her life but slowly a dark feeling spread through his veins, poisoning his thoughts. She won't need me anymore. He bit his tongue, trying to shake these thoughts off. No. He couldn't let that happen – ever. He was nothing without her. Taeyong was sure, she'd still need him. People always needed friends, even when they got into a relationship.

“I think I gotta go, need to run some errands before the store closes.”, he said while smiling at them.

His head started to hurt and he knew that he really needed to go and clean his thoughts as he wouldn't be able to bury them for much longer as all these poisonous emotions contaminated his mind and body

“Oh, okay then. Thanks for coming with me, it really meant a lot to me.”, he heard her saying as she let go of her boyfriend for a second to hug her friend. He closed his eyes for just a brief second and inhaled her soothing scent of mild peony and rose. He cherished every single second of her hug, feeling how she squeezed his slim figure slightly. Taeyong wasn't quite sure if this would be the last hug he'd get in a long time, nor the last time he'd be able to see her.

“Don't worry. I won't forget you, okay? You're my best friend after all.”, she whispered in his ear, filling his heart with her warmth, leaving him with all these feelings as she let go of him to entangle her fingers with her boyfriend's.

“Sure.”, he answered silently trying to hide his voice cracking, slightly smiling, shaking the dark thoughts off.

He waved at Johnny and turned away, making his way home. His head was full of thoughts, screaming at him, wanting him to beg her to leave Johnny to stay with him but he knew she wouldn't. He knew, she'd never love him the way he did so deeply and desperately. There would never be a future for them together as a couple and at this moment he even doubted that there would be a future for them as friends. Taeyong wasn't sure why this feeling wouldn't leave him. It was just inside of him, sitting in his stomach, filling it with pain and making him feel like he was about to throw up, slowly absorbing his heart until it was impossible to ignore any longer.

Taeyong didn't hear from her for a long while. Hours became days, days became weeks and weeks became months. Sometimes she messaged him, asking how he's doing, if everything's alright. Just some trivial smalltalk to keep her peace of conscience. It turned out exactly as he feared. He felt how his body became heavier and the thoughts darker over the time. Himself now turning into this ghost he feared to become. Once again, he was too weak to finally break free from the spell she put on him. No, he couldn't live without her light.

He tried to be a good friend for her. Taeyong knew he wasn't able to give her more. All he could give her was him being her best friend, even when her life was moving forward, not needing him as much as before. He replied to every of her texts, casually asking how her studies and relationship went. He soaked in every bits of her words, even when her answers came back sporadically and didn't have much content to answer to. But he never gave up – he just couldn't because she would need him some day eventually and he didn't want to miss it. No, he needed to be there for her at any time or he'd loose her.

It was a surprise when she actually called him one day to meet for a coffee, which he accepted instantly as his mood finally lightened up the first time in months. He thought of any reason why she'd suddenly want to meet up. Of course he thought about a break-up but he didn't want her to feel pain in any kind of way. Part of him wanted them to break up and he felt bad. But the other part, which was still so blindly in love with this girl he'd never get in his life only wanted her to be happy and hoped for them to be still together. He knew his feelings were pure poison for his fragile soul but he wasn't able to move on and bury them. He couldn't free himself from this nothing he had become.  

He tried his best to calm his nerves before meeting her but his joy was enormous as he saw her already sitting on a small table, typing something on her smartphone. She wore her long hair in a casual bun, a beautiful delicate golden necklace flattered her neck. The moment she looked up, giving him the most beautiful smile he'd ever witnessed, his heart made a jump, finally feeling something more again as the world which became so gray and dull got his colors back. But something felt odd, he realized. Something felt wrong.

“Hey, nice to meet you.”, he said, giving her a small smile before he sat down in front of her.

“Long time no see. I really missed you! But my life just went on crazy. So many things happened. I had to study a lot and then all of a sudden Johnny asked me to move in with him! Isn't this amazing? I'm finally happy, Taeyong.”, she said while smiling brightly at him, her voice full of happiness which made his heart flutter, yet sting with pain.

She stood up and gave him a brief hug. She never hugged him that briefly.

But seeing her being so happy and lighthearted made him feel the same as his body warmed up slightly, pushing away his cold thoughts. This is all he ever wanted her to be.

“That's really great. I'm happy for you.”, he answered, ordering a cup of tea for both of them. His answer wasn't a lie. He was indeed happy for her – but not for himself. It still hurt.

The next hours were balm for his flawed soul. He enjoyed listening to all of her stories and what happened these past months. Taeyong was just looking at her, smiling and laughing about the things she said, losing himself in her eyes once again. They sparkled and shined when she talked, which made his body feel with the familiar warmth he always felt whenever she talked to him. He was absolutely under her spell, which he was completely aware of. But he didn't care. As long as he was under her spell he was at least something.

She told him how she aced all of her exams, even the hard ones she was so anxious about and how her professor praised her essays, telling her that she had great potential to become successful in her life. Taeyong was truly happy for her, even when she started to talk about how great her relationship with Johnny was. He felt something sting in his heart and how his thoughts started to scream again. She told him how gentle and affectionate her boyfriend was, treating her like a princess as he'd do anything for her, including moving in together. He tried to keep up his smile, when his throat began to feel sore and close up. He wanted to tell her that he could make her feel this way, too. He'd treat her not only like a princess but like the queen she was for him.

He thought it was fast to move in after such a short time but he remained silent and just nodded, telling her how happy he was and that he trusted her to take care of herself, telling her he was always there for her, no matter what.

“It's so great to talk to you. I really missed this.”, she sighed and took his hand for a second, sending shivers down his body, which gave him goosebumps.

“Thank you for being such a great friends for all these years. I really appreciate it and I hope that we'll be friends forever, Taeyong.”, her words made his heart flutter again, but they had a bitter aftertaste.

He'd never be more than her friend. He thought about it over and over again. All these years he never left her side, followed her wherever she was going and he didn't regret a single second of it. She was always there for him, too, taking care of him when he was sick, talking to him in the middle of the night when he wasn't able to sleep or simply sitting next to him in silence when he didn't want to be alone. She knew nearly all of his secrets, what he likes and dislikes, his favorite dishes, which she cooked a dozen times for him already. And so did he. He knew that her favorite color was yellow, like the sun. She enjoyed the summer and loved the feeling of the warm sand on the beach between her toes while eating strawberry ice cream until her stomach hurt. He knew her deepest and darkest fears, or at least he did know them.

“Same here. I'm very glad to have you.”, he said, feeling this piercing pain in his chest again.

The sudden ringing of her smartphone let him flinch. He pulled his hand back and looked away, feeling like he was back into reality. She picked up her phone, instantly smiling when she heard the voice on the other side. It had to be Johnny, Taeyong thought. And he was right.

“Johnny will be here any second to pick me up. But we'll meet again, I promise.”, she stood up as Taeyong payed for their drinks and led her outside. He wasn't sure if she really wanted to meet him again or if she was just being polite. He felt how his throat became sore and he bit his tongue. He didn't want all the thoughts rumoring inside his head again.

As if the universe read his thoughts it started to rain and they had to wait inside the café for Johnny, who was already on the other side of the street with an umbrella. Taeyong didn't want their meeting to end just now. He desperately wanted it to last just one more moment. He needed it to last longer but he knew she'd go with her boyfriend, of course. He inhaled every last second of her standing next to him and talking while breathing in her wonderful scent of lavender and vanilla. He always loved the way she scented, it felt like a soft cloud surrounding him, making his mind dizzy. He wanted her to stay just for a second longer, sitting there with him, talking about everything and nothing at all. He needed her presence so hopelessly to feel something again, even if his blissful happiness mixed with the bitter taste of pain and loss. He gladly endured it to be by her side again.

Taeyong looked at Johnny who spotted the two of them, smiling brightly, while waving. He clenched his teeth, looking at her face. He needed her to stay with him. He needed her more than anything he ever needed before but he knew it had to stop. Taeyong needed her to go and leave him, even if it would destroy him.

“Hey guys.”, Johnny entered the café and hugged his girlfriend tightly. “I hope you two had fun.”, he added.

“Sure, nice to see you.”, Taeyong answered politely and smiled.

“You're ready to go home? It's the perfect weather for a movie night.”, Johnny said to her and she gave him the most beautiful smile Taeyong ever saw. “Can't wait!”, she sighed.

“See you soon, okay?”, she turned to Taeyong who nodded and waved as the two of them left the café.

He saw how Johnny held the umbrella and how she snuggled against him, leaving Taeyong behind. He felt like all the warmth she made him feel was gone and all he had left was cold surrounding him, his world turning gray again.

He stepped outside, not caring about getting wet in the rain. His apartment wasn't far away but he felt like he desperately needed some fresh air to clean his thoughts. He couldn't resist the thoughts of her going home with a man who wasn't him. The thoughts of her sharing all the secrets she used to share only with him. The thoughts of her lying next to this man while he remained to sleep alone. The thoughts of her, embracing this man so lovingly and intimate, full of the love Taeyong still wished to get from her one day, even though he knew it was impossible.

He knew that it was toxic to bathe in these thoughts but he needed to feel something, even it was just sweet melancholia.

Taeyong felt the cold rain hitting the bare skin of his arms and face, letting him shiver but he didn't mind. He knew that he wasn't able to continue his life like this, living and breathing only for the women he'd never have in his life.

He closed his eyes, facing the dark clouds upon him and took a deep breath. In the past, he used to cry a lot whenever his feelings overwhelmed him but lately it felt like he had no tears left. They were just gone, leaving him with this heavy feeling of nothing. A nothingness, so pitch black, he saw it as a monster which one day appeared on his shoulder, whispering all these things in his ears, poisoning his mind and soul. It was like it grew bigger and bigger with each day passing by, consuming his very life each day, he could even feel the grin on its face even though it appeared to be faceless to him.

She had always been the light of his life, guiding him out of all the bad things happening to him, reaching for his hands to help him get up on his feet again. He couldn't stand the feeling of loosing her, of her drifting apart. He wanted to call her, telling her he needed her like his lungs needed oxygen. But all he could do was watch her taking the next steps in her life drifting apart from him, who seemed to be stuck in time.

His legs felt heavy, making his body hurt more with each step he took, but he couldn't allow himself to give up. If he'd give up, he never see her again. Never see this beautiful light again. No, he couldn't give up.

He needed to see his light again just one more time.

masterlist

But Then Came You - Chpt.1

Summary: Loki tries to plan his next moves after being dropped off in a post Decimation New York City. Master list can be found HERE.

Content Warnings: A sassy reader not afraid to call Loki out on his bullshit

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! The first chapter is here! Woo. I know I said 6pm but I literally have no chill when it comes to this fic. There’s no long build up in this one, just straight to our main characters meeting. I hope you enjoy! Chapters will be posted daily. XOXO - Ash

Chapter One

New York is a shell of the bustling metropolis it once was. Loki wanders the half filled streets quietly planning his next move, still unsure of what to do. The Eluskans had been kind enough to drop him off on Earth since he had nowhere else to go. The fall of Asgard still weighed heavily on his mind, his home planet which thrived for millennia gone in a fiery apocalypse. He had been given a few thousand dollars of US currency and a change of clothes to help get him on his way. They really were the kindest people. Loki had to perpetually bite his tongue so as not to lash out at them for trying to help. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t understand what they had done in bringing him back. Their intentions were good but it doesn’t erase the dreams and memories that have haunted Loki since his resurrection. 

The city feels empty in the wake of The Decimation. It had taken Loki a full day of walking through the abandoned neighborhoods to fully understand what had occurred on Earth over the past few weeks. New York was doing what it did best though; the communities were rallying round each other, helping support those displaced by the loss of family and friends. 

The summer heat wears on Loki and he starts looking for somewhere he can cool off for a bit. He’s hesitant to use his seidr to relieve himself of the heat as it’s been spotty at best since he was brought back. The healers advised it would take some time to return to its former strength after all he’d been through. They had encouraged him to practice with it daily to help strengthen it, like one would do for a weakened muscle. Loki wants little to do with his seidr however. It was the reason they had found his body, the incessant little spark that refused to die, and had also led to his resurrection.

The cafe is empty except for the two baristas who are deep in conversation when Loki enters. He’s running on three days of no sleep and needs the small relief caffeine will bring. The icy blast of air conditioning is helping his fatigue as well and Loki hopes he will be able to linger with his drink for a while without disturbing anyone. 

“What can I get you?” The overly cheerful blonde barista asks him. Her name tag reads “Sunny” and Loki almost chuckles at how appropriate that is.

“Espresso, please. A quad shot.” Loki requests. 

“Anything else?”

“No, that will be all.”

“Name for the cup?”

“Loki” 

Your head snaps up at the name. It’s too rare to be anyone else. “Holy forking shirtballs you’re him! I mean, you’re… you.” You blurt out at an embarrassingly loud volume. 

Loki stares at you like you’ve sprouted six heads. “I beg your pardon?” His tone is almost offended, but mostly baffled by your outburst.

“Sorry, I binge-watched The Good Place on Netflix last weekend. And I didn’t mean to call you out like that, I just… know of you. Never expected to meet you face to face like this though.” 

“The Good Place? Netflix?” Loki is still lost, now bordering on irritated. You speak in the hurried way he’s come to associate with youth, your gestures animated as you talk. If he can’t be served his drink here he’ll have to trudge along for who knows how long until he can find another cafe or, Norns forbid, a Starbucks. 

“It’s a show. And you know, Netflix. The streaming service?”

Loki stares blankly at you.

You’re certain your face is the same shade as a tomato as you continue to flounder for words around him. “Or I guess you probably don’t know. I’m sorry. You know that filter most people have between their brains and their mouths? I don’t have one of those. So I’m gonna go get your espresso and leave you alone now. Sorry, again, really.” You slink away to the espresso bar and start queuing up his shots, praying that the ground will just open up and swallow you whole so you don’t have to face Loki again. 

Sunny gives Loki a grin and a half shrug, “You’ll have to forgive Y/N. I wish I could say she’s not normally quite that awkward but she totally is. She means well, you just got her a little starstruck.” 

“Starstruck?” Loki raises an eyebrow at Sunny in disbelief. 

“Yeah, totally.” Sunny nods enthusiastically, “You’re a literal god. Who wouldn’t be?” 

“It’s not the reaction I get from most Midgardians.” He confesses. 

“Oh right, because of the whole ‘trying to take over New York’ thing.” 

Loki nods at her assumption.

“You don’t have to worry about that with us.” Sunny assures him, “Matter of fact, Y/N did a whole paper on it our first year at Columbia. I think she did it just to piss off our psych professor but it was some of her best work. She argued that it was proof anyone can be peer pressured into anything.”

“Peer pressure?!” Loki sputters incredulously. 

“Well, yeah. I mean, Y/N can explain it better, but basically she drew parallels between Thanos preying on your weaknesses, ie. your desire to rule somewhere, and getting you to do his dirty work for him, to a bully preying on a weaker kid’s insecurities and pressuring them into doing something bad.” 

Loki scowls over at your back, displeased to have a deeply traumatic event reduced to something so simplistic. “I don’t think it was quite that simple.” Loki grumbles. 

You hear his grumble, unable to ignore the conversation going on behind your back. “It kinda was though.” You mutter beneath your breath. Or at least, you meant for it to be under your breath. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, was it?” Loki’s tone is bordering on venomous. “Please, come tell me how you know better about a part of my life than I do.” 

The blush that had started to recede flares up again and you force yourself to remain calm and steady as you finish pouring the espresso and turn to face Loki. You spent a whole semester working on that paper and stand by your conclusion. Like hell were you going down without a good fight. “I’m not saying I know your life better than you do.” You clarify, “But I do think the whole ‘Battle of New York’ business is a prime example of peer pressure.” 

Loki’s eyes widen, he’s surprised you’re standing by your preposterous notion even with him glaring daggers at you. “Do I look like an emotionally fragile child to you?” He demands.

“No, but that’s the point. It can happen to anyone. Maybe I’m wrong, but let’s get a few things straight first.” Your brain has gone into investigator mode and you’re in your element now. Loki waives a hand dismissively letting you continue, “Who sought out who? Did you go looking for Thanos or did he find you?”

“He found me.” Loki replies evenly.

“Before you met Thanos had you ever considered attacking New York?”

“No.” 

“Would you have tried attacking New York or any other place by yourself?”

“Well, no. But…”

“Nope. No buts, mister.” You ignore his scowl, you’re on a roll. Excitement is thrumming through your veins, his answers lining up just the way you want them to. “And how did Thanos convince you to try? Did he by chance remind you of all the awful things your adoptive family did to you? Hiding your heritage, denying you of your rightful throne?” 

“It was common knowledge.” 

“Mhmm. And he offered you a place to rule. You only had to help him with one simple, little thing. You knew your brother favored Earth, right?”

“He is overly fond of this planet, yes.”

“And Thanos probably hinted that you’d be ruling the place that was special to your brother. The brother that was given the throne that should have been yours.” 

“Thor and I have reconciled since…”

“But not six years ago you hadn’t.” You shot Loki a cocky grin, you had him right where you wanted him. “So let’s recap, shall we? A more powerful person reached out to you, reminded you of the alienation of those closest to you, played up your supposed right to rule, offered you a chance to do so, and get back at your brother in the process. He offered you everything you could possibly want and the means to get it. Despite the means being wrong and you knowing they were wrong. Sounds like a bully and peer pressure to me.” 

Loki scowled harder to suppress the smirk that was trying to upturn his lips. You had impressed him more in five minutes than anyone else had in five hundred years. “Insightful little Midgardian. I don’t agree with your theory but you clearly put a lot of thought behind it.” 

“I did, thanks. But how are you here? The news said you died in transit to Earth from Asgard. Not like you haven’t fake died before, but still. It seemed pretty legit this time.” 

“The news was correct, I did die. And now I’m here. Waiting on that espresso you’re holding.”

You look down at the steaming cup in your hand, “Oh, right. Sorry. Here you go.” You pass the drink to him and his surprisingly cold fingers brush faintly over yours making goose bumps prickle along your arm. “So, what are you doing here in New York? Other than getting a caffeine fix?” 

Loki takes a sip of his coffee, sighing softly in relief before replying. “I’m not sure yet.” 

You give him a half smile and a shrug, “Well, enjoy your drink.” 

“I will.” Loki nods and moves off to the table in the far corner by the window. 

You turn your back on Loki to face Sunny, eyes wide, your face splitting into a grin. You mouth oh my god to her dramatically and she stifles a giggle. Loki is only across the room and you’re not too keen on making a fool out of yourself again in front of him. Unsure of how long he plans to stay, you busy yourself cleaning the espresso machine to pass the time. You’ll have a lifetime of gossiping with Sunny once he leaves.

Loki sits quietly watching people pass while he drinks his espresso. The dark brew hits his system like a gut-punch and he can feel the drowsiness retreating a little. It’s enough to keep him going a bit longer and that’s all he can ask for at this point. He knows he will need to sleep at some point soon, god or not he’s still flesh and bone. Sunlight hits the curly golden brown hair of a woman across the street and images of his mother blossom in his mind unbidden. The ache in his chest threatens to double him over but he steels himself, clenching the cup in his hand as hard as he dares without crushing it. 

Your eyes keep wandering back to Loki who’s transfixed looking out the cafe window. You try to keep busy but it’s difficult with him so near by. You’d seen many pictures of him and learned so much while working on your paper; it’s no surprise he’s attractive but you had clearly underestimated how attractive he is in person. You notice the second Loki sees something upsetting, the way his eyes darken and his face takes on a haunted expression. You give up pretending you’re unaffected by his presence and head across the room, settling down in the chair opposite him at the table. “You okay?” You ask him softly.

Loki’s eyes remain staring outside and you wonder for a moment if he’d heard you. “I’m fine.” He says finally. 

“I doubt that.” 

Loki’s reply is a perturbed frown in your direction.

“Look, I don’t expect you to talk to me. But I’m guessing some shit went down or else you wouldn’t be sitting here sipping espresso and looking like you’re about to pass out.”

“Some shit indeed.” He bites out deprecatingly. 

“Do you at least have a place to stay?”

“I’ll find one easy enough.” 

“Not right now you won’t. It’s move in weekend for the colleges around here. Plus all the people displaced by The Decimation. There won’t be a free hotel room in the city until at least  next week.” 

Loki curses internally. He can’t just wander around aimlessly until he passes out somewhere like a homeless person. Showing up at SHIELD’s front door asking for a room isn’t an option either, he’s still persona non grata with the organization. He doesn’t think they’re still actively hunting for him though. Loki had been told Thor was unavailable when he’d tried to reach out the day he arrived on Earth and he didn’t push, mostly out of fear of rejection. He’s momentarily consumed with agony and anguish again, thinking of his brother and his current aimlessness in this changed world. This is what he had been brought back into, a painful, useless existence. 

You watch him struggling internally and you can’t just sit idly by. “If you need a place to crash, Sunny and I live a few blocks over with our friend Chelsi. We had another roommate but she graduated and we haven’t found a new one yet. You’d have a bed and a safe place to stay until you find somewhere else to go.” 

Loki looks at you then, meeting your eyes and it makes your breath catch in your throat. He makes a hum sound that isn’t a no and it spurs you on. “I know I’m a stranger but you probably don’t have many friends in the city and I really just want to help. Take your time deciding, we have books over there to be borrowed if you want to just hang out and read for a bit. My shift ends in two hours and….”

Loki cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “Stop talking for a minute, will you.” He knows he’s in a tough spot and you have managed to both intrigue and amuse him in the short time since he met you. It’s entirely possible you’re being genuine and want to help but you could also be an assassin. He can't be too careful and he has to be certain. Taking your hands in his, he stares into your eyes and lets his seidr flow through him into you. You feel a sight rush, like when you stand up too fast and your blood pressure drops, and you hold on tightly to his cold hands. Loki searches quickly through your memories and thoughts, digging deep down to the core of your being until he’s satisfied he’s seen enough. There are things buried deep he knows you probably won’t appreciate him seeing but he can be discreet. 

Loki holds on to your hands just a moment longer than he needs to, letting your memories wash over him. You at five, running around the playground with your friends and inviting a sad looking little blonde girl to join you. You at ten, laying outside in the dark with the same little blonde girl looking much happier as you study the stars. You and the girl, recognizable as Sunny now, at fifteen when your parents died and you move your things into the guest room next to hers. You at twenty, moving into your first real apartment off campus, excited and terrified all at once. Hundreds of other memories flutter by as well, blurring together to make up your lifetime. School days and old friends, boyfriends and a few bad breakups, vacations and quiet moments spent at home. Loki is soothed by the simple ordinary memories distracting him from his own past. Regretfully he pulls his hands back, breaking the spell of the moment. 

“What did you do?” You ask in a hushed tone. You aren’t angry, just curious.

Loki swallows hard, relieved you have forgiven his intrusion. “I had to be sure you weren’t a threat.”

“You could have just asked.” You point out. 

“And you could have lied.” 

“Touché. So, what did you find?”

“Nothing of concern. I’ll take that room you offered.” 

You’re pleased he’s agreed to come home with you, hoping that you might get to know him a little while he’s there. “Okay.” You agree, unable to hold back your excited smile. “I’ll text Chelsi and give her a heads up. Sunny heard us for sure but,” you raise your voice pointedly, “she’s too damn polite to admit she was listening while she pretends to wipe down a perfectly clean counter top!” 

Sunny laughs and throws the rag down. “Mi casa es su casa, Loki.” She calls back. 

“Thank you, Sunny.” Loki calls back with an indulgent smile. He can’t help but be slightly amused by the pair of you. You’re both so young, the cheery optimism of youth still clinging to you and it's a breath of fresh air to him. He doesn’t look much older than you but he’s pushing 1,500 and after all that he’s been through he feels every single year of his age. 

“Grab a book or play on your phone or whatever until my shift is over if you want. Alex will be in at five so we can head home.” You tell him as you stand up and head back to the barista bar with Sunny. 

Loki wanders over to the bookshelf and pulls down a copy of the first book that catches his eye. Settling into a padded, dark blue velvet chair by the bookshelf, Loki loses himself in the book. He almost doesn’t hear you coming hours later when you stop over with a steaming mug of something topped with foam and sprinkled with cinnamon. “I figured you probably shouldn’t risk more espresso, god or not.” you tell him. 

“What is this?” Loki asks, accepting the warm cup from you.

“Chai tea latte. I don’t know what you like but this felt like it might be a good fit.”

“And why is that?” Loki takes a sip and waits for you to speak before he passes judgement on the taste.

You feel your cheeks heating. You won’t dare tell him your thought process in choosing the drink. Spicy but sweet, complex, an acquired taste, just like the god sitting in front of you. You swallow past the lump of nerves in your throat, “Just a guess, I guess.” 

Loki doesn’t believe your simple answer for a minute but he doesn’t push. “Well you guessed correctly. It’s good.” Loki takes a longer sip, enjoying the rush of sugar across his tongue. He would never admit to something as undignified as having a sweet tooth, but he will admit to himself that he’s enjoying the drink more than anything else he’s had since arriving back on Earth. 

“I’m glad.” you say over your shoulder, walking away to help a new customer who just walked in. 

Loki hums in appreciation, letting himself have just a few more decadent sips before his self control kicks in and he sets the cup just slightly out of reach on the table next to him.

The Art of Sin [Chapter 1]

Gang!AU, Racer!AU, Tattoo Artist!AU

Pairing: Chen x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations, vandalism

Summary: He’s an artist. He does it all for the ‘art.’ Tattooing. Racing. Sex. All because he thinks they’re beautiful. There’s no one here that doesn’t know his name, because it’s everywhere. On every graffiti-filled wall, every tattooed skin, every cheer of the crowd. His name is there somewhere, because it’s all his—this world. And when he lays his eyes on you—well, he’s never seen anything more beautiful. And he’s going to make you his masterpiece.

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3 [M]│Chapter 4 [M]│Chapter 5 [M]│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8 [M]

“Damn, if you don’t slow the fuck down, you’re going to crash.” Jongin calls as Jongdae gets out of his car. “I like fast, but that’s a death wish, man.”

“Live fast, die young.” Jongdae answers with a laugh. “It’s the only way to live.”

Jongin snorts, slapping his back harder than he needed to. “You’re a damn hypocrite.”

Jongdae shrugs, a lazy smile on his face. “No idea what you’re talking about. You gonna go now?” Jongdae asks, swiping his hair out of his eyes as the night air cools him down. “To, like, some chick’s place?”

Jongin flashes Jongdae a grin, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. Jongdae sighs, heading back towards the garage where his tattoo parlor is. “Well, fuck you.”

“Aw come on.” Jongin wraps an arm around Jongdae’s neck, giving it a firm squeeze. “You can find any chick you want, if you weren’t so picky.”

Jongdae slaps Jongin’s hand away, although his only reaction is a laugh. “I know damn well I can fuck any girl I want. But that’s ugly, and I don’t like it.”

“Right.” Chanyeol says, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he leans against the doorway to the garage. “He only goes for the gorgeous ones. Be too picky, and you’ll end up with nothing, Dae.”

Jongdae throws his head back, a loud laugh echoing through the night. “Nothing? Please, I own this place.”

“Self-proclaimed.” Jongin scoffs. “I’m the King of the Streets.”

“Nah.” Jongdae grins. “Your inflated ego doesn’t allow you to hear all the people cheering my name during the races.”

Chanyeol throws his cigarette on the floor, stepping on it. “You’re both pretty, girls. Now, are you going to give me a tattoo or what?”

“I never agreed to this.” You groan, though you let your friend pull you along.

“Sorry? I can’t hear you.” She answers with a mischievous grin. “I thought you said you wanted it.”

“Once.” You answer with a loud whine. “When I was drunk!”

“Come on.” She urges, swinging your arm around like a child would. “It’s your birthday! Getting a tattoo would be so cool.”

“I don’t do well with pain though.” You wince at the thought, now regretting ever saying it on a drunk whim. She never lets go of things like this, especially when she has that glint in her eyes. You know her way too well. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Stop shitting me.”

She snickers, holding her arm out as if she’s presenting something amazing. “Viola, EXO Customs!”

You take a good look at the place she’s pointing at. The garage looks pretty run down, but sturdy. At least it doesn’t seem like it’ll collapse on you. You wrinkle your nose at your friend, feeling skeptical—well, more so than before. “There? It looks like shit.”

“Shut up.” She pulls you along again. “It’s the best around. Very famous. Tons of hot guys. You’ll love it, I promise.”

Entering the garage, you find it surprisingly hot, despite the ACs blasting cold air. And damn, she was right. The receptionist flashes you the cutest smile you’ve ever seen, though his face is anything but cute. He’s hot; really, really hot.

Which is probably why the AC feels even more nonexistent right now.

"Welcome!” The man greets. “I’m Byun. Got a car for repair?”

“No actually,” your friend pushes you forward a little, a wide grin on her face. “My friend’s here for a tattoo.”

“Oh, great!” He smiles, pointing into the garage. “The tattoo parlor’s in the back. The one with a glass door.”

“Thanks!” She says with a wink, voice higher than normal. You roll your eyes. Ugh, she’s trying way too hard.

You walk past several people who are working on repairing cars, the sounds of machines whirring and metal clanging. Some of them are under the cars, but the others are equally as handsome as the receptionist. It’s quite intimidating, actually. You would never voluntarily walk into a garage like this alone.

You friend knocks on the glass door. You can’t see inside since the binds are down. “Um, hello?”

There’s a loud yelp that comes, the steady zapping sound of a tattoo gun. After a moment, it goes quiet. The door opens.

The man that greets you is stunning. His golden hair is half swept up, lazy in a way like he just wanted it out of his eyes, wearing a black tank top and ripped jeans. He makes your heart stop, your breath hitch. The others were attractive, but he’s on a whole different level. And all sorts of alarms are blaring in your mind.

He smiles, eyes lingering on you as he holds the door open. “Hello ladies. Here for a tattoo?”

Your friend nods enthusiastically, but you can’t even tear your eyes off his face. A man walks out from the room, face sweaty and pale, clutching his bandaged arm.

The handsome man, slaps the other guy on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Make sure not to infect that, ok? Come again if you want another one.”

“Sure, Chen.” The man lets out a small smile. “See ya.”

The man named Chen turns back to you and your friend, stepping aside to let you two in.

You finally snap out of your daze when your friend begins to push you in, and the reality settles in, making you panic. “Uh, wait. Are we really doing this?”

“Getting cold feet?” Chen chuckles as he sits down, patting the chair in front of him. “You sure about this?”

“Come on.” Your friend whispers in your ear. “Getting a tattoo is awesome, but getting a tattoo from a hot guy? That’s a once in a lifetime chance, girl.”

You roll your eyes at your friend, but lie down on the chair nonetheless, feeling your heart pound anxiously. “Um...this is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He answers. “Some places hurt more than others. Where are you thinking?”

“Um, collarbone, maybe?”

“Maybe? You sound very unsure.” He smiles, raising a brow at you. “A tattoo’s serious, you know? It’ll be more painful to remove, so make sure you’re absolutely certain about this.”

“Look, I’m going to be honest here.” You start with a sigh. “I don’t know where I want it or what it’s going to look like, but I do want a tattoo.” You look pointedly at him, almost challenging. “You’re a professional, right? Can you help me figure out what I want?”

He stares at you for a moment before he throws his head back and lets out a loud laugh. It’s the kind of laugh that lights up the room, that sounds like a laugh an angel would have. “You’re interesting.”

He moves to sit at his desk, grabbing a piece of paper and pen before scribbling furiously. “Collarbone, right? Something big or small?”

“Small.” You answer.

“Colored?”

“I prefer black and white.”

He has a grin on his face when he swirls around again, presenting a sketch he quickly made. It’s beautiful though, the line-work a little rough and sketchy but it’s beautiful. It’s hard to believe he did this in less than five minutes.

“A butterfly?” You ask, tracing the delicate pattern of its wings.

Chen leans down, brushing a strand of stray hair out of your face, his eyes shining with mirth. “Yeah.”

Next Chapter

The Art of Sin Mini Masterlist

EXO Customs Collab Masterlist

A/N: I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Please check out the collab masterlist and read the other authors’ fics too, because we all put a lot of effort into it! Thanks~

Tags: @ninibears-erigom @baekwell--tart @fairyyeols @suhoerections @kpop---scenarios @skjdln @yeoldontknow @kyungseokie

Tell me if you want to be tagged!

©kimjongdaely

Talk to me!

East of Nowhere - Year Two

Sam x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary:  You and Sam are strangers trapped in a desolate mountain town where you live alone, isolated from the outside world, for five years.

Warnings: language, violence, smut, talk of past trauma

Words: 8.5k

Beta:  ilikaicalie  

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<

-

YEAR TWO

One Year, Three Days

“This is the one.” You stand beside Sam in the fading light of the afternoon, the wind tossing his hair around his face. Crossing your arms you pull the jacket tighter around you. You’ve been inside every house in the residential area of Shadow Hill, but none of them felt quite right, not until this one.

It’s at the very end of the cul-de-sac, where there’s more room between the houses, not to mention the edge of the forest in the backyard, which flanks your new home with thick pine woods.

You know just by looking at the outside that this one is the right fit. The deep blue siding reminds you of the color of the ocean in books, a rich blue that feels calm and peaceful.

“You sure this is the one? How do you know?” Sam inquires, tilting his head, trying to determine what makes this place different from the other forty houses you’ve spent days inspecting.  

“I’m not sure,” you shrug, admiring for another moment more, then grabbing the wrist of his jacket, pulling him toward the steps. “It just feels like us.”

Once inside, your instincts are only confirmed. The living room is warmly lit with a soft fire, filled with overstuffed chairs and rich colors. Leading off the main living area is a grand oak dining table, big enough for an entire family. The kitchen is new and sleek, pots and pans hanging from hooks above the island. This house feels like a home, almost like someone’s lived here before.

“I like it,” Sam nods in approval, pouting his bottom lip. “Let’s check out the second floor.” You follow Sam upstairs, finding several bedrooms with large beds, each more luxurious than the last. It’s a far cry from the shitty little hotel room that you’ve shared for the last year.

“Why are there so many pillows?” Sam squints, “no one person could possibly need that many pillows.”

“They’re decorative. I like them.” You smile at him, swinging your hips like a happy-go-lucky child.

“I won’t even attempt to fight you for a room, you choose the one you want.” Sam grins, nudging open the door at the end of the hall, peering in. You frown, a sudden reality hitting you for the first time. “What?” He asks, his smirk falling at your abrupt shift in attitude.

“It’s gonna be a little weird not sleeping in the same room, that’s all.”  You walk past him, inspecting the bathroom, thrilled to see a soaker tub big enough for three people.  The look on his face is hard to read, “I’m used to waking up and seeing you right there, talking and farting in your sleep.”

Chuckling, Sam shakes his head “You don’t even want me to tell you some of the noises you make.” You raise your eyebrows and he continues “Yeah, I’m not the only one who talks in their sleep. Oh, don’t stop, harder....lots of sex dreams.”

“Sam!” You yell, slapping his arm. You drop your eyes out of embarrassment, giggling because you have a pretty good idea of who you were dreaming about. When you look up, there’s a broad smile plastered across his face, chest shaking as he quietly laughs to himself. “I hate you,” you grit slapping him again.

“Who am I to say what it was about, maybe you’ve just been dreaming about a really great full body massage.” He cracks himself up, leaning into the wall for support.

“You’re a real comedian.” You sigh, trapped in the space between embarrassment and amusement. “I want this room, the big one.”

One Year, Five Weeks

You think the house will help to alleviate some of the tension between the two of you and, for a couple weeks it does. Sam has one rule above all others, you don’t separate. You get it, you understand why it’s important that you’re always within earshot. In theory, anything could happen, but the fact is nothing ever happens. Your lives become a mundane routine, planned around books and spells and meals that’s wearing you down day by day.

The little things Sam does drive you crazy and not in a good way. Like the way his spoon always hits the side of his bowl when he’s eating soup or how he chews on the ends of all the pens until they’re twisted into mangled plastic. He leaves the toilet seat up and the milk on the counter and he always has to know where you are, every fucking moment.

“It works better if you use the scrub brush,” Sam recommends, sipping his coffee.

“I like the sponge.” You side eye him, elbow deep in rubber gloves and dirty dishes.

“You know, you don’t really have to do that. If you just wait, they’ll clean themselves.” He leans against the counter, seemingly intent on watching you wash.

“No, I do have to do it. Otherwise, they’ll sit here all day and every time I come into the kitchen, I have to stare at a sink full of dishes.” The organized scientist in you has reared its ugly head. Sam’s a wonderful man in so many ways, but he’s obscenely messy.

“Why are you mad?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m not mad,” you grit, jaw clenched.

“Really? Because you seem angry.”

This is the point in cartoons where steam blows out of someone’s ears. Every bit of resentment, indignation, and sexual frustration is boiling to the surface.

“I said I’m fine.” You turn away from him, dropping a bowl to the floor where it shatters with a sickening crack. “God, damn it!” You scream, clenching your fists.

To Sam, this seems like a massive overreaction, but for you, it’s about so much more than a broken bowl.

“It’s not that big of a deal. You get the big pieces and I’ll grab the broom.” Sam moves toward the cupboard.

That’s when you erupt.

“Sam, for fuck's sake stop telling me what to do! Jesus, I’m capable of cleaning up broken glass!” You shake with rage.

“What the hell is your problem?” He shoots back, both ready for a fight.

“You’re my problem!” You scream. As if it had been planned, you step with all your weight directly onto a sharp shard of glass that cuts into your foot like a knife through butter. You shriek, falling onto your butt, coming down hard on your tailbone with a sickening smack on the tile floor. “Fuck, ow….ow.”

Sam crouches in front of you, with his hand around your ankle before you have a chance to process what’s happening. He lifts your foot up to get a better view and cringes, “that’s deep.”

“Let me go,” you kick at him, not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to get a point across.

“I need to get it out,” he scoffs, tightening his grasp.

“I’ll do it myself. I said don’t touch me,” you hiss, pulling your leg back again. This time, he lets you go, you wince as you scoot away from him.

“I’m just trying to help.” His tone betrays the words and there’s venom under the surface.

“I don’t need your help, I’m fine.”

He watches from the other side of the kitchen as you inspect your foot. He was right, it is deep, maybe three or four inches sunk into flesh. It’s a thick gash that’s pooling blood all over the light grey floor. Your stomach turns a little when you realize that you’ve backed yourself into the corner and have to pull it out of your own foot.

The pain comes without warning as if seeing the injury triggers the physical response. A sharp ache rises from your foot and up your legs and tears well over your eyes before you can stop.

It fucking hurts and suddenly you’re worried maybe you’ve managed to really injure yourself. What if you hit a tendon or actually did some permanent damage? The distress rises to your chest as you break out into a sweat.

The pain spirals and the blood isn’t stopping. God, you hate the sight of blood, it’s always made you lightheaded.

“Sam…” you panic, voice trembling.

“Here, let’s get you up.” Without missing a beat, he scoops you into his arm and carries you to the living room like he’s done it a thousand times before. That’s all it takes for him to forget what a bitch you’ve been; he hears the fear when you say his name and all is forgotten. After jogging to the bathroom, he reappears with a small bag.

“It hurts,” you spit, covering your eyes with your arm. You don’t want to look, the thought of all that blood and glass makes your stomach turn over.

“I bet,” he raises your leg into his lap, blood dripping all over his jeans. He doesn’t seem to care, though. You feel his wide hand slide under your yoga pants, halfway up your calf, squeezing lightly. “I’ll take care of you.”

With those words, Sam bears down, holding your leg still with a firm grip and rips the glass out. Not only is there pain, but more concerning is the steady stream of blood gushing out that is warm and slick, streaming down your heel. You don’t speak, you just make a strangled noise that Sam responds to by squeezing your upper thigh.

Your eyes pop open and the look on his face makes you feel even worse, “It’s bad huh?”

He nods tightly, “You’re gonna need stitches.” When you whimper, he just nods. “Don’t worry, you won’t remember. Gonna get you real drunk first.”

One Year, Four Months

You twirl spaghetti around a fork, coiling the noodles in just the right amount before popping it into your mouth. “Oh my gosh, Sam” you nod enthusiastically, “this is really good.”

“See, I’m getting better. I used the recipe this time,” he grins and you both dig in.

You’ve been swapping childhood trauma stories all night and now it’s your turn.

“We used to go on these camping trips when I was kid. Every year, my dad would pack up way too much shit in the back of our station wagon and drag us out to the middle of nowhere.” Sam sits back in his seat, sipping his beer. He likes when you tell the stories, he always seems fascinated by what was usually your boring, run of the mill childhood memories.

“Your dad’s an outdoorsman?” he inquires, crossing his ankles.

“Big time. He was in the army and when he got out, he spent years teaching wilderness survival. He’d live outside if he could.” You pour yourself more wine, then you continue. “So, he decides that we’re going to the Smokey Mountains for two weeks. He drags the whole freaking family out there, my mom and sister, my cousins and asshole uncle Ted. I didn’t care about any of them, I was so excited just to spend time with my dad. He’d taught me, what I thought at the time was a lot of bushcraft skills, I mean, I was just a little girl, but I knew how to build a fire and get a fish off a line, so I thought I was hot shit. I was desperate to prove myself. I never wanted to be like other girls my age, I wanted to hunt and fish and chop trees. I don’t know, I guess I thought it was the best way make my dad proud. So, we’d been there about a week when I decided that I wanted to go off on my own adventure. I packed a bag and wandered off. My cousin, Ryan, was supposed to be watching me, but he was too busy reading comics and no one else noticed.”

“Oh no…” Sam winces, rocking back in his chair.

“It gets better,” you promise. “I followed the trail for a while and then decided that I was fully capable of making my own way in the world and I ventured off into the woods. I probably walked for an hour before I decided I wanted to go back to camp, but it was too late; I was so lost. I walked in every direction and had no freaking idea which way was out. I was eight years old, with a ‘My Little Pony’ backpack and a pair of pink binoculars. I wasn’t dressed for anything more than a trip to the park and the sun started to go down….I was so scared, Sam. This huge storm was rolling in and when it started to rain, I just remember curling into a ball and crying”

“What did you do?” Sam’s enthralled, picking at the label on his bottle.

“I started thinking about my dad, he always said that if you aren’t finding a solution, you're contributing to the problem. So, I looked for a solution, which in my case, was finding the thickest pine tree I possibly could and crawling underneath. It hurt like hell, I was all scratched up, but I knew it would at least keep me out of the rain. And that storm, God, I hate thunderstorms to this day. It was so loud and there was so much lightning. I remember being curled up in the mud under that tree, freezing, and telling myself out loud that I was going to be alright.  Even as a kid, I knew that I had to make myself believe that I was going to survive and I was capable of handling the situation. It was going to be awful and I was going to cry - but that was okay, as long as I made it through.”

“You were out there all night?” Sam leans forward setting his drink on the table.

“Yup. It was almost twenty-four hours before my dad found me. I was wet and dirty, but I was in one piece. You know he didn’t even yell at me? He just hugged me and told me he loved me.”

“That’s incredible, the whole thing,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I’d like to meet him.”

“You will,” you take a sip from your glass, pulling your knees up to your chest, “he’s gonna like you. He’s a ‘get shit done’ kind of guy. You kinda remind me of him.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.” Sam’s been less and less positive as the months go by.

“Yeah, we will,” you confirm.

Sam’s still for a moment, his eyes shifting as his own thoughts rush in.

“When, ah, Dean and I were kids, my dad was gone all the time. My first real memory is being in this smelly, dirty motel room and crying because I just wanted my dad to stay with me. I didn’t understand why he left, you know? Dean must have gone out or something because I distinctly remember that when he came back to the room, I turned my pillow over because I was afraid he’d see it was wet and he’d know I was crying.” Sam loses himself in that memory for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know, four maybe? Young enough that no one in their right mind would leave Dean in charge of me.” He scoffs and takes a drink, “That’s just how it was though. My mom died and dad needed to hunt, needed to fill that void.”

“Sounds to me like he was coping the only way he knew how t,” you suggest. Sam’s talked about his father before and you know there’s never ending layers to that relationship.

“I don’t hold it against him, not anymore. He did the best he could under the circumstances.  For a long time, all I wanted to do was everything that he hated. Just be a normal guy, get married, have a couple kids, and be a better father than he ever was.”

“What? You don’t want that anymore?”

“I’m thirty-three and, forgetting for a moment that we’re stuck in Shadow Hill, I’m deeper into this life than my dad ever was. If you care about people, you don’t make them a part of this life.”

“Maybe you don’t get to make that choice for other people,” you shoot back. “Everyone has their shit, Sam, and I’ll give it to you that your shit is crazier than most, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He gulps down the last of his beer, “I’m going to bed.”

One Year, Five Months

You’re going alone, you’re going no matter what he says because you don’t care about his rules anymore.

Sam’s reading in the living room, so engrossed in The Handmaid’s Tale that he doesn’t really hear you when you square off your shoulders and say, “I’m going for walk.”

He just smiles up at you, completely oblivious to whatever you just told him, “Whatever you want.”

If we’re being a hundred percent honest, you know it’s going to piss him off. But, there’s no way you are both going to survive without a little alone time every now and then. If it keeps up like this, one of you is going to kill the other.

You wander down the street and behind the houses to Miller’s Path, leading out of the town and into the looming pine forest that surrounds every side of Shadow Hill. After walking for some time, you veer off the path, heading toward a clearing in the distance.

You maneuver through the brush, the trees of yesteryear, fallen in storms long forgotten. The seasons have been harsh, stripping away the bark and outer layers, yet rendering them all the more beautiful. They have the appearance of driftwood, twisting in patterns that remind you of seaside waves; even the color of the moss is kelp-like. They are soft and damp, yet your fingers come away dry.

You tilt your head upward, feeling your hair tumble further down your back; the pines are several stories tall, reaching toward the golden rays of early fall. Birdsong comes in lulls and bursts, the silence and the singing working together as well as any improvised melody. A new smile paints itself on your face, rose-pink lips, semi-illuminated by the dappled light. Before you know it, your feet have begun to walk, body and mind both on autopilot - it's around noon and you don’t think you’ve been gone that long.

You find the clearing, trotting happily back out into the sunlight.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sam’s voice booms, snapping you out of your solitary moment. You whip around to the sight of him standing at the edge of the tree line, his chest huffing and eyes wild.

“What, I’m just...out here.” You’re caught off guard more than anything else, stumbling over your words. Sam’s mad, breathless, nostrils flaring, pissed the fuck off.

“Just hanging out?” He throws his arms up, stepping closer to you.

“I was just taking a walk, I told you where I was going…” You step back, he looks like he might throw you over his shoulder and lug you back to the house himself.

“You’re acting like a damn kid sneaking around. What if something happened to you?”

“Nothing is gonna happen to me. What do you think is going to happen, Sam? Nothing ever fucking happens here. It’s just the same shit day after day and it’s driving me insane. It’s making me resent you and it’s not even your fault, I know that. But, I need to be able to take a walk or go to Tolliver’s or do just one damn thing on my own.”

“Y/N-”

“I’m not done! Let me finish. Look, if I could choose anyone to be here with, it would be you, Sam, it really would. I had no idea I needed you in my life before I met you, which I know sounds nuts and makes no sense whatsoever, but it’s how I feel. I like spending time with you, but I need time to be alone, I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“What if you decide you want to go for a stroll and you never come back? You just disappear. Huh? What then?”

“If I’m going to disappear, it’s going to happen whether you know where I am or not. I could be sitting next to you on the couch and poof, gone. Just like that,” you snap your fingers for added effect and he winces.

“Okay, sure, let’s just throw caution to the wind. You don’t care, right? Whatever happens, happens!” He’s screaming, pointing at you with an accusatory thrust of his arm.

“I never said that,” you glare, “stop being so dramatic! God, I hate you so much right now!”

“Screw you,” Sam, spits, lunging toward you and the next thing you know his mouth is crashing into yours. You’re still in shock, mouth hanging open as his tongue snakes past your lips, meeting your own. He tastes like almonds and salt and it is fucking wonderful. His arms engulf you, enveloping you in a crushing embrace, pulling your body flush with his. You tip your head to the side, mouth opening further to give him full access, a move which he accepts eagerly, his tongue exploring deeper as this kiss becomes less about rage and more about a year and half of sexual frustration. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it occurs to you that despite how good this feels, you’re still pissed. Groaning into his mouth, you place two hands on his chest and push back, parting in a breathless smack. Sam looks down at you, his shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath.

“You kissed me.” You meant it as a question, but instead you’re just stating the obvious.

“Yeah,” he flexes his jaw, “I did.”

“Well...I...” Just a moment ago there was so much you needed to say, but your head is swimming and you can’t think. “I’m not saying that I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t done-”

In the distance there’s a faint noise, growing louder. At first, you both look from side to side, but the closer the sound gets the more you realize it’s coming from above you. By the time you identify the noise as paper fluttering in the air, you can see the mystery object plummeting down toward the ground and it lands with a heavy thud on a patch of grass. You both inch toward it, Sam moving in front you with his arm out, “Don’t get too close.”

You stay behind him until you realize what you’re looking at and step forward as he grabs at the back of your shirt. “It’s alright, it’s just a book.” You bend down and pick up what appears to be a very worn, very old copy of Pride and Prejudice.

“What the..,” Sam’s voice trails off as you show it to him. There’s a feather sticking from between the pages and you open it to reveal a small line of text that’s been underlined by hand.

Glancing up at Sam you clear your throat read the text, “Sometimes the last person on Earth you want to be with is the one person you can't be without.”

“What is that, like Jane Austen?” he asks, completely perplexed.

You suppress your urge to comment on the fact that he recognizes Jane Austen when his face twists. You can watch the flutter of realization cross his face. “What?” You shift the book in your hands, “what’s wrong?”

“Someone’s watching us,” he snorts.

“But,” you hesitate trying to decide what the right questions are, “who?”

“I don’t know, but literature’s greatest hits don’t just rain the from the heavens. That was meant for us.”

“This is freaking me out.” You wipe your mouth, feeling the weight of the novel, and looking behind you.  

Sam’s words sink in; someone’s watching.

He looks from you to the book, then up to the sky. There’s a moment of silence before he loses it. “What is this? A lesson?” he shouts, turning in a circle with his arms outstretched. “We’re listening, we’re fucking listening! Hello?” Nothing. He’s fuming, his cheeks bright red and fists clenched. He looks like he’s ready for a fight and not the kind that utilizes words. He wants to break something, frantic for anything to hit and watch his knuckles bleed.

“Sam,” you reach out, grabbing his wrist. He recoils when you touch him, pulling back as if he’s going to smack you. It’s muscle memory, something dormant left over from too many years of staying constantly vigilant and sleeping with a gun under his pillow. He cocks his fist and you stumble back, nearly falling over as he catches you.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to-” his face scrunches, to your surprise there are tears welling up in his eyes, “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

What Sam can’t tell you is the combination of emotions coursing through his veins. He’s so frustrated that he can’t even control his own reactions and it makes him feel painfully impotent.

“I know, Sam,” you drop the book to the ground and wrap yourself around him, pressing your head over his heart, “I know you wouldn’t.”

One Year, Seven Months

After the ‘Dr. Darcy Incident’, as you dubbed it, Sam does his best to give you more space. And just like you predicted, your relationship with him begins to heal itself almost immediately. Time away eases the urge to pick at each other and allows you to enjoy your time together again. It’s a morning like any other, except Sam isn’t there when you wander half asleep down to the kitchen. Sam’s always awake before you, a pot of coffee already brewing by the time you crack your eyes open for the first time. You assume he must need the sleep and try to recreate his normal morning routine, so that by the time he wanders into the dining room, there’s two eggs and wheat toast waiting for him.

“Good morning,” you greet him, setting your plate next to his.

“Good morning,” his voice is low and he blinks at his eggs.

“You still asleep over there?”

“I think so,” being the man that he is, he just throws you an appreciative glance and digs in.  He spends the rest of the day going through his normal routine; run, weights in the basement, then a shower and off the to the library to grab a few books he wants to add to your growing in-home library. By that evening, he’s looking pale, dark circles forming under his eyes. He tells you it’s just a cold and that he just needs some sleep. You don’t think twice. Maybe he’s not feeling well, but it doesn’t set off any alarm bells. The following morning, you’re up earlier than usual, feeling uncharacteristically rested. Lacing up your sneakers, you hit the snowy pavement as the sun is rising over the horizon. It’s a beautiful morning, too cold for a walk, but it’s perfect as you pick up speed out of the neighborhood and head towards town. For several miles, all you hear is the controlled sound of your breath and your feet hitting the ground. You push further and faster than you ever have before, extending your route up the hill past Hill’s Cinema (the one room movie theatre) and winding back down around the city center park. By the time you’re trotting back to the house, the sun is high overhead and the chill of a bitter winter day is creeping in. Covered in a thick sheen of sweat, you head for the kitchen, pour yourself a glass of water and drink it. After a few moments, you happen to see a foot peeking from around the corner near the bottom of the stairs.

“Sam,” you call high pitched. You don’t want to look. The tight grip of fear rises in your chest as you round the corner and find him sprawled on the floor, face down still in his pajamas. Dropping to your knees, you turn him over. The moment you touch his torso, you can feel the sweat soaking through his shirt, he’s drenched. “Sam, can you hear me?” You brush away the damp hair stuck to his forehead. He’s burning up, his whole body is radiating heat. You’re not sure what to do, the only semblance of medical training you have is from watching re-runs of House on daytime cable. Shaking your hands in a panic, you try to mentally put together a list of priorities. At the top of that list is his breathing, so you press an ear to his febrile, damp chest and listen. He’s breathing shallowly, but his heart is galloping a hundred miles a minute. He’s so hot, you know it has to be dangerous, his body temperature must be cooking him from the inside out.

“Sam!” You yell, right at the shell of his ear. He’s three times your size and you know there’s no way you can move him on your own. “Sam! Wake up!”

When he doesn’t move, you do the only thing that comes to mind, you slap him, hard and fast right across the face. He jerks and his eyes flutter open with a groan. Thank God.

“Hey, can you hear me?” You hover over him, his eyes rolling back into this head for a moment before settling on you.

“What?” he slurs, his face contorting.

“You gotta help me Sam, you have to get up.” You move behind him, lifting him into a sitting position and fuck if he isn’t ridiculously heavy, his limp body doing nothing to assist you. “I can’t do this by myself. We just have to get to the shower, it’s right there.”

You grab his face and turn his focus to the small bathroom just off the entryway. “Okay,” he gulps and squeezes his eyes shut, “I’m dizzy.”

“I know, but we gotta do this now. Come on.” You stand in front of him, taking his hands and pulling with every ounce of strength you can muster. With a minimal amount of assistance, you hike him up, his arm grasping at your shoulders. The two of you shuffle down the hall, his weight threatening to take you both down. You get him into the shower, where he collapses onto his butt with a thud.

“My brain feels like it’s boiling,” he rubs a hand over his face.

“You’re gonna feel better in a minute.” In reality you have no idea if what you’re doing will help in the slightest, but he doesn't need to know that. You climb in the tub behind him and he instantly falls limp between your legs, his back crushing your chest as his head leans back on your shoulder. The fever is practically pulsing through him, his cheeks are bright red and heartbeat still quick, threatening to beat out of his chest. With your shoe, you kick at the faucet until a burst of freezing water erupts from the shower head and gushes over the both of you. You both yell in shock as the icy stream soaks your clothes and washes over your skin. After a few torturous minutes, the drop in temperature seems to calm his body. You’re shaking, teeth chattering as you feel his hand grip your knee. He turns his head toward you, his face at your throat.

“This is not at all how I imagined taking our first shower.”

“First?” You laugh, completely exasperated, chin trembling, “talk about presumptuous.”

You wrap an arm around him from behind, squeezing his wide shoulders and kissing his cheek, “You scared the shit out of me, Sam.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “didn’t mean to.”

Once he’s fully coherent, you give him aspirin, find him a change of clothes, and tuck him back into his bed. He grabs your hand as you walk away, pulling you beside him. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

You smile, patting his chest “It’s what we do, right? You and me ‘till the wheels fall off.”

One Year, Nine Months

Sam has no intentions of going through your stuff, he’s just out of toothpaste and you’re out for a run. He pads into your en suite bathroom, feeling like a kid who’s trespassing in his parent's bedroom. Neither of you have ever said your rooms were off limits, but there’s an unspoken respect for personal space. He pulls open a few drawers, pushing around lotions and q-tips when he sees it. He knows what the pills are the moment he lays eyes on them. Amelia’s were in the same pink, little plastic case she pulled out of her purse every time the alarm on her phone went off. Looking behind and satisfied you’re nowhere nearby, he pops the case open, to find half the pack empty.

You’re taking birth control pills.

If he’d asked you about it, you would have told him that you found them in the pharmacy a year ago, right after the ‘almost kiss’ and figured that taking precautions was the smart thing to do. You didn’t know where this thing with Sam was going, but it felt like it might sneak up on you someday and you didn’t want any more surprises.

Sam looks at the pills again, weighing out several scenarios until he hears you bounding up the stairs. He hastily shoves the pack back in the drawer behind an open box of tampons. He finds the toothpaste just as you swing through the doorway, sweating and breathless.

“Jesus Christ,” you jump startled at the sight of him.

“Sorry,” he smiles tightly, waving a tube of Crest, “just trying to brush my teeth.”

One Year, Ten Months

You slide on sock feet over the hardwood of the living floor and take a seat at the edge of the arm chair. “I’m going to the greenhouse.”

“You want me to come with you?” Sam glances up from his nest on the floor with a pen between his teeth.  He’s sitting cross legged in front of the coffee table, books and notes everywhere.

“No, I’m good, I need some quality time in with my African Violets.” You tie your sneakers, watching him as he shakes his head and makes a note on an already crowded legal pad. For a moment, you let your mind wander. The intellectual in you, the woman that loves historical fiction and collects vintage copies of the periodic table, can’t help but be insanely attracted to this man.

He will never know how utterly delicious he looks in a v-neck t shirt, barefoot, and lost in some obscure text. Sam’s always a little sweaty and at this very moment, there’s a sheen layer of perspiration right at the hollow of his throat that’s nudging your mind in a thousand directions. It’s been way too long since you’ve had sex, but you don’t hold onto hope because Sam might as well be the president of the Shadow Hill Abstinence Society.

“I’ll bring you lunch,” he offers, without looking up.

“Sounds good, see you later.”

You hop on your bike and enjoy the ride to the greenhouse. It’s on the far side of town, a little over a mile, and you shiver in the cool morning air, your thin coat doing little for the brisk ride.

Green Thumbs, as the sign reads, is a fully functioning hot house as big as a barn. The heat hits you in a wave as you open the frosted glass door, enjoying the smell of the flowers and earth that overtakes your senses. You check on Sam’s plants first, the ones he asked you to cultivate for spell work. You fuss over the Mugwort and water the Lady’s Mantle before moving to your orchids that require repotting. At first, you didn’t know if you’d be able to grow anything, with Shadow Hill wiping the slate clean, but the greenhouse has proven to be space that allows change to stick. Your flowers and herbs grow tall and strong, perhaps better than they should. You lose track of time, surprised when you hear movement behind you.

“Hey you,” you see Sam and turn to greet him with a sweet genuine smile.

Sam gulps. It’s hot in here and you're in a tank top that’s sticking to your sweaty, glistening body. There’s dirt smeared over your stomach and arms and a little just beside your nose. Your hair is a wild mess, barely contained by the failing ponytail. He’s been having a harder and harder time with his own self control when it comes to you, but this is the moment he knows that it’s only a matter of time before the dam breaks.

“Sandwiches,” he holds up a paper bag, looking at you with the familiar yet strange look he gets from time to time. You have no idea what goes in that head of his, but you’d like to find out. You wash your hand off with the hose and join him on the small wooden bench for turkey sandwiches. He hands you a bottle of water as you catch his eyes wandering over your body.

You glare at him, “I know I’m a filthy mess.  I promise I’ll shower before I sit on the furniture, okay, dad?”

Sam just chuckles, looking at roses and biting into his food, “You’re so far off base you don’t even know it.”

One Year, Eleven Months, Two Weeks

A deafening crash of thunder rips you from your slumber, as your heart beats nearly out of your chest. The second boom makes you jump, as lightning illuminates your room. It’s so loud, that it sounds as if the heavens might crack open from the power. Rain is falling heavily on the roof as you crawl out of bed and look out your second story window. The clouds look low enough that the far mountain peaks appear claustrophobic at the proximity. Between the flashes of lightning, there’s an inky darkness that sinks into the marrow of your bones. You glance at the clock next to your bed, but it’s black. Great, the power must be out. You don’t like storms. Most of the time, you’re an adult and you can power through it, but this is loud and bright and something feels uneasy and electric all around you. You make your way across the hall and rap at Sam’s door.

After a moment, you hear, “Y/N?” You turn the handle and creep inside as he sits up, shirtless and dazed.

“I um, I just...the storm woke me up,” you shift from one foot to the other, standing in his doorway.

“You want me to get up with you?” he mumbles, trying to shake himself from his sleep.

“No, I’m being a baby, go back to sleep. I’ll read or something.”

Sam throws back the sheets on the open side of his bed, and nods with his chin, “Get in here.”

You don’t hesitate, you crawl in beside him, and he pulls the cover up to your waist. You don’t know if he’s fully coherent or not, but he rolls into you, as if it’s no big deal. His body presses into your side, his face burying into your neck and his hand sliding across your stomach and coming to rest on your hip.

Shit.

You lay like that for a while, now more awake than ever before in your life. Everywhere he’s touching you feels excruciatingly sensitive, like you’re in overdrive. Sam’s breathing hot at your neck just under your jaw and instead of softening with sleep, it’s only getting faster and faster. A crack of thunder roars down from the night sky and you involuntarily jerk. Sam’s hand tightens around your hip, his body pressing into your side as he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

You feel the shift of his head as his lays a soft kiss to the skin of your neck, it’s not a grand gesture, but it’s supremely intimate as you lay here in his bed. He kisses you again, this time moving down a little further, just the tip of his tongue darting out to taste your skin.

Your breath catches in your throat as you tip your head away, giving him more access. His hand moves from your hip back over your stomach, resting his palm just below your belly button.

“Can I touch you?” he murmurs at the shell of your ear. You exhale in a desperate, fractured moan.

“Yes,” you whisper, nodding.

Sam pulls at the hem of your nightgown and before you know what’s happening, it’s up and over your head, leaving you completely naked. He makes a guttural grunt of approval, pleased to see you’ve forgone undergarments. Still on his side, he leans over and cups one of your breasts with a calloused hand, taking your nipple into his mouth. You gasp, his wet tongue sliding over the hardened bud before tugging gently with his teeth.

His fingers play down your abdomen, barely grazing, as his touch sinks lower. You feel his fingers swipe over your sex, the tip of his fingers delicately stroking over your lips. When he feels that you’re wet, he pushes further, coating his fingers with your own slick. The pressure of his finger shallow inside you makes you quiver, your thighs falling apart.

Continuing to mouth your breast, his finger moves upward, out of your pussy to find your clit with expert efficiency. He rubs over the little bundle of nerves, eliciting a buck of your hips.

For what seems like a lifetime, he works your body just like this. His hand between your legs and nipple between his lips. His finger moves back and forth across your clit, rubbing and coaxing soft moans as you rock your hips up into this hand. Sam rolls his tongue over your nipple, then clenches down sending shocks that reverberate in your nether regions.

“I’m going to taste you,” he explains calmly, pressing a kiss between your breasts, moving downward placing his lips at the crown of your ribcage.

“Sam,” you puff, his words only adding to the anticipation, just a vague outline of what’s to come next, leaving him to fill in the details. The caress of his lips travel down your stomach, stopping for a moment to trace the outline of your belly button with his tongue. As he moves lower, he readjusts his body, crawling between your legs, hooking his hand behind one of your knees and bending your legs, using his shoulders to hold your shaking thighs open for him.

There’s a scrape of his teeth over the mound of your sex and you feel his breath before anything else, hot and warm with his face so close to your apex. Then his fingers; Sam uses his thumb and index finger to peel you open, revealing the throbbing little bundle of nerves.

There’s a tight swell of anticipation building in your stomach, but it’s nothing to prepare you for what comes next. With the tip of his tongue, slippery and warm, he scoops up and over your clit, once, twice, three times.

“Sam,” you groan, your back arching as he repeats the same, slow lick, just his tongue and fingers to hold you open. With his free hand, he reaches up, spreading his palm wide over your stomach, holding you down. Without warning, his whole mouth engulfs you, running his tongue flat and hard over the sweet spot that now controls every inch of your body.

Sam’s fantasized plenty of times about what you would taste like, but it’s different, better than he imagined. You’re salty and metallic in his mouth, making him only want more.  He has a plan for this first time, what and how he wants to pleasure you. Between the noises you're making and the insistent thrust of your hips into his face, he knows he’s right on target.

He could do this for hours, incandescently happy with his head in a vice grip between your thighs, with a mouth full of tangy slick.

You don’t know long he’s down there, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes? All with his tongue making spine-tingling circles around your most sensitive parts. He knows what he’s doing too, changing his rhythm, adjusting the pressure of his tongue to keep you from coming, he doesn’t want that yet.

He knows you want more, he almost fucks you with his fingers, but he wants the first thing you feel pushing inside to be his cock. He wants you to come for the first time while he’s in you. He wants to watch you pulse and shake while he’s sunk deep. His dick is rock hard, grinding against the sheets as he thinks about it.

“Sam,” he scrapes his teeth over your clit when you call his name, groaning into your pussy. His tongue dips down, teasing between your folds before moving back up to his focus area. All you want is something, anything to fill you up, his tongue, his hand, his cock, the specifics don’t matter.

“You want me inside you?” he asks, looking up from your thighs.

“Please, God yes,” you groan at the sight of him, crawling back up over your body.

He settles his hips between your own, pushing his sweatpants down his thighs. His hand brushes stray hair out of your face and then he kisses you for the second time since you’ve known him. His lips meet yours, diving deep with a scoop of his tongue.

Lost in the bliss of his body weight and mouth, you feel his hand between you, then the head of his cock rubbing over your clit and between your folds. There’s the sweet moment when he presses the tip into you for the first time, slowly sinking as you stretch around him. You moan into his mouth, his kisses deepening as he slides thick and stiff until he’s fully seated.

You feel impossibly full, it’s an incredible sensation that sends pleasure shooting out from where he’s sunk inside you. You wiggle your hips, canting up to his, desperate to take as much of him as you can.

Breathless and panting, Sam’s mouth parts from yours. He reaches up to grab the rung of the headboard for leverage and drops his mouth to the hollow of your throat, kissing sweat soaked skin as he moves, pulling out and thrusting back into you with a force that makes your eyes pop wide.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, reaching for the pillows, the other hand clinging to his arm as his veins bulge with tension.

“You feel so good,” Sam groans as he’s trying his best to make this last. He wants you to remember this first time as intense and incredible, but he’s not sure he can last as long as he’d prefer. You’re so tight around him, like he’s balls deep in hot silk. You’re squirming under him, rubbing your pretty little body up into his like your life depends on it.

He looks down at you, your lip caught between your teeth, naked and straining at the sheets. Sam thinks you twisting under the weight of him is the best thing he’s ever seen in his life. He fucks you hard and slow, pushing all the way in and grinding his hips in slow circles that turns you to into a quivering mess of wet, raw nerves.

His mouth is everywhere, at your mouth, neck, biting at the ball of your shoulder. He moves from those mind blowing grinds to a steady rhythm as the rooms fills with the rolling thunder and the wet, carnal slap of his body into yours. You’re both close, the pumping of his hips faster and harder than before.

“Can I come inside you?” he pants, a growing desperation in his voice.

“Oh God,” you sink your nails into his back, frantic to pull him deeper at the very thought. “Yes, Sam, don’t stop.”

He props himself up on his elbows, his hips snapping fast as your breasts bounce with every thrust. Your nipples are still hard and he can’t help but take one back into his mouth, sucking hard as his hand snakes between your bodies.

His thumb presses over your clit, flicking up and down as he slows his movements. He grinds slow, just like before and you tip over the edge. You come in a glorious crescendo of pulsing nerves and taut muscles, clinging to him like a life raft.

Sam feels it, your body throbbing around his cock as you chant his name. You’re so beautiful, head thrashing to the side, mouth open, lost in the pleasure.

Before your orgasm has completely ended, he’s moving again, quick hard thrusts that make your muscles clench. Sam comes with your name on his tongue, filling you with everything he has, rocking slowly as he empties, twitching inside you. His forehead falls to the crook of your neck as his movements slow to a snail's pace. You rub his back, hands trailing up and down until he’s totally still.

Kissing you, he pulls out then flops onto his back and you lay side by side, silent in the dark as the rain continues to fall in sheets outside the window.

Sam brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing softly. “I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

“Me too,” you confess. This has wide ranging implications, none of which you want to think about right now. You’re sated with Sam and pleasure and that’s where you want to stay for the rest of the night. You feel him shift onto his side, his hand over your stomach again, dipping between your legs to feel the wet of your thighs, the product of his hard work and your arousal. “I need to get you into a shower.”

“The power was out…” You glance to his bedside clock which is lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Looks like it came back on,” he sits up.

“Not yet, I want to lie here a little while longer.” When you protest, he moves back to you, pulling you into the crook of his arm where you're both sweaty and overheated. “I just wanna be like this, just for a few minutes.”

“Whatever you want,” he concedes, not five minutes later he’s snoring gently.

But you don’t fall back to sleep. You lie in the dark, as the storm rages outside. You think about Sam and Shadow Hill and wonder if all this will actually last.

-

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<

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Autumn Traditions - A Turnera Diffusa Sidepiece

Jean had always enjoyed the Sabbats in all their different forms. When he'd still been a child his mother had celebrated them with him in all kinds of different and creative ways that allowed him to have fun with the stories and deities behind each occasion. Then, when he'd grown up to be a teenager, she had taken him to the coven for more elaborate rituals and intriguing festivities that had him asking for his initiation before the year was over.

But even though each Sabbat had their own little details he adored, like how Yule was always so cosy and loving while Ostara focused on the freshness of new life coming back after the dark winter months were over, his favourite would always be Samhain. He'd loved it as a child when his mother had taken him on long walks through the golden autumn forests and used the time to teach him all kinds of things about how nature was changing around them during these months and he'd loved it once they celebrated with the coven and Hanji led some of the most intimate and fascinating rituals he had ever witnessed to this day.

Now that Jean was grown up and lived in his own cottage together with his two mates he still loved everything about Samhain, loved how his entire coven and their loved ones would meet up in his garden on the night of the 31st and celebrate together, loved the food everyone brought  and how they would crash all over his house for the night only to have a big, loud and wonderful breakfast together at the next morning. And he also loved preparing for the festivities, cleaning his home to receive his guests and decorating it in the most beautifully festive ways imagineable.

The presense of his two mates and their enthusiastic participation in his big and small rituals only made him all the more excited. Especially when it meant they could scatter all their tools across the weathered wooden table on the patio and carve up the biggest pumpkins they had been able to find on the patch early in the morning.

The crisp autumn air carefully nibbled at his fingertips but Jean was way too concentrated on his task to consider going inside to fetch some gloves. Besides, he needed his fingers to be nimble and sensitive to carve out the intricate swirls and patterns he had chosen for his latern this year. The array of tools spread out beside him was the largest on the table by far, his many years of experience and practise obvious when compared to his mates. He carefully brushed away a few flakes of the harder outer skin he had grated away to allow the candle to later make the remaining pumpkin flesh glow a rich orange. Then he grabbed a short, delicate saw to move on to another part of the pattern he hadn't worked on in as much detail yet.

A low whistle tore his burning focus away from the work at hand and he looked up, over at Marco who had apparently caused the noise. His eyes were large with wonder as he studied Jean's massive pumpkin, rounding the table to get a better look at the entire front half Jean had encorporated into his design.

"That's the most beautiful pumpkin I've ever seen, Jean", he said, his face bright with admiration as he kept studying Jean's work. The pattern was abstract but reminded of fallen leaves tumbling in the wind with its swooping and swirling lines that were only broken up by floaty shapes that vaguely reminded of foliage. Only half of it was done yet, the other half still only crudely prepared for more detailed work. Jean would still need a few more hours to really mold it into the picture he had in mind. But the compliment still made him feel a soft warmth rise in his chest that chased away the nibbling of the occasional breeze.

"Thanks", he smiled back, only a litle bit bashful when Marco leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, lips warm against his cool skin. They had already spent a long time outside, Jean noted as he opened and closed his hands a few times and felt his fingers burn a little with exertion. Maybe it was time for a break.

As if on cue Eren stepped out onto the patio before he could even finish the thought, making Jean blink and look around in surprise. He hadn't even noticed Eren had been gone, way too lost in his work to be aware of his surroundings, it seemed.

His mate carried three large mugs topped with whipped cream and cinnamon that smelled heavenly of hot chocolate.

"Come on Michelangelo", he smirked with a glance at Jean's partly finished pumpkin, "It's time for a break."

The mug Eren shoved between his hands was hot, almost too hot against his cool skin, but Jean let out a blessed sigh and wrapped his stiff fingers around the smooth porcellain, deeply inhaling the scent of chocolate and cinnamon. When he took a careful sip a touch of cream got stuck on his upper lip and he licked it off with a satisfied sigh. The drink itself was perfect, rich and smooth and not too sweet, while the whipped cream was sticky and light to set it off.

"Thank you, sweetheart", Marco hummed and warmed his own hands on the mug before swiping at the cream with his tongue. It hypnotized Jean for a second but he managed to tear his gaze away before the others noticed and began teasing him about it. Instead his landed on the two pumpkins lined up on the other side of the table. The weren't as detailed as his own but obviously both already finished.

The one to the right had been carved into the picture perfect image of a classic jack'o'lantern with its toothy grin and slanted eyes, the cuts rough and skewed at places but still with a lot of character and charme. The one on the left was a bit more creative and technically advanced, showing off a pretty witch's hat motif. Some of the lines could have been a bit more relaxed and flowing but overall it was very pretty and would look great lit up at night.

It wasn't hard to guess which one was Eren's and which one Marco's, with the impatience first to start and then to finish basically radiating off of the lantern to the right while the left one seemed more thought through and worked on with more patience and care.

"You're already done", he said, once again surprised by just how deep his concentration had run that he hadn't noticed both Eren stepping away and Marco finishing as well. Looking down at his meticulously carved, half finished lantern he had to chuckle.

"I'll still need a while..."

His apologetic tone was quickly waved away by Marco.

"First you're gonna enjoy your drink", he explained, shooting Jean a stern glance.

"And then we'll count your fingers, just to make sure you didn't cut off any", Eren added, steppig close to wrap an arm around Jean's waist. The warmth of his body could be felt through the layers of both their clothes and Jean felt himself nuzzle into the feeling, welcoming it.

"I wasn't the one stabbing at my pumpkin until it almost broke apart", he chuckled back and enjoyed another sip of rich chocolate. Next to them Marco chimed in with a low, soothing laugh that made Jean's heart throb.

"Yeah, if anyone was in danger of losing fingers it was Eren. Or me, once or twice ... but I was actually careful compared to him."

"Bah, you just got lucky! Obviously I'm the one with the skill!" Eren gestured grandly at the pumpkin with the toothy grin and Jean bellowed out a carefree laugh at the way he waved his hand, as if presenting one of the seven world wonders instead of a carved lantern. Then his gaze was drawn away to the other end of the garden where two brown bunnies were enjoying the still green grass just below the apple trees, only sometimes raising their little heads to look over at them before continuing their feast.

Satisfied with how welcome and at home they felt in his garden by now Jean turned back to his mates who were still bickering, grinning widely at each other. He interrupted them when he leaned down to press a loving kiss to Eren's cheek - way too warm considering the temperatures that were dropping more quickly now that the sun was setting lower.

"Thanks for the drinks", he smiled and watched Eren's adorable fluster before his mate caught himself and gave an almost serious nod.

"Someone's gotta take care of you when you're all up in something again", he explained, still a little haltingly and bashful. Jean kissed him again, this time on the lips that felt even warmer and tasted of sweet cream.

"I'm cold", he admitted, looking over at Marco as well who had wrapped both fingers around his mug and watched them with an air of honest adoration. "Let's go inside and warm up, I can finish my pumpkin tomorrow."

He would still need to collect and clean all his tools if he didn't want them to rust tonight when it got cold and humid, but he could do that later. For now he just wanted to wrap himself up in a blanket and enjoy a quiet evening with his mates after the fun day they'd already spent together. Everything else, pumpkins and tools, could come later.

~

Commissions | Kofi | AO3 | twitter | pillowfort

I Feel Like I’ve Been Losing All My Life - A Carry On Fic

Rating: Teen And Up Category: F/F Word Count: 2.1k Summary:“I couldn’t see, everything was blurry. This was when I knew things were going to be way harder to do. so I shoved my hands in front of me and walked blindly, hoping I wouldn’t bump into anything. My hands were no help (they were numb, what did I expect?) and sooner or later, my legs started to spasm. I was fucked.” A/N:  i wrote this for femslash feb but 🤷

Read it on AO3 (There is extra info in the end notes about MS, check it out. I’d like to think it’s pretty helpful.)

--

BAZ

I awoke to the feeling (or not. Because I couldn’t feel it.) of my upper arm being numb and my alarm clock blaring in my ears.

I didn’t care about the alarm clock. I couldn’t move my arms. It was as if someone froze them solid and poked them constantly with millions of needles. It immediately struck me with panic and I had the urge to cry.

I’d felt that feeling one too many times. But it was the end of the week, and I couldn’t skip school, it would arise suspicion and I didn’t want to disappoint Daphne.

I didn’t want to be a disappointment to anyone. Especially Sophie, considering she was probably going to wait for me outside of the school.

I checked my phone for the time, blindly groping for my phone on my side table. I had three messages from Sophie.

Blithering Idiot: baz!!!!!!!!!

Blithering Idiot: its friday!!!!!

Blithering Idiot: ill be waiting for u in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I smiled, then replied with:

Me: Youre alwasy there.

Me: Its nothnig nwe.

Begrudgingly, I got out of bed, attempting to pull my self up with numb arms. I tried to walk towards the loo, but I bumped into something every time I turned around.

I couldn’t see, everything was blurry. This was when I knew things were going to be way harder to do. So I shoved my hands in front of me and walked blindly, hoping I wouldn’t bump into anything. My hands were no help (they were numb, what did I expect?) and sooner or later, my legs started to spasm.

I was fucked.

I crawled to the loo, because I was a stubborn git and I was going to go to school and see Sophie if it costed me my life. Though, I doubt it will. I’ve gotten out of this situation way too many times.

Eventually, I had reached the loo. I attempted to stand up, swayed, and pushed my hips against the door to open it. I did my usual routine; brushed my teeth, washed my face, combed my hair, and did my makeup. But I skipped the makeup this time, can’t really do flawless eyeliner if I can’t feel my fingers or see well, can I?

I trudged out of my room clad in my school uniform with my bag hanging off of my shoulder. not my best outfit, but at that point, I didn’t care.

“Morning, love.” Daphne said once I entered the kitchen.

I mumbled unintelligibly and headed towards the pantry, clumsily grabbing a few granola bars to shove inside my bag.

“Is father still here?”

“No, he left about half an hour ago,” Daphne said, heading towards me to ruffle my hair. “You feeling okay?”  

I rubbed at my eyes, “no, not really. I woke up with my arms feeling numb.”

“Aw,” Daphne cooed. she didn’t mention anything about going back to the doctor’s, Daphne’s too sweet for her own good. “Need anything?”

“No. Just- don’t tell father.”

There really wasn’t anything bad about telling father that I woke up feeling like the epitome of death. Except for the fact that my mum died because of this very reason. So my condition and my mum were two topics that must not be talked about in this household.

Because as long as I was under my father’s roof, his rules would be followed. And anytime I gave in, I felt like I was losing.

“Alright,” she patted my head, “best be on your way then, school starts in about ten minutes.”

I groaned internally, but remembered that me and Sophie go to the same school. The prickling sensation in my arm got worse when I was chatting with Daphne, but my legs were a bit better, so I decided to walk.

I reached school in a record time of six minutes.

Because I ran. It wasn’t a very good idea since my legs were still slightly numb and I couldn’t see very well. I walked into the school and was immediately greeted by an enthusiastic Sophie.

“Baz! Love, there you are. What took you so long?”

I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t respond, I just kept walking.

“Baz, don’t ignore me.” She said, frowning.

I was so excited to see Sophie, but now I don’t want her around.

“Baz,” she said firmly, “you made a typo in your message.”

I couldn’t feel my hands, why did I think it was a good idea to text ?

I scoffed, “I’m human. Does making one typo mean it’s the end of the world?”

Sophie growled, “you’re limping . Is this your, what’s it called-”

I didn’t even notice that I was limping. I didn’t notice a lot of things. I couldn’t even recall what I had for breakfast yesterday. I felt like these were symptoms for an attack.

I can’t risk having one at school.

I yawned, “spit it out.”

At this point, I was backed into the wall of the hallway. It was deserted, thankfully, because classes had already started.

“Is it the, uh, numbing thing?”

“I’m amazed at how eloquently you said that, congratulations, you’ve figured me out.”

“Come on ,” Sophie whined, “you’re doing that thing wh-where you become an absolute arsehole.”

I just raised an eyebrow and stared at her eyes. They were so blue , so strikingly blue it hurt my eyes.

But I didn’t want to look away.

I put most of my weight beside me, on the side of a locker and leaned forward to bury my face into Sophie’s neck.

“Baz?”

“Mmph.”

“Love.”

I felt Sophie’s hands travel up my back onto my shoulders and started to rub them. I sighed, it felt like heaven and I was so, so tired. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t help.”

“It’s,” I yawned, “I think it’s another attack.”

“But you haven’t had one in-”

“It’s only been a few weeks. I thought too optimistic too soon.”

Sophie’s hands stilled from where there were on my back, soon resuming their movement to move to my hair and play with it. “So, what’s your plan? Why’d you come to school?”

I moved my head from Sophie’s shoulder and snorted, “do you not want me here?”

“No- are you daft?” She pressed a kiss to my nose, “of course I want you here, but I care about your health.”

I didn’t say anything. I stared past her shoulder towards the tiles.

“Baz, it’s okay. I’ll tell Ms Possibelf. Go to Ebb.”

Ebb was our school’s guidance counselor. She was one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, she knew my mother, and for some reason, it was easier to talk about her death to someone who actually knew her. (We would spend hours just crying about her, though I would never tell Sophie about that. she worried to much and I didn’t want to add to it.)

“Why?”

“She- she helps me, so she’ll help you. I’m sure of it. And she makes a really good cuppa.”

I smiled, Sophie always has food on her mind. Even if it isn’t scones.

“Okay.”

She reached out to pat my shoulder, I shot her a confused look, “Look, I- just. I love you, okay?”

I felt blood rush to my cheeks, “oh my god, Sophie.”

“What?”

“I love you too, you absolute nightmare. Now go, class has already started.”

I gave her a playful shove, she laughed and walked away.

Moments like those made me feel a little like I was winning.

I did listen to Sophie’s advice (I’m not that bad of a girlfriend, I swear.) But before I did, I headed to the loo to fix myself up. My hair was a mess, courtesy of Sophie playing with it, and my shirt was untucked. Even though I knew Ebb, I had to look presentable.

I tucked my shirt into my skirt and left my hair as is.

The freeze-like numbing in my arm returned, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me, immediately reminding me that I had to go to Ebb’s office and I had to go fast .

I headed to Ebb’s office, it was near the back of the school. It was quite dark. The hall had several broken lights which the school wasn’t bothering to fix.

I ran. Again. (Christ, I had to stop running, especially when I couldn’t feel shit in my legs.) And slammed open Ebb’s door. Not my best moment, but I really had no say.

Ebb’s office was painted a soft orange, her desk settle near the left corner. The walls were adorned with multiple Polaroids and quotes, and a small bean bag chair that was stark black against all the soft colours of the room. (Because it was mine. Ebb noticed I would be spending a lot of time here. Sometimes I wondered if the world deserved Ebb. She was amazing, period.)

Ebb, seeming unfazed by my entry, replied with a warm smile,“‘ello, Baz. How can I help ya?” Ebb was sitting on her chair, sipping a cuppa whilst scrolling through something on her computer.

I leaned against the door frame, panting. “I,” I huffed, “I think I’m about to have another attack. Or maybe it’s happening right now. I have no clue.”

“Okay, calm down. Come sit here.” She gestured towards the black bean bag chair. I took her advice and sat down.

“Okay.”

“Did you take your meds?”

I blinked.

Jesus Christ . My mind had been going absolutely bonkers since I woke up and I completely forgot the single most important thing that would help me get through the day.

My fucking medicine.

I had been diagnosed with MS about three years ago, when I was 14. I’d been complaining to Sophie and Ebb and they both said I should go to the doctor. Me, being the stubborn child I was, didn’t listen and insisted that I was in tip-top condition and didn’t need any help.

I did so desperately need help.

But the worst thing was that i had to go through the whole process alone. I wasn’t necessarily alone. I had Ebb and Sophie. But i wanted my mum. And my father wouldn’t even let me talk about my condition.

Through my teenage years, my condition worsened and my doctor recommended medicine, so I took it. Though it did help reduce MS flare-ups, the condition made me lose some feeling in my hand.

Meaning I could not play violin for sophie, like I’d hoped I could. I planned a whole picnic in my imagination, Sophie and I would watch the sunset and I’d play the violin for her.

I cried a lot when I’d found out.

So, in short, to not make father angry, I hid my condition, (which I shouldn’t have to. It’s perfectly normal to have it.) hid my medicine, hid the fact that I can no longer feel some of my hand, and the fact that I can no longer play the violin.

I wrote it down on paper, made myself memorize it, and repeated the mantra in my head over and over again. Fiona’d thought I’d gone insane. She wasn’t wrong.

“No.”

“Baz, I thought we’d gone over this,” Ebb frowned.

“No- no no no. Don’t worry, I’m not doing this on purpose, I swear.” I said, shaking my hands in front of her face to emphasize my point.

A year ago, Sophie had found me pissed on the streets and I’d dumped my heart out. I’d spilled multiple things that I normally wouldn’t have said if I was sober. And one of the things was that I wasn’t taking my meds because “ what’s the point? I’m gonna die anyways. Might as well go down like my mother, I suppose.”

It was mortifying. I vowed to never drink again.

“I’ve been having memory problems, which, you know, are one of the symptoms.”

“Have you been stressed lately?”

“What- I mean yeah, it’s exam season, what do you expect? I’m not going around frolicking in a field of flowers with a bouquet of fucking daisies in my hand.”

Ebb sipped her tea thoughtfully, “y’know, I could really do without your sarcasm right now, love.”

I groaned, annoyed. “Did you make any tea for me? Watching you drink really has me craving for some.”

Ebb smiled, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Scones?”

Ebb just winked.

A Tale of Magic - Chapter 4 (Sons)

In the past, Belle has to deal with an unexpected development. In Storybrooke, father-son relationships will move things forward.

As always, thanks to my wonderful beta @galactic-pirates.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Ao3 link. 

As the weeks passed, life found a new, pleasant rhythm inside and around the Evil Queen’s castle. Snow and David were doing a great job at organizing things so that everyone’s skills were put to good use; camps were cultivated under Tiny’s expert supervision, Marco coordinated the construction of new houses, and Regina’s magic was turning out to be a real blessing, especially when Blue refused to offer help with some issues. It was Regina who had to turn Archie back into a human when the fairy refused to do so.

“I turned him into a cricket to give him another chance at being free and, most importantly, being good. To turn him back would mean taking away the lesson he learned on that day,” was her only explanation.

Blue also resented the fact that several dwarves, beside Snow’s seven old friends, had decided to help around the castle rather than go back to the mines. The decrease in the production of fairy dust only seemed to irritate her more, making it even harder to obtain help from her, but aside from Blue’s sour mood things were going nicely.

Even Belle had been assigned to her dream occupation. She was now in charge of Regina’s old library, with the added duty of collecting and recording all of the knowledge that they had acquired through their cursed memories. She had been given a list of every person who had come to the castle, and she had noted beside everyone the fields in which they were knowledgeable. It was a pity that Whale had gone back to his old world, and not just because Ruby missed him terribly; medical knowledge had been way more advanced in the Land Without Magic, and it was definitely one of their highest priorities. Thankfully, a bunch of nurses had come over, giving her a place to start.

She went to talk to the first one early one morning, bringing parchment and ink down to the infirmary, so that nurse Lewis, Charlotte, could still be available if there was an emergency. Everything was going nicely, and Belle already had three sheets of parchment full of notes, when the other woman started cleaning something with alcohol. The pungent smell went straight to Belle’s stomach, and a second later she was fighting the need to throw up.

“I’m sorry,” she said as soon as she was able to talk again. “I haven’t been feeling well these past few weeks, and strong smells really don’t help.”

There was a curious look on the nurse’s face.

“For how long exactly? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I guess since shortly after we came back to the Enchanted Forest. I just didn’t pay much attention at first because, well… my True Love had just died. Feeling sick was basically a constant state for me,” Belle explained. God, it still hurt so much to say it.

“My condolences,” Charlotte said immediately. “Look, I know this might be too blunt and possibly a shock for you, but have you considered the possibility that you might be pregnant?”

It took Belle several seconds to fully grasp the meaning of her words.

“No,” she said instinctively, without even thinking. “No, I can’t be, it’s not possible…”

But it was. Her voice trailed off as the realization hit her. She had been so caught up in her grief that she had missed all the signs: the sickness, her missing period, even her sudden and strange craving for lemon cakes. Her head started spinning, and she sat down heavily on the closest bed.

“I mean, it’s just a thought, you’re not certainly pregnant,” Charlotte said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Belle shook her head. She might not have considered the possibility until then, but now she felt in her heart that it was the truth. She was pregnant. She was going to have Rumplestiltskin’s child, and she didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. Now a part of Rumplestiltskin would always be with her, and their love would live on in the new life they had created together. Yet their child would never know its father, nor would she ever see Rumplestiltskin’s eyes lit up as he held his child for the first time. Images of the life they could have had flashed before her eyes, and knowing that they’d never become real felt like losing Rumplestiltskin all over again.

Neal was the first person she told about it. He was very surprised, then sympathetic, and eventually he managed to make her laugh by quipping about having always wanted to be a big brother. She had lost Rumple, but his children were still here, and she’d do her damnedest to take care of them as Rumple would have. Even though she had no idea where to start.

**********

By the time Neal and Henry arrived in Storybrooke, they had been attacked two more times. Emma and Regina were waiting for them at the townline, ready to fight off any other monkeys. Zelena’s beasts tried to keep anyone from leaving town, but coming back in was easier, as Emma herself had seen. Better safe than sorry, Emma thought, even though her magic was still quite unreliable. Regina was trying to teach her, but Emma was turning out to be quite a difficult student. She was full of potential, but she had trouble channeling her emotions into her spells. Emma would never admit it, but she suspected that part of her struggle was due to the fact that, deep down, she still hadn’t accepted all this magic craziness. She had started to after Henry ate that poisoned turnover, but he was the believer in the family, not her. After nine months back in the real world, with its normal problems, Storybrooke felt like nonsense. Dangerous nonsense. Back in New York, bills were her major problem. Now that magic was back in her life, the stakes had risen so much; she wasn’t struggling to make ends meet anymore, she was fighting to keep her family alive. Even though she knew this was technically her world, a part of her couldn’t help but long for the calm of her old life.

Henry rushed to hug her as soon as the car was safely across the townline, immediately making her mood lighter. Magic or not, she felt infinitely better with Henry in her arms. Neal came to hug her next, while Henry awkwardly shook hands with Regina. Emma could see the pain in her eyes at not being recognized by her own son, but there was nothing she could do about it. As much as it pained Regina to admit it, even she had agreed that it wasn’t wise to tell Henry that he’d actually been abandoned as a newborn. His world had just been turned upside down, and the last thing he needed was another shock, especially now that he knew he was in danger.

Neal decided to go back to his father’s house, to check on Belle and hopefully get some sleep. To Emma’s surprise, Henry hugged him before saying goodbye, even if he was somewhat awkward.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Neal… I mean dad, I mean… what do you want me to call you?” Henry asked, confused. Every word felt wrong on his tongue.

“It’s alright, you can still call me Neal if you want,” Neal reassured him immediately. “But should you feel like it, then call me ‘Papa’. It’s what I always called my father.”

Henry nodded, clearly more at ease, and Emma burned with curiosity. She wanted to know more about this sudden change in Henry and Neal’s relationship, but she didn’t want to pressure her son. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t keep silent about it for long anyway.

“I hit that monkey in the face, you know? Twice!” Henry said enthusiastically after they had parted from Regina as well.

“I hope the monkey didn’t do the same to you,” Emma replied, torn between pride and worry.

“Nope. It did try, but Neal always stopped it. He saved me, more than once. Not that I wasn’t able to take care of myself, but Neal helped. A lot,” Henry babbled, still high on adrenaline.

“I’m glad that you two are on better terms now. I’m sorry I had to leave you with him, especially when you didn’t trust him, but things have a tendency to go downhill pretty quickly in Storybrooke,” Emma explained.

“Because of magic?” Henry asked, still not quite able to believe it. “It’s all true then? Fairytale characters are real and a curse brought them here?”

“Yes. Crazy, right?” Emma said, smiling as she remembered the time when she had been the skeptical one.

“Neal said there are things from the past that we don’t remember. That our memories were erased and that we had met him before. That’s why you changed your mind about him?” he asked her. He didn’t think Neal could have come out with such an absurd explanation just to trick him, but he needed confirmation that his story and his mother’s matched.

“Yes. When we met him again, in the months you have forgotten, I discovered that there was a reason why he had left me alone. Not a great reason, but still better than him just wanting to run away with the money. He has been trying very hard to make it up to us, and he loves you very much,” Emma confirmed.

“I think he loves you as well. He gets emotional whenever he talks about you,” Henry said, curious at what his mother’s reaction would be.

“Maybe he does, but right now we don’t have time for that,” Emma brushed the matter off. “I’m more focused on getting your memory back and keeping you safe. We still don’t know what exactly that witch wants from all of us.”

Her attempt to change the subject was way too obvious to be missed. Henry wasn’t sure of what he thought of that, but he would surely keep a closer eye on his parents from now on. There was definitely a lot going on there.

**********

Ever since she had told the others that she was pregnant, Belle had hardly been left alone for a moment. There was always someone fussing over her, even more so than when she was ‘just’ grieving. She appreciated it, she truly did, but from time to time she felt the need to be alone with her thoughts, and the night was perfect for that. When she woke up from a nightmare - which was a common occurrence for her - she often saw no point in lying awake in the dark when there was no one to calm her and hold her as she fell back to sleep. So she got dressed and wandered through the castle, oftentimes ending up in the courtyard; she loved the flowers that grew there, and there was something bittersweet and soothing in looking up at the sky and wondering if Rumple was looking down at her from wherever he was.

That night, however, the courtyard wasn’t empty when she reached it. Regina was already sitting on one of the benches, and she turned around with a start when she heard Belle approaching.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Belle apologized immediately, already turning her back on the other woman to walk away. She didn’t feel like talking, especially not with Regina.

“No, wait, I actually wanted to talk to you,” Regina said after a second, as if she had been debating whether to speak or not.

Belle sighed, her back still turned to the queen. She could simply walk away; they weren’t friends by any means, after all, and she was tired. Yet being so rude really went against her nature, and she supposed she could just hear what this was about and leave if the whole thing got uncomfortable. She walked towards the bench, reminding herself that this wasn’t the same woman who had imprisoned her and erased her personality at least twice.

“What do you want, Regina?” she asked, her voice coming out just a tad more annoyed than she had meant it to. If Regina noticed, she didn’t let it show.

“I just want you to know that I’m sorry for all that you’re going through. I didn’t say it before, but I really mean it,” Regina said somewhat awkwardly. “Losing your True Love is terrible, and you didn’t deserve this. Probably nobody does.”

Belle could see the honesty in Regina’s eyes, and she really wished she could simply accept her condolences and walk away, but something about her choice of words really set her off. She had been building up tension, grief and anger for so long, and suddenly something inside of her snapped.

“Then why did you do your damnedest to put me and Rumplestiltskin through that kind of pain over and over again?” she asked, her voice already cracking with tears. “Why should I listen to you when your scheming took away so much of the limited time I had with Rumple? You’ve done nothing but mentally and physically torture me ever since we’ve known each other!”

Regina was taken aback by her outburst, but the quick flash of indignation in her eyes died straight away to be replaced by guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a beat of silence. “I truly am. I know I did horrible things to you, and you didn’t deserve them.”

She was a new person now, or at least she was trying to be, but it was so much harder in the Enchanted Forest, where everything and everyone seemed to remind her of her past.

“Thank you,” Belle deadpanned. “Look, I had to let this out sooner or later, but I really don’t want to fight. You’ve hurt me, and this apology was long overdue, but I’m willing to try and move past that now that you’re changing,” she added, her tone turning more conciliating.

“You know, in a way I actually admire you,” Regina blurted out, surprising even herself for having said it out loud. Belle looked quizzically at her, so she went on.

“I admire you because you have a strength I never had. You are willing to forgive people no matter how much they’ve hurt you, and despite everything that life - or I, for that matter - threw at you, you didn’t let it change you. Darkness is a slippery slope, and you’ve always managed to keep yourself away from it,” Regina explained.

“Is it truly a big deal if I’ve never even been tempted?” Belle asked, a small smile finally forming on her face. Try as she might, she had never truly seen the appeal of darkness. When things went south, she was prone to blaming herself, and that was something that no amount of dark magic could fix. “Maybe it’s people like you and Rumplestiltskin who deserve the most praise,” she went on “Those who were tempted and fell into the pit, and then fought tooth and nail to get out of it.”

Regina looked even more shocked by her understanding than she had been by her accusations, and flashed Belle a bittersweet smile.

“That child is very lucky to have you as its mother. Motherhood is Rumplestiltskin’s last gift to you, and believe me when I say it’s the best gift you’ll ever receive. It surely was for me,” Regina said, then she stood up and teleported away, vanishing into the night before Belle even had the time to wish her goodnight.

Belle sat on that bench for several more minutes, pondering the other woman’s words, one hand on her still flat belly. She hadn’t expected Regina to apologize, let alone to compliment her. If only she felt as strong as the other woman had said; as far as she could tell, Belle had merely been a spectator in her own life recently. From being used and tossed around as a pawn by everyone who wanted to get back at Rumple, to being literally frozen in place as her True Love died, to finally this pregnancy, which was wanted but definitely unplanned; she hadn’t chosen anything. That was the first thing she needed to fix if she wanted to give her child their best chance; she needed to be stronger, to stand up for herself like she had done today with Regina. She needed to do it, no matter how hard it was, because now it wasn’t just herself that she needed to protect.

**********

Neal was exhausted after the long drive from New York to Storybrooke, and he was glad that the situation in town was still calm enough to allow him to get some sleep. The peace, however, was short lived. When he woke up, Belle informed him that there had been strange sightings in the woods during the night.

“A cloaked figure was spotted by several people on patrol duty, and those that tried to get closer to it were either teleported away or thrown to the ground with magic,” she said over breakfast, pushing her food around her plate. “No one was seriously hurt, but everyone thinks that this is a sign that Zelena is moving. They are trying to find out who is under the cloak, but not even Ruby seems able to follow its trail.”

“Do you think it’s my father under the cloak?” Neal asked cautiously.

Belle sighed, setting her plate aside altogether. “I think it’s very likely. This cloaked figure isn’t even attacking us, it’s just going around ominously. I think it’s just a diversion, and what better diversion than to have us chase someone only to discover we can’t and won’t hurt him?”

“Have you told Snow about this?”

“Yes, I have, but she still thinks we ought to track it down, and I agree. If it’s not Rumple, maybe we can learn something more about the witch’s plan. If it’s him… at least we can know how he’s doing,” she said, twisting her napkin in her hands.

Under any other circumstances, she would have been out there looking for him herself. Zelena was controlling him through the dagger, but she already knew that her and Rumple’s love was stronger than his curse; if there was someone who could help him break free of the dagger’s hold, it was her. Maybe Neal could as well, but while she was sure that there was True Love between Rumple and his son, she also thought that their relationship was still too tentative to fight such powerful dark magic. Yet she couldn’t go trek in the woods this far along in her pregnancy, especially not when she knew that Zelena was coming after her baby.

“What really worries me isn’t that Snow and the others are tracking him down,” Belle added after a moment. “It’s that I don’t know what kind of orders that witch is giving him. What if she forces him to do something horrible, something he’ll have trouble forgiving himself for?”

Rumplestiltskin had been her prisoner for months now, and Belle only had the faintest idea of what she had been forcing him to do in that time. Every extra minute he spent under her control could be the one in which she made him cross the line, assuming she hadn’t already.

“Hey, he hasn’t had to cause any real harm so far, let’s focus on that. We will free him, I promise,” Neal reassured her.

“If only we had more time…” Belle murmured, caressing her large belly. Her son could be born any moment now, and Zelena would come for him. She had no idea of what would happen next, and she hoped she’d never find out.

“I know, and that’s why I’m going out to help Emma search the woods. I promise I’ll do anything to protect you and my little brother,” he said, smiling reassuringly at her.

He hugged her, then he left the pink mansion, stopping by his father’s shop to retrieve his old saber. Then he called Emma and they agreed to meet at the townline.

“Henry gave me hell this morning. He realized that something was wrong and kept insisting on coming with me. I left him with Granny, at least I know that someone is keeping an eye on him and he isn’t sneaking around and putting himself in harm’s way,” Emma told him as they started trekking through the woods.

“Yes, he definitely has a talent for that. I guess he takes after both of us,” Neal said, preferring to focus on the comical aspect of the whole thing rather than dwell on how much danger their son was in.

“It must run in your family. After all, your father is the one who decided to break into your apartment when we came looking for you in New York,” Emma observed.

“Are you telling me I should get my baby brother some lock-picking tools already?” Neal asked, chuckling.

Emma laughed with him, but their hilarity was short-lived. A shadow moved amidst the trees to their right, and they immediately ran after it. The cloaked figure waved a hand; Emma was engulfed by purple smoke and disappeared. Neal looked at the spot where she had been until a moment before, paralyzed by fear.

She has just been poofed away, he told himself. She’s fine, probably on the other side of town, but unharmed. He turned back, anger making him bold.

“What did you do to her?” he screamed, then launched himself at the cloaked figure, determined to find out who it really was, and possibly get some answers.

He shouldn’t have bothered; his opponent, instead of trying to run away as he’d expected, slowly raised his arms to lower his hood. When Neal saw who he was fighting against, Neal stopped dead in his tracks, his stomach in knots.

Belle had been right. The mysterious figure was indeed Rumplestiltskin, but only in part. There was very little of his papa in the deranged eyes of the imp in front of him. There was no fondness in his gaze, no torment over being controlled, no sign that he even realized who he was fighting against. His skin was once again covered in scales, his eyes reptilian and inhuman, and Neal felt as though one of his nightmares had just come to life.

The imp giggled maniacally as a sword materialized in its hands, and Neal wiped his clammy hands on his trousers as he realized that he’d have to fight the worst incarnation of his father. He didn’t know what had happened to him; his hope was that Zelena was simply forcing him to be like this to upset her enemies, but a part of Neal couldn’t help but fear that, after being imprisoned for so long, his father had simply succumbed to the curse.

He was so lost in his own fear that he almost failed to block Rumplestiltskin’s first attack. His instinct kicked in at the last moment, and the fight began. Even without using magic, Rumplestiltskin proved himself a great swordsman, and Neal soon found himself struggling against him, fatigue starting to slow down his movements while his father seemed unaffected, the curse providing him an unfair advantage. The situation was made even more difficult by the fact that Neal just wasn’t thinking clearly. Seeing his father like this had brought him back to his fourteenth birthday, awakening a fear he had thought long gone, and that was making it hard to concentrate on the fight. He felt despair starting to creep in; he couldn’t win this fight, he couldn’t stop Rumplestiltskin, he couldn’t run away. He was alone and alone he’d die. He thought of Henry, who was just starting to let him in again, and who didn’t deserve to grow up without a father. He thought of Rumplestiltskin, who would never forgive himself for harming his son while he was under the dagger’s influence. He thought of Belle, who had already gone through so much, and who would be devastated at losing him. Lastly, he thought of Emma, and of how he would leave her alone again.

Rumplestiltskin attacked him, and the sheer force of his blow was enough to make the saber fly out of Neal’s hands. Disarmed and defeated, Neal took a step back, his back colliding with a tree. That was it then. He would be killed by his own father, by the man he had loved and feared the most. Rumplestiltskin roughly grabbed him by the neck, and Neal closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst.

It was in that moment that an anguished scream echoed through the forest.

“Papa NO!” Henry yelled, bursting out from behind the trees, Emma, Regina and Granny trailing right behind him.

Papa. Papa. Papa. The word kept bouncing around Rumplestiltskin’s brain, becoming louder and louder, drowning out the voices in his head. He doubled over, cradling his head in his own hands and letting Neal go.

Neal rushed to hug his son, both terrified and relieved to have him here.

“Rumplestiltskin teleported me back to the loft,” Emma explained. “Henry refused to let me come back alone, and I didn’t have time to argue. I called Regina and she poofed us back here.”

Neal nodded in understanding, then he turned around to look at his father again. Rumplestiltskin looked confused, even more deranged than before, but there was something human in his distress, something that hadn’t been there before. He had dropped his sword to the ground, and  was eyeing them curiously. After a beat of silence, a single word escaped his lips.

“Bae.”

Neal stood paralyzed for a moment, almost not daring to believe it.

“Papa? You remember me?” Neal asked, taking a few tentative steps in his father’s direction.

That word again. Papa. Images flashed before Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, making the present more confusing but the past more clear. The tiny hand of a newborn touching his nose. A thin, fragile kid asking him why his mother wasn’t coming home. A boy screaming at him that he was a coward. A grown man hugging him and telling him he was nothing like Peter Pan. And above all, that word repeated over and over again: Papa. Rumplestiltskin staggered forward, towards the man he had been fighting until a few moments ago. He didn’t want to hurt him anymore. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

But you have to, another voice resonated in his head, a vicious whisper that made his skin crawl. Fight him, scare him, be his nightmare, the voice went on, and Rumplestiltskin watched in horror as his hands moved against his own volition, working magic he didn’t want to perform. Everyone but Neal was paralyzed, and Rumplestiltskin grabbed his sword again, as Neal hurried to retrieve his saber. This time, however, there was no fear in Neal’s eyes.

“I know you’re in there. I know you can hear me. I don’t want to hurt you,” Neal said as his father attacked him again. Rumplestiltskin’s movements were slower now, his hands trembling; Neal hoped it was a sign that he was trying to stop himself.

“I know you’re being forced to do this. I know you’d never try to hurt me, as I know you’re not the monster I once feared you were turning into. I’m not scared of you anymore, I’m not scared of the darkness anymore,” Neal insisted, as his father walked backwards, blocking his attacks with increasing difficulty.

Rumplestiltskin looked relieved when his sword finally slipped from his grip, falling to the ground. He looked at his son, struggling to quiet all the voices in his mind, to clear the fog just long enough to say something. He knew there was something important he needed to tell him, many important things actually, but he couldn’t for his life make out what those were.

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to murmur in the end. Then he vanished in a puff of smoke, Neal’s saber disappearing with him. Emma and the others were freed from his spell, and Neal rushed to their side.

“I was so scared for you,” Henry screamed, all but jumping in his arms.

“It’s okay, I’m alright,” Neal reassured him. “I don’t like the idea of you running around and putting yourself in harm’s way, but I have to admit that I probably wouldn’t have made it without you. Hearing you call me ‘Papa’ gave me strength.”

“Hey, I think I showed you on our way here that we work better as a team; plus I just found you, I’m not going to let some crazy monster take you away right now,” Henry said,  almost embarrassed by his own display of affection. Just yesterday he had barely tolerated Neal’s presence, and now here he was, already calling him Papa. True, they had spent several hours just saving each other over and over again, but there was more to it. He knew that they had met during the months that he couldn’t remember, and he was sure that some part of those memories had been preserved; nothing else could explain the deep, visceral trust that he now felt towards his father, together with a great sense of belonging. He might not remember the time they’d spent together, but that didn’t make it any less real, and some part of him knew it.

Neal’s emotional rollercoaster wasn’t over yet. He had been utterly terrified, then conquered one of his greatest fears, and now his son was beaming up at him in pride, and he felt almost giddy with happiness. He leaned down to press a kiss on Henry’s forehead, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping, just desperate to let his son know how much he meant to him.

That’s when a burst of magic rippled from his lips, sweeping over the town in the form of a rainbow. The curse was broken, and Neal looked flabbergasted at his son while Henry staggered under the flood of memories.

“Papa!” he screamed again, wrapping his arms tighter around Neal. “I remember everything!”

Then he spotted Regina looking almost disbelievingly at him.

“Mom!” he said, running over to her.

Regina felt as though her heart had finally started beating again. She wrapped Henry in her arms, immediately noticing how much taller he had grown during the past nine months. Tears welled up in her eyes, but for once she didn’t mind; she had her son back, and for a moment Zelena didn’t look like much of a threat. So long as Henry was by her side, she felt she could do anything.

**********

Rumplestiltskin poofed back into the cabin, his head still swirling in confusion as his aspect turned human again.  

“You did a great job,” Zelena complimented him as he staggered back into his cage, shying away from the dagger that she held against him. “I got everything I wanted, and even more.”

She had sent Rumplestiltskin out to collect a token of Neal’s courage, and the saber with which he defeated his greatest fear fit the description perfectly. What she hadn’t expected was a clue on how to get Rumplestiltskin out of his madness.

“Soon enough you’ll be fully sane again, and then you’ll see how wrong you were all those years ago. I want to see the despair in your face when you realize you should have chosen me,” she hissed at him, watching with satisfaction as fear glimmered in his eyes.

Zelena cackled as she walked away: like everyone else, Rumplestiltskin had just no idea of how much worse things were going to get.

Hobo Woodman Ozai

Does this AU have a title? I don’t know. Do you know, @sky-kiss​ ?

Either way, I am ashamed of how poorly edited it is, but. Just. Read around the bad parts :D

Continued from here

***

The subject came up one day over breakfast, which the girl shovelled enthusiastically into her mouth while babbling on and on about a school somewhere.

“Her manners are appalling,” Ozai said.

Two pairs of amber-coloured eyes looked at him coldly. He sipped his tea in dignified silence.

“Calm down, dear,” Ursa said gently.

It was truly amazing how quickly her mood swayed from one extreme to another when Ozai and their daughter were in the same room. With care and patience, she instructed the girl on how to sit and eat properly, as befitted their station – the reality of their current circumstances, after all, did not change it in the slightest. When Ozai was concerned, however, the warm voice and gentle smile were nowhere to be found.

He weathered Ursa’s glare with a smile of his own. There was more to be said, but it had to wait until later, when he cornered her in their tiny kitchen.

She was washing the dishes. Her skin, once flawless, now bore the subtle signs of physical labour. A part of him longed to feel it beneath his fingers, each callous and imperfection that marred its beauty. He resisted the pull, knowing his touch would not be welcome.

“Which school are you sending her to?” Ozai asked.

Ursa set down a wet plate and picked up another, dipping it in soapy water.

“I’m going to buy a house in Ba Sing Se,” she said. “We will have to move for the winter either way.”

Ba Sing Se. The impenetrable walls which held Iroh off for hundreds of days, and which Azula so cleverly bypassed. Safe from the turmoil of the war, prosperous, crowded – but stagnant, set in its old-fashioned ways. Like everything else in Earth Kingdom, the city did not seek change or improvement. The people had no desire, no will to better their lives. This was no place for a Fire Nation princess.

“She would be better off if you educated her yourself,” Ozai said.

“I am. But she needs the company of children her own age,” Ursa said.

“Peasant children,” Ozai imbued the word with all the contempt it deserved. “Our daughter should be schooled in the Capital—”

The plate in Ursa’s hands came down with a loud clang.

“My daughter, dear husband. Do not forget that you banished us both from the Fire Nation.”

He was no longer fooled by her steady voice. She turned to look at him, breath-taking in her rage.

“I saved you from execution,” Ozai said.

“How merciful you were,” she said, cold. “Truly. I shall forever praise your generosity.”

Even from a distance, he could sense the disturbed flow of her chi. The fire she longed to hurl at him sparked at her fingertips, while his own remained numb and lifeless. Yet for her the gift was no more than a practicality. Ozai supposed it served her well in her exile, as means of protection for herself and the child. Also as a danger that could expose her identity to any onlookers. Nevertheless, Ursa was never taught to hold it in the highest regard, as a blessing bestowed only upon the select few. Of which Ozai was no longer a part of. Under her tutelage, the girl would grow up the same.

The thought was intolerable.

“Zuko would welcome you back with open arms,” Ozai said. “Only your own stubbornness is keeping you away.”

He had dug his nails into an open, festering wound on Ursa’s conscience. She paled, her pained expression betraying more of her feelings than she wished to.

“Stubbornness has nothing to do with it,” she said.

“Call it fear, then. Whatever it is, it doesn’t change the fact that you’d rather keep the girl away from her true heritage.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Ursa laughed bitterly. “Look around you. Look what became of you, and of me. This is her heritage now, Ozai.”

“You give up so easily,” Ozai said.

All of a sudden, she looked tired. No more than a peasant woman, washing her own dishes, repairing old clothes, working odd jobs to keep her daughter fed. And he did this to her; he alone. A long time ago, he took the daughter of a disgraced rural magistrate and made her a princess. Just as swiftly, he knocked her down.

She would hate to hear the truth put that way, so he kept his mouth shut. Something showed in his face, however, because he was treated to an angry look, and then an indifferent shrug.

“You lost, Ozai,” Ursa said, turning away from him. “Learn to live with it. I did.”

***

He wasn’t going to.

Day and night, he trained and worked and then trained again. It helped keep his mind at ease, all the rage and frustration which made it impossible to think channelled through physical strain. The girl could not hope to keep up, but she did her best.

He was perhaps unduly harsh with his instructions. Ursa was too soft-hearted to instil proper discipline in the girl. Ozai was met with refusal, defiance, and tears. And yet, every day at sunrise, their daughter was there, glaring but ready to learn.

“Mamma says I won’t be able to practice firebending in Ba Sing Se,” she explained.

“And yet you want to go,” Ozai said.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Mamma says I could go to school. She says there will be lots of other kids to play with. Last summer we went to Omashu, and they had a big marketplace and we played games and—” she chattered on. “Mamma also says I can pick a name for myself!”

That made Ozai pause.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, see,” the girl said. “She says it’s safer to use different names in different places. In case we were being followed.” She frowned. “She never said who followed us. Or why.”

“Your mother’s paranoid,” Ozai said. Although it did explain why his spies lost track of Ursa’s movements so quickly.

“What’s ‘paranoid’?”

She looked up at him with earnest golden eyes. Ozai frowned.

“You have scrolls, don’t you? Look it up.”

“But—”

“Resume your form. Now.”

Grumbling, she complied. Over time her movements became more fluid – a far cry from the choppy mockery they used to be. She still lacked the ease and grace Azula displayed from an early age, but she showed promise.

***

Winter was approaching them. With it, Ursa’s departure to Ba Sing Se.

He wasn’t planning to follow, of course. There were people loyal to him back in the Capital. With time, he would gather enough supporters to challenge Zuko’s unlawful seizing of the throne. The opportune moment would come soon enough, when the people recognized a teenager’s inability to lead a nation and began to blame him for all the misfortunes that befell them. But when the time came, he would have to be ready.

Ozai found himself moving closer to the burning fireplace, the sight of the dancing flames resonating with the deep, hollow ache in his chest. He would move as soon as he recuperated his strength.

Ursa pretended not to notice his melancholy, focused on her task. She had earned some coin through copying scrolls, her calligraphy neat and elegant. Next to her, the girl was playing with ink, most often drawing dragons and sticky figures. Today, however, she was putting down blocky, uneven characters, more Earth Kingdom than Fire Nation in their design.

“Hmm. Fang. I wanna be called Fang,” she declared suddenly.

“Why?” Ursa asked, amused.

“Because it was the last Fire Nation Avatar!”

Ozai raised an eyebrow.

“The previous Avatar was called Roku. Fang was his dragon,” he said coolly.

The girl looked at him with a quizzical expression.

“That makes no sense,” she said. “Why would they choose a human Avatar if they could have a dragon Avatar?”

Ozai stared at her.

“This… isn’t how this works. At all.”

But his words fell on empty ears. The girl bounced on her feet and grabbed his hand, her palms comically small next to his.

“Come on! Let’s practice more firebending. I’m gonna be a dragon!”

She would bother him endlessly unless he gave in. Ozai sighed and stood up.

Ursa was looking at him with an odd expression, eyebrows raised, her brush frozen an inch above the parchment.

“She falls asleep quicker when she’s tired,” Ozai said, then pressed his mouth shut. He did not need to explain himself to Ursa.

“If you say so,” Ursa said, fighting a disbelieving smile.

***

A few days later, when he was overseeing her training, Fang slipped.

Her balance was off as she went through a more complicated move she had been trying to master. Ozai told her so, frowning with disapproval. Instead of getting up and starting over, however, the girl looked up at him with tears shining in her eyes and clutched her ankle.

“It hurts,” she protested.

“The pain is in your mind,” Ozai said. “You must learn to control it.”

“No, it’s not, it’s in my leg,” she said, sniffling. “And it hurts. I wanna go home.”

“We are not done for today.”

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her pathetic wails carrying through the forest. Her ankle was perhaps a bit swollen, from what Ozai could see.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

“Very well. You may go,” he said.

She tried to scramble up, but as soon as more weight was put on her injured leg, she dropped down again onto the ground, crying harder.

“I can’t,” she said. “Mom!”

“Quiet,” Ozai hissed.

If Ursa heard her, he’d be dead.

With no other option, he walked over and gathered the child in his arms. Her crying subsided slightly, giving way to sniffled, and she rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“Huh,” she said. “Your beard is weird.”

“Quiet, I said,” Ozai said.

“Okay,” Fang replied.

She didn’t weigh much, and thankfully remained still when he carried her home. When they entered, she even managed a feeble smile, reaching for Ursa who stared at them both with a stricken expression.

“She lost her balance,” Ozai explained, positioning her on her bedroll. Then he took one look at Ursa’s face, and added: “I’m going hunting.”

Just in case, he didn’t come back until late evening.

***

Soon enough, Fang was running around as always, although she wasn’t permitted to practice any bending. Ursa hasn’t said a word to him since the accident.

Alone, Ozai went back to practicing with the swords. Even despite the silence and the solitude, he found it difficult to concentrate. It seemed that everywhere he looked, he could see Ursa’s accusatory glare.

There she was, this time in person. She stood beneath a tree, hands folded over her breast, eyes narrowed.

Ozai spun around, the swords cutting through the air with a loud whoosh, and then embedded them both in a nearby tree.

“Do not damage my property, please,” Ursa said coolly.

He retrieved them easily, their handles now an easy and comfortable fit in his grip.

“Fight me,” he said without looking at her.

“No.”

“We both need practice,” he said.

“You most certainly do,” she replied.

Ozai tossed one of the swords in her direction. Instincts took over, and Ursa’s hand snatched it up from the air. When he smirked at her, Ursa shifted into a fighting stance. She circled him around the clearing, sword held at the ready. Then she attacked.

He had the advantage of strength and bulk, but she played it cleverly, turning his blows against him with an unforeseen skill. Exile had necessitated that particular ability; Ozai was pleased to see his wife was able to defend herself.

The two swords were not separate weapons, but parts of a whole. Turned against one another, they were less effective. After days – weeks – Ozai was thrown off by the lack of blade in his free hand. Ursa recognized this, concentrating her attacks on his left side, vicious, all the rage bleeding through her blows.

She risked tiring herself if she fought like this. Her arms trembled with the effort, and Ozai broke through her defences with sheer strength, watching as she winced every time she had to block a direct blow. Ever pragmatic, however, she shifted into a more defensive stance again, letting him do most of the work, dancing around on nimble feet.

He would not let her escape. The two blades clashed together, grinding, throwing sparks onto both their faces. Ursa was gritting her teeth, painfully beautiful; he felt her strength waning.

All of a sudden, the pressure was gone. Too late he saw through her ruse, a vicious kick to his legs and a blow to his stomach tipping him off balance, the momentum of his own attack propelling him forward. Ozai came crashing down on the ground.

Clever. Too clever to let her guard down, even now.

Ozai flashed her a smile, all teeth, and then sprung back up, this time giving her no chance to resort to dishonourable tricks. With one forceful blow, he knocked the sword from her hand and then snatched it up, twisting her around and crisscrossing the blades around her pale neck.

“Do you yield, Ursa?” he asked, pleasantly.

She was trapped, wholly and completely, between the wall of his chest and her own swords. He could see irritation flashing in her amber eyes, face reddened from exertion, the air leaving her lungs in quickened breaths.

Long years have passed since he last held her like this. A sense of honour kept him loyal to this woman, despite her continuous impertinence, even outward treason. He could have taken another wife, a lover, to keep him company; he didn’t. With Ursa so close, he felt the stirring of an old hunger coursing through his veins.

“You enjoy this,” Ursa said.

“As do you,” Ozai said.

Ursa hummed. “I am about to enjoy this more.”

She came up fighting, this time with fire instead of crude weaponry. The heat scorched his skin, flames licking the blades. Ozai bared his teeth and pressed onward. On a shorter distance, she would not be able to execute her moves properly. Aware of this, Ursa leapt away from him, fire dancing in her outstretched hands.

He was risking much, unused to evading flames. Humiliation was the price he had to pay, however. Ursa would extract it, merciless, unafraid; he supposed he owed her that much.

Lips pressed close to mine, True blue (Willam x Alaska) - Albatross

AN: So it’s my first time posting on this subject and admittedly, I’m a bit nervous on how it will be received. The title and song it’s from only has a vague connection to the story (maybe if you squint…and take like four shots). This is just a short little fluffy piece I wrote about one of my favorite (underrated) pairings as distraction from some bigger projects I’m working on. Hope you all enjoy it and sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes that might’ve made it through my proofread!

Alaska shivered beneath the covers for what felt to be the hundredth time since she and Willam decided to call it a night. Alaska full well meant to head back to her own home but one bottle of wine turned into three and 7 PM quickly turned into 11:30 before either of them realized how late it was or how tipsy they had gotten. When Willam casually offered the guest bedroom, Alaska accepted it with a grateful smile. The thought of heading back to her own empty house after such a fun day with one of closest friends was more than a bit of let down. Lately she’d been feeling rather lonely as she paced around her house without even a dog or cat to keep her company. She never really noticed how empty her house truly was until she decided to take a short break between her slew of shows and appearances. Constantly touring easily allowed her to forget how alone she felt outside of work but now that she had time to herself, it was undeniable how much she needed other people around her to feel content. Willam had called her earlier that day and asked if she wanted to hang out at his studio while he filmed a few videos for Patreon and Youtube. Alaska jumped at the chance, grateful for both the distraction and the opportunity spend a little extra time with Willam. She loved watching him work, whether it was in front of a camera or behind, she got lost in the focused expression on his face as he became absorbed by whatever task he was working on. Though she loved when he went silent and meditative as he figured out an issue, she loved his laugh even more, ugly as it is at times. That look of pure joy on his face when he laughed at his own jokes, especially when accompanied by the seal-clap, never failed to make her smile. Easily her second favorite part of watching him shoot for Beatdown was the unique outfits he created for each episode. He always turned out a new look for each episode, even if he used the same wig mutliple times, you could always count on him to make it look brand new either with the style or by adding an accessory or extensions. Today’s episode also coincided with the filming for a ‘Paint Me Bitch’ with a queen Alaska had not yet heard of but shortly grew to appreciate their work. Said artist, whose name Alaska had missed due to arriving in the middle of shooting, had clearly done their homework and incorporated Willam’s signature color into the look they had crafted for him. The beat blended together the shades of blue Willam loved so much with a classy touch of silver and just enough sparkle to make Willam exclaim excitedly “I get glitter too? This is the best 'Paint Me Bitch’ ever!” Even the lips Willam had consented to allow the artist to paint on him showed off his fondness for cerulean and navy especially. Following the end of the filming for the day, Alaska was resigned to head back home and kill the remainder of the evening watching TV and maybe ordering takeout. She had begun gathering her belongings when Willam placed his hand gently over hers and started speaking. Her cheeks tinted just slightly at the contact and a smile broke out over her face when she realized Willam had asked if she wanted to head back to his place for pizza and drinks. She nodded enthusiastically and followed him back to his house outside the city with a jubilant grin. The rest of the night was spread out with good pizza, cheap wine, and whatever B-list movie caught their attention on Netflix. The pure simplicity of the evening’s pleasures was one Alaska would never trade for the world, especially if it meant sharing it her friend. When the queens had chanced to look at the clock during one of the movies, they found it was already after 11. Alaska had groaned at the thought of driving home so late and kicked herself mentally for forgetting to check the time for so long. She really hadn’t meant to keep Willam up so late, especially when he would be working again tomorrow but she was selfish and didn’t want to leave his side for as long as she had an excuse to stay. Reluctantly, she was beginning to say her 'goodbyes’ when the other queen asked if she wanted to finish the movie and stay over night in the guest room. By no means was it unusual for Alaska to sleep at Willam’s or vice versa, but it had never been as unplanned as this. Typically they had an idea of it early on in the day and made arrangments accordingly. Something about tonight’s stay made it seem just a bit more…intimate than previous visits. But like the clingy overgrown child she felt like sometimes, Alaska immediately agreed to her friend’s generosity and settled down on the couch again next to him. The remainder of the movie was a blur for Alaska who couldn’t shake the nervous feeling that had developed in her stomach. As the credits played, she helped Willam clean up the kitchen and living room and each retired to their respective bedrooms for the night. The first thing Alaska noticed when she opened the door was that the room seemed a few degrees colder than most areas of the house. The window had been left slightly ajar and figuring that was the obvious source of the temperature difference, she shut it and slipped between the sheets. To her annoyance, the room did not seem to get any warmer as the night went on. If anything it almost seemed colder without the balmy breeze floating through the mesh screen. Sighing, she got out of bed again and reopened the window. Thinking to herself that she better check on the AC in the room, she stood on her bed and peered into the vent directly above her. The fan was wide open blowing cold air into her face but even through squinting eyes, she could not figure how to close vent even a little. Biting her lip, she climbed back under the covers and tried to force herself to fall asleep. Every time she felt herself nodding off, the warm breeze from the window seemed to die out and the AC would quickly take its place. Despite how tightly she wrapped herself in the sheets, a blast of cold air always seemed to slip in and cause her to shiver. She eventually relented and left what little warmth the bed offered to search for extra blankets in the walk-in closet but she was left disappointed. Nothing! The hallway closet; also nothing! What the hell? She debated with herself for a full minute on checking with Willam to find out where he had hidden the blankets in this confusing house. She knew he was most likely passed out by now, but without at least one additional layer of protection between her and the cold, she was going to be awake all night freezing her ass off. Quietly, she made her way to Willam’s room and knocked gently on the door. When there was no answer after a few seconds, she softly called out his name and tapped on the door just a little bit harder. Still, there was no noise to be heard from inside the room and she shuffled awkwardly on her feet trying to decide how to handle the situation. It felt like crossing an unspoken barrier to open his door but Alaska didn’t know what else to do. She bit her lip again and tiptoed to the side of his bed. Now that she was closer, she tried whispering his name again…Not even a twitch. Alaska has always been prone overthinking and usually she knew how to combat it but right now her mind was slowly being consumed by the fear that something was not right with her friend. She swallowed the lump in her throat and called his name once more, keeping the volume just under her normal register. When there was still no visible response after 10 seconds, Alaska felt her heart drop to her stomach. Her hand was shaking as she reached over to touch Willam’s shoulder but immediately drew it back after her fingers brushed his skin. He was cold…colder than she had felt in her room standing directly beneath the fan and his lips were a pale blue in the moonlight. Her voice cracked as she cried out “Willam!” and shook his shoulder violently. There was no way this could be happening. Not her best friend! She didn’t know whether to cry or scream at him when she finally saw him reacting. He slowly came to, wiping the sleep from eyes and sitting up. “'Laska?” he slurred groggily as he tried bring his sluggish mind to working condition. Alaska let out a broken laugh of relief and clutched a hand over her pounding heart. Willam quickly took in the sight of his terrified friend and scurried to the end of the bed to catch her before she collapsed onto the floor. He gently sat her down on the edge and asked what was wrong. Her breathing was coming in spurts but he didn’t try to rush her for an explanation. Alaska saw the genuine concern in his eyes as he ran his hand in slow circles over her back while he waited for her to calm down. When she was finally well enough to speak, she frantically apologized for overreacting and waking up him like that. He brushed it aside without a second thought and asked again what had upset her. She had never felt more ashamed of herself than when she admitted that when she came in to ask about an extra blanket and didn’t see him react after trying to wake him, her mind had immediately plunged off the deep end to worst possible scenario. “Y-You were cold and you weren’t moving…I panicked…I’m sorry,” she whispered as she did her best to suppress another shiver. Willam cupped her cheek and wiped away a stray tear that had fallen as he told her, “Hey, don’t be. I’m glad you care enough to be that upset. Not a lot of people would be.” “You know that’s not true,” she laughed weakly. He gave a rueful smile and continued, “Seriously though, you don’t know how much it means to me to know you care that much. And I’m sorry too, I should have told you the AC here’s been a little wonky lately. Would’ve saved us this mess.” Alaska and Willam both let out a sickly relieved chuckle and leaned heavily against against each other. Cold or not, Alaska felt like she could fall asleep anywhere with how drained she felt at the moment. Drowsily, she whispered to Willam, “You’re lips are blue…” “Still? Washed my face twice already…” he muttered distractedly as he wiped his fingers over them. His eyebrows shot up slightly as he discovered that pigment was indeed still present on his lips. Absently, he said to himself, “I gotta find out what that bitch used on me…could suck dick in a hurricane with that shit.” Alaska cracked up at the statement and clutched Willam’s arm to keep herself steady. He’d probably never admit it to anyone but even with her tear-stained face and puffy eyes, when he watched her laugh after that incident, he’d swear he’d never seen her look more beautiful than she did right now. Carefully, he tilted her chin up and kissed her forehead. “Thanks for always caring about me…” Her cheeks flared at the atypical show of affection from the older queen but her heart felt close to bursting as she murmured quietly, “Anytime…” They stayed frozen like that for a few moments before Willam broke the silence. “If you still want extra blankets, they’re down in the laundry room…but you’re welcome to share the bed with me…” he offered with a tinge of hope in his voice. “I’d like that…” Alaska replied shyly. Willam skillfully rearranged himself to allow Alaska to slid in comfortably amongst the sheets on the spacious bed. Without hesitation, he pulled her close to him and ghosted his lips over hers. “Can I?” he asked tentatively, praying he had not misread the signals. Alaska felt like she was on cloud nine when she heard him ask and nodded before swiftly closing the distance herself. They worked their lips together in perfect synchrony, both just content to let the kiss relay their true emotions. When they broke apart each saw only the fondness and admiration in the other’s eyes that they had so longed for. There’d be plenty of time to explore the relationship further the next day, for now all that mattered was spending the night holding onto the person they cared about the most.

Circus

For Keith lunch was over far too soon. The food was delicious as always and he enjoyed the relaxed chatter that came from Allura. If Keith had to be honest when he first joined he had been pretty scared of the tall woman. But after talking to her he found though she was scarily stubborn and driven, but she was also sweet and funny. Keith wished he could have feelings for her. That he could be attracted to the beautiful and amazing woman rather then being unable to tear his eyes away from Lance as he laughed. Being unbelievably jealous of Hunk who had Lance cuddling into his chest as he sat in his lap. Keith kept telling himself that gay was illegal and that even if Lance was a woman he was too young for him. Keith couldn’t infect a child with his sickness. Pining aside it was a loverly time. The sun was shining and the company was pleasant. Soon as Allura stood up and said it was time to leave Keith couldn’t help but feel disappointed. The fact that his butt was still sore from the ride really didn’t help.

“Look out!” Keith whipped his head round from where he was preparing Red when he saw Goldie free from her reigns and running directly towards Lance who didn’t seem to realise he was about to be trampled. Keith’s brain shut down and he went into autopilot as he pulled the knife from his belts holder and threw it at the ropes holding the barrels on the back of Blacks cart. The knife hit its mark, snapping the rope and causing the barrels to go rolling off directly into Goldies path. She bolted away finally coming to a stop a little away by the trees. Lance had jumped back away from the barrels his eyes wide and his chest rapidly raising and falling. For a moment no one moved. They all just stared in amazement and silent horror. Then Hunk ran towards Lance. “Are you ok?” He asked as he helped his best friend to his feet. That seemed to break everyone out of their trance and like a stampede they all moved as one. Some broke away to gather the barrels, some to get Goldie. It was Shiro, Pidge, Allura, Coran and Keith that ran to Hunk and Lance. “Lance! Are you alright?” Allura asked. Lance didn’t speak he merely nodded. “My boy are you sure?” Coran asked in concern. As the circus doctor Coran knew that it’s when they get quiet it’s when they should worry. Again Lance nodded. It was then that Keith realised he was staring right at him. Keith dropped his gaze to the ground, Great he had just traumatised the guy. “That shot was amazing.” “What shot?” Hunk asked, he had yet to remove his arms from around Lance as though he could protect him from all harm just by the power of his hugs. “Keith’s, he threw the knife.” Lance pointed at where the knife was still lodged in the cart. Realisation crossed their faces. “Keith... did you really throw this knife?” Shiro asked as he pulled the knife out. Keith nodded finding being the centre of attention was not all it was made out to be. Shiro exchanged a look with Allura and Keith was sure this was it. This was when he was going to be told to hit the road alone. “Keith.” He flinched as he watched a large smile spread across Allura’s face “guess we found your act!” “Wait what?” “I’ve never seen anyone throw so well! Not even Lance!” Hunk grinned. “Hey!” Lance pouted but was grinning too. “Seriously though, you sure are good with knives! In fact we should do an act together!” Keith felt all the blood drain from his face “t-together?” Lance nodded enthusiastically “yeah I’ve had this idea for years but no one to do it with.” Lance grabbed Keith hands “will you do it with me?” “God yes... I mean yeah sure I guess I can.” Lance suddenly wrapped his arms around him and Keith was sure his brain shut down with his last thought being about how good Lance smelt.

———————— “Ok just throw it at the targets!” Lance yelled. “I know!” Keith snapped. Soon as they had arrived and set up everyone had launched themselves into practising to prepare for the show that night. Lance had pulled Keith away to throw knives at a long and tall wooden board that when up fully almost reached the top of the tent. Across it in a long diagonal line we’re little red x’s designed to be targets for the knives. Lance had explained that the idea of the trick was that Keith would throw the knives to create a stair case that Lance would run up before he jumped from the last one onto the trapeze swing to be caught by Allura. However after nearly three hours Keith found himself exhausted and harder and harder to actually hit the targets. Thankfully Lance was working on his silk act close to the ground rarther then actually try and run up the badly formed stair case and risk getting stabbed. “Hey no need to get snippy.” Lance hugged as he held himself up purely by the strength of his legs. “I know... i know... look I’m sorry it’s just. It’s frustraighting ok? This is all so new to me and I hate that I can’t do it!” Keith sighed as he pulled at his hair. Lance chuckled “well yeah, what did you expect ? To be perfect at your first go? Putting an act together is hard back breaking work. When I first started I fell on my ass more times then I can count.” Keith smiled as he examined the knife he was holding “I know...” “You sure do say that a lot.” Lance teased as he flipped off the silk landing perfectly and putting his hands on his hips. “Shut up.” “No I sharnt” Lance gently poked him in the ribs. Seeing how Keith jumped and the look of terror a Cheshire Cat like grin spread across his face. “Oh, someone’s tickelish!” “Lance no!” “Lance yes!” Lance began tickling him mercilessly Keith falling back to the floor with the younger boy falling on top of him. They rolled around for a moment before Keith ended up on top looking down at the laughing Lance. They lay there for a moment breathing heavily. Slowly Lance stopped laughing as he looked up at Keith. He brushed his hand along his cheek and before Keith could stop himself he was leaning down gently pressing his lips against Lance’s. His lips tastes salty but were surprisingly soft. Keith vaguely registered that Lance was running his fingers through his black hair causing shivers to run down his spine. He wanted this. Oh God how he wanted this. 17. Oh God What was he doing. Keith suddenly pushed Lance away jumping to his feet. “What’s wrong?” Lance asked. “T-this isn’t right... this is illegal...” Lance snorted “so what?” “It’s wrong and disgusting!” Lance rose an eyebrow “you didn’t seem all that disgusted.” He nodded towards Keith’s crouch and he quickly covered his ‘situation’ with his hands. “W-well I’m not some boy whore for your fun! I’m not a disgusting prostitute with no self respect willing to throw himself at you!” A dark look spread across Lance’s face as he stood up and wiped his lips on his sleeve. “Fine if that’s how you feel. But you should know, prostitutes don’t always have a choice, sometimes it’s that or death. So maybe quit acting so high and mighty and stop pretending to be something your not.” Lance turned to leave the tent “I need to get ready for the show.” Keith wanted to yell at him. Ask him who he was to judge him or say that about prostitutes, that how the hell would he know. Then he remembered... If Pidge had come from the asylum, Hunk the gutter... Did that mean Lance had come from a brothel? Guilt stabbed at his gut. He had messed up big time. Keith promised he would make it right. He told himself it was because it was the right thing to do and not only because soon as he had pulled his lips away that it felt like he was missing something. He longed for Lance... If Lance made him feel this way then maybe... just maybe being gay wasn’t all that bad?