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abbyshands · 2 months

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for you

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♡ synopsis; making a home out of catalina island for years on end had been wonderful, but for most of it, you had been derived of the last piece of the puzzle: abigail anderson. you were a skilled medic, so when abby had showed up, you had cared for her, and nursed her back to the girl she was, helping her to heal, and to find home the same way you had. now, it’s abby’s chance to return the favor.

♡ pairing; abby anderson x fem!reader

♡ warnings; lot of game references, some of which include infected, the WLF, plot of the first and second game, loss, violence, etc, general angst (ish) in the beginning, but fluffy at the end, i promise, reader loses her dad in the backstory, and there’s a heavily established backstory for the reader, abby uses nicknames (my love, babe, gorgeous), reader calls abby baby, just general angst n’ fluff tbh!

♡ a/n; sooo this idea has been sitting in my notes app for the longest time, and to be honest, i’m not sure how i feel about the finished product! i don’t think it’s my best work? i don’t know. i like the idea but i’m unsure about the way i executed it. maybe i’ll revisit it at some point, but this is what i’ve got for now ♡

anyway ,, this is for my ray, n’ my ray only. happy bday, gorgeous! i genuinely can’t get enough of you, and getting to speak to you on a daily basis is such a fucking privilege to me. i’m so lucky to say you’re a part of my life, n’ i wouldn’t trade you for the world. i hope you like this, @andersonlore <3

♡ wc; 4.5k

divider creds !

YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS. APOCALYPSE.

If someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, you would’ve checked them for a bite mark.

Because they would have been losing their mind.

2034, and all the years beforehand, were years unforgettable. The person you were couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t the one you had. Infected roamed, and danger lurked. But love prevailed.

And you were lucky to be a part of it.

You were born in Boston, Massachusetts in the 2010’s at an unlucky hour. To an unlucky life. You had lost your mom before you could say your own name, and the only biological family you had ever gotten to know in your life was your dad, who was the reason you were where you were today in the first place.

When you were young, your dad joined a group once asked to by the leader of it, a woman named Marlene. Since then, and for as long as you could remember, this group has been your place to call home.

They called themselves the Fireflies for the very bug they took the name from: Their goal was to spread luminescence in a world full of darkness. Your dad, who was an incredibly skilled medic, was roped into it when you were younger, for that very reason. And because of the group’s dire need for medics at the time, their leader, Marlene, who was an old friend of your dad’s, asked him to join, all but begged him to, really.

Your dad wasn’t one to deny anyone in need. It was in his nature, and it was why he was such a great medic. So, of course, he agreed.

But only if there would be a place for you, too.

Your dad raised you up as a member of the Fireflies, and then later as a medic, and it was because of him that you were who you were: A resilient individual, a survivor, and yet, a person who embodied compassion, just as he did.

The years went by hazily, the older you got, anyway. You became just as immersed into your work as your dad did, bettering your medical knowledge on a daily basis, be it by old books, rusted cassettes, or your dad himself. But all the while, you managed to balance work, love, and family, and, in a world like this one, that was a lot more than most people could say.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t remember the 2010’s. Then came the 2020’s, which sped by your eyes. But the 2030’s as a general consensus were years ingrained into your brain. Full of friendship, family, and love? At times. But they also encompassed chaos, despair, and pressure, and changed your life forever.

And forever was a long time.

In the year 2033, all that you believed was true about the world as you knew it, crumbled to the ground. In a land following an apocalypse, it wasn’t uncommon to feel as if there was no way out, as if the life you lived had hit a place of no return.

Now, if only there was a way to fix it. A cure, right?

It was late one evening while you were working on somebody in the Fireflies’ medical center, that Marlene came into the room, expression serious, and voice showing for it. Once you had the person you had been caring for under control, you followed Marlene out of the center, and into a room of a pair of people, one familiar, and one not.

Your dad, and a man who would later become a crucial figure in this tale: Surgical expert, Doctor Jerry Anderson.

You didn’t understand what Marlene, your dad, and Mr. Anderson, as you used to call him, were getting at when you were first pulled into that room. All that they were explaining to you was blurring inside of your head.

Because it was unlike anything you had heard before.

Your ears were told a tale that you had heard on numerous occasions. A girl who was only a few years younger than you, was bitten. You weren’t sure how. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Everyone who was bitten turned into an animal in a matter of days. It didn’t matter how she had gotten the bite mark. It didn’t even matter where on her body the mark was. All you knew was that in a few days, this girl that was being described to you, would no longer be human. That she would no longer have control over her body, and she would no longer know right from wrong, up from down, man from woman. All she would know, was kill. Kill. Kill.

Unless she was one in a million.

Ellie Williams was hardly a human in your mind when you originally heard, but a God given chance, to fix the world as you knew it. You never believed you would live to see the day where a bite mark was a good thing, and yet, it was here, gazing you in the eyes.

Immunity. She was immune. The auburn haired girl had been bitten three weeks prior to the date you heard about this, and zilch. As Marlene had explained to you, it was like the mark was healing, not worsening.

And in a desolate world, where danger lurked every corner, where sorrow was normalized, and where loss was ceaseless, you were desperate. The Fireflies were desperate. Hope like this didn’t come on a daily basis, now, did it?

You jumped on the prospect as soon as you became conscious of it. All of you did.

Graciously unaware that it would blow up in your face.

In the earlier days of 2034, Ellie was smuggled to a Firefly base in Salt Lake City, a medical center, where your dad, Mr. Anderson, and several Fireflies were residing. As head medic by this point, you decided to remain in Boston caring for the members of your group back home, especially in the absence of your dad and Mr. Anderson.

It’s your life’s biggest regret.

Marlene had asked that you come to the Salt Lake City medical center as soon as you could, and to employ someone else to take over for a bit. Mr. Anderson was a good doctor, but he had decided that to perform proper surgery on Ellie, he would need a few more hands. You were honored that it was you he had chosen. To you, it was on the same level as getting an award. And so, alongside Marlene, and a few more members of the group, you made your way to Salt Lake City, your hopes in your hands, and dreams in your heart.

There was a point during the journey, however, where you ran into some trouble. Infected. And naturally, you were not just a medic: You knew how to survive in a world like this, and you knew how to hold your ground.

Splitting up wasn’t usually recommended when it came to any scenario, and for good reasons. However, it was your only choice. You and everyone beside you aside from Marlene, split up to make sure that she was the first one to make it to the medical center. You remember the last thing you said to her like a movie on loop in your head. See you soon.

And it plagues your brain like the virus that grips your world.

See you soon. You wish you had never said it. You wish you had never split up.

You wish it hadn’t happened.

You did see Marlene. But she was no longer alive when it happened. Fear grasped your bones as your body paralyzed, eyes glued to Marlene’s bloody corpse on the second floor of the medical center’s parking garage.

Tears filled your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And then, you remembered.

Dad.

You took off running, brain not even processing that you could be putting yourself in danger by doing so. Whoever had done this to Marlene couldn’t be faraway from the building for all you knew. Hell, they could even be in it. But you didn’t care.

You booked it to the highest floor, where your dad and Mr. Anderson were supposed to be, heart racing, begging and bargaining to the universe, or whatever God there was, or somebody, to ensure that they were okay. That they were just fine.

There are some days where you wish you hadn’t opened that door.

The pair of them, alongside a third medic in the room, were found by you in a shape similar to Marlene. Naturally, you ran to dad first, small, shaky hands reaching out to flip over his face down body.

But you were too late.

Your mind goes blurry whenever it goes back to recall the memory. You don’t remember much: Tears, nausea, shaking, panic. You remember screaming, loudly, at that.

And you remember passing out, before being pulled out of the room.

The second that Jerry Anderson was announced dead, all hell broke loose, and you knew, you knew, it was over. The chance that had been driving you and your family of Fireflies for the last year, was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Unless a brand new surgeon was going to generously drop from the sky, you were hopeless.

And it wasn’t even just that.

Because the universe had taken from you the one person you held closest to your heart. To your soul.

Dad.

You had a chance. You all did.

And, then, it was robbed away from you.

You and your dying group made your way back to Boston knowing just that: That you were collapsing. The days passed by in blurs, each one gloomier than the last. You just weren’t sure what to do anymore. All hope for a cure was gone. All hope for yourself was gone.

In 2036, the Fireflies were disbanded by what little members of it were around to do so, and that was it. It was over.

Your home was paradise, and paradise was gone.

You didn’t know what to do. Most of the family you had found here in the Fireflies was leaving, searching for a life away from the one you all had known for years. You didn’t know if you wanted to do the same. Part of you wanted to follow suit and leave Boston. Renew who you were. Adapt, and move on. But Boston had always been home, and by leaving it, you were leaving a part of you behind.

But you didn’t have a choice.

It was an early morning in 2036 when you began to pack your bags, readying to go. Where? It didn’t matter. All you knew was that home or not, Boston carried way too many painful memories, way more than you could bear. Marlene was dead. Mr. Anderson was dead. Dad was gone.

You didn’t see what else Boston had to give, that it hadn’t already taken away.

But just, just, when you were about to say your goodbyes, the universe, who had screwed you over in the past, clearly had different plans.

A few members had heard word, from previous members who had left the Fireflies before you, that on the west coast of the country, there was a chance: A chance to find home again, in a place named Catalina Island, a gorgeous land in California.

Risks had failed you before, and so had second chances. But, for once, you wanted to give in. You had to.

So you did.

That’s not to say that the second you got to Catalina Island, finding home once again in your fellow Fireflies, who were just as shattered as you were, that your tale was over. God, it was really, really far from it.

Because there was one more piece to the puzzle.

Abigail Anderson.

Anderson. The last name rang a bell once it escaped her lips. A blonde woman, body bruised, bloodied, and covered from the arms down in oozing gashes. Her hair was short and poorly cut, and from the way her bones were pushing into her skin, you could tell that she was severely malnourished.

Alongside her was a boy, obviously younger than her. Tousled black hair, bruises wherever you looked, and fully unconscious. In your time at Catalina Island, and as a Firefly in Boston, for that matter, you had never seen any pair of people in worse shape.

Not unless they were dead.

You remained head medic once you arrived in Catalina Island, naturally, and you had been managing that way for the last four years. So, when this woman showed up, this young boy by her side, like this, it was you who took control. It was you who nursed them, and it was you who made their scars, in a physical and mental sense, not disappear, but easier to handle. To bear.

By looking at them, by looking at her, it was like a mirror. You saw you.

Which is why you saw her.

Now, if someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, losing your dad, losing Marlene, and losing Mr. Anderson, but falling for his child, you would’ve looked for a bite mark. But now, come the year 2040, where you had made a new life, one that Abigail Anderson was a prevalent part of, happiness no longer seemed impossible.

Because it wasn’t far away anymore, slipping from your fingers, the way it had on numerous occasions.

It was in your hands.

And you were in Abby’s.

Your eyes were being covered by Abby’s large hands as she led you to a place unknown. You had to assume it was one of the several beaches on the island, sand under your feet, sounds of waves in your ears. A smile had been plastered across your face for what seemed like hours, as Abby dragged you along.

“Come on, Abby. Are you going to tell me what this is about or what?” you asked her for the second time in the last minute. You could hear her low chuckle from behind you, and the way it always happens, comfort surges into your veins.

You had learned from Abby, once you bonded over the mutual loss of your dad and hers at the same man, that once Mr. Anderson had been killed, her and her friends, a few former members of the Fireflies, joined a group named the WLF. You had hence learned that during her time there, she was commonly known as a rugged, scary person, who a lot of people in the WLF didn’t dare insult, nor disobey.

And you couldn’t lie: It was hard to believe that for a second.

You had learned from Abby, also, that her resolve began to slip when she met the young boy who she had made it to Catalina Island alongside, who you had also taken care of: Lev. To put it simply, Lev was a member of a different group, that the WLF was never supposed to come across.

Not unless it was in war.

But he changed her. He did. Some days, you could see how guarded Abby was, how she couldn’t help going back to all she used to know, which was being all but barbaric when she was in Seattle. Closed off, wary. But most days, like today? You knew in your heart, that deep down in hers, Abby Anderson was good. Not innocent, but good.

And that was enough for you.

“Just come on!” Abby chuckled as she walked, not letting up her hold on your eyes for a second as she led you along.

You smiled, shaking your head in mock disapproval. “I have work to do back at the center, and we’re not supposed to be roaming around like this. You know that, right?”

“Babe,” Abby responded in an almost firm tone of voice as her feet quit moving, forcing you to root your body to the spot. It was silent, before she pressed a series of sweet, sloppy kisses to your neck and cheeks, managing to keep her hand over your eyes all the while. She had you crumbling just like that, making you a giggling mess as her lips met your skin.

Her kisses subsided once a million of them seeped into you, and it wasn’t the island heat that had your face warm when Abby was done. “Can you just trust me, please?” she laughed, and you didn’t need your vision to know she was giving you that puppy dog look that had you falling to your knees every time. The one that you couldn’t resist if you gave it your all.

You were too easy. “Yes.”

It wasn’t long before you and Abby reached where she wanted to bring you, and once you did, she paused. She was perched behind you now, large hands over your face, the solacing sound of her sighs coming into your ears. “Okay. Are you ready, my love?”

There wouldn't ever be a day where Abby calling you that wouldn’t make your heart pound in your chest.

“More than,” you easily respond.

As soon as you said it, Abby returned your vision to you, and your eyes can’t help but widen at what you see before you.

Because you never pegged “rugged” Abby Anderson as one for picnics.

“Oh, my God, Abby,” you said more to yourself than the blonde as you slowly approached the scene. Laid out on the sand of the beach was a picnic blanket, a folded blanket, a few pillows, a basket, a few books, and playing cards.

Accompanied by a perfect view of the beach.

“Do you not like it?” Abby asked, and there’s an air of sadness to the way she says it. You turn to look at her on cue, your face one of complete, utter disbelief.

Like it?

“Like it? Baby, I love this. More than know,” you respond, meaning every word. It’s been a long time since someone has wanted to care for you. A long, long time, since you had been the receiver, not the giver.

“Abs, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You can see Abby blushing as you approach her and take her face into your hands, her freckled skin burning in heat. She leans into your touch, pressing her forehead onto yours, and holding your hands in her own.

“I just,” Abby sighed, opening her eyes once more to meet yours, solemn expression across her cheeks. “I just don’t feel like I cherish you enough, babe, show it, that is. Because believe me, I do cherish you. S’just, it’s been hard for me to show you how much. All that you did for me and Lev when we got to the island. Taking care of us. Helping us find a home here. I’ll spend the rest of my life saying thank you for it.”

You can feel your soul healing the more Abby speaks.

“I know this isn’t nearly enough to make up for what you did for us, and I wish it was. But I just figured, maybe. . .it could suffice for now.”

“Abby, baby,” you let a small laugh escape your lips as you say it. “You don’t have to make it up to me. At all. I did what I did, because I saw someone in you. I remember asking for your name, and you responded by asking me where Lev was. You didn’t even care what shape you were in. All you wanted to know was if he was okay. You reminded me of me.”

“You reminded me of dad.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, letting silence seep into the air around you as your brain battled to process what you had just said. You didn’t speak on your dad as much as you likely should: Abby knew that, and so did you. Talking about him made your chest compress, and your throat would fail you, making it feel as if you were choking. As if you were helpless. As if you were there all over again. But Abby knew as well as you did, that when your dad came into discussion, it was for a certain reason.

And for that reason, Abby didn’t speak: She hung fire. For you. For you.

“We live in a world where people combat their own morals just to survive. There’s no good guys. No principles, no rules, no laws. Anyone you come across is just as bad as you, and if not, they’re worse. But when I saw you? I knew. I knew that wasn’t you. Not anymore.”

You know you’re rambling by now, saying whatever comes to mind as soon as it does, but you can’t find it in you to care as you go on. “You want to believe I don’t know how much you care for me. But you don’t need to show it, Abby. I know you do. Right here.”

You take one of Abby’s large hands into yours, and as cliché as it is, not that you care at all, you place it over your heart.

“You feel that, don’t you? That’s all for you, baby. And it’s there that I feel how much you care about me. It’s there that I know.”

The same silence that was here before comes back. But this time, it’s not sad, or dark, or eerie. It’s solacing. It’s warm. It’s home.

And Abby doesn’t need words in order to respond.

It’s her turn to take your face into her hands as she pulls you in close. Her lips meet yours like they have so many times before, her familiar scent hitting your nose as you settle your hands onto her hips. The kiss is slow, and sweet, but passionate, and a burning desire surges inside you to never let her go, to always hold her close. To always call her yours.

You pull back from the kiss once you tire from it, gasping, Abby’s body mimicking yours as she does the same. You gaze into her eyes, the pretty blue ones that always make your heart swell, smiling up at her as you press one last kiss to her lips for good measure. “I adore you, Abby Anderson. You know that, right?�� you grin.

It’s the first time you ever hear her giggle. “Me more than you, gorgeous.”

You spend hours there alongside Abby, and it’s the best time of your life. You spend time indulging in a few snacks the blonde packed for you, playing cards, and running around and playing in the sand, smiling all the way. You even get to hear Abby read to you, one of the most endearing things in the world, accompanied by the calming sound of the ocean before you. And when it came time for sunset, you sat down beside Abby, gazing on as amber, ochre, and rose faded into night.

It was perfect.

When it was nearly time for the evening to come to an end, you used the second blanket Abby had packed for your shared night to cuddle up beside her, heads rested on the pillows she had carried along as well. The side of your face was pressed into her chest as you gazed into the sky above you, Abby’s hand rubbing your back in slow circles to console you. Small suns coat the evening sky like sweet, powdered sugar, accompanied by a full moon that looks incredible over the horizon. All you could hear was the sound of the ocean, alongside Abby sighing gingerly every once in a while, or her pressing kisses to your forehead.

Not that you needed much more than that.

Suddenly, the sound of Abby chuckling in your ears snaps you out of your head, and you turn your face upwards curiously. Abby’s smile makes you smile, and it’s no surprise you began to wonder what the blonde woman found so funny all of a sudden.

“Remember how I told you Lev and I had to cross those bridges that were really high up?” Abby asked, and you had to raise an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. “Mhm,” you mumble, which is when Abby goes on.

“Well, before that, we had to get there by foot once we got out of the aquarium I told you about, the one I used to go to all of the time. That part of Seattle is overrun in rushing rapids, so a lot of the buildings around there were a lot more demolished than they usually would be anywhere else,” she explained.

“And, well. . .”

“We walked into this building, and there was a painting of these dogs playing cards. And I asked Lev if he knew our dogs could really play cards like that. Then he asked me if anyone found me funny,” Abby laughed. “It cracks me up whenever I remember it.”

She wasn’t the only one laughing. “Sounds like Lev. And like you,” you smile, and the tale makes you recall a humorous memory of your own. “Once, I was working late at the medical center back in Boston. I was doing research on this girl who had been feeling sick, but I wasn’t sure by what. Mind you, it’s late, and silent, if you don’t count me flipping the pages in my books.”

You giggle just remembering it. “It’s the weirdest thing ever, but my dad was really good at making Clicker noises. Like, really good. Sounded so real it made your heart drop. I was reading when I heard it, and I remember wondering how the hell infected had gotten inside. ‘Course I grab what was closest to me, a scalpel, and I swivel around.”

“And it’s dad.”

That one got Abby to burst out chuckling. “Oh, my God. Of all the things you could get, gorgeous. A scalpel?”

You rolled your eyes in response, playfully so. “What can I say? I’m just a medic. I didn’t carry a gun.”

Once Abby’s done laughing, which seems to take forever, she smiles down at you, pressing one more kiss to your forehead as if to make up for poking fun at you. You cuddle closer into her, letting your body relax in her embrace as a sigh escapes your lips.

You fall back into silence soon enough, eyes glued to the sky as Abby rubs her hand over your back, holding you like you would fade away if she let you go. You run your fingers through her short hair as you press kisses to her neck, jaw, and face, giving her all the love you know she deserves. Your eyes scan her features like she was molded by some higher power, and you can’t help but want to worship her, endlessly.

Not just for what she looks like. But for who she is.

“My baby. It’s like you were made for me, you know?” you whisper in Abby’s ear as your eyes pierce into her blue ones. But Abby’s head shook quickly.

You can predict what she’s going to say in response. “No, gorgeous.”

“It’s you who was made for me.”

—

reblogs are very much welcomed! <3

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500 notes · View notes

iloveinej · 1 year

Text

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤

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Theodore Nott x reader

Catagory: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Mentions of wounds and blood. Booth of them are complete dumbasses. Reader is a tiny bit sensitive, but rightfully so.

Summary: Theodore is lonelier than ever, especially after receiving the dark mark. So he tries to find peace in new things. Like Choirs.

Words: 7.2 k

OBS! I gave reader a last name. Oak, but her first name is still your own but just so everyone knows

A/N: Uh, it's long. I don't know if I love it or hate it, but I'm also really tired so I don't have the energy to think. But also, what writers like what they write? So here you go.

(I'm not religious, but god seriously has his favorites)

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His room couldn't contain the warmth that it used to hold during the summer. The fire from his fireplace couldn't keep up with the autumn's chill breezes and cold rains. The heat easily simmered out through the cracks of the old windows, leaving Theodore with stale fingers and cold toes.

On a normal day, he might've complained. When he was younger, he used to despise the cold, always missing the summer rays during the quiet winter. But now? He wasn't sure that he disliked it anymore. The chill air became the only thing that understood the echoing emptiness in his chest.

"I'm joining the Choir." He said absentmindedly. A quick decision he took during the dark hours layered itself with pity and sadness.

"That's rash. I thought you hated Choirs." Blaise mumbled from his seat on the carpeted floor.

Theodore shifted in his soft duvets." I don't hate them, I just don't understand the point of it."

Blaze's face scrunched in confusion and he looked away from his book to watch the other young man mindlessly play with the corners of his sheets." Then why are you joining one?"

Theodore only sighed. He didn't intend to answer Blaise. He wouldn't understand. Blaise had yet to receive the itching curse on his wrist and therefore hadn't been tied to bad things for the rest of his life. Or perhaps, Theodore had become selfish during the quiet days of his suffering.

"Well, I don't care if join or not, but maybe keep it quiet from Draco... and the others." Theodore hummed absentmindedly. If Malfoy would ever find out about Theodore joining something so 'muggly' as a choir, he would stuff Theo in a box and send him straight to the doorstep of Voldermort.

"I know."

Blaize looked at Theodore for any reaction but turned his attention to the book in his lap when Theo only continued to stare at the ceiling.

"Have you packed? We're leaving in two days." He easily rerouted the conversation.

The smell of food made Theodore sick to his stomach. Before he left, he hoped that his appetite would return when the warm food that the elves of Hogwarts made entered his nostrils, but his hopes were all in despair.

Classes had been going on for six days and focusing had already been proven to be a task.

Professor Flitwick stopped him in the corridor the earlier day to speak to him about the request for joining his 'Frog choir', as it was called. Professor Flitwick had thought that it was a mere prank. So Theodore stood in the corridor for 10 minutes explaining to the professor that he didn't pull a prank on him.

And now, he sat by the lunch table, idly waiting for the clock to tick to its designated hour. The choir lesson. He had been asked by Blaise at the beginning of the lunch if he were alright, and he had lied with a clump of nerves stuck in his throat.

He wished to believe his nerves only existed to tease him. But his nerves seemed to be right, for it seemed that wherever he went, eyes followed him. Whether it was Draco, who always appeared to be in the same room as Theodore. Or Professor Snape, that read over his shoulder whenever they had positions class.

Theodore shook his head, a small pain making its way into his head. He stood up, and curious glances was thrown his way.

"Why haven't you eaten? You always eat?" Lorenzo asked with his arms tied behind his head. Only for a second, Theodore stiffen.

"Must've eaten something bad yesterday." He barely mumbled before quietly gliding out of the grand Hall.

Her eyes shot up from her note page when the door slammed open. The murmur carried throughout the dark and dusty classroom came to halt, and (Name) eyed Theodore Nott suspiciously when he strode into the room. Professor Flitwick tapped his wand against the podium he stood by, effectively gaining everyone's attention again.

"Oh!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed when he saw the tall boy standing by the entrance. "I seem to have forgotten to inform you. This term, Mr. Nott here will join us."

She didn't feel good about a new person joining the choir. Especially not him. The boys from Slytherin had never been nice, and in her luck, she hadn't been the object of their harassment. Which is probably something that she should thank Harry Potter for. But didn't mean that she was entirely safe from their harassment.

If he decided she were to be his next target, it made sense. Not many people knew about her. The students didn't blink an eye when she walked by, and the teachers barely knew her name.

She never believed herself to be quiet or shy. But the lack of attention she received left her believing that she needed to be more interesting to speak to for them to enjoy her company. They thought she didn't want to go with them, so they excluded her from their plans.

It made her think, maybe being interesting didn't belong in her nature.

"Have you ever been in a choir before Mr. Nott?" The professor asked.

He timidly shook his head, and briefly wondered where his old, confident self went. "No Professor."

Professor Flitwick gave him a nod before taking a glance over his small class.

"Well then, grab your notes from the table, and then Miss Oak will help you."

Theodore looked around after this 'Miss Oak', and he believed the young lady looking at Professor Flitwick with eyes popping out of her skull would be the girl that the Professor inquired about.

The old paper felt scratchy in his hand when he grabbed the note-filled sheets, and his body heavily trudged to stand by Miss Oak. She didn't say anything, nor did she look at him when he placed himself beside her.

She tried to not pay attention to the boy on her side, but it became a problem since he radiated off his body heat by how close he stood. Perhaps, she should have offered him her help with the notes. But after a while, it seemed he figured it out and she relaxed at the thought of not needing to interact with him.

The lesson came to an end and she wasted no time packing her things so she could catch the Professor before he turned to the next class to teach.

The rest of the students filed out quickly, and to her luck, the professor didn't.

"Professor Flitwick?" She asked.

He turned around and smiled. "Yes dear, what can I help you with?" He answered, before once again turning back to collect the remaining papers.

"I was wondering if you maybe could have someone else help Mr. Nott with his notes." She stood tall and spoke calmly when the professor turned his full attention to the girl. But inside her, a turmoil of emotion rolled around, making her dizzy and anxious.

"Why is that?" She swallowed when his calculated gaze met hers and tried her best not to tear eye contact.

"Well, because I'm afraid that helping him might disturb the focus on my studies." A small humorous scoff sounded through the room, and Professor Flitwick continued to track down the classroom with (name) hot on his tail.

"I must say that I believe that you are wrong." He started, and (name)'s eyebrows scurried together." I think that you need to socialize yourself, to meet new people. Mr. Nott is a kind young man, who I think will get along great with you."

A sigh of descent escaped her, and she trudged out of the classroom in defeat, beginning the lonely track toward her next class. Which unfortunately for her would be divination.

Theodore is an utterly and completely helpless man. He'd met the girl once, one smell, one touch, and he dared never stop thinking about her. The realization had almost knocked him off his chair, for wherever he went, his brain lost control over his eyes and they began to wander, searching after the girl.

For the next Choir class, he made sure to be late again, only so that he could guarantee a second of attention from her. Flitwick had come to warn him about bad habits, but why care? Theodore didn't know. For her eyes flickered to his, and only for a second, the mark on his arm didn't burn his skin.

He slowly walked towards his self-chosen place by her side and didn't let his eyes leave her once. She radiated with caution and apprehension, but Theodore didn't incline to stop staring. At least not until she showed signs of being even mildly uncomfortable.

Her eyes scanned the notes of the Christmas Carol more than she could count as an attempt to not give in to his staring. Because even though she felt tempted to stare at his angel-like face, a fear still presented itself in the back of her mind.

She winced as the floorboards creaked at her nervous shuffle, and once again, felt herself becoming the attention of Theodore's eyes. He opened his mouth, and she made herself ready for anything that could leave his mouth.

"Oh, buggers. I seemed to have forgotten my papers." (Name) watched carefully when the professor rummages through his bag, hoping that his papers are there so he doesn't leave the classroom, risking that someone with dark hair and brown eyes will start a conversation with her.

But to her downfall, Professor Flitwick quickly announced that he would be back soon, and no one had the time to blink before he walked away.

She swallowed the anxious lump in her throat and took a breath through her nose.

"Nervous?" He asked, fully aware that she had been shuffling around and taking unnecessarily deep breaths ever since he situated himself on her side.

"No." She answered, too fast for her liking, before quickly focusing on her paper again.

Theodore wanted to sigh in disappointment when she wasn't up for a conversation, and at the same time felt a stream of pettiness run through his fingertips.

He clenched his pale fist in frustration and looked away. A gust of air passed his lips in a desperate attempt to not let his hopes sink. To be so obsessed with a person in such a so short time felt strange. So strange he started to suspect that a love potion had been involved. But the way she shut herself away from him, he supposed that it would be strange for her to pour a love potion into his drink.

Professor Flitwick's footsteps were loud before he came in sight, and Theodore cursed his chance when it faded into nothing.

But on the other hand, it could turn out to be for the best. He knew that the capability of making a fool out of himself lingered.

Professor seemed to have noticed the shift of emotions on Theodore's face.

"Are you alright, Mr. Nott, you seem to be a bit pale over there?" He wanted to laugh at the coincidence.

"I'm alright, Professor." He answered politely, gently clearing his throat as he tried to brush off the awkwardness of the professor's notice.

But oh to be held, he took notice of a small, inconvenient, soft laugh. His head snapped towards her when he heard who it came from, and she quickly covered it up with a cough and a small apology.

He scoffed quietly, and she pursed her lips as he looked away.

"Everyone ready?" Professor Flitwick asked, and a chorus of positive answers echoed in the hall. And with four flicks of his wand, the choir let their voices out. At first, Theodore believed that no one in this room had sung in a choir. The different voices jumbled together, but it seemed that after just a countable second, the different voices blended into an angel melody.

He could hear her voice perfectly, and he never wanted to have no one else singing in his ear, quite literally. And he let himself bask in the warmth of her tone until a crack reaches the surface. He cringe at the miss of a note in (Name)'s voice, and she did the same.

Theodore struggled to cover up the small chuckles that escaped his mouth, and he blushed in shame to be laughing at her. She didn't seem to mind or hear him. Her face bore a confused scowl, making a wrinkle appear between her eyebrows. Suddenly he felt himself wanting to reach out, to smooth the area out with his thumb. But it would've been ridiculous if he did, possibly ruining all his chances with her in the world.

The harmonious tune took an end, and a murmur broke out, asking each other for the right notes and laughing at each other's wrongs. Theodore listened in curiosity as she hummed the same part over and over again, still getting the same note wrong even though she tries.

"It's an f-sharp, not f." He instructed, and she paused. Patiently waiting for her answer, Theodore hummed the tune for her, showing the correct way. Before the tune ended, he looked towards her to make sure that she was listening, and met her eyes. Theodore felt his heart drum against his sensitive ribs when she watched him with idle eyes.

When it once again took to an end, Theodore masked his madness with raised eyebrows and a look in his eyes, that asked her if she understood.

The eye contact broke as she looked away.

"I knew that, I'd just forgotten." She explained, and the left corner of his mouth rose.

"Sure you did." Sarcasm dripped from his voice, and he feared he'd taken it too far, for he didn't know her limits, how much she would be able to take nor how sensitive she might be.

But his fear easily melted away when he saw the slightest twitch of her lips.

For the first time in a long time, she left the classroom with a content look on her face. The conversation that appeared, is something that she had missed happening. Like an old conversation with the rain.

And she almost wished that her next Choir lesson would be today so that she had someone to talk to again. But it was albeit a bit intimidating. She is afraid that if she spoke too much, or shares too many feelings, he would get bored of talking with her. And she wouldn't have a potential friend anymore.

She sighed at her overcalculating thoughts and decided that she would keep basking in his attention as long as it would last.

Until her Transfiguration class with professor McGonagall the next day. Usually, she was fully aware of where everyone was so she could sit alone and not risk getting a desk friend. As said, except for today. Maybe it was to blame on the bad night's sleep, but she hadn't given a second thought about where she sat down.

And once again, Theodore stormed into the class, ten minutes late. He didn't apologize for being late, instead, he took the closest empty seat he could find and sat down.

(Name) could feel the looks from the rest of the Slytherins when Theodore sat beside her and she straightened her spine and directed her eyes forwards again, not wanting to pay attention to them.

"Fashionably late, as usual, Mr. Nott?" McGonagall questioned, amusement in her tone, but stone-set face.

"Sorry, Professor." He mumbled, and McGonagall nodded, intending to start the lesson again.

Theodore could feel the burning gazes of his friends as he opened up his book. At first, he didn't intend to give the bloodsuckers their craved attention, because he knew what it would an about, and he was also well aware of who he was sitting next to.

But he could hear Blaise whispering his name, and he still didn't want to seem rude, so he turned in his chair, and was met by the eyes of his Slytherin classmates. Draco raised an eyebrow at him, before nodding his head towards (Name).

Theodore knew exactly what he enclined and shrugged. His friends didn't need to know everything, and he didn't need to be around them every minute of the day.

A warm feeling, but strange occupied her chest when Theodore turned back, a half smile on his pink lips and relaxed eyes looking upon her.

And she wanted to beat the butterflies in her stomach with a stick.

During the lesson, there were not many words exchanged between them, and at first, it was a maladroit pressure on (Name)s chest to say something or to make him, anything of the sort. But she realized quite soon that she didn't need to speak, for it was both comforting and nice to have him sitting beside her, carefree of what was around him as he wrote on his parchments.

She hoped and prayed to merlin that it would stay like this and that it wasn't just a fortunate stroke of serendipity.

Something changed with him. She could both see and feel it, and never had she doubted her senses when she felt as if something was wrong.

In their choir lesson, he acted differently against his usual sarcastic but nice persona, which would help her if she was wrong, or speak to her about professor Flitwick's ridiculous beard.

But today he acted strange, only chuckling at her when she did wrong, and when helping her, he sounded up stuck.

He was almost being competitive.

And it was onerous, and burdensome to have such an enthralling person seeing you as a competition. Especially when she was aware that he was more sharp-minded, wittier, and more ambitious than she could ever wish to be.

So therefore she tried to ignore it, playing it off as if had a bed day instead so that she could protect her feelings.

But it only continued and got worse too.

She was slouching in a chair, wand in hand as she tried the same spell over and over again, but the pair of dice weren't even close to becoming chocolate pralines with passion fruit filling. Theodore had gotten it multiple times and embarrassment was beginning to crawl over her cheeks in the form of warmth.

She flicks her wand once more, and when she finally thinks that she has succeeded, she is disappointed to only see a small patch of melted chocolate. A deflected sigh left her lips, and her body slouched even more in her seat.

A chuckle rang out from the side of her, and she bit the inside of her cheek in anticipation of what he was going to say.

"It's going well I see." He remarked, and (Name) felt her ears getting hot from his sudden attention.

"No, obviously not." She mumbled.

"What am I doing wrong?" The question wasn't directed to anyone in particular, but Theodore answered it anyway.

"That, you have to figure out yourself Oak." He scoffed, moving out of his wooden seat and gently picking the pralines up to place them in his palm.

"Because, unlike others, I do have pralines instead of..." he looked quizzically, but in amusement at the chocolate mush on her table. "... that."

(Name)'s face scrunched as she listened to his almost berating words that were thrown, and was about to say something but he had already started walking up to McGonagall with his paper and sweets. She took a long, calculating glance at them, and then nodded, permitting him to leave the classroom.

And he did just so, collecting his books and taking a last glance at the frustrated witch before making his way.

It left (Name) in hassle. The way that Theodore's behavior changed so quickly, and so out of context. But perhaps she's the one to blame. The hope in her heart maybe made her think that he was the nicest out of them all, that he wanted to be her friend. Perhaps -one day- to be even more. She realized that it is her younger self talking through, the child that didn't wish for anything but true love.

She decided that it was a naive thought, and hastily closed her book before walking away from the class.

The next time it happened, it was during choir. (Name) did try her best to stay civil and rational, but how could she do that when Theodore was somehow effectively getting on her last nerves? And she was usually a calm, down-to-earth person.

"What do you mean I'm doing it wrong, I sing it exactly like everyone else." She argued exasperated as she glared at monstrous holes in the side of Theodore's head. She found it strange that he could get on her nerves so easily, even if his presence were able to make her knees weak.

"You're not singing it like like everyone else, sweety." The nickname threw her off immediately, and she felt ashamed as she spluttered out excuses and arguments against it, trying to act as repulsive as possible.

"Mr. Nott and Ms. Oak, interested in sharing your conversation with the class." Professor Flitwick interrupted, and both Theodore and (Name) realized that the room was almost completely quiet, and cringed in embarrassment.

"Sorry, Professor. But I just have a question." Theodore started, holding one of his fingers in the air as he threw a side glance towards the girl on his side, who was watching him with a curiously raised eyebrow.

"But could you just tell me how this part goes one more time?" He asked, with patronize dripping from his voice like sweet, sticky honey.

The sour face that Flitwick carried quickly morphed into a lighter one.

"Why of course." His older voice rang out the words perfectly, and (Name) shrank into herself as the realization hit her that she did indeed sing wrong. Shame crept up on her from behind, and it was humbling when it came to her that Theodore, who had only been participating for two weeks, already seemed to be more intelligent and cunning than her.

"I won." (Name) didn't look at him, didn't say anything back as a strange, unknown emotion buried itself in her mind. She couldn't decide if it was jealousy, or if she was being hurt by his actions. It didn't make sense for her as to why he would need to be so right, and to mortify her like that, just to illustrate a point. Or maybe she was just being sensitive.

But right now, she didn't believe that he ever wanted to be her friend. That this was just an act to maybe relieve himself of stress, to have someone that he could compete against, knowing that he would win. It could also have something to do with power, that he felt out of control and needed something that he could manipulate. It would make sense, she supposed. (But did it though. Why would he pick her of all people to mess with? She hadn't done anything to him.)

As every single afternoon after choir, she trudged towards her house, lining up for the common rooms, more specifically, the comfort and consoling of her bed.

When she entered, it was pleasing to find that it was only one person present in the dormitory, and she hopefully could rest peacefully during the entire evening and night, and for once wake up with a good night's sleep and possibly a better mood.

Though she would be missing dinner, sacrifices were made and if it would guarantee sleep, she felt confident in taking that risk.

And with the last thought that maybe, she would just have to ignore Theodore if he continued with his confusing advances. Even if it meant that he wouldn't become her friend. And she fell asleep. A deep, undisturbed, peaceful sleep.

The next morning, she felt as fresh as the morning dew on her favorite flower. Nothing could ruin her mood was the famous words, but she truly felt it today. The day began with Magic of the Dark Arts, which she sure wasn't the brightest when it came to that class. But after that, she would practice quidditch, and then she would be able to find a dark corner in the library and bury her nose in a book, possibly one about the magical creatures of the north. It sounded interesting enough. (And who would she be to say no to new information and facts?)

As usual, dark arts sucked all the energy out of her eyes and brain but were lucky enough when the energy returned after the intense quidditch practice. The shower she took softened her stiff and sore limbs, and the grime and dirt watched down the drain slowly as she massaged her body with her flower-scented soap bar. It was almost a luxurious feeling.

Her robes had also been washed, which ended up with her smelling like a spring field and newly washed linen. It was something that oddly enough boosted her confidence.

The corridors were fairly empty as she began her quite a long walk towards the library. It was nice, the only thing echoing in the corridors bring the whining wind that carried new crystalizing snowflakes to the ground.

She turned corner after corner, walking by the great hall and resuming towards the moving stairs. But as she turned a corner, she stopped. Not voluntarily, but her body seemed to have control over her mind.

Lit by the flames of the corridor, was Theodore, sitting on the dusty stone floor and leaning against the wall with one of his legs stretched out before him, and the other bent towards his stomach. He didn't see her, for his head rested against the knee of his bent leg, and one of his arms clutched the side of his stomach. Almost as if he felt pain. She stood awkwardly and silently, waiting for him to notice her.

It went against what she promised yesterday night, that she wouldn't interact with, nor acknowledge his actuality. But her promises seemed to become empty every time they circled the Brunett.

So she gently cleared her throat and that seemed to do it for Theodore's head snapped towards her, his face showing that he became startled. But that wasn't the only thing that his face showed.

(Name)'s brows gently furrowed as she scanned his face. His left eye was bruised, along with his sharp cheekbone, and blood continued to drip from his nose, messily running down his lips and over his jaw.

"My my, what do we have here?" The surprised face that he carried slowly turned into a teasing smirk, but she found it easy to look past his confidence to know that it was all a mask, a trick to not let her see him in a state of weakness.

"By Merlin's beard, who did this to you?" she knelt by him to get a closer look at his face.

Theodore hoped that it didn't show, but his face had begun to heat up as her big, concerned eyes stretched over his face.

His heart beat faster, and his own brown eyes got stuck on her face, more exactly on her lips. He didn't want to stare, he didn't want to make it obvious but he had no power over his brain at all.

"Malfoy and Crabe. Maybe Goyle too. Don't remember." He said, shaking his head as he smiled with tired eyes. It was a wonder that he was still sitting up, especially after the hard kick that Crabe had delivered to his stomach.

"Why would they beat you? I thought you were friends?" She questioned, staring intently at a particular wound by his eye that looked like it surely needed medical attention sooner or later.

"I wouldn't say friends, merely acquaintances." He chuckled lightly before he shifted and turned serious." And they were saying impolite things, about someone-someone that I-" He stopped himself and pursed his lips." someone that I guess I care for." He forced that part out as if he had trouble saying it out loud. It probably contributed to the vulnerability, and it had probably torn on his ego to get beaten.

And that's why (Name) didn't ask any more questions. She wasn't usually someone to care about someone's ego, but she didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

She pursed her lips and stretched her legs which created an obnoxious sound in her knees before she stretched her hand towards him.

"What?" He asked skeptically.

"If you want, I can help with your wounds and the swelling." Theodore still looked doubtful, so she sighed and lightly rolled her eyes at his mistrust. "Don't worry, my mother used to work as a doctor back in a muggle hospital and has taught me much, so you can trust me."

Theodore seemed to relax at that and slowly grabbed her hand with a steady grip. It was an odd feeling, to have his hand in hers. It felt different than she thought it would. Instead of the cold, rough skin that she expected, it became a surprise when a warm hand with soft skin latched onto hers instead.

With a strong arm, she pulled Theodore up to his feet and she could hear a small groan leave him as he used his power and might to get up.

His face twisted in pain for a second and (Name) stretched her arm forwards when he almost fell against the wall again. Bit Theodore seemed to collect his strength with a big breath before standing straight, wincing slightly as his probably bruised ribcage stretched.

He must've felt her nervous gaze because he looked down at her with a reassuring face and said "I'm alright."

They began to track down the corridors.

They choose to walk to Theodore's room instead of (Name)'s, since he had a single room all by himself, and also because the girls wouldn't be too fond of finding Theodore in the girl's dormitory. They slowly descended the marble stairs that led to the dungeons, both of them walking much slower than before because of the pain in Theodore's stomach.

"Are you sure that we shouldn't go to madame Pomfrey instead?" (Name) asked for the third time as she heard the heavy breathing that came from Theodore, but he once again shook his head in denial.

"I'm fine, promise." He tried to persuade her, but she didn't feel fooled.

"No, I don't believe that you're fine." She argued and stopped in the middle of the stairs in protest of his hardheadedness. And when he noticed that she wasn't by his side, he stopped too and leaned against the wooden stair railing

"Please." His face showed only pleading, and the foreign display of emotion made her desire to fall to her knees for him right then and there, to take him in her arms and baby him for the rest of his life. It scared her to know that the smallest display of weakness that Theodore showed could manipulate her into doing anything. But it would be inevitable to avoid him because of such a -what she thought was- unimportant cause.

"Alright, but at least let me help you walk." She requested almost timidly, afraid that he would protest. But to her delight he nodded, so she walked to him and took his arm over her shoulder before circling her own around his slim waist, and then with all her power, she took a part of his weight onto her shoulders before they began to move, slowly limping to the edge of the old stairs before they walked down the dark dungeon to the entrance of the Slytherin house.

When they stopped in front of the dark wooden door, (Name) turned to look at Theodore for him to understand that she couldn't say the password since she didn't know it.

His cheeks pinked as he realized and he cleared his throat. "Pureblood." She would be flattered by the fact that he dared to say it loud in front of her, apparently trusting her with the password, if it weren't for the fact that her face scrunched in dislike at the password. She didn't say anything about it.

Theodore seemed to gather strength and nearly pulled her with him as he tried to cross the common room as fast as he could, like his injuries suddenly didn't hurt anymore.

(Name) wanted to stop and gape at the Slytherin common room. The first thing that stood out was the large windows on the opposite side, which allowed a view into the depths of the dark lake that you couldn't get anywhere else. There were also small desks placed against the walls and two round tables on the stone floor. And in the middle two black leathered couches took place in front of a hefty fireplace in the wall. By the thought of walls, (Name) turned her eyes up, and there she saw the stone decorations that had been carved into fetching eye-catching glamors.

Theodore pulled harsher at her arm when she slowed down, and she grumbled as he stressed her towards a high-roof corridor, that had another big window by the end that was framed by long green curtains. She believed it to be strange since the corridor wasn't parted into girls or boys as it was in hers. And there were also arguably more than two doors on the walls.

She counted every door they walked past, and ended up with the number 16 when they stopped between the last pair of doors. The door they were facing had two familiar letters engraved on them. T.N, and had been filled in with silver which she believed fitted him well.

Her free hand grabbed the handle and twisted, opening the door into his dark room. Then she stumbled inside. Her body had become tired from carrying Theodore the length of the stairs and corridors, so she walked towards his made bed and gently sat him down before closing the door. And then rolled her shoulders to leverage the pain.

She tried to look around for some kind of lighter or anything that she could use to gain sight. But it turned out to not be needed when all the candles lit up by the flick of Theodore's hand. And also a small fireplace in the corner that cast a warm hue over the room.

"Medical kit is in the top drawer." Theodore's voice was pained, and it made her hurry to the place he pointed so she could get working on his wounds. It was scary to have him sitting there in pain, labored breathing and his expression tight as he attempted not to show his discomfort. A particularly loud groan made her turn around from the desk where the medical things lay.

Theodore was now leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and teeth clenched. And she wondered how he persuaded her into keeping him away from Madame Pomfrey. She also regretted offering her help to heal him in the first place, since the injuries now seemed to be beyond her expertise. His face showed nothing but discomfort and (Name) started to feel nervous. Her medical skills were good but by how Theodore looked at the moment, she seriously started to doubt her skills.

But she didn't say anything and took a cotton pad soaked in anti-bacterial and plasters to cover the wounds with.

When she stood by the edge of the bed she concluded that she would not be able to reach him when he leaned back as he did, and gently poked at his arm to gain his attention." I can't reach you, you need to sit up."

He hummed lowly, (Name) almost missing the sound before he slowly dragged himself to the edge of the bed, his legs dangling off the side.

She didn't hesitate then and positioned herself between his legs before slowly cleaning both around in the open cuts on his temple and lip that she discovered after wiping away the blood that dripped from his nose.

The position they were in made (Name) almost dizzy with nerves, and she longed to get closer. But it was only longing and she didn't dare to do anything about it and therefore stayed at an arm's length. The new feelings made her weak. Made her feel vulnerable, and that too was scary. Extremely scary.

He suddenly hissed as she slipped with her hands. It didn't take a second before an unusual amount of guilt in her chest.

"I'm sorry, I lost focus."

He nodded. A way of showing that it is okay. But his jaw still clenched when she proceeded with the plasters.

"I need to look at your stomach too." There was quiet as she stood in front of him, waiting for him to raise his shirt. But he didn't seem to be compliant. "I only need to check for anything broken."

He seemed to let down his guard when she added the reason, and her body warmed in shame when she understood that Theodore thought she wanted to see his bare skin.

Also because Theodore had started to lift his shirt, revealing his bare skin to her. She felt almost flattered that he trusted her enough to undress like this. But she knew he didn't have much of a choice.

"Lay down please." He once again did as she said, and slowly leaned into his bed, stretching his upper body when his back hit the mattress. It was quiet in the room, the only thing that you could hear being Theodore's uneven breathing and (Name)'s airy gasp when her eyes landed on his bruised ribs.

"By Merlin, what did they do to you?" she asked him while she took a closer look. The left side of his ribcage had been beaten to the point where the bruises turned yellow and green instead of blue and purple.

"What? What is it?" he moved his hand toward the bruises, trying to feel after the thing that had gotten her stunned but she quickly grabbed his wrist so that he wouldn't cause himself any unnecessary pain. Especially not when she had already made him feel enough pain for the rest of her life.

She swallowed and rested Theodore's hand by his side. He stared at her tensely as she brought her hand up, letting it float over his ribcage. This time, his entire body unknowingly tensed as he waited for the pain that would come when she laid her hand on him. But she never did. Instead, she closed her eyes.

Warmth flowed in waves from the palm of her hand and Theodore's body began to slowly un-tense.

Theodore would trust her with his own worthless life if it came to it, and it wasn't why he felt so on edge. To have her fingers, her flesh so close to his own given his heart something to work for and his brain something to think of. And if he weren't in such agony, he would've begged her to touch him. To lay her warm palm upon his beaten skin, to kiss it, to caress it.

His pathetic thoughts were happily interrupted as the pads of her finger accidentally made contact with his sternum, and a delighted shiver crawled its way over his body.

"Sorry." She apologized, thinking that she had caused him pain.

"It didn't hurt." She looked at him with an unbelieving frown, a frown that made his tongue twist when he tried to stutter an answer.

"Or it does hurt, but your touch... doesn't hurt." She barely heard the last part. Barely, but she still did. Her body heat skyrocketed, and she bit the inside of her cheek to hide her flustered expression, and also to stop the dancing butterflies that made their way up her throat.

He didn't know what came over him at that moment, but a sudden urge to tell her everything limped its way into his mind. It was a long time since he felt this vulnerable and was okay with it. An old memory of him as a child in his mother's arms flashed before his eyes, but he quickly locked it away once more.

But he bit his tongue.

He was sure that she thought he looked pathetic. Here he lay, half-naked, beaten bloodied with tears in his eyes and a frown on his face. He didn't know if he enjoyed the thought or not, because while he enjoyed being vulnerable for you, he still didn't want you to think he was weak because of the touch of the woman he had been obsessing over.

"You must care for this person, hm?" She awkwardly laughed as she smoothly changed the subject. She didn't want to know who he fought for, nor why he did it. But it started getting harder and harder for her to keep to the promise she made herself. To keep him at a distance. Both physically and emotionally.

Theodore didn't have time to answer, both because he was overthrown by the complete change of conversation, but also because she spoke again before he even opened his mouth.

"Who is it anyway. I honestly didn't know you could care about someone that much." She joked harmlessly, but the comment made his mouth feel like paper.

"You."

She stopped her magic, fingers retracting into her palm and her head snapped up to meet his eyes, to see if he lied. But she saw only honesty. No side smirk, no crinkle by his eyes, no pursing lips as a way to hide a mischievous smile.

His eyes were peering at her through his lashes, innocent, brown eyes.

"What- What do you mean?"She carefully asked, knowing exactly what he meant. But she needed confirmation.

"It was you who they spoke ill about." He murmured, staring into the abyss of her eyes. Her body burned like it was on fire because of the nerves that he created within her. And she wanted to look away so that she could catch her breath but she deemed it impossible.

A glaze was cast over his eyes, a glaze containing something akin to admiration.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" The question slipped before she could think about stopping it.

Once more, he didn't say anything. But she could feel how he moved. His arm slowly encircled her and the other hand, he raised to her cheek. His fingers danced along her cheekbone, spreading a fire on her skin that she didn't know to be possible until now.

But the moment changed, as did the energy in the room as he carefully leaned closer with big, hopeful eyes. She stood frozen, one part not believing what was about to happen and the other knowing that if she valued herself, she would have to remove herself right now.

Before he took the next step, she pulled her face away.

Deep in her gut, there was a sour scorching feeling that began to spread like poisoning, killing all happiness that was present before and taking the form of angry tears in her eyes. It was unfair, how he could treat her however he liked, be as awful as he wished. And still have her here, sitting in his sheets and bandaging him with gentle hands.

It was unfair.

"You are so contradicting Theodore." Tears were stuck in her voice and she quickly raised from the bed. She didn't want him to see that she was hurting.

"What?" There was a pang in her heart. He sounded small, like a wounded animal.

"You are mean Theodore." She started, turning around to look at him." At first, you treated me like an equal, like a friend. Until you didn't."

He couldn't meet her eyes anymore, regret eating its way from his heart to his skin. She sniffled and cleared her throat when it became harder to keep her tears at bay.

"I thought that I'd done something to make you hate me, and I was sure you did. But then you kept insisting to sit by me, or to be around me and I couldn't understand." Her voice became small, and her tears became uncontrollable. The embarrassment of sobbing in front of him made her stomach churn, and all she wanted was to shrink into herself. She wanted him to laugh at her, to mock her so that she could get over it and move on.

But that wasn't what Theodore wanted at all. He made her feel hated by him when all he wanted was to be loved by her. And he now felt adamant to change that.

However, it's hard when he slowly crumbles as her tears continue to fall.

"I'm sorry."

And he needs to go to her. So he raises himself off the soft bed and limps toward her. But before he gets too close she turns her back on him, hiding from his fierce gaze. He sighed, saddened by her shyness, the one that had worked hard to get through, only to mess it up either way.

She wrapped her arms around herself and bowed her head to the floor when her sobbing turned into hulking and gasps for air. That was when she felt something different. Theodore had enclosed his hands on her upper arms from behind, giving them gentle caresses with his thumbs. And once more, the caresses spread the wildfire. Her body warmed and her breathing calmed as if the comfort worked.

She didn't know why she doubted that his comfort would work in the first place. Maybe because she wanted to think that he wasn't anything special to her. That love didn't do any difference when it came to a person. But he was, and it did.

Suddenly, before she could blink he turned her around and gently tugged her into his bare chest, enclosing his arms around her in an embrace. The hug didn't last long, but it didn't have to because it brought comfort either way. When he pulled away his hands immediately reached for her cheeks.

When his hands cup both sides of her face, she flinches back. But she doesn't get anywhere for his grip is unmoving. His thumb suddenly touched the space between her eyebrows and began slowly stroking the space, evening out the frown on her face.

She swallows hard. "It was never my intention to make you feel this way." He sighed. A deep heartfelt sigh." I just wanted your attention. And your laughs and your love. But my so thought to be efficacious methods didn't seem to be as efficacious as I believed them to be."

A humorous chuckle rumbles through his chest when a tiny, watery smile tugs at the corner of her lips. And then (Name) feels the aftermath of her sobbing catching up to her body, and a headache grows in her skull. And that's why she lets her forehead rest on the space in between his collarbones.

"Can you ever forgive me?" He asks while letting his fingers push her back from her tear-stained face. She makes a sound in the back of her throat.

"How can I not."

Her voice still had a watery touch to it but sounded more optimistic than she had the entire day. And Theodore tightened his arms around her. But the action sent a jolt of pain through his stomach, and therefore staggered into as he tried to lean some of his body weight on her. But since she wasn't ready, she stumbled against the wall.

"Sorry." He mumbled and pulled away from the embrace.

She chuckled while looking towards the floor, before slowly dragging her eyes up to his face. And then, out of pure instinct, she kissed his cheek and his entire body flared up. "You don't have to apologize."

She hoped he realized the double meaning behind her words. And that she truly did forgive him. Perhaps it would be a stupid decision she would come to regret. But it would be a future problem.

A gentle smile licked her features when he once again cupped her cheeks in his warm palms, and she was on top of the world when he slowly leaned closer.

But he moved so slow, and (Name) wanted to feel him and therefore rose to her toes to gently connect the kiss. It was only a peck, and also short-lived. But it was also her first kiss which meant that it still felt like a thousand suns burned in her chest.

But Theodore seemed to think differently, and with a breath, connected their lips into another sweet, blissful kiss. Although this one not only was deeper but also felt like it was. Her heart beat inside her ribs, more alive than ever when Theodore continued to angle her to meet his lips as he wished. As of the moment, he was pushing her into the wall with his chest, trying to feel as much of her as possible. But since he pressed into her, she had to angle her head up so that he would reach her lips.

Her lungs were burning, and her head spun and she had no choice but to pull away. When she did, Theodore quickly tried to connect their lips again, but she didn't let him. It wasn't that she didn't want to kiss him because she did. But she also wanted to look at him. To see his brown eyes, his pink kissed lips, and rosy cheeks.

"You look pretty." She whispered, and lightly kissed his nose. It was out of her character, but it felt right to do so. Especially when she saw the surprised face that he wore.

And at that moment, Theodore felt at peace. There was no itching on his arm, no pain and she was officially his known addiction. He would never let her go now.

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•

I'm so lonely. Anyhow, hope you enjoyed, and that it wasn't to long;)

Quick question, do you prefer 1:st 2:nd or 3:rd pov?

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niftykin · 3 months

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hii! dunno if you accept 2 prompts at a time but i'll shoot my shot!

can i request friends to lovers (from first link) and prompt 4 and 7 with sunny from omori? thank youu!!

' Promise you'll remember that you're mine '

Starring: Sunny | OMORI.

Sypnosis: Sunny had been realizing that real life can become a daydram simply by your presence, how is that possible?

Prompts: "The realization that the hugs they share will never be something that they can reciprocate with someone else" & "Anytime they sit next to one another, they find themselves touching. Shoulders, thighs, knees, their honestly never entirely sure how it happens but have accepted it’s unavoidable."

A/N: I do not take request anymore, yet i would find intresting if you have an idea and you can share it with me. Im sorry this took so long, i have been working a lot. Im also sorry if this turns out to be kind of depressive in some parts, have in mind you will be seeing this mostly from sunny's point of view and i think it would be kind of normal that he would have this kind of thoughts, by the way this is too short and i know, sorry.

Warnings: kind of angst in some parts, very light.

Whenever they sit next to one another, the inevitable brush of their fingertips, the undeniable caress of their shoulders, that feeling of comfort when their thighs touch, and the subtle heat that spreads through their bodies when all contact becomes inevitable, are all as familiar to them as breathing - familiar, and yet unrequited, as a soul tie - Despite the familiarity of these sensations, they remain unrequited due to fear. However, ¿what exactly is fear? ¿How do you explain the feeling that prevents you two from reciprocating each other's embrace?

¿Is it his fault? ¿Is there another factor that becomes a burden when he wants to hold you? He is at the very epitome of human feeling in this moment, he didn't feel that before; Despair and hope at the same time by the same person, yet all you make him feel is hope, in everything. Yet Omori still holds his darkest feelings, desires and thoughts.

Even if he knows that he craves a human tie he finds himself retracting in any way he can from you. ¿what if he does it again? he can't stop thinking about it, but you are just so ethereal that he can't help but be drawn towards you. He is a monster, an assassin, ¿what would you like about him? He loves you, and he hates himself for that. He will corrupt you one way or another, but being with you, oh what a dream when he's with you he finds himself in a fairytale, it's better than the headspace, he can breathe.

Sunny was zoned out, but then he realizes that you were talking, he quickly apologized and asked you nicely to repeat youself as he tilted his head to the side. He was genuelly intrested in what you were saying.

"Im sorry, could you repeat that please?"

He was shaking slightly, ¿what could he do now? He doesnt even know how it really began, he can't tell anything about it else than the burning feeling on his chest and the suddent need to hold you in his arms for days, than the suddent need to protect you, for Omori is a waste of time, for Sunny love is something natual and real, something you make him feel.

He loves your voice, he loves it when its dedicated to him, he loves when he is the person you are looking at, Omori said it was egoistical yet Sunny only finds comfort on the sun that reflects on your eyes, its the only way he doesnt feel the soild falling on his feet, the only way he doesn't feel lost.

Sunny loves you, nobody is going to ever deny that, but oh how wonderfull it would be to tell you just how he loved you, if you only knew what he would do for you. He would do near everything, he just needs a chance, he doesn't ask for much, ¿does he?

He is desperated, clinging to his only ray of hope: You, if you knew you would stay or you would leave? What if you leaved him, what would he do after?... No, you won't leave, he will do whatever you want if you dont leave, he will beg on his knees for you to stay if it is necessary, he won't loose you.

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bandnerdlevel43 · 14 days

Text

Ravioli Week, Day One- Love: Platonic/Romantic/Friend (Favorite AU)

Ravio x Lu Legend (Ravioli), Spirit Tracks Link x Zelda (Zelink) (< Implied)

Summary: Ravio is on a mission to rescue his husband from the Shadow’s tower. Not only does he dread what he finds, the mission doesn’t exactly go as planned, either.

Word Count: 3,742

Warnings: TW for mentions and evidence of torture and drugging, implied talk of Rulie’s whole sacrifice thing, Shadow does swear but it’s minor and I censored it anyway (I don’t swear :/), writer can’t resist making Legend a damsel in distress, mostly angst

A/N: Hello, everyone! I apologize for being… *checks calendar* …an entire week late? Holy Hylia, guys, I am so sorry. I totally missed the actual Ravioli Week. Well, I hope this is worth the wait!

As for the au, I'd like to explain. I didn't really have a favorite au before this, so I decided to use my own that I’ve been playing around with. Essentially, it's Hyrule Warriors Part Two: the Electric Boogaloo, with various companions attached in some way to each Link shoved together in the same adventure. For example, from Wind's Hyrule, Tetra; and from Wars’, Impa. I also added Spirit and his Zelda, since I love Spirit Tracks so much (older than Wind and Tetra bc I think it's funny how Wind would react that his successor is older than he is). And, of course, I had to include Ravio, with a side of marriage because I said so. Basically, this whole au started with me thinking that Midna and Hilda just screeching at each other was hilarious, and now Legend and Rulie are in Dink Jail and the Idiots have to get them out. *Shrugs* What can you do?

If you're still reading this, I use the name “Spectre” to refer to Spirit's Zelda. I can't remember where I found the name, but if anyone can find the person who came up with it, please tell me. Thank you!

That's all I have to say! Enjoy!

----

“Close it, close it, close it!” Ravio gasped.

Link slammed the door shut behind him, throwing his slight body against the rusted steel. Ravio's fingers fumbled against the lock as the screech of claws on metal howled in his ears. The wolfos bayed frustratedly, making Ravio jump. Link groaned, his legs visibly shaking under the strain. Frankly, he was surprised the boy hadn't already snapped like a twig.

“Done!” Ravio scrambled away from the door. The wolfos behind it was very angry at the setback, that he could tell. He held his breath, waiting for the creature to burst its way in despite his best efforts. The thick metal rattled and, in some places, warped before its force, but its attempts proved fruitless. A snarl sounded from behind the door, and from then, silence. Ravio sighed while Link sank to the ground with a tiny whimper.

“Are you alright, Mister Link?” Ravio panted.

“I'm fine,” the Hylian chuckled. “That hurt, though.”

Ravio helped him up. Link stumbled to his feet, but he was relieved to see no further struggle.

“Next time, I'm locking the door,” Link told him.

Ravio shuddered. “I should hope there is no next time,” he mumbled.

Link snorted. Suddenly, his eyes widened, stepping around Ravio with his jaw agape. Ravio blinked, turned around, and sucked in a breath.

He had never seen anything like it, and not in a good way. The dungeon was two floors tall, but apparently empty. The only light came from a couple of holes in the ceiling that allowed the smallest rays of sun to poke through. The smell of mildew drifted on stale, chilly air and burned his nose. Broken pieces of stone littered the floors and soaked in pools of water, giving the whole place a dilapidated feel. The cells were somehow even less sanitary! It was obvious that these cells had held a variety of creatures. Clumps of fur had been hastily shoved into corners, piles of hay lay rotting in a plethora of puddles, and rusted chains had been ripped from their place on the walls, bits and pieces of them tossed carelessly to the floor. The whole place reeked of decline and despair. Ravio's heart sank.

“Wow,” Link laughed nervously. “I’d almost rather have another go with the wolfos.”

“Link,” Ravio breathed.

“Hm? Oh- hey, wait!” Link called as Ravio dashed off to the nearest cell.

He went from cell to cell, giving each the briefest glance possible to confirm they were empty. He never considered himself a religious man, or at least one who actively worshiped the Goddess. Faith was for those who still held hope that things would get better on their own. He was far from believing in divine intervention, especially not invoked by his own hand. Despite this, he found himself pleading to Lolia to please, let him be somewhere else. Somewhere other than this horrible cesspool of a prison.

“Link?” His wobbling voice bounced off the stone and danced around his ears. “Link, it's Ravio. Can you hear me?”

An agitated pause. Ravio licked his lips anxiously. Maybe there was hope. Maybe they misjudged and this was the wrong chamber. Legend would be somewhere clean, humane, and maybe even comfortable. He almost sent a prayer of thanks to the Goddess when a weak, piteous moan destroyed his optimism.

Link (this was about to get confusing, very quickly) caught up. “He's upstairs,” he said seriously.

That was all he needed. Ravio ran for the stairs, Link close at his heels. He nearly tripped multiple times and even stepped in a puddle once. Still, the icy water couldn't hope to compare to how his blood ran cold with dread. Hilda had told him to be prepared for the worst sights, and Impa had been far too ready to provide vivid descriptions of torture, druggings, and- ohh, he was going to be sick. His own paranoia made him lightheaded.

“Ravio-” Link puffed. “Ravio, you have to remember-”

“I know,” Ravio replied tightly.

“We don't know what's up there,” Link insisted. “You can't do anything rash, alright? Stick to the plan. Whatever happens, don't…”

Ravio froze. Link trailed off, following his eyes until his own rested on the slumped form two cells down. It watched them, wary but unmoving. Like a prey animal that had already accepted its demise.

“Link?” Ravio asked shakily, fearing the response.

The figure hesitated. Then came the hoarse reply: “Rav..?”

“Lolia,” Ravio swore under his breath.

He was there within seconds. Legend sat up, slowly, with a grimace. His chains clinked as he shifted, and Ravio couldn't help but notice how well-oiled and shiny they were compared to the despondency of the rest of the cell. Anger swelled in his chest. He cursed the Shadow, and the monsters who did this to him. He cursed Lolia; and, while he was at it, he cursed Hyrule's goddess Hylia as well. How could she let this happen to her chosen hero?

“Ravio,” Link said abruptly. “The portal.”

“Right!” He dug into his satchel until his fingers bumped against the jagged shard of metal. He lifted it out and gingerly set it on the floor.

The sound of chains shifting caught his attention. He glanced over. Legend had moved into the light, and oh- it was worse than Ravio could have ever imagined. He was covered head to toe in gashes and bruises. Many of his wounds were red and swollen from infection. His wrists were wrapped in harsh burns. Worst of all, though, were his eyes. His eyes were heavy but dark from too many sleepless nights. They carried so much distrust and uncertainty, but within that a small glimmer of hope that was too hesitant, too weary. Ravio's heart never ached so painfully before.

Legend reached his hand out between the bars, his fingers shaking with miniscule tremors. The flesh on the top of his hand had been shredded and torn thoroughly, and only on that hand. Ravio had only a heartbeat to feel a flicker of confusion before Legend’s fingers touched his cheek, brushing his skin lightly.

“It- It is you,” he croaked. “I-I thought they had drugged me again. Ravio, I-”

“Shhh,” Ravio hushed softly, gently holding his battered hand. He gripped Ravio’s own tightly, like a man drowning. “Save your strength. We’re getting you out of this place.”

“Ravio, I lost it,” Legend said hoarsely, squeezing his hand. “I tried to hide it, but they took it. They took your bracelet, too-”

“Breathe, Link,” Ravio soothed best he could. “What did you lose?”

Those were definitely tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over at the slightest provocation. “The ring,” he whispered. “I lost our ring.” He hung his head shamefully. “I’m sorry, Ravio.”

Ravio’s heart shattered. He shook his head violently, cupping Legend’s face with his hands. “No,” he said sternly. “No, Link, look at me- It's not important. It's just a dumb piece of metal. It's not important.”

Legend's expression was so pained it had Ravio’s eyes stinging as well. He forcefully swallowed the growing lump in his throat. Keep it together, you stupid rabbit, he scolded himself. He doesn't need you breaking down too.

“It's more than that,” Legend mumbled. He looked like he was about to say something else, but a bout of coughing attacked Ravio's ears instead. He groaned, his breath rattling in his chest.

“The portal's ready.” Link approached from behind Ravio, and Ravio didn't miss how he had unsheathed his sword, standing protectively over the two of them. “The keys will be here soon.”

“Thank you,” Ravio said genuinely. Link nodded in return.

Legend’s eyes flickered in suspicion. “Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Link.” Link lifted his hat in a polite greeting. “But you can call me Spirit.”

Thank the Triforce he had a name ready. However, Legend didn’t share his welcoming attitude. “There’s another one?” he remarked incredulously.

Link- Spirit- grinned at that. “Seems like it.”

Legend snorted, which encouraged another coughing fit. “Delightful,” he grumbled.

While Ravio was glad to see some of his usual sarcasm show through, he was concerned for the younger hero. He didn’t want him hurt or put down by Legend’s gruff exterior, but it seemed he didn’t need to worry. Either Spirit (This is going to take some getting used to) hadn’t detected the edge in his words, or he was simply being a good sport.

It was probably the former.

Ravio didn’t have time to elaborate on the thought. Without warning, an invisible finger traced a circle in the ground by Link- blast it, Spirit! Startled, Spirit leaped back as the circle developed a waterlike film over the center. Ravio only stood when the portal spat out Shadow- and only Shadow.

Shadow hung in the air, his lip curled as he hurled an explosive back down through the portal. A muffled boom and a warped chorus of shrieking answered him.

“Hey!” he snapped. “Is this a rescue team or a statuary?! Shut it now!”

“Where’s Zelda?” Spirit demanded, the color drained from his face.

“She’s fine!” Shadow snarled. “Leave that open and we won’t be!”

To highlight his point, a large, meaty hand reached from the open gateway, swiping at Shadow’s feet. He drew his bloodstained sword without hesitation and thrust the blade through the monster’s muscle. He yanked it out ruthlessly and kicked the hand back down. Ravio quickly snatched the piece of the Master Sword off of the floor, which caused the portal to seal closed. Shadow huffed and spat at where the portal once sat.

“Where is she?” Spirit shouted, accusation evident in his tone. “You left her with those monsters, didn’t you?”

“Cool it, train boy!” Shadow bared his teeth, exposing dark tips that made Ravio flinch. Had- Had he bitten a monster? “She told me to. Listen, I don’t like it any more than you do, but loverboy over here-” he jerked his head at an affronted Legend- “is critical to our plan. She…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tipped his chin defensively, and finished, “...is not.”

“WHAT?!” Spirit nearly threw himself at Shadow, who made no move to defend himself. Alarmed, Ravio had to act quickly. He stepped between the two and held the younger back. Spirit yelled at him now, saying, “Let me go, Ravio!”

“I can’t do that, Link,” Ravio said through gritted teeth. “You’re not thinking clearly!”

“Coward! Let me go!”

Ravio winced. He had to admit, it had been a long time since that word had any bite to it, but this time, it wasn’t the word that hurt, but the mouth that spoke it. He held fast anyway. He didn’t mean it, right? “If Shadow says it’s a death trap to go back, then we can’t go back, but Link, listen to me! You have to trust her!”

Spirit stopped struggling, his hands dropping to his sides. Tentatively, Ravio let go. He took a step back, and relaxed when he saw no signs of aggression.

Spirit lifted pleading eyes to Shadow’s. “Please tell me she'll be okay,” he begged.

Shadow nodded cautiously. “She's more capable than all of us combined,” he assured. “She cut down the most massive Hinox I had ever seen with just her sword.” A tiny smile twitched at his lips. “I'm more worried for the monsters than her.”

Spirit mulled that over in his head. Ravio knew how little he trusted the darkling, even after all this time.

“Trust her,” Ravio repeated.

That seemed to work. Spirit glanced his way, then nodded. Not at Shadow, but at him. “Let's hurry, then. The faster we get him out, the less time she's in danger.”

Ravio winced and threw Shadow an apologetic look. The other man simply shrugged indifferently, as if to say, “What can you do?” He unhooked a ring of keys from his belt and said, “What do I shove these into?”

Ravio gestured to the lock on the door, wringing his hands restlessly. He made quick work of it, allowing the cell door to creak open. Ravio rushed in, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his lover in a tender embrace. Legend grunted, but otherwise did not protest. Instead, he lay his head limply on Ravio's shoulder, exhaling deeply.

“I'm sorry we didn't come for you sooner,” he whispered into his hair. “I'm so sorry, Link.”

“Don't…” Legend rasped. “Don't apologize. Just… don't.”

“Hate to interrupt,” Shadow said loudly, “but I have to get between the two of you to release ‘Mister Hero’ here.”

Ravio hastily released Legend, who frowned at Shadow, then at him. Shadow took his place and began unlocking the shackles. Legend continued to stare at him, not at all subtle in his careful assessment. In turn, Shadow winked. Legend looked scandalized.

Shadow stood, and Legend shook the chains off his wrists. Shadow dropped into an exaggerated bow, smirking. “He's all yours.”

Ravio blushed, but knelt before the Hylian once again. Legend's brows furrowed, still glaring at Shadow. “Say his name is Link and I'm punting him into the Sacred Realm,” he warned.

“Ha!” Shadow snickered. “Believe me, I would've done that myself if I was anything like you twinks.” An ironic statement, considering he was the smallest of them all. “No, I'm Shadow. Not the Shadow. Just Shadow. No relation, by the way.”

Legend regarded him with even more suspicion, if possible. Ravio decided this was the perfect time to change the subject. “Can you walk?” he asked.

“Does it look like I've tried?” he retorted. There was an instant flicker of guilt in his worn eyes, and he stared at the ground. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, you're okay.” Ravio smiled softly, brushing his bangs out of his face and tipping his chin up. “It's not your fault.”

“Hurry it up, you two,” Shadow called irritably.

Legend scowled. Ravio distracted him with an outstretched hand. His heavily lidded eyes softened as he clasped his own hand around Ravio's. With a grunt, Ravio pulled him to his feet, which immediately gave out beneath him. Ravio dipped down and caught him before he could fall.

“Oof- I don't think I can walk, Rav,” he chuckled ruefully.

“I'll carry you,” Ravio suggested.

Legend looked dubiously at him, his legs visibly quaking despite being held up by Ravio. “Are you sure?”

“No offense, Link, but you're practically a skeleton,” he pointed out. “I think I can handle it. Now, hold on.”

Granted, Ravio himself was somewhat doubtful, mostly because of his own lack of confidence, but he had to pretend he had it. For Legend's sake. So, he scooped his frail body into his arms and hefted him up. He admittedly stumbled once or twice, but Legend was still shockingly light. He felt another pain in his stomach.

“Ready? Good, can we move?” Shadow said impatiently.

“What's up with you?” Spirit folded his arms.

“In case you hadn't noticed,” Shadow snapped, “Zelda and I weren't exactly making friends-”

“‘Zelda’? What happened to the little nickname you gave her?” Spirit scoffed.

Where had that come from? Ravio widened his eyes, taken aback by the aggression in the young hero's voice. “Guys?” he said timidly.

“Excuse me if I don't see the relevance of Spectre's nickname,” Shadow snarked, his cap lashing like a cat’s tail. “As I was saying, Zelda and I-”

“You wouldn't have to if you hadn't left her to fight a horde of monsters on her own!”

“Would you let me finish my d— sentence?!” Shadow shot up into the air, looming above Spirit, his red eyes flashing menacingly.

Spirit jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Not if you keep acting like an arrogant hog!” he spat.

Oh, dear. There was way more tension between these two than Ravio had thought.

“Really? You're the one who can't comprehend the fact that Zelda can be friends with someone other than you!”

He was going to have to be the adult here, wasn't he?

Spirit laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. “You would think that I have a problem with her making friends. No, I have a problem with narcissistic, manipulative, self-serving liars like-”

“Shut UP!” Ravio exploded. “Just shut up, both of you!”

The dungeon fell abruptly silent.

Ravio's ears flicked back. He chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously.

Then, slowly, Shadow lowered his feet to the ground. Spirit let his sword fall to his side. They watched him, likely startled that such an exclamation could come from one so emphatically against conflict. To be fair, Ravio was surprised with himself as well.

He waited until all hostility was gone from the two of them before speaking. “Shadow, tell us what you were trying to say.”

Shadow opened his mouth, but Ravio interrupted him, adding, “And no witty quips. Or passive-aggressive comments.”

Shadow gave him a flat look. In an even flatter tone, he said, “Zelda and I didn't make it to the Traveler. We were intercepted by a squad of the Shadow's underlings- which, by the way, were poorly chosen. Personally, I would have gone with something quicker. Lizalfos would've had a much easier time; besides, they have more style than Hinox-”

“So we need to find Hyrule ourselves,” Ravio concluded, ignoring how Legend stiffened in his arms.

“Well, yes,” Shadow conceded, somewhat miffed at being cut off for the third time. “But there's more. It wasn't just chance that a fully armed attack team was just wandering around where we happened to be at the time. There has to be a reason why, and I can only think of two.”

“Spit it out,” Spirit muttered.

Shadow, thankfully, pretended to be deaf. “One:” he announced, holding up a finger, “our information was wrong and they're more heavily armed than we thought. Two, which I believe to be more plausible: the Shadow knew we were coming.”

Ravio sucked in a breath. “So, what you're saying is-”

“We're about to have a whole lotta monsters on our hands.” Shadow glanced at Legend. “And something tells me they're not here for a civil discussion over tea and biscuits.”

“Really,” Spirit said dryly.

“Lay off, Spirit,” Ravio chided. He likely didn't look very intimidating, considering how pale he was. He really shouldn't be the leader here. Where was Hilda when you needed her? “Do you have a defense plan?”

“Other than run with our tails between our legs?” Shadow said wryly. “Nothing.”

“It's an idea,” Ravio sighed, only a little sarcastic. “Escape plans?”

“Hide until Aurora calls us all to rendezvous.”

“How high are our chances of Spectre getting to Hyrule?”

Shadow looked at Spirit and exhaled deeply. “Look,” he started. “I have no doubt that she can scrape through alive. But alive with the Traveler? No chance. She won't have time.”

Ravio sighed again. “You're really great at having a positive outlook, aren't you?”

“Glad I could help.”

He wrinkled his nose, but continued. “What about us?”

“What?”

“What are our chances of reaching Hyrule?”

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “Depends on what your husband knows.”

Legend stilled. Ravio gazed with concern down at his lover, who had squeezed his eyes shut, as if to hide from the world.

Ravio was torn. They were probably Rulie’s only hope of escape, but he hesitated to ask. Legend looked close to tears again. He opened his mouth, but to his surprise, Legend spoke.

“They moved him about a week ago,” he said. His voice was hoarse again. “He'll be somewhere cleaner. To- To keep him healthy.”

The way his voice broke didn't exactly put any of them at ease. Shadow's jaw was tense and his skin looked more gray than Lolian brown. “That's quite a lot of positivity, Sunshine.” He licked dry lips. “Don't overdo it, now.”

“Wait, hold on a minute- What do you mean ‘keep him healthy’?” Spirit asked apprehensively.

Ravio wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, but before either could respond, Shadow's ears pinned back against his head. Without warning, the darkling pounced at Spirit and threw him to the ground, shouting, “Get down!”

Twin fireballs of blue and orange hues whizzed over their heads. Ravio ducked in the nick of time, the blue one just grazing his hair. Chills scrambled down his spine as he whipped around.

Spirit tossed Shadow aside with a growl. He jumped to his feet and froze. Before his eyes floated a large bat-like monster with a flat snout and rings around its intelligent eyes. And it was swelling. Fast. Great Goddess, did this thing even have a skeleton?

“Look out!” Shadow hollered.

Spirit let out a string of colorful curses that would've made Tetra proud and dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the creature's breath, which of course had to be fire. Why did it always have to be fire?

The flames singed the end of Shadow’s cap. He rolled to put it out and drew his sword in a fluid motion while Spirit, for some odd reason, pulled his boomerang from his pouch.

“I killed you!” he shouted furiously. “What’re you doing here?”

“You know this charming fellow?” Ravio gasped.

“Unfortunately.” Spirit grimaced. “Real pain in the- Shadow, duck!”

Shadow leaped into the air. Blue fire shot from underneath him. The bat screeched.

“What do we do?”

“That's the best question anyone's ever asked today!” Spirit snorted.

The cogs in that head were turning; Ravio could tell. He took in his surroundings in less than a second and dropped to his knees. He began rifling through his pack. “Shadow, get cozy. Distract that thing!”

“What?!” The darkling swore through his teeth. “Alone?”

“Exactly! Ravio, take the Vet and get out of here. We'll stall him.”

Shadow turned sharply. He flicked his fingers, tossing something shiny directly at Ravio. It flew through the air and landed awkwardly on Legend's nose.

“Keys!” Shadow yelled. “Go! Find the Traveler!”

“We'll handle this!” Spirit agreed.

Ravio took a step back. He gawked at Spirit. He couldn't deny his overwhelming panic, but he wasn't about to leave them!

“Go!” Shadow commanded, bloodstained teeth glinting in the light of the fire.

He hesitated, afraid. Could he really turn and run, just like that? But then an image of Legend bloodied and motionless presented itself in his mind’s eye, so he turned and fled.

What could he say? He had always been a coward.

He just had to hope that his family didn't end up the same way.

----

A/N: So, yeah! If you have any questions about my au, feel free to scream at me through my asks or the tags. (Bonus points if you can guess who they’re fighting hehe) Love you all!

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dracofuego · 1 year

Text

A Strange Thing Called Love pt. 3

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem! Reader

Genre: Slowburn, Angst, a bit of Fluff

Word Count: 2.0k

A/N: So sorry for the delay! For this chapter I also added a tiny portion of Draco's thoughts. This is something I am experimenting and am debating whether I want to incorporate this in the future chapters. I still hope you all enjoy reading!

Parts:01 | 02

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Chapter 3: Linger

A storm of dread drenched you for the past two weeks. Since that night at the Astronomy Tower, Draco has been avoiding you. That very next day in potions, he sat near the back of the classroom. Whenever you tried to catch his gaze he would intentionally avert your direction.

It was preposterous the amount of times you tried to get his attention for him to simply turn a blind eye. Concern and confusion were only the few things that were crossing your mind as you tried to make sense of him. Nonetheless, if he wasn’t acknowledging your presence now then it was simply foolish to believe otherwise.

The night at the Astronomy Tower was the first time you believed you saw the genuine side of Draco, and it only made your feelings for him grow stronger. You have never seen him be so gentle with anyone, and you felt lucky that you were able to experience seeing that. Feeling despaired, you thought maybe you scared him off with your conversation about the constellations, particularly the one where you mentioned that one of your favorites is Draco. Thinking back, it was absolutely ludicrous. If only you could go back to that night and prevent the words from coming out of your mouth.

But this is reality and to your dismay, the situation is more complicated than that. Grabbing the soft fabric that was hanging on your feet, you pull it over your body as your back lays flat against the stiff mattress. You stare at the nothingness of the dark ceiling until you fall into a dreamless sleep.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The rays of sunlight fell against the parchment paper of your notebook that laid on top of your lap, the light bouncing back up to the leaves of the towering tree above your head as it reflected off each red, yellow and orange mellow sweetness. The light breeze brushed along the edges of the leaves, letting them dance happily. Waft of earthy musk reaches your olfactory senses as your eyes catch sight of the scenery in front of you. The placid water stretches for miles ahead while flakes of gold reflect on its smooth surface. Setting your notebook to the side, you take off your shoes and deftly avoid stepping on the loamy soils and rough pebbles hidden beneath the grass, each step bringing you closer to the lake.

Goosebumps crawl all over you as the icy water wraps around both your ankles. Lifting up your robe a bit higher, you walk further into the water. Your feet adjust to its temperature, and you merely admire the beauty gifted by mother nature. Inhaling a deep breath, you feel your diaphragm contract, as the fresh air flows to your lungs and enters your bloodstream before breathing out.

Looking back down at the water, you see your reflection staring back at you. You stay there for a moment observing it. There is a solemn expression; a hint of absence present on the once filled brightly eyed orbs. Unable to watch any longer, your hand reaches into the water and pushes it away. The image is immediately disrupted, and all you see are the vibrational movements of the water.

Going back to your spot you slump back down against the tree, placing the dark soft fabric on your wet feet along with your black shoes. Wanting to try and distract your pessimistic thoughts, you close your eyes and try to place your mind somewhere peaceful. A huge landscape appears, the vibrant green grass covering most of the ground as you lay down in a white, elegant dress. Your hands reach up to the soft fluffy clouds, all while a bright morpho butterfly lands at the tip of your index finger, its beautiful iridescent blue wings flapping against each other. A loud crunch scares the butterfly, propelling away from your finger to the clear air. Your eyes linger to the magnificent creature with its figure appearing smaller the farther it goes.

The calmness was interrupted by the sound of a certain voice, one you didn’t expect to hear so soon.

“Why is it that whenever I want to have a moment for myself I run into you?”

You opened your eyes and turned your head to the direction of the sound, his hands were placed in his pockets as he leaned against the side of the tree. The question caught you off guard, and to be honest you weren’t exactly sure how to respond to him. Instead of thinking of an answer, you grab your notebook and place it back inside your satchel. He notices this and stares, seeing that you were getting up from your sitting position and adjusting your robe, walking away from him.

“Running off now?”

Looking back, his hands still in his pockets with his steely eyes observing you. You slowly bring your hands to the ends of your hair, playing with them nervously. “I don’t mean to. I just don’t want to be in your way anymore. Sorry.” Right when you tried to walk away again he continues,

“Let’s just sit down for a bit.”

Your mind was shouting at you to ignore him and leave, but the beating of your heart was louder than that. Your legs made the decision as you slowly walked back to the tree you just left a few moments ago, now accompanied by the boy who continues to make you so jittery.

The two of you stay quiet for a moment, bringing the same ambience as that night in the Astronomy Tower. The large ball of orange hue lighting up the entire canvas above, resembling your favorite clementine sitting perfectly on an azure plate. There is just something so fascinating about watching the sun, and even its many rays have done justice to illuminating the person next to you, bronzing a bit of his naturally pale skin.

You hesitated to try and ask him, but you figured if you wanted answers then it was best to do it now. “Why did you leave?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Your fingers make their way to the flap of your satchel, carelessly fiddling the leather material. “That night at the Astronomy Tower. You just left without saying anything.”

The silence after the question drags on for a bit as Draco tries to think of a response. Truth to be told, he has no idea why exactly he felt the need to just leave. What he did encounter that night was a slight warmth deep inside his chest. It was very faint, yet it was there and noticeable. The light warmth lingered on until he left. He did not understand it. The hollowness that had followed him for the majority of his existence had slightly disappeared when the warmth crept in. Today the familiar warmth returns, lingering. The rays of light glistening on him were not helping either.

“I just had to leave.”

“Then why did you avoid me whenever I tried to reach out to you?”

Draco sighs, clearly getting frustrated by the question. “Because we aren’t exactly friends and it shouldn’t matter to you.”

You didn’t want him to know that his response stung your heart, because in a way he is right. The two of you weren’t friends and that night at the Astronomy Tower was purely a coincidence. A coincidence you wished would be the start of something more.

But then again, why did he bother to stay with you just now?

“Why can’t we be friends?”

Draco looks at you, his eyebrows rising up as if the answer wasn’t already obvious. “We are from completely different worlds. Just because you try to be nice doesn’t give you an obligation to be friends with whoever you please. I consider you an acquaintance, that’s all.”

HIs response dumbfounded you. The words echoing back in your brain. He doesn’t believe that you were worthy enough to be his friend, which in it of itself was another stab wound to your heart. Gripping the shoulder strap of your satchel, you look into his frosty orbs. The golden rays make his eyes appear more glassy, his pupils rather tiny as the light gains entrance to his eyes.

“Have a good day, Draco. You can keep the quill. I don’t need it anymore.”

The sounds of your soft footsteps faded, leaving behind an ambivalent Draco.

‧͙⁺˚*･��☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The unknown is something that always piques the interest of humans, wanting to discover and find the answers of the uncertainty that lies within. The mystery of the unknown had its own set of missions, and this time it had decided to target Draco Malfoy. The darkness would slowly creep up behind his back, its dark claws pressing against his shoulder blade while the small hairs on his back stood up making his heart pace abnormally fast. He had only started to notice the unusual feeling recently. It had been bothering him for a while, not knowing whether it was something that he had to fear. But he knows that he should not fear the unknown, as fear will only show him cowardice.

Trying to clear his thoughts, he figured a trip to the lake would help heal his mind for a bit. He sees a figure calmly sitting against the trunk of the tree. His feet tramped against the ground, stepping on the branches and twigs hidden from the tall grass. With a closer look, he sees that it was you.

And that same warmth returns.

The mountains of iced walls built in the exterior of his chest had started to melt off. The smallest bit of flame gaining entry into a passageway inside his heart, lighting up the darkness of the frozen land within. This warmth in his heart lingers for a bit as he gazes over your soft features. This lingering feeling was so foreign. His heart yearned for more of it, and it beat louder and faster, signaling the small flame to continue lighting up the freezing darkness. Only then would the heart finally understand this strange phenomenon.

Unexpectedly, the small flame in his heart is quickly smothered by a snowstorm. The few parts of the ice walls that were melted off in his chest have regained their structure, now guarded with sharp icicles. The small flame surrenders, knowing that at its size it will not stand a chance in combat.

The coldness he is familiar with comes back, the feeling bringing him comfort.

He is aware of his callousness amongst others. So when you started questioning him about absolute nonsense, he wasn’t afraid to treat you just like anybody else. You weren’t anyone significant, at least that’s that he thought. When Draco told you that you were just an acquaintance, he didn’t think much of it. It was the truth after all. A Malfoy shouldn’t be friends with you. The two of you are polar opposites; different houses, personalities, and most importantly, status.

He watched you become visibly upset, the softness of your voice from earlier dissipated. The tone in your response was stern, your fingers clenched the strap of your satchel as your eyebrows furrowed before turning and walking away. A strange sensation swelled in his chest. It was a feeling that he didn’t recognize; it wasn’t annoyance or hatred. But it was something that bothered him solely because he has never experienced it before. He believed that this feeling was enough to asphyxiate him, and for some odd reason his curiosity wanted more of this strange sensation; to understand it.

Now that he was completely alone beside the tree, the unknown darkness greets him as it creeps up again behind his back. One thing Draco realized now is that this unknown feeling would disappear momentarily whenever the small flame lingers in. And if he wanted this to go away and understand the foreign sensations he had experienced today, then he would have to reach the source of the flame.

Maybe this time the darkness will hide for good once the light shines through.

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primroseparker · 2 years

Text

I Wish I Were… || TASM!Peter Parker x female!reader (Part 2)

Summary: After accidentally listening to your heartbreak song, Peter realizes he needs to make things right with you before you push him away forever.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Mostly angst but also has fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love lol

A/N: I’m sorry for taking so long, I hope you guys like it! And thank you to everyone who read the first part and requested a part 2 :)

Read part 1 here!

That night—the night that had changed everything for you—was spent with racing thoughts, unable to get Peter out of your mind; tossing and turning, your body aching to be in the arms of someone you couldn’t have. Your chest felt constricted, unable to expand enough to fill your lungs. It felt like your heart had been punctured thousands of times over by tiny pins. It felt like your whole body was heavier than usual, making it harder for you to get up from your bed. That strange, new feeling was something you couldn't name because it was unlike anything you had experienced before. It was difficult to place a name on it, but eventually, you figured out what it was. You had read about it in books hundreds of times and listened to many songs about it, so you thought you understood the emotion pretty well. But nothing could prepare you for the crushing sensation of unrequited love. Seeing and hearing about it was much different than actually experiencing it.

As the night went on, the pain became too much to bear. Would that feeling ever go away? How could you ever look Peter in the eye and not let the overwhelming sense of despair crush you? You knew that you needed to stay away from him to heal from such a deep wound. Seeing him again would only make matters worse for you. Eventually, the flow of tears slowed down and you drifted off to sleep.

When you awoke the next morning, your tear-stained pillow only served as a reminder of the heartache from the night before. It made you solidify your plans: you had to stay away from your best friend before the pain would break you. Self-preservation—something you had never been good at but would now have to master. Now, as you look out your window and watch the golden rays of the sun give a bright color to the clouds, a single teardrop falls from your eye. Saying goodbye to the person you loved the most would be easier said than done.

—

“Come on, please pick up,” Peter mutters as he holds his phone to his ear. It rings once, twice, and then goes to voicemail.

“Hey! You’ve reached y/n. Leave a message at the beep, and then wait by your phone until I call you back. Could be minutes, could be years. Beep!” you laugh.

“Y/n, please pick up. It’s been days since I’ve heard from you. Why did you disappear that night of the festival? If you’re mad at me, it’s completely fine. But please, I just need to know you’re okay. You have no idea how–” a beep cuts him off. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

A notification pops up on his screen.

Hey Pete. There’s a showing of that movie you like so much, Back to the Future, I think. Do you wannna go tonight? <3

His heart drops as he reads the name of your favorite movie. It was something reserved for the two of you. Other friends had their own special songs, but the two of you had a special movie. He had told Gwen about it only because he was so eager to share as much about himself as possible. At the time, he was only thinking about winning her over. He thought that his taste in movies and music would impress her and it certainly had. But he now regretted ever mentioning that to her.

I can’t tonight Gwen, sorry.

Oh, when will you be free?

I’m not sure.

Are you feeling alright?

Yes.

Well, just let me know if you’d like me to come over. I could bring your favorite snacks.

Peter?

Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any more guilty. He liked Gwen very much. Her bubbly personality was captivating to him. She made him happy, but not like you did. He had been thinking for the past few days, really analizing the way he felt about you and the way he felt about Gwen. He had been crushing on you since that day you had stood up for him in the third grade. But as time went on, he realized you would never see him as more than just a friend. Which explained why he decided to flirt with other girls; he had hoped to move on from his silly crush because he couldn’t handle losing your friendship. He had hoped to find that with Gwen, which is why he decided to ask her to be his girlfriend. What he didn’t expect, however, was your reaction to the situation. Never in a million years would he have guessed that your feelings went beyond friendship. Was there a way to fix what he had done? Could his wish finally become true, a life with you by his side as his girlfriend rather than only his friend?

As he remains seated on his couch thinking about you, the ringing of his phone brings him out of his reverie. When he sees your name on the screen, he quickly answers the call.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he breathes out, relieved to finally hear your voice. “Are you okay? Wait, that’s a stupid question. Of course you’re not okay. Look, I just want you to know that I’m really sorry for what happened that night at the fair with Gwen. But you shouldn’t have–”

“Wha– What are you talking about, Peter?” you stammer, your heart pounding. How could he know about the way you were feeling? You hadn’t said anything to him. Had he somehow figured out that you liked him? Was he about to reject your feelings once and for all?

“You know what? It doesn’t matter. I just called to say that I think we shouldn’t be friends anymore,” you continue without missing a beat. “I just don’t think you need me anymore,” you laugh humorlessly.

“What the hell are you talking about, y/n? How did you even come up with that idea?” he asks angrily.

“It doesn’t matter. You’ve been avoiding me these past months.”

He scoffs, “That’s not true.”

“Really? Then why have you canceled our plans so often? You seriously can’t tell me it wasn’t because of her.”

A moment of silence follows. “See? You can’t even deny it because you know I’m right. I’m just making things easier for the both of us,” you say. “Anyway, that’s pretty much it. I’m sorry for being such an inconvenience. I hope everything goes well for you. Take care of yourself,” you say in a broken whisper.

“Wait y/n, I’m–” he says but is quickly interrumpted by the sound of the call ending.

He stares at his phone is disbelief.

Had he just lost you forever? His best friend, the love of his life—how could he ever go back to his “normal” life without you in it? You were his rock. You stood by him when he struggled through the loss of his uncle; you were there every time he had come home bloody and bruised after his night patrols. You were there for every birthday; for every accomplishment and for every disappointment. You made him laugh until his stomach ached and he couldn’t breathe anymore. And it was all because he couldn’t bring himself to be truthful about the way he felt.

—

Three months had passed since you and Peter had last spoken with each other. Peter sat on the top of the Empire State Building, thinking back to the conversation he had with Gwen days after your last conversation.

“Oh,” she said after he explained everything and confessed his love for you. “I guess that makes sense,” she said with a small smile.

“You knew?” Peter asked in surprise.

“Well, a few months after we started talking, which was right after you stopped bragging about how great your movie and music taste was,” she rolled her eyes while she smirked, “all you could talk about was y/n. About how great she was, how she liked doing this and she liked doing that. I just didn’t put it together until after the night of the festival. The way you went after her right away and became suddenly very distant made sense. You were in love with her,” she said as she shrugged.

“I’m so sorry, Gwen. I never meant to hurt either of you,” he said in a broken voice. Even Gwen could see just how badly Peter felt about the whole situation.

“I know, Peter,” she reassured him as she placed a hand on his arm as a way to comfort him.

“Don’t worry about it. Just make sure she’s fine, alright? Give her time, of course. But make sure that she knows how you truly feel about her.”

“I will,” he whispered with tears in his eyes.

“We can remain friends, right?” she asked in a timid voice.

“Of course we can,” he said as the two shared a small smile.

He did give you your space. For about two weeks, anyway. After that, he just tried to reach you by call, text, and even went as far as going to your apartment every day. But you never answered. It was like you were a ghost. For three months all he could think about was you. Your laugh and the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you were passionate about. Your angelic voice as you sang your original songs. How your eyes looked when the sun hit just the right angle. How he often had trouble concentrating on what you were telling him because all he could think was how your lips would feel against his.

He sighs as his mind comes back to the present. He puts his mask back on and launches himself into the air, shooting a web at a building and heads back to his place. As he swings from building to building, he looks down to the streets once in a while to check that everything is as it should be. Then, the sight of a familiar jacket catches his eye. You were well hidden from most people, in an alley that most would not bother to even look at. Hope begins to creep up on him, knowing that this was his chance to make things right. Then he hears your muffled sob. Concern and worry replaces any hapiness he had felt upon seeing you.

He drops to the ground on the opposite end of the alley as to not startle you, but fails miserably. You scream when a tall figure enters your peripheral vision.

“It’s me! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, y/n,” Peter says as he approaches you slowly.

You turn your head and quickly wipe your tears in an attempt to hide the fact that you were crying just a few seconds ago.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve just been really jumpy lately,” you mutter. You turn your head and finally look at him. You both stare at each other for what feels like years before speaking.

“Y/n, I’m sorry for being such an awful friend. I’m sorry for being so distant and avoidant for months. It’s just that…I was so in love with you that it scared the shit out of me. I was scared that you wouldn’t feel the same way so I looked for happiness in other people, like Gwen,” he rushes out in a single breath. “But it never changed the way I felt about you. I just didn’t have the guts to tell you and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for not telling you I liked you too.”

You stare at him in shock for a few seconds. “That you liked me too? How the hell did you find out that I liked you in the first place?” you ask.

He blushes underneath his mask and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick that was pointless because all he could feel was the spandex. “The night of the festival… well, I–I was just worried about you, so I went to your apartment. You didn’t open the window, which worried me even more. I went in and heard you singing one of your songs.”

Even though he hadn’t taken his mask off, you could tell he was embarrased by his tone of voice.

“Oh,” you mutter, feeling the heat rise to your face.

“Sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done that, but you left without saying anything and–” he is cut off by the feeling of your arms wrapping around his waist.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out like that, Pete” you say into his chest.

“It’s alright. I’m sorry for hurting you like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

You look up at him. “I guess we’re just two idiots in love, huh?” you laugh.

“I guess we are,” he snorts with laughter. He looks both ways before he grips the bottom of his mask and pulls it off in a swift motion.

His brown, doe eyes look into yours, showing the depth of his affection. He takes your face in his hands, holding you as if you were a precious gem. He tilts his head towards you, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“I love you so much. You are everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re more than enough, love,” he croons.

“I love you too,” you whisper as your his lips brush against yours. Your eyes flutter to a close and your lips finally meet his.

It was better than you could possibly imagine. Like heartbreak, no amount of fairytales or songs could have prepared you for the love and happiness you felt with that kiss. It was a kiss of reconciliation, love, and full of hope for a future together.

—

Taglist: @hotgirlshii24 @ajordan2020 @the-winter-spider @spideysimpossiblegirl @alwaysbeanunknownfan

#peter parker #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker angst #tasm!peter parker fluff #andrew!peter x reader #masterlist #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x reader #fluff #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter parker x you #friends to lovers #idiots in love

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punchdrunkdoc · 2 years

Text

Just Breathe - Ch.16

Summary: Six months after the events in Gotham Square Garden, Bruce is struggling to find balance between his role as Batman and his responsibilities as Bruce Wayne. His life is made even more complicated when he learns that someone knows his secret identity.

Notes: This is a multi-chapter, slow-burn Battinson/original female character story with romance, angst, and crime solving!

Also available on AO3

Masterlist

Reference pics and stuff

Bruce clicked 'play' on the next video and watched the Kane party from yet another angle. He was methodically working his way through all of the security footage from that night - obtained by Alfred via the network of butlers and service staff that apparently operated beneath the noses of Gotham's elites. The older man had returned to Wayne Tower a few hours ago clutching a USB drive filled with video, and the two of them had been watching the footage ever since, taking note of each and every person in attendance, as well as who they interacted with, and when they left the mansion.

Beth's kidnapping had been a crime of opportunity. And the only ones with opportunity had been the people present that night.

Not Patrick Newsome.

Bruce had focused on him because he’d seemed the logical culprit - he’d been the evil hanging over their heads for weeks, after all. But in the end, Newsome had been nothing but a pawn. There was someone far more dangerous out there.

And whoever that was - whoever had taken Beth and staged her death - they were on this footage.

"He's watching her again," Bruce muttered, freezing the frame on the grey-haired man.

"Who?" Alfred asked, pausing his own recording.

"The man who spoke to Beth at the bar," Bruce responded, checking through his notes. "On video 3, he catches sight of her when she enters the party. Seconds later he's at the bar talking to her. He watches as she walks away, and then on video 5 he’s in the background when she’s talking to Connell, observing the two of them. And now on this footage, he's watching her again."

"While she's dancing with you."

Bruce was trying to ignore that part of the video. But he couldn’t seem to stop his eyes from flickering to the two figures on the dance floor, as they swayed to the music, locked in an intimate embrace. Beth’s face was to the camera, and he could just about make out the small smile on her face and the movement of her fingers as they played with the long strands of his hair.

He hadn’t noticed that at the time - he’d been too engrossed in the feel of finally having her in his arms, in the emotions swirling through him.

Bruce felt like he was looking at a different version of himself - from a time long in the past, rather than just a couple of days ago. So much had happened since then. He’d been wrecked by fear and desperation while searching for Beth; and he’d plummeted to the depths of grief and despair upon finding that body in the cabin.

Right now he felt strangely numb. As if the pain of loss was merely lying dormant, waiting to engulf him again and drag him under.

Because he couldn’t quite bring himself to hope that she was still alive.

He believed Alfred that the body in the fire had never been her. The X-rays had proven it. But all that meant was that she was still missing. Had been missing for almost 2 days now…and that didn’t bode well.

For the thousandth time since Alfred had woken him this morning, Bruce cursed himself for giving up the search so easily.

It had so obviously been a set-up…and Bruce had fallen for it completely. Brought low by the agony of grief and the sleep-deprived, frantic, 24-hour search which had preceded it, he’d accepted the reality he was presented with.

It was like a self-fulfilling prophesy - he’d always expected things to end badly with Beth, so he hadn’t questioned the worst when it actually happened.

He could never thank Alfred enough for seeing the truth when he’d been blinded to it.

The man in question interrupted his self-castigation. “Where does he go when you and Beth leave the room?”

Bruce fast-forwarded a few minutes and watched as a sped-up version of Beth pulled away from him and ran from the room. Bruce followed a beat later…then so did the grey-haired man.

“Do we have footage from the hallway?” Bruce asked, his breath quickening. This was the guy - his instincts were screaming it at him. But he needed more proof. Beth couldn’t afford for them to waste more time with another false lead.

Alfred clicked through the files. “No, but we have a view of the valet station.” The two of them watched as the grey-haired man exited the party, the time stamp showing it was only minutes after Alfred had collected Beth in the limo. He gave his ticket to the valet, who moments later returned in a Porsche Cayenne.

A white, SUV-style Porsche Cayenne.

“It’s him, Alfred,” Bruce whispered. “It’s him.”

An hour later - thanks to the Kane household staff again - they had a name: David Montrose.

An hour after that, Bruce stalked through the man’s empty apartment, a phone pressed to his ear as he communicated with Alfred. “There’s no sign of him.”

“It was a long shot. Even if he did take Beth, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to hold her in his own home.”

“Have you got any background on this guy yet?”

Bruce paced the dark living room as Alfred recited the facts. “59 years old. Born in upstate New York and lived there most of his life. Has a PhD in biochemistry but there’s not much of an employment history on file. Relocated to Gotham 8 months ago when he took a job with Genzyme biotech…which is a subsidiary of Connell Holdings.”

Bruce came to a stop. “He works with Connell?”

“For Connell,” Alfred clarified. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Bruce.”

“But we’ve been looking for a motive, and this is it. Connell somehow found out we’ve been looking into him, and he got his new right-hand man to kidnap Beth in retaliation.”

“That’s a reach.”

“There’s one way to find out for sure,” Bruce said, heading out the door. “It’s time I had a word with Connell.”

———

The last time Bruce had been here - surveilling Connell’s fortress-like mansion - he’d opted for the more prudent course of action, and retreated.

But everything was different now.

Now he knew Connell was dirty.

And now Beth’s life was at stake.

Bruce would fight his way through a hundred compounds like this if it meant finding her.

He stoked the rage that had been simmering beneath the surface of his emotions, allowing it to burn hotter, to fuel what was to come. This was not the aimless, destructive rage of grief he’d unleashed after finding that cabin. This was focussed, ice cold fury. A reflection of the injustice and anger he felt that these men had dared to lay a hand on Beth. Had dared to hurt her, when she’d already been through so much in her life.

His jaw clenched as he started his approach towards the stone wall surrounding the estate. Reaching Connell in the centre of this stronghold would require speed, strength and determination.

The anger coursing through his veins lent him all three.

For the next few minutes, he grappled and ran and brawled his way into Connell’s home, an unstoppable one-man army bent on a single goal. The guns-for-hire guarding the mansion couldn’t match his resolve.

They fought for a paycheque.

He fought for the woman he loved.

He reached the third floor, the concentration of henchman indicating that this was Connell’s hiding space. He took them all on at once, in a whirlwind of kicks and hits that left bodies strewn on the floor - most unconscious, some groaning while they clutched broken limbs.

Bruce drove his foot into the door at the end of the hallway, and it burst open to reveal the man he was searching for. Connell emerged from behind an enormous mahogany desk, a shotgun in his hands.

And a gas mask on his face.

That clued Bruce into what would be fired from the gun an instant before Connell pulled the trigger. He sucked in a deep breath then sprang to the right and rolled to the ground, coming to his feet well out of range of the mist of red that had detonated against the wall.

Before Connell could fire again, Bruce launched a throwing knife at him. The blade sliced through Connell’s forearm, severing the tendons to his right hand. The weapon fell from his useless hand as Connell cried out in pain.

As the crimson gas cloud hung in the air, Bruce rushed at Connell, who was trying to stem the flow of blood from his injured limb. Bruce hammered a kick into his gut and Connell grunted and bent forward. This allowed Bruce to snatch the gas mask from Connell’s face and fit it over his own.

The whole move took less than 10 seconds.

As Bruce breathed safely behind the plastic mask, Connell stumbled backwards, his now-exposed eyes wild as he tried to track the deadly particles scattered in the air. They formed a noxious barrier between him and the only door to the room.

He was trapped.

“Where is she!?” Bruce demanded, advancing on Connell as he backed into the corner of the study and away from the gas. His voice was slightly muffled by the mask, but it did nothing to lessen the threatening tone.

“Who? Who the fuck are you talking about?!”

“The woman from the party,” Bruce yelled, reluctant to drop Beth’s name in case he was somehow wrong. “Montrose took her!”

“Montrose? No fucking way.”

Bruce grabbed fistfuls of Connell’s shirt and shoved him against the wall. “Where is he holding her?!” He screamed the words into the shorter man’s face and followed them up with a brutal punch to his jaw.

Connell’s head snapped back to the front and he pinned Bruce with a menacing glare. “You sure you want to make an enemy of me?”

“You made an enemy of me when you came into my city”

“It’ll be my city before long.”

“You sure about that?” Bruce asked quietly. “I’d say you have only a few seconds before you start inhaling that paralysing agent.” Connell’s eyes flicked to the room behind Bruce and he swallowed. “Tell me what you know and I’ll let you breathe fresh air.”

A quick calculation took place behind the other man’s eyes before he grated out the word “fine” from between clenched teeth. Bruce yanked him over the window behind the desk and smashed the glass with his elbow. Then he pushed the shorter man through the open space until his back was balanced on the window sill and he teetered half-in and half-out the window. The only thing saving him from the three-storey drop was Bruce’s hand clenched in his shirt. “What the fuck?” Connell sputtered.

“I only promised you fresh air, not how you’d get it. Now tell me about Montrose!”

“He’s just my lab guy!” Connell yelled. “Used to be some hot shot scientist years ago, but now he’s a nobody.”

“Why was he at that party?”

“He’s a snob. He likes the finer things in life - champagne and hobnobbing with those elite assholes, so I let him tag along as a thank you.”

“A thank you for what? What does he do for you?”

“He made that gas,” Connell jerked his head towards the room behind Bruce. “He’s my chemist. Not some kidnapper.”

“Where would he go? Where would he hide?”

“How the fuck should I know? Listen freak, you’re after the wrong guy!”

Realising that the interrogation was going nowhere, Bruce quickly attached one end of a grappling wire to Connell’s belt and fired the other end into the floor of the study. He let go of the man’s shirt and watched as he tipped out of the window, suspended upside down against the outside of the house by the thin rope. “Let me up, you son of a bitch!”

Bruce ignored the disgruntled yells and ran back through the study and out into the hallway.

It was time to make his escape.

He found the stair case leading to the helipad on the roof and took the steps three at a time until he reached the landing zone. He could see the fallen security guards that he’d taken down in the courtyard start to get to their feet again. He heard shouts from inside the house as the henchman rallied and called for reinforcements.

He needed a quick exit.

He took aim at the stone wall surrounding the property and fired his grappling hook. He attached the other end of the cable to a vent on the roof, creating a zip line. He took hold of it and launched himself off the roof.

He heard the sounds of gunshots as he flew past, but he was travelling too fast for anyone to take aim. He made it to the wall, jumped over and ran to his bike.

Within seconds he was tearing down the road leading back to Gotham.

———

Bruce brought Alfred up to speed while he removed his suit.

“So you pissed off Connell for nothing,” Alfred commented. “Humiliated him on his own turf. He’ll be gunning for Batman now.”

Bruce threw his cowl to the side and raked his hands through his hair. “I couldn’t just do nothing, Alfred! It was a lead and I had to follow it up-”

“You didn’t need to go barrelling in there, all guns blazing, without a concrete plan. It was reckless. You-”

“She’s been missing for over 48 hours! She could be on the other side of the country by now. The world, even! I can’t afford to waste any more time - I already lost half a day when I thought she was dead.”

Alfred studied him, and Bruce turned away from his probing gaze. But it was too late; Alfred always could see through him. “Bruce,” he said, his voice soft and sympathetic. “You can’t blame yourself for that. You were too lost in grief to see what was happening.”

Too busy sleeping off a self-pitying rampage, more like. “You saw it though.”

“I care about Beth. A great deal. But I don’t love her the way you do.” He held up his hands and shook his head. “And don’t give me that crap about the two of you being friends. You love her, Bruce. It’s time-”

“I do love her.”

“-you accept that and…” Alfred’s voice tailed off and he stared at Bruce in shock. “Say that again.”

If Bruce still had the capacity to smile he would have done so - the stupefied expression on Alfred’s face was priceless. He settled for repeating his words. “I do love her. I love Beth. I told her, the night of the party.” His voice broke on the last word as his composure crumbled. As he remembered the kiss they’d shared, the kiss that had proven their feelings to each other.

I love you too, Bruce. I love you so much…

He collapsed against the workstation bench and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if to force the tears to retreat. “I have to find her, Alfred,” he whispered through hitched breaths. “I have to.”

He felt Alfred’s hand against his back. A few hesitant pats at first…but then the older man grasped him and hauled him into a one-armed embrace. “I know, Bruce,” he whispered, clasping him tightly. “We will.”

Bruce slumped against Alfred, his head dropping down to rest on his shoulder. They stayed like that for several moments before breaking away, unable to meet each other’s eyes. They’d never been physically demonstrative towards each other, and that awkward hug was the most familial gesture they’d ever shared.

Alfred cleared his throat. “I have something that might help. I’ve been doing some more digging on Montrose, and I still think he’s our man, despite what Connell said. I don’t have a location yet, but I have a possible motive. Take a look at this.” He opened a folder on the computer screen and stepped aside to give Bruce access to the documents.

Bruce skimmed the information - a census form, a birth certificate, a few other documents…

And he started to see what Alfred was talking about.

“This was never about Connell, or the gas,” he summarised out loud. “This was always about Beth.”

———

48 hours earlier…

The pounding in her head woke her.

Beth groaned and fluttered open her eyes, then flinched as the light in the room transformed the pounding into a splitting pain.

She must be in the hospital. She remembered the car accident - the sudden jolt as the limo was hit, then the disorientation as the vehicle span on the road, throwing her against the window where she cracked the side of her head.

She remembered calling for Alfred as he clambered out of the wreck.

Then…nothing.

Anterograde amnesia is common after traumatic head injuries, the logical part of her brain reminded her. But the illogical part hated the loss of control that came with missing memories.

It reminded her too much of her childhood. Of another time when she woke with no knowledge of the past…

She opened her eyes again, hoping a nurse or doctor could fill in the gaps for her. But when her vision finally focussed on her surroundings, she didn’t see a hospital bay.

She saw a science lab.

Rows of benches sat to her right, containing beakers and jars and pipettes. A whiteboard scribbled with chemical formulas filled the wall in front of her, and to her left, hazmat suits hung on hooks next to a contamination shower.

What the fuck was going on?

“You’re awake. I’m so glad.” The voice came from behind her. She craned her neck to bring the speaker into view, and that’s when she realised…

She was strapped to a chair.

Her breath quickened as she glanced down at the strips of material binding her wrists, ankles and chest.

“Now, now. No need to be afraid.” The man stepped in front of her and crouched down to her level. He looked familiar, with his grey hair and his cold blue eyes…

It was the man from the party. The one that had spoken to her at the bar.

The one that had freaked her out with just a few words and a probing stare.

Guess her creep-o-meter was spot on.

“Who are you?” she croaked out. “What do you want?”

He waggled his finger. “Uh-uh. I’ll be asking the questions.” He stood up from his crouch and moved over to one of the benches. He spoke over his shoulder as he started to prepare something in front of him. “I apologise for these methods, but I have to be sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“I said I’ll be asking the questions,” he repeated in a scolding tone. “And this will help.” He turned back to her and held up a syringe filled with golden liquid.

She cringed away as far as the high-backed chair would allow as he came closer. She yanked at the restraints on her arms but to no avail. He grasped her firmly, inserted the needle into the crease of her elbow and depressed the plunger. It was a confident, practiced move - one he’d obviously performed many times before.

Who the hell was he?

“Don’t worry, this won’t harm you. Its just a little truth serum I devised. I need you to be completely honest with me, so I can know for sure.”

“Know what?” She gritted out.

He didn’t seem to register her question. He just kept talking in that maddening, detached tone. “When I saw you at that party, it was like looking into the past - you resemble her so much. And then when I saw that scar on your shoulder…I knew I needed to get you somewhere safe and private so I could know once and for all.”

“Know what?!” she yelled.

He glanced at her, as if surprised at her outburst. “If you’re my daughter, of course.”

-----

CHAPTER 17

Taglist: @hollandorks @grunge-n-roses5 @xmxrfx @neptunesands @caramelcandescence @blossomedfloweroflove @wanderdreamer @angelsarecallin @stephenismyking @rabbitdictionary @starshipvelociraptor @yanna-banana @batmanlovesnirvana @bees-fart-too @hypnoash @eravanaaaah @anescapistreality @beigetrash @shimmeringgrim @battinsonbaby @blue-aconite

#batman #batman fic #batman fanfic #The Batman 2022 #The Batman 2022 fic #battinson #Battinson fic #bruce wayne x original character #bruce wayne/OC #Batman/original female character #batman x OC #just breathe #carrawayne

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tsarisfanfiction · 1 year

Text

In The Depths of Despair

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Teen Genre: Angst Characters: Michael Yew

Michael expected to die, when the bridge fell. He did not expect this.

For @flashfictionfridayofficial #190: Trapped In The Dark. I have been playing with this AU in my head for a while; there will certainly be more of it, maybe even later today, but for now have a teaser courtesy of FFF waking my muses up. This comes in at 892 words, according to MSWord.

Small emetophobia warning. Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Michael was beyond astonished when the world stopped falling apart around him and he was still alive, let alone conscious. He hurt, bones that felt a lot like they were broken screaming at him even as he lay still, unable to move after landing with a solid crunch that was no doubt to blame for the screaming bones, but he was alive.

Nearby, he could hear water, fast and furious as it rushed along its path, and found the energy to be grateful that he hadn’t fallen in it; in his condition, that would’ve killed him, even if it was controlled by Percy who – hopefully – wouldn’t want that to happen.

Then he realised that didn’t make sense.

He’d been stood on the middle of the bridge, and the Williamsburg Bridge was not some short, small bridge hopping over a small brook in a forest. It was a massive thing, spanning the breadth of the East River, which itself was hardly small. Even if he’d landed on debris, there was no way he could be dry.

And yet he was.

There was the stickiness of blood leaking out of wounds, cloying against his clothing in a way that experience told Michael would be unpleasant to peel away from his skin later, but no water.

It was also too quiet.

The rushing of the water had hidden it for a moment, but as he lay in his crumpled heap, feeling his lungs take in breaths that had his body shuddering in pain, he realised that was the only thing he could hear.

There was no sound of fighting. No voices.

Nothing, except the water, rushing past him somewhere, and his eyes snapped open, only to be greeted with darkness.

Something was very, very wrong.

Dawn had been breaking; he had felt the warmth of the first rays peeking over the horizon as he took his last shot, as the bridge lurched and broke beneath his feet, casting him down to what he’d been sure was certain death. Had he passed out as he fell? He didn’t think he had, had a continuous stream of memories from the moment he told Percy to break the bridge to landing with a pained crunch on the ground beneath him, but something wasn’t adding up.

His body didn’t want to move, but Michael forced it to, anyway, biting his lips hard enough to bleed – not that more wounds even mattered at this point – to stop himself crying out in pain as his broken ribs screamed, to say nothing of his left arm the moment he tried to put weight on it and it bent in a place that certainly wasn’t supposed to be a joint, bone stabbing up through his skin and turning his vision white.

For several long moments, he panted, his whole body trembling, whimpers eking past his lips despite his teeth’s best attempts to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t just lay there forever. No voices meant no people – for some reason his siblings were nowhere near him and he refused to entertain the notion that it might be because they were all dead when they’d all been off the bridge, away from Kronos and his scythe – and no people meant no help forthcoming.

With a silent, desperate prayer to his dad for help – pain relief, healing, anything, although last he’d seen Apollo was still embroiled in that battle against Typhon and couldn’t give him anything so he couldn’t say he expected a response – Michael pushed himself up with his less damaged arm and almost threw up as he finally managed to find a sitting position. Bile dripped from his lips, and an unpleasant taste filled the back of his mouth; with a grimace, Michael swallowed it back down and took stock of his surroundings.

Immediately, he realised that he was no longer in New York. It was dark, darker than night, but he could still tell there were no high-rise buildings near him, let alone the remains of a bridge.

There was nothing at all, except the river rushing somewhere behind him and a voluminous nothing in front of him.

Michael had never known nothing to have such an oppressive presence before, but there was no other way to describe whatever it was, and the overwhelming instinct to run away crashed over him.

By the time he realised what he was doing, he had smashed face-first to the ground, blood erupting from his mouth as something inside him protested the sudden movement his instincts had forced him into.

Still, he couldn’t stop. A deep-seated terror settled into his bones, filling him with the certainty that if he didn’t move now, he would die.

No, not die.

Worse.

It was barely a crawl, but Michael wrenched himself along, muffled whimpers tearing at his lips every time his left arm shifted, away from the nothing and towards… what?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know where he was, how he’d got there, or how he was going to get out. He was trapped in the dark, without even the beginnings of an idea how he was going to escape.

The only thing he knew was that he couldn’t stay put, no matter how much agony coursed through him, no matter how much blood he smeared across the ground as he kept going, inch by torturous inch.

tbc...

#Percy Jackson and the Olympians #riordanverse #riordanverse fanfiction #michael yew #tsari writes fanfiction #flashfictionfriday #in the depths of despair

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ruiniel · 2 years

Text

A Memory

Fandom: The Lord of The Rings

Characters: Arwen, Glorfindel

Relationship: Arwen/Glorfindel

Rating: Explicit 🔞

Count: 2.9K

Tags & Warnings: Longing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Smut, Imladris, Angst, Oral Sex (f receiving), Vaginal Sex, lace-what-lace srsly, first time, oneshot

Also on AO3

Summary:

This came about as a prompt from @pickingfightswithsprites:

Aim for: dark/angsty. Lonely/lost, virginal Arwen OR married/not quite happy Arwen (I took a stab at the first one)

I had to insert this Quenya phrase:

Á nute ar lá lertan nore, hérince ~ Tie me up so that I cannot run, Master (phrase courtesy of realelvish.net)

In Imladris, the night before setting out for Minas Tirith.

The marble floors were cold beneath her bare feet. The house was still at this time of night, a gentle beast in slumber as she rushed forward, disheveled, dark strands trailing behind her like shadows.

She’d retired early from the celebrations marking the last night spent in Imladris as a daughter of the Vale. Resting for the journey at hand would be wiser, but try as she did, Irmo evaded her and the daughter of Elrond had paced through her garden of reckless desires for a time, pondering, despairing.

At last, she could take no more. The wind sighed through open windows set along the corridor, its warm breath lifting the sheer draperies like shivering wraiths in her path.

Arwen blinked away the unwanted visions, and her steps gained a flow aligned to the thumping in her breast. She climbed winded stairways and crossed wide, lofty chambers, until at last the radiance of a bright moon fell upon her with the opening to the solarium.

Hesitantly, she halted at the entrance.

The aura was familiar, distinct; most times it rose strong and lively, searing and so bright it hurt; but now it dwindled to the bruised shade of a withered sunset and its warm tendrils waded through her, fading as summer rays swallowed by twilight. Lips parted, eyes closed, Arwen breathed deeply, the effort rattling her very bones. She passed inside, closed the door; barred it.

Her vision accustomed to the gloom, she first glanced at the great divan set in the middle of the chamber. It occupied most of the wide space, and many nights she had spent here in her youth, stargazing. It was empty now, of course, and Arwen looked to the clear night sky beyond its glass dome. She watched the stars, silver on the tides of night, careless and free beyond the world.

A small measure of envy swelled within her, but Arwen shook her head, gaze turned to the entrance that led to an outer terrace. She followed the long shadow cast across the floor tiles; longing.

He was silent as the night, his back turned to her, palms propped against the carved stone edge. The echoes of thrashing waterfalls reached her, attuned to her trepidation, restless waters splashing into their glittering pools. Losing her fortitude, Arwen settled there and watched. Late, she braved two steps forward.

His long hand reached for the chalice by his side on the railing. He brought it to his lips and drank deeply, golden head falling back in a careless tilt. The chalice struck the stone with a metallic cry. He lowered his head.

Before she knew it, Arwen stood on the threshold. She took the view before them: the angry river, shearing through the valley like a great serpent. Tilion glowed round and bright, his silver layered over the mountain tops. The Hithaeglir rose as dark, imposing guardians, and their sharp shoulders held the stars.

“Stay where you are.”

His voice was hoarse and lowered in warning, trodden, the opposite of earlier that evening; when he sat smiling and serene with her father at dinner, jesting with her brothers. He would not look her way then, either.

Arwen faltered in her step, watching his spear-straight back. She breathed, not daring to move or speak. His shoulders fought a shiver just then, and Glorfindel turned to face her, slowly, as though the mere effort ached.

Her mouth fell open; Arwen stared.

His face was drawn, ghostly in the moonlight, and the glint of inebriation sparked in his gaze. She’d never seen him this way. “I thought… you might be here.”

Glorfindel looked at his cup, downed the rest of his drink. The rich smell of wine and marigold wafted through the air, and an open bottle stood abandoned on the floor near his feet.

Memories flashed in her mind’s eye, of long nights spent together in silence, watching the astral circles. Of days lying sprawled amid flowering fields, shoulder to shoulder; for years; centuries. Things were simpler then. Arwen took a step, then another, and emboldened by his stillness, she struggled forward.

His jaw was working as his hand slid away from the empty chalice. Standing before him, Arwen reached for a lock of gold, twirling it around her slender finger. He’d lowered his head to her, eyes closed in surrender. Unmoving, he sat, propped against the cold stone, his long legs crossed. When Arwen reached around his neck, Glorfindel raised his chin—the gesture sharp in its rebuke. “This amuses you?” He sounded breathless.

“How can you think that?” Arwen sighed, shivering in her nightdress. It hurt to see his misery. Her other hand splayed over his fine garment, and before she knew it, she was leaning into him like a lonely reed. “I only... I wanted…” her forehead rested on his collarbone. A steady beat thrummed against her temple. “Laurefindil,” she implored, using a name he seldom heard in this Age. “A farewell, only once, only...”

His grip was heavy on her, his fingers trembling into her tender flesh. Glorfindel unlaced her arms from around his neck, hands sliding to her wrists. He held them up, stared at them, then at her, grimacing at the craving in her eyes. Through the Ages, there had never been the right time. Not one shred of it. “You know not what you ask of me,” he broke with finality, though his starved gaze never left her.

A bold flame licked at her reason, fueled by his indecision. “I need this,” Arwen insisted. Her voice wavered, words crumbling over each other. “I want it to be you.”

The hold on her wrists tightened, drawing her closer. His eyes skimmed over her dewy features, fevered and regretful, and full of need.

“A memory,” she pleaded, struggling, though his grip stood firm.

Arwen knew he did not resent her choice. He was strong and had seen the dawn of time in the world, and he’d understood—or so she thought. Honor kept him away, and all was as it should be.

Despite this, desperation ruled for a shard of time, enough for her knee to shift and brush his inner thigh; the muscle tensed, and his sigh misted in the night.

Faster than she could preempt, Glorfindel reached around her waist, bringing her in, his face hidden in the crook of her neck. “Why have you done this?” his words glazed warmth over her skin. “Why have you done this?...” he repeated, his other arm come around her. He would never see her again; the light of the Eldar would fade from her eyes, and she would take another path, her spirit hurled to none knew where. The only measure of comfort: he would not be there to see it. On selfish impulse, Glorfindel leaned closer, his taller frame nestling hers, hands running up and down her back.

His mouth was soft on her skin and Arwen heard herself moan, needing him to quench the burn that hissed through her. “A memory...” she gasped as his touch became rough, fingers pressing in the spaces between her ribs, his breathing hot and erratic.

Glorfindel stilled; all Arwen felt was the tickle of his lips, warm and wet, opening against hers; she was lost in the taste of heated wine. The air in his lungs left angry and harsh, and her legs melted beneath her, and lost in him she gasped at the sudden, shearing noise of her shift being torn at the shoulder. He righted himself, lifting her off her feet with an urgency that finally freed them both.

This was real, her troubled mind warned—his unyielding arm around her waist, his other hand gripping her rear, and she could barely draw air against his starved mouth. Her arms and legs coiled around him and darkness swallowed them as they passed the entrance, and the open sky came into view through the thin dome of glass.

Glorfindel knelt and lay her onto the divan, “You will have to release me,” he whispered softly, a swift gleam of the Elf she knew.

Arwen slowly did so, allowing him to rise. They stared at each other longingly as he undid his belt, then pulled his tunic over his head. The stars were cold beyond the glass, but even they melted as his long-lashed eyes locked on her.

Glorfindel slowly descended to his knees on the divan, rose-marble skin covering taut, restless muscles that rippled with his movements, glossy hair falling over his back and shoulders like a golden mantle.

Arwen had risen on her elbows and now felt so small against him, huffing a strained breath as he caged her; she fell back down while Glorfindel adjusted his weight to hers and trapped him in her own right, willing the anguish away with soft nips of her lips.

His touch ghosted the sensitive skin of her chin, his warm kiss become bruising and hasty. Hand shaking, he unlaced her garment while Arwen struggled with his confining trousers. He had the first victory, revealing her easily, first one breast, then the other; he feverishly cupped each, grazing the tinted flesh with his thumb before leaning to kiss, sucking the hardened tips into his mouth.

Arwen arched into him and fiery blood leaped in her veins at the delicious sensation, that weakening pull; at her gasp, his eyes cut to hers again, and Glorfindel smiled, rising and tilting his head down to capture her mouth in another breathless kiss. He grasped her thigh and pushed down against her with a near hostile advance that hurt them both. Her heartbeat sang—a fluttering bird in a cage of bones. Her long hands were prying and eager around his torso, slipping over his fine skin. Arwen felt a scar or two across his back and ribs, scrawled indentations of a life spent guarding and guiding others.

Arwen sighed when he sank onto her, his cock searing hard against her through thin layers of material; fear of the unknown pooled into her, wilting to nothing when their eyes met.

“I will mind you,” he said, eyes closing as his lips sought the tip of her nose, her chin. He knew.

Arwen smiled unsteadily. He rose to slide his trousers down completely, releasing himself. She licked her lower lip, a spark rushing between her legs at the sight of so much bared skin, eyes on the shapes of him and the arousal that slapped thickly against his abdomen.

“I like you watching me,” Glorfindel said, “but I enjoy watching you more.” He reached for her legs and caressed up her thigh, lifting the folds of her nightdress above her hips, her breasts, her head, disposing of it entirely after Arwen wriggled out of the material.

He fell back on his knees before her. “Show yourself to me,” he said, taking himself in hand. “Please.”

A moan struggled from her at the sight of his fingers slowly stroking, and unsure what to do, on her back as she was, Arwen spread her legs, a hand reaching down her body, fingers parting the wet lips to her core. She felt the heat inside, wondered what it would feel like for him.

His head tilted back as Glorfindel pumped himself faster, his eyes on her hand, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He’d barely touched her, and this waiting was driving her insane. “Please, I want...” Her fingers went deeper, seeking up her exposed slit. “I need you, I need you so much... Glorfindel, please...” her cheeks flushed with pleasure and need.

He ran his hand over himself one last time, then knelt above her, and Arwen was melting into his skin, savoring the pulsing heat pressing against her. She melded her mouth to his, eager to taste, as she had dreamt of doing all those nights when she could not help herself. She shuddered as Glorfindel brought her wet fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, her other hand smoothing down his strong back.

He brought one of her slender legs around his hips. “Á nute ar lá lertan nore, hérince,” his words filled her parted mouth. His brief smile glittered as her legs eagerly bound around him. He rested his forehead on hers, his lower body angling slightly as his hand reached down.

“Show me how...” Arwen said and went still, his touch ghosting the soft dark patch between her legs; he sighed into her mouth, feeling her mound tenderly before one finger found her slit, running a languid trail up and down. It felt good, and she lost herself, opening for him while her hands felt the dips and swells in his muscled arms. Arwen gasped at the silk of his hot lips as he kissed his way down her body, soon nipping warmly just below her hipbone. Their gazes met over her disheveled surrender, and his hand ran up her middle while he breathed warmly onto her flushed slit.

Arwen was biting on her lip; he kneaded the soft flesh of her inner thigh as his nose pressed into her mound. Her legs tensed around him, and closing his eyes, Glorfindel ran the length of his pink tongue over her once—she cried out in pleasure; he did it again, taking the time to lick inside, lapping at the softness and teasing the sensitive flesh as her hips tilted up and her hands found purchase in his hair.

“So... good...” Arwen cooed, a languid hand playing with golden strands. He kissed and suckled and did not stop until she cried and shuddered against his mouth, then fell back limply on the bed.

Glorfindel slowly crawled back to her, and she’d never seen him this way; demanding. “You are ready,” he said, rubbing his slick fingers together before sinking onto her; the tip of his cock slicked this way and that against her inner thigh. His eyes fluttered closed, and her own lifeblood burned and flooded the hollow ache within. Arwen seized him close, hissing with the foreign sense of discomfort.

He took a deep breath, unmoving, his body halfway melded with hers, welcoming her tightness. “Slow,” Glorfindel whispered, claiming her mouth again. He pressed his lips to her cheek, and his breath hitched as he moved carefully, hips rocking against her with purpose until her face softened and her lips parted, curling into a smile. He kissed that smile and thrust deeper, her hands pressing on his rear, pacing his drawled movement. Her sighs soon struck against the glass roof as he dragged his entire length in and out of her, the scent of their bodies melting together drifting around them.

“I want... to hear you,” he teased her ear between his teeth, driving into her faster; it did not take long to gain what he asked for, and she was singing her lust in his ear.

“More, yes... please, I need you... It feels so good and I need you so much, I need this so much...” she begged mindlessly.

Glorfindel released her and rose again to his knees, leaving her empty and moaning. He easily slid her supple body towards him, hooked his hands behind her knees and pushed her legs to her chest so she was open before him.

Arwen gazed up at him wantonly, flushed and ready. Her skin glistened, and her dark hair was damp around her forehead, long strands stuck to the tips of her breasts; he slid inside again, thrusting deeper and harder. Soon he was stifling her cries with his hand, and as her eyes rolled back in relief, Glorfindel reached around her waist, raising her to him and turning her around in his lap.

Bright strands fell over her pale shoulder like warm waves; his chest rose against her sweat-drenched back, and with a helpless moan into her hair, Glorfindel commanded her down onto him. His grasp was tight, and there followed a moment of utter tranquility, broken only by their smothered breathing as he filled her again. “This will feel different,” he said, his smile a beacon in the dark. The silk of her hair brushed his neck and jaw as Arwen nodded, feeling the repeated twitch of his cock inside her.

He tried recalling the obvious—this was nothing but a brief escape, all that should never be. Nothing would change. Neither his guilt nor his regret would fade. But she consumed his essence and boiled his blood, and so he took her in harsh, near angry thrusts, his fingers splayed over her reddened breast, his grasp bruising on her thigh.

Her head fell back against his shoulder and Arwen gazed into the night, lost in sleek skin and warmth and brief, delirious happiness. One breath, then another, and a sharp shudder hurled her into a spiral of surging relief, and she was one with the swift waterfalls spilling outside. And the golden one held her so close, pushed her so deep she hissed from the strain; panting, he muffled her whimpers with a firm hand.

It was as though she would break and disperse, but with one hard plunge he ceased, shaken by a fierce shiver, groaning softly against her neck; there was a sudden rush inside, and his fingers hurt as they dug into her flesh. Arwen slumped against him, and for many moments, none dared move, lost in the dying throes of their joining.

Stunned, she tipped her head forward, her body soft and depleted, and spent in the purest primeval satisfaction.

She was hedged down on her side, felt him covering her like a shield; his chest, warm against her wet skin, his arm heavy around her waist, bringing her closer. Arwen turned her face to the night again as his body cupped hers. Galaxies spun their coiled shells, heedless above them. Neither spoke, unwilling to lift the veil. It was all they had left.

#ruiniel:fanfiction #arwen fanfiction #glorfindel x arwen #glorfindel #tolkien fanfiction #tolkien

13 notes · View notes

xutokawa · 3 years

Note

aahh the s/o finding scratch marks is fulfilling my angst needs 😭🤚🏽 could u maybe do one with bokuto & suna 🥺 i love your writing so much!! xx

pairings: suna x reader, bokuto x reader

genre(s): fluff to angst, cheating

warnings: langauge, cheating

wc: 2.3k

» masterlist

a/n: thank you for your support! I tried adding more plot to it this time hehe. breaking bokuto’s heart broke mine bro :( hope you like it! also TYSM GUYS FOR 200 FOLLOWERS FDJSKF i love every single one of yu :D <3 mwah mwah mwah

atsumu and oikawa ver.

osamu and iwazumi ver.

kuroo and sakusa ver.

akaashi and hinata ver.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Suna

“Rin, hand me the soy sauce,” you asked, not looking up from the dish you were stir frying.

“Get it yourself,” Suna teased back. Rolling your eyes, you stuck out your hand. Laughing, Suna came up behind you, placing the bottle of soy sauce in your hands before wrapping his arms around your waist. His hands snuck under your shirt, laying on your bare stomach. You leaned back into his chest, sighing contently. The two of you rarely had time together anymore. While you were burying yourself in your work in hopes for a promotion, Suna was busy with practices that extended throughout the whole day. Both of you were exhausted by the time you came home to your apartment together, unable to muster the energy to do anything except fall asleep in each other’s arms.

“Mmm, you smell good,” Suna said, taking a deep breath into your neck.

“I think that’s the fried rice you’re smelling,” you joked back. Butterflies stormed your stomach as Suna’s hands gently massaged your sides. Even after living with the middle blocker for three years, he never failed to make you feel like a crushing high school student. Suddenly, Suna’s gentle hands grew antsy, teasingly tickling your sides. Jumping, you tell him, “Rin, stop! I’m going to spill something!”

“I think I’ll keep going,” Suna teased back, his hands continuing to tickle you. With one poke to your side, your entire body jerked, causing the soy sauce in your hand to fling into the air, and onto Suna’s shirt.

“Y/n! I really liked this shirt!” Suna whined.

“That’s your fault, baby. I told you to stop,” you shrugged, laughing at his expression.

“Whatever, I’m going to go change,” Suna pouted, turning away.

As you finished cooking, you went into your shared bedroom to tell Suna dinner was ready. You were stopped in your tracks, however, when you saw his changing form. Back to you, long scratch marks ran down the length of his back. Scratches that were not put there by you.

“R-rin, what is this?” You asked, voice beginning to waver.

Suna spun around, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Y/n! Why didn’t you knock?” Suna nervously asked, rushing to push his t-shirt over his head, “It’s nothing, babe, just uh, got in a fight!”

“Are you sure it was a fight? Or was it a late night in someone else's bed?” You asked accusingly, brows furrowing. Would your Suna cheat on you? You had felt pretty secure about your relationship before now, never having a reason to doubt your trust in your boyfriend. Yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to make excuses for the lines raked down his back.

Pain and guilt flashed across Suna’s eyes, and that’s when you knew. You were wrong to believe you gave him everything he needed in a relationship.

“Look, y/n, we can figure this out, just let me-” Suna began.

“Please, stop,” you choked out, eyes welling up with tears. The middle blocker felt his heart shatter watching you back away from him as if he were a plague.

“No, you don’t understand! I can’t lose you like this,” Suna said, walking towards you, wanting nothing more than to pull you in his arms and wipe your tears away. He stopped in his tracks, however, when you flinched away from his touch, hatred flickering in your eyes. At that moment, Suna felt like the scum of the earth.

“Please, get away from me. Get out of this room, get out of this apartment! I don’t need your excuses,” You said, voice raising. When you finally looked up to meet Suna’s eyes, you found nothing but despair and regret.

“No! I won’t leave you, y/n! You don’t understand how much I need-” Suna started.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Rintarou,” you scoffed. The pain in Suna’s chest grew at the use of his full name.

“I-it’s Rin. You always call me Rin. Please, call me Rin,” Suna pleaded, voice beginning to shake, “Stop distancing yourself from me. I’m your Rin. Please, don’t leave. I’m so sorry, let me make it up to you!”

“You’re a pathetic piece of shit, Rintarou! Cheating on me and then begging for me to stay and forgive you? Tell me, what was your plan? Did you just want a quick fuck one night? Or did you plan to keep cheating on me for the rest of our relationship?” You angrily walked towards him. Suna watched as the love you once held in your eyes for him turned into agony. He felt himself crumple knowing he was the sole cause of your anger and hurt.

“No! It was a mistake! Please, let me make it up to you,” Suna reached for your hands, desperate to have you with him.

“The only mistake that was made here was me trusting you,” You said, spinning around as you headed for the door. Suna physically flinched at your words, hurt and shame flooding his body. Panic filled his mind at the sound of your keys jingling and the sound of you putting on your shoes.

“Wait! Y/n, where are you going? Please don’t leave, it’s not safe for you to go out right now. Just stay and let us talk about it,” Suna pleaded, walking up behind you.

“I’d rather be anywhere but here with you right now,” you coldly replied, reaching out for the door handle. Suna rushed to stop you from turning the knob.

“Please, y/n, I can’t handle you leaving me,” Suna whispered.

“Just leave it, Suna. No amount of begging or love can fix my trust for you,” you replied, back towards his sobbing figure. Suna finally fell to his knees in defeat as you walked out of the apartment, knowing he lost you forever.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Bokuto

“Ugh, I’m so ready to just relax,” you sighed out, dramatically splaying your arms across the center console in your fiancé’s car. A tingle ran up your spine at the sound of Bokuto chuckling from beside you, not taking his eyes off the road. You could never get used to his laugh, no matter how many times you’ve heard it.

“I know, baby. You deserve it,” Bokuto replied, taking one hand off the steering wheel to place on your thigh, giving a light squeeze. The two of you had been insanely busy the month leading up to this trip. From your boss’ unrelenting demands at work to your family’s constant nagging and opinions on your wedding decorations, the two of you just needed to catch a break. So, when Bokuto brought up the idea of a weekend beach trip, you immediately agreed, jumping up and down in excitement.

The beaming sun immediately warmed your skin as you stepped out of the car. Warmth spread through your body as you glanced back at Bokuto as he started pulling out your stuff from the trunk, looking up to flash you his smile you had fallen in love with ages ago.

“You go on ahead and find a spot for us, I’ll follow in a second,” Bokuto called out to you. Giving a thumbs up, you started towards the gleaming ocean, excitement filling your body as you felt the sand beneath your feet. Finally, choosing a spot, you unfolded your beach chair, spreading your towel across the top. A smile settled on your face as you laid down, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the harsh rays. Your eyes drifted closed, the sounds of waves crashing and children giggling putting you in a serene state.

Bokuto chuckled at your appearance before setting up his own beach chair next to you, situating a beach umbrella between the two chairs. He felt his heart speed up as he gazed at your relaxing figure, wanting nothing more than to cover your face in kisses. The spiker felt so much love for you, so he felt nothing but confusion as to how he woke up in another person’s bed two nights ago, naked. His adoration for you was replaced with guilt. Bokuto still hadn’t figured out how to approach the situation, how to tell you without you breaking off the engagement. He wanted nothing more than to watch you walk down the aisle in a few months, than to have children running around the two of you as you prepared dinner, than to grow old with you by his side. Bokuto was still unsure of what happened that night to cause him to slip out of a random person’s apartment in his clothes from the previous night.

The spiker was shook from his thoughts at the sound of your voice.

“Are you going into the water?” you asked, looking up at him.

“Yeah, I think I will just to cool off,” Bokuto replied, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Okay, I’ll join you in a bit, I just want to lay for a little longer,” you replied to him, closing your eyes again.

“Okay, baby. Take your time,” Bokuto said, placing a kiss on your forehead before starting towards the water. You giggled as you watched your fiancé run towards the ocean. Your laughter quickly died, however, once you saw his back.

Your eyes widen with a mixture of shock and confusion, racking your brain for an explanation for the long, red strips that lined your fiance's back, but, no matter how hard you thought, nothing came up. The past month had been too hectic for the two of you to ever get close to intimate. Tears began pricking your eyes as the realization that Bokuto had cheated on you settled in your mind.

Does he know he has scratch marks on his back? Is this his subtle way of telling me he wants to end this? That I wasn’t enough for him?

As soon as Bokuto hit the ocean, the salty water stung his back. His initial confusion as to where the pain came from was quickly replaced with realization. He shot up at the water, turning to watch you get up from your seat.

Maybe they didn’t see, he hoped. His hopes, however, were quickly crushed as his heart dropped to his feet. You began to gather your things, rummaging through Bokuto’s belongings until you found the keys to his car.

Panicking, Bokuto ran out of the ocean as fast as he could, cursing at the water for resisting his movements. He watched helplessly as you began walking back towards the parking lot. You saw. You saw the scratch marks, and now you were leaving Bokuto. The spiker’s worst nightmares were turning into a reality right in front of his eyes.

The dull shouting of your name from down the beach sounded in your ears. You ignored Bokuto’s incessant calls for you, the ache in your heart overpowering every emotion you were feeling.

Bokuto ran through the sand as fast as he could, hoping to catch up to you before you left his life forever. His lungs and legs were screaming, but the pain was nothing compared to the pain of you leaving. Panic rose in his eyes as he watched you get into the driver's seat, starting the engine to his car.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you took a shaky breath, a weak attempt to try and calm your heart. You looked down at your engagement ring, memories of that night flashing through your mind, forcing another sob to rack your body knowing that your memories now meant nothing. Banging on the car window startled you as you looked up to find a panicked Bokuto. His frantic words were muffled as you watched him desperately attempt to stop you from leaving.

“Please, y/n, roll down the window. Let me explain, please,” Bokuto blabbered, “Y/n, please don’t leave me, you have to let me explain. I love you! I want to marry you, and you only!”

Anger surged through your body as you scoffed at his words. Rage blinded your thoughts at the mention of your impending marriage. How dare he tell you he wants to get married after cheating on you? Your brain didn’t have time to process your movements as you pulled your ring off your left hand. You watched as a glimmer of hope flickered in Bokuto’s eyes as you began to roll down the window, only to have his eyes widen in pain and shock as you handed him your engagement ring.

“You’re really a piece of shit, Bokuto. You know that?” Tears began welling up in the spiker’s eyes as he stared at the piece of metal that laid in his hands.

“No, y/n, please. Give me your hand, please,” Bokuto frantically pleaded, reaching for your hand. The ring in his hand belonged nowhere else except your ring finger.

“Just stop, Bokuto, you’ve already ruined everything,” you scoffed out. As his eyes met yours, he was met with a whirlwind of hurt, shame, and pity. That’s when he realized. To you, he was pathetic. The love and adoration that made your eyes shine brighter than the sun was now replaced with hatred and pain, making them burn greater than the depths of hell.

Bokuto’s heart shattered into pieces knowing you would never love him the same, knowing he broke your trust.

“I-,” Bokuto paused, unsure of what else he could say to get you back.

“I’m sorry, y/n” the man in front of you choked out. Bokuto felt helpless as he watched you roll up your window and drive away from him, leaving him in shattered pieces.

That night, when Bokuto finally returned to his shared apartment, the reality of the situation hit him. The empty aura filling the space that he used to share with you was all it took for Bokuto to fall onto his knees, becoming a shell of his former self. You were gone.

3K notes · View notes

jaykook · 2 years

Text

Love To Hate

genre- office au, coworkers/enemies to lovers, future smut, angst, fluff, yoongi is mean, he also has trust issues and doesn’t know how to process his feelings

warnings/content- alcohol use, m! masturbation, yoongi lowkey (highkey) has a degrading kink, detailed descriptions of sex

word count- 6.3k

happy yoongi day <33333

Part One

The sharp ticking from the clock on the wall in front of you was the only noise entering your ears besides the click of your keyboard. Your eyelids were as heavy as steel, forcing you to shake your head every few minutes to fully wake yourself up. “Fuck me,” you mumbled. Ten hours into your shift and you were still typing away on your computer, body desperately ready for bed.

When you accepted this job weeks ago you were ready for a fresh change, a new adventure to embark on. The reviews were promising, not to mention the exemplary benefits and bonuses. At this point you just needed a way to afford rent and then some, you were tired of struggling paycheck to paycheck while wasting away in a cubicle during your precious twenties. Now was meant to be the most memorable years of your life, you were supposed to be drunker than hell at a bar with a stranger’s arm around your waist, not glued to a desk on Friday night, for fuck’s sake.

The only prospects that made this job worth it—besides the pay of course, were the friends you made during your time here. Being the first and most memorable one you met, Park Jimin was a shimmering ray of sunlight in the dark abyss that was adulthood. With a stroke of luck, he was assigned to train you during your first days, helping you situate and feel comfortable. When you found out you were forced to be followed around by a man for the week you were less than ecstatic, before finally getting the chance to meet him.

“Y/N? Nice to meet you, I’m Jimin.” He stands at the doorway of your office, hands crossed with an adorably sweet smile on his face. He was definitely cute. The type of cute that gives you the urge to pinch his cheeks until they bleed. His silky blonde hair cascaded across his face and lightly covered his eyes, with wispy eyelashes and plush lips that would render any woman in the world envious.

“Hello, Jimin. I assume you’re the poor soul that’s been forced to show the new girl around?” You questioned, studying his face before returning the cheesy smile he sends your way.

“Ahh, yes, that would be me.” He winces dramatically, throwing his hands up in admission and strutting into your office. He eyes you up and down, seemingly taking a couple seconds to contemplate his words before speaking up.

“You’re a cutie… what brings you to this hole of despair?” Jimin hums, reaching down to play with a stapler that’s sitting on your desk. Alright, he was cute, but not— flirt openly at work a minute after meeting—cute.

You narrowed your eyes at him before snatching your stapler back and placing it on the other side of the desk, forcing a sickly sweet grin on your face. If there was one thing the male species possessed it was the absolute gall.

“Oh.. you know, had to leave my other job. Too much harassment from men. Such a pain, don’t you think?“

Jimin bursted out in a fit of giggles, slapping his knees to add an extra dose of drama before abruptly quieting and throwing the most bored look he could muster at you.

“I actually like being harassed by men.” He muttered, the smile returning on his face when a pink tinge of heat blossomed on your cheeks from your premature judgment.

“I didn’t.. I’m sorry I should’ve—“

“It’s okay, new kid. In all honesty I play for both teams, but I have a boyfriend right now,” he seems to be stuck in daze when he says the last part, sighing before adding, “But seriously, you’re cute! I only brought it up because, well, have you seen the people you’re working with?”

You knew where he was coming from. You’d already met Susan, the fifty-something year old lady that worked across from you. She talked your head off for a good thirty minutes about an article she’d read in the most recent Good Housekeeping. And as much as you’d enjoy finding out the Top 10 Ways to Fold Your Laundry With Ease, you still found an excuse to sneak back to your office.

“Hey! I have a feeling Susan and I are going to be best friends pretty soon.” You deadpan, a smirk curling at your lips as Jimin held back his laughter.

“I don’t judge. As long as you’re fine with your future weekends being filled with extreme knitting sessions.”

After he was scolded for playing around by your manager, you both finally got around to walking around the building for your tour. You found out that out of the fifty workers that your job employed, only five of you were under the age of thirty.

Huh. You could barely hold your excitement for the fucking banger of an office party you’d have the honor of attending sooner or later.

“Are the ones our age even decent people?” You probed, hoping at the very least you could make some friends during your time here.

“Hoseok’s amazing, honesty. He always covers my shift when I’ve had a long night, caused by a long—” Jimin giggles when your eyes widen. “You get what I mean. Jungkook is a lot to deal with at first and he’s a bit of a flirt but he’s a sweetheart. He’s the youngest out of all of us so it’s quite literally his job to cause trouble.” You couldn’t help but take notice of the fact that you’d be surrounded by a bunch of guys if you wanted to fit in with the people your age.

“Nice, nice. But I thought there were three? Please tell me the last one’s a girl,” you exclaimed, hoping with everything in you that you’d have a girl to relate with at work. You had male friends, there was nothing wrong with it. But as a girl, being encompassed by men at all time got old. You had a limit on the amount of sexual innuendos you could deal with per hour.

Jimin pouted at you before patting your shoulder. “Unfortunately, they’re all guys. But honestly! They’re really cool. Only a minimal amount of horniness. Sometimes.” He continues talking when you send a glare his way.

“Yoongi… is a piece of work. He keeps to himself for the most part but he’s really open around all of us. Really sweet and funny once you get to know him. I’m sure you guys will hit it off.”

You huff at a strand of hair blocking your face. “I just hope they’re all as nice as you.”

Jimin gives you a sympathetic look as you both walk around the corner, nearing the break room. “Speak of the devils, there they are now. Let’s go ahead and get you guys acquainted.”

You fixed your shirt as you approached the room, boisterous laughs filling your ears. For some odd reason, you felt your palms grow sweaty as you walked through the door. Get a grip. What’s so scary about twenty-something year old men?

“Jungkook, Hoseok, Yoongi. This is Y/N. She’s new here. Please refrain from acting like you’re 15 from now on.” Jimin announced, eyes trained on the three men, seemingly hoping they’d cooperate.

Of course, they all had to be attractive. One of them glanced over at you with a sweet smile while the other basically eye fucked you from his seat. The third one glanced up at you once before immediately returning to playing with his food like it was the most interesting thing ever.

The one smiling at you made his way towards you and extended a hand for you to shake. “Hi, Y/N. I’m Hoseok.”

You returned the smile and shook his hand, taking note of his soft dark hair and shining eyes. Some people just exude positive energy, and he was definitely one of those people. The cheeky one stood up after, eyes trailing up and down your body before settling on your face. You weren’t sure if he couldn’t tell that you noticed his ogling, didn’t care if you knew, or both. Regardless, the fact that he was checking you out was blatantly obvious.

You gave him a soft smile, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from starting off on the wrong foot already. You never had a problem speaking your mind, especially in situations like these. Shutting men down was one of your specialties, but you were sure you’d have another opportunity to embarrass this man.

“I’m Jungkook. So nice…” he drew out his words and glanced down at your ample cleavage before adding, “to meet you. Jimin didn’t tell me our new coworker was a girl. A good looking one at that.” He punctuated his flirting by biting down on his lower lip, annoyed groans filling the room at his actions.

“Jeon, for the love of god, shut the fuck up.” Jimin spat, walking past him with a light shove to get to the fridge. You cringed outwardly which was met with a frown from the young man. Hoseok pulled on Jungkook’s shoulder, signaling to come sit back down at the table. You’d be lying if you denied his attractiveness, the bunny smile and charming eyes that decorated his face definitely inticing, but you wanted to make friends. Not fuck buddies. And judging by his demeanor that was the only thing currently on his mind.

You quickly took notice of the fact that the third guy stayed glued to his chair, not even bothering to look up from his food besides to groan at Jungkook’s flirting.

Hmm. That’s Yoongi, you guessed. And it seemed like he wasn’t going to even bother with introducing himself. You forced a smile, deciding on being the bigger person for the umpteenth time today. You grabbed an apple from the counter before taking a seat right next to the silent man.

“You’re Yoongi, I presume? It’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N,” you mumbled, sending a grin his way before ultimately retracting it when you realized he wasn’t going to look up. Despite being upset, you took it as an opportunity to study his features. His raven hair tugged at the side of his ears, silver earrings dangling down and grazing his neck. His cat-like eyes were trained on his pasta salad, playing around with a black olive that was hidden in the bowl.

“It’s a pleasure,” he muttered, and your eyes couldn’t help but catch his fingers fumbling with his fork, cheeks slightly red for whatever reason. It wasn’t hot in the room, so that didn’t make much sense. An awkward silence ensued when the rest of you realized that’s where the conversation ultimately ended. Jimin cleared his throat, bravely taking on the position of being the first one to speak up after that tense moment.

“Yoongs, you good? It seems like something’s bothering you,” he questioned, placing a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. The other guys nodded and voiced their agreement with the blonde haired boy. Abruptly, you heard a loud screech, the metal of the chair clashing with the tile floor as Yoongi stood up.

“I’m fine. I gotta go back to work,” he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair, sounding more annoyed then hurried. The three boys shared a confused look as Yoongi sped off, not taking the time to throw his leftovers in the trash. He didn’t even bother to send a glance your way— let alone a smile.

“What’s up with him?” You spoke up, genuinely concerned if that was how he always acted or if something was wrong.

“I don’t know, but someone must’ve pissed in his cheerios this morning or something. He never acts like that unless he’s upset,” Jungkook replied, shoving a mouthful of chicken pasta in his throat and continuing to speak. “Not to mention, he has ten minutes left in his break. So I’m not sure why he had to go back.”

“You’re disgusting. Close your mouth when you eat,” Jimin said, face contorting in disgust as he watched creamy garlic sauce drip down the side of the boy’s mouth.

Jungkook giggled, grabbing a napkin and wiping the side of his lips before adding, “Did you guys notice how he started acting when Y/N came in? Maybe he got a boner and went to the bathroom to fix it!” Hoseok practically choked on his salad when he heard what Jungkook said, bursting out in a fit of cackles after he was able to swallow.

You felt your mouth drop open, baffled at the fact that he could talk so shamelessly as if you weren’t inches away from him. Jimin slammed a closed fist on the table as he shot daggers at Jungkook. “What did I say? Is this the impression you wanna give your new coworker on her first day?” He spat, muttering profanities under his breath. “First Yoongi acting like a dickhead now you. I thought we were all grown here, fuck.” You couldn’t help but smile at how much Jimin was trying, and although you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you thought what Jungkook said was pretty funny, actually.

Hoseok kicked Jungkook from under the table, inciting a quiet giggle from him before he cleared his throat and apologized. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” He let an innocent pout grace his mouth, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Ahhh, it’s okay Jungkook. Just don’t let it happen again,” you teased, a sly smile on your face as he stared back at you, licking his lips. You rolled your eyes before focusing on finishing your fruit.

The next few weeks went on practically the same way as the first day; you and the boys, save for Yoongi, cracking jokes— with Jungkook making inappropriate comments towards you and Jimin lashing out in response. You always laughed though, it truly didn’t bother you. Jungkook was cute, and he never acted on his words or made you feel uncomfortable. Not to mention, you secretly enjoyed the way Yoongi’s jaw clenched every time he flirted with you. You weren’t exactly sure why he reacted like that— but at least it was something.

As you found out from Jimin, everyone in the ‘under 30’s club’ goes out sometimes on Saturday nights. The bar down the street served $5 margaritas after seven, and you hadn’t had a fun night in forever. You considered it a good way to get to know your coworkers more. Maybe even have a real chance to talk to Yoongi after he’d all but sprinted away from you five seconds after you met on your first day. You’d already gotten Hoseok’s number, knowing from the get go you two would become good friends. You decided to pass on asking Jungkook for his, figuring you’d rather not receive a dick pic at four a.m. from him.

The five of you sat facing each other at the wooden table, various drinks placed across it. The bar lights cascaded across the room, light blue beams spraying around until they reached your eyes.

Although you pre gamed a little before you showed up, you were sober enough to notice how quiet Yoongi became when you sat down. Seriously, what was this man’s deal?

“So Y/N, how do you feel so far?” Hoseok probed, taking a swig of his beer.

“About what? The job or you idiots?” You deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow at the boys. Your question was met with scattered laughter from everyone except Yoongi.

“The job. I’m not even sure I want to know the second option.”

“Ahh, it seems nice enough. Good pay, boss isn’t too much of a dick. Plus, if I get bored I can always play sudoku with Susan!” Jimin giggled from across you, the silver necklace between his arms swaying with every cackle that left his mouth. Yoongi stayed silent, eyes wandering the packed bar before they settled on you. The boys were deep in conversation while you two shared a moment of brief eye contact, short lived, unfortunately for you.

His gaze darted away before ultimately joining the talk, adding his two cents about how frustrating it is to have to pretend that Steve from accounting’s bow ties are fashionable. You couldn’t stop the blush that crept across your cheeks when his gummy smile peeked out between his lips at Jungkook’s stupid joke.

How is it that he could talk to everyone besides you?

Something inside of you ignited, a sensation you’ve never felt before. For some reason, Yoongi intrigued you more than ever, you itched learn more about him, to find out why he was always seemed so uncomfortable around you. Overthinking was one of your specialties, however, and you couldn’t bare but to wonder if he simply didn’t like you.

Was that so hard to believe?

He hasn’t even attempted to spark a conversation with you since the two of you met. Never sending a smile your way, practically taking a vow of silence whenever you open your mouth to speak. Either he’s extremely introverted around new people or he wasn’t interested in the slightest in becoming acquainted with you.

That being said, you couldn’t stop yourself from trying. Even if you embarrassed yourself along the way. It was either the liquid courage or being fed up from weeks of standoffishness from the man, but it didn’t matter when the words were sliding out of your mouth like vomit before you could stop them.

“Yoongi, do you have a problem with me or something? You always stop talking when I’m involved,” you muttered, throwing in a chuckle at the end to attempt to lighten the comment up. The scattered talking commenced, a brief silence enrapturing the table after you questioned him.

He glanced up at you with wide eyes, a look simmering inside them that you just couldn’t figure out.

“Uh— nah. Maybe I just don’t find what you’re saying that interesting,” he muttered, wincing when the shot of patron of slid down his throat.

Jungkook whistled from in front of you. “Goddamn…”

Hoseok was rendered speechless, and Jimin cleared his throat before sending you an apologetic look. “So anyways, have you guys seen the—“

You appreciated him trying to change the subject, but your drunken ego couldn’t possibly let that comment slide.

“Wait, let’s rewind for a second,” you mouthed, tilting your head to the side at Yoongi, who, of course, was trying his utter best to ignore you. You downed the rest of your beer, wiping the white foam off of your upper lip before adding, “If you’re gonna say something like that at least back it up. And look at me when you’re talking shit, is your drink that interesting?”

Jungkook muttered ‘fight, fight, fight’ under his breath, earning a nudge in the side from Jimin.

As if something clicked in him, Yoongi’s eyes shot up to yours, dark and intense, his gaze almost causing your breath to catch in your throat. His cheeks were slightly red, from the alcohol, you assumed.

“Hey guys, let’s not argue. It’s Saturday night and we should be—“

“Yeah, okay, I’ll bite. You showed up like you own the place, and the guys are just eating it up. They see a nice pair of tits and don’t know how to act. Maybe I liked the way it was before, maybe I didn’t ask for someone new to just barge in and ruin everything,” Yoongi spat, a vein protruding from the side of his neck, words seeping from his throat like poison.

Every syllable that left his mouth was like a stab to your chest. You were truly bewildered as to how he felt this way about you, hopelessly embarrassed from being called out in front of your friends, and honestly confused about why it affected you to this extent.

You only just met him a few weeks ago, and you were sure you knew his type. He was obviously just another insecure man, intimidated by a woman who was strong in her beliefs, stuck up for herself regardless of the backlash and didn’t take anyone’s shit. So why did your heart ache at his ruthless words? Why was your bottom lip trembling as tears threatened to prick at your eyes? Why did you care so fucking much?

For the first time since you were around them, Jungkook didn’t have a snarky comment to add. Hoseok was unable to brighten the mood. Jimin couldn’t possibly begin to change the subject.

All you knew was you had to get out of there, fast, before the guys saw you crying over the situation.

“I think— I think I’m gonna head out for the night. I’ll see you all on Monday,” you mumbled, desperately hoping they didn’t notice the way your voice cracked at the end, the sadness dripping from your tone. Especially Yoongi, you could die of humiliation if you gave him the satisfaction of knowing how badly his words got to you.

You quickly tidied up your spot before scooting out of your seat, dropping a couple bills for the drinks you purchased on the table before sending three of the boys a weak smile and taking off towards the door. Even if you wanted to look at Yoongi, his head was down, the napkin holder in front of him apparently the most interesting item in the room.

“Yoongi, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Jimin spat, shooting daggers at the man next to him.

“Yeah, man, that wasn’t cool at all,” Jungkook agreed.

“What’s your problem with her, honestly? Everything you said was bullshit, dude.” Hoseok added, solidifying the fact that everyone in the group besides Yoongi was on your side.

All he could muster was a sigh, fingers fumbling with his drink before he began to speak. “I swear to god, if what I’m about to say leaves this room, I will murder every single one of you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything was flowing smoothly in Yoongi’s life. He loved his job, loved his coworkers even more, and was finally putting aside time to work on his music. It seemed that everything was ultimately falling into place. Most important of all, his heart was starting to heal, the bandages covering it smoothing out, the pieces puzzling back together. Everything was great.

Until you showed up. Strutting into the room, demanding the attention of everyone residing in it. Your disgustingly adorable smile, the way your hair danced around your face that made time stop around him, and don’t get him started on when you laughed. His self-made hell would be an empty room, nothing inside but a tape recorder playing your playful giggle on a loop.

He hated you so much.

He hated how his heartbeat instantly picked up speed when his gaze met yours. He hated how he felt his cheeks redden like a teenager on their first date when you said his name. He hated how you were the one to introduce yourself first, confidently making your way over to him, so sure of yourself. He hated the way his supposed best friends flocked to you instantly, becoming the center of the conversation every time you entered a room. He hated how his voice got caught in his throat whenever he attempted to speak to you, having so much to say but lacking the courage to let it out.

But above everything, the thing that he hated the fucking most— the cherry on top of it all; was that he didn’t. He couldn’t possibly hate you. He was utterly and completely lying to himself, desperately trying to believe that what he was feeling was disgust and not infatuation.

An abundance of emotions ran through his body when he first met you, way too many to handle. He had to leave, to sort himself out, to get ahold of himself. Being around you was overbearing, a constant reminder of the pain he had been put through the last time he felt this way about someone. The hopeless longing, the wild chase— the feeling of pure ecstasy when they were finally in his arms, for all of him, and only him. Just to have everything ripped from him in an instant, his heart torn to shreds and thrown away like a gum wrapper.

He couldn’t possibly do it. Not again. So he resorted to the only thing he could muster— hatred. It was slightly easier this way, to chalk up everything that he was experiencing to simply disliking you. He couldn’t stand being in the room with you, so he left whenever he could. He hated the way his palms would sweat when you tried to speak to him, so he ignored you. His actions progressed to the point where he actually started to convince himself that it was true.

He began to whole-heartedly get mad at you. He was mad when you called him out with questions at the bar on Saturday. He was mad when he had no other choice but to reveal his feelings to his friends or seem like a total asshole.

He was mad when his hand pumped up and down his warm cock, harder than ever, a drip of pre cum spilling out and sliding down his shaft. He was absolutely pissed when he grunted your name out, mind traveling back to the time when you reached down in front of him to pick up your bag, perky ass on full display, the blue pencil skirt covering your skin leaving nothing to the imagination.

How could you do this to him?

Fill his head with such sinful thoughts, with nothing to do besides please himself in the late hours of the night when you plagued his mind. It annoyed him to no extent. All he wanted to do was bend you over, shove his hard dick into your heat and fuck all of the anger you caused him into your soaking wet pussy.

Were you the type to fuck yourself back into him? Fuck, he bet you were. With a snarky mouth like that, he had no doubt that you were a brat in the bedroom. Probably thought you had everything under your control, then melted into a pool of whimpers and moans when he shut you up with his fingers.

His thoughts started wandering to your mouth. That fucking mouth. He remembered back to when you snapped at him, lips curling into growl as you spoke. He knew the situation was serious, but the tightening of his pants was too familiar to ignore. You were angry, and that made his dick angry, which made him angry. A torturous cycle, really.

Something about the way you glared into his eyes riled him up to no end. How was it possible for someone to look so fucking sexy when they were mad? He wanted you to yell at him, tell him you hated him and couldn’t stand to look at his stupid face. Wanted you to degrade him while you sat on top of him, call him a pervert for the thoughts he was having, cunt soaking wet and dripping onto his chin. His tongue deep inside of you, lapping at your folds until you came undone in his mouth, his name leaving your throat as he sipped your tangy juices like it was his favorite drink.

He wanted you to use him like a toy.

“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes glued shut as he jerked himself to completion, his arousal coating his cock and aiding to his quick movements. He felt his dick twitch before he shot strings of white hot cum onto his hand and stomach, breath stuttering as your name spilled out of his mouth inadvertently.

Yeah, he fucking hated you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Monday rolled around faster than the speed of light and before you knew it, you were back at your desk, sulking at the grey wall in front of you. Adding onto the obvious fact that you disliked having to work, you also were anxious to see Yoongi again after what happened at the bar. The altercation ruined your weekend, made it nearly impossible to relax when your brain was flooded with the words he spat at you.

At first, you believed him. Maybe you really did shove your way into the group and ruin everything. But of course, Jimin texted you Saturday night, apologizing for his friend’s actions and reassuring that you weren’t a burden. Hoseok texted you too, expressing his appreciation for you and sending you funny memes to make you feel better.

Regardless, you were still sullen about the whole thing. A small voice in the back of your mind shouted, practically begged you to try harder. As much as you despised how he made you feel, a part of you ached to be on Yoongi’s good side. It was the overachiever in you, the people pleaser— desperate for everyone around you to like you, especially the pretty boy with dark hair and sultry lips.

You had almost forgotten about the ordeal, immersing yourself in work to get your mind off of everything when you got a message from your boss to meet him in his office. Your heartbeat sped up, worried that you weren’t living up to his standards. Which didn’t quite make sense, given the fact that you were an extremely hard worker and gave it your all when it came to your career. The intrusive thoughts intruding in your brain always seemed to win, however.

You begrudgingly made your way to your manager’s office, palms sweaty in anticipation as you gripped the metal door handle before ultimately opening it. Your breath was snatched directly out of your throat when you spotted an infamously familiar head of pitch black hair perched at one of the seats in front of your boss.

What the fuck was he doing here?

“Ah, Y/N, thank you for gracing us with your presence. A couple minutes after I asked you to come, I have to add,” he quirked his eyebrow at you, a small smile curving at his lips to indicate there was some humor laced in his comment. You heaved out a sigh, embarrassed but also extremely thankful you had a chill and relaxed boss.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I was finishing up my recent project, although it’s no excuse.”

You heard a small chuckle from the man next to you, making you clench your fists in frustration before forcing a small and sitting down.

“So, I bet you’re both wondering why I’ve called you here today,” as your boss spoke you felt Yoongi’s eyes on you, practically burning a hole into the side of your face with his gaze.

Your tongue prodded against the flesh of your check, itching to escape from the uncomfortable situation. You just wanted to hear what your boss had to say and dip out of there as fast as possible. You both nodded feverishly at his words, the two of you desperate to leave.

“As you know, Y/N is relatively new. However, she’s already made significant improvements in her department, excelling quite fast for the time she’s been here.”

You could practically hear Yoongi’s eyes roll into the back of his head next to you. You bit back a smirk, nodding at everything your superior was telling you.

“And Yoongi, you don’t need to me to tell you how you’re doing. You’re one of our top workers here. That being said, I want you two to be in charge of an upcoming project I have planned,” he stacked sheets of paper into a binder before sliding it in front of you, completely unaware of the inner turmoil unraveling in his employees’ heads. Yoongi was frozen solid next to you, and you swore you could sense his breath get heavier.

“I— are you sure? I just got here, I’m sure there’s more qualified people who deserve it, I’m—“

Your frantic rambling was cut off, your boss putting a hand up to silence you, figuring you were just being humble.

“I’m positive. I feel as if you’d two would make a great team,” he added, smiling at the both of you. You tried your utter best to ignore the scoff that sounded from the seat next to you.

“Well, I’ll let you guys get to it. I expect both of you to put an equal amount of work towards it, and try your best to get along. You’ll be spending a lot of time together for the next few months.”

Your manager’s voice echoed in your head, replaying over and over, as you sat in your chair, stunned. It repeated when you darted out of the office with Yoongi in tow. It repeated when you both walked in silence to an empty room to revise the project outline. Even as you heard Yoongi mumbling under his—

“Uh, hello? Are you even listening?” He asked, raking a hand through his hair as you ripped yourself from your thoughts.

“Yeah— actually no, sorry. What did you say?”

Yoongi cleared his throat and looked away, a light blush tinting his cheeks. “I said, we might as well hurry and start. I want to get this over with.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, looking down to watch his shaky fingers mess with the spine of the blue binder you received.

“I’m not exactly jumping for joy either, Min.” You heard him hiss quietly when you said his last name, hands gripping the plastic so tightly you saw his veins emerge from the skin. You squeezed your thighs together as you felt your panties dampen at the sight. Fuck.

“Well then, even more of a reason to get this shit done,” he mumbled, opening up the binder to reveal the intricate details of work you had to do. You attempted to convince yourself that you were staring at his long fingers pull apart each page to get a better look at the words on them. Yeah, that was why.

“This is so much work.. even with the both of us, it’ll take forever,” you mumbled, leaning back in your chair and letting a sigh escape your lips, head thrown back. You heard a light gasp from in front of you, thinking nothing of it at first.

“I—I fucking hope not,” he vocalized, suddenly sitting up and turning around to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” You questioned, quirking an eyebrow at his odd behavior. However, at this point, you were rather used to it.

“I have to use the restroom. What are you my fucking mom or something?” He spat, lips scrunching up in annoyance before darting off through the wooden door in front of him.

Not before you noticed the way his cock strained against his slacks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You grew tired of waiting for the source of your problems to return, letting a hand come down to whack the table before heading out to clear your head, get back to work, get some water, anything.

You fixed your blouse as you strolled through the corridor, realizing with mortification that your bra was peeking out slightly from the top. Shit, you thought. You sincerely hoped your boss didn’t see that. Yoongi, however, was a different story. You wouldn’t mind that. You shook your head, cursing at yourself internally for your dirty thoughts before stopping in your tracks when you heard familiar voices ringing in your ears from the room around the corner.

“Dude, calm the fuck down. It’ll be fine,” you heard Jimin assure, seemingly trying to ease someone’s nerves. Odd.

“Shit, out of all people it had to be her? He couldn’t have picked anyone fucking else?”

Okay, now that was definitely not Jimin. Your ears perked up at hearing this, leaning against the wall to hide yourself while still listening in the conversation.

Someone walked by at that exact moment, sending you a confused look at your weird stance. You gave them a wave, an awkward smile on your face as you attempted to look as natural as possible. Smooth.

“It’ll be over before you know it, and who knows, maybe she’ll fall in love with you along the way,” Jimin teased, and you could practically see the look on his face, eyebrows shooting up with a smirk decorating his lips. You rolled your eyes, confused on why he would even bring that up. Yoongi despised you, and was obviously seething at the fact that he’d have to spend a lot of time with you.

“I don’t want that, I— I mean I do, but- fuck! What if I make a fool out of myself? I already don’t know what to say to her, and she definitely fucking hates me, which is deserved, of course and I—“

Huh?

“Relax, Yoongs. I know her, she’s a great person. She’s never hated you, she thinks you hate her..” Jimin trails off, obviously trying to talk some sense into the older man.

This didn’t make any sense. Why would Yoongi care? Why would he want you to possibly fall in love with him? Why would— oooh.

It all clicked in your head at that moment, the gears turning and clicking against each other as it all started to make sense.

He acted the way he did because he was into you. You had to hold back the chuckle that threatened to escape your throat at the situation. Why are men like this? A grown ass man, having two options: to own up to his feelings, at the very least deal with them like an adult, or bottle them up and let them germinate into hatred.

There’s no doubt that he chose the latter.

You slinked your way back to the room, remaining unnoticed by the two men, and you were opening the door when a mischievous plot sprouted in your mind.

You just accidentally stumbled upon some undoubtedly useful information. You were going to have a bundle of fun with your discovery.

author’s note- i wanted this make this a long one shot but i obviously suck at doing that so I’m splitting it up lmao. this is gonna be a couple part fic just like forbidden. i hope you guys like it, thanks for reading (:

#jaykook #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi one shot #yoongixreader #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #love to hate #bts one shot #bts x oc #bts x reader #yoongi x oc #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you

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softrenjunnie · 3 years

Text

the battle of hogwarts l pj

pairing: reader x jay

characters: boyfriend!jay, friend!jake, brother!sunghoon, chosen one!heeseung, death eaters, voldemort, other small characters

genre: hogwarts!au, angsty angst (maybe a little speck of fluff somewhere? but i wouldn’t bet on it)

word count: 4.1k

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, pain, death, torture and broken bones; swear words; character death.

note: spoilers !!!! i reference/talk about a lot of the stuff that happens in the battle of hogwarts, aka spoilers from the “harry potter and the deathly hallows” book (and movies), but i mean it’s a different story so it’s not super spoilery? note that heeseung plays the part of harry potter here !!!! also, the ending is rlly bad and weird (just like many parts of this oop-) but also pretty open so i guess there could be a pt 2? if i ever get the inspiration to write it heh

“stupefy!”

you heard the voice from behind you and managed to leap to your side to avoid the spell just in time, letting the red light instead hit the wall in front of you. you turned around, and instantly noticed the death eater who was standing many meters away, his wand by his head and ready to strike. “petrificus totalus!”

“protego!”

the beams shooting from his wand met the shield yours had produced, blocking it and letting its light die out. closing the distance between you, he lunged forwards and kept casting a variety of spells, which you, with great difficulty, blocked. you couldn’t hold your protection much longer, it was getting too tough - so instead, you turned around and made a run for it. a green beam of light missed your head by only a few centimeters, as you turned around a corner and kept running. you knew he was following you, and you knew you couldn’t keep this up; just as he rounded the corner, you pointed your wand to the roof above of him. “bombarda maxima!” you tried your best to keep your voice as steady and strong as possible, despite your wild nerves. the spell worked; soon, the death eater lay buried underneath the heavy stones that had just fallen.

you let out a sigh as you determined that he wasn’t going to rise, but you remembered to not let down your guard. there were perhaps hundreds of others inside and around the castle, and you knew from this little incident that they weren’t afraid to attack. so as you ran ahead, on towards the great hall where you hoped to find the people you were looking for, it was with your wand raised high and your eyes listening for every small sound in your vicinity.

you had been taken aback at first when that death eater had arrived; you hadn’t expected to meet anyone the moment you stepped out of the room of requirement. you thought everyone ought to be in the great hall, or perhaps outside of the castle - not lurking around on the top floors of the building. but none of that was what was going through your mind at the moment. you were focused on finding-

“jake, watch out!” you could recognize his voice from miles away, and especially when he was calling out for his best friend, but you don’t think you’ve ever heard such desperation in his voice ever before. at the end of the hallway, you spotted him - jay’s wand was shooting rays of all colors as he leaped forward, shooting down the woman in black, long robes who had just a second ago had a good grip around jake’s neck. she lay still on the floor, and for a few moments the boys stand as if frozen, until jake crouches down next to her and declares that she’s still alive, just fainted, to which both boys seem to calm down for a second. that is, until a scream is heard from a bit away, and the both of them run to where it came from, out of sight from you.

you were surprised that you had stopped in your tracks to watch the scene ahead of you, and you shake yourself before starting to run forwards again. reaching the end of the hallway, you turn to the way jay and jake had just gone. through the big entrance to the great hall, your eyes scanned over your two friends who were helping a ravenclaw girl, who you recognized to have been in your charms last year, fight off two death eaters. sprinting towards them, you watched as the girl, who you now remembered is called yewon, got hit by a spell right in the stomach, launching her into the wall behind her with great force.

as the wizard cheered his own accomplishment and was left unfocused on the other students, jake used the opportunity to strike. “expelliarmus!” he yelled, and the death eater’s wand flew out of his grip and onto the floor, close to where jay was currently standing, fighting the other death eater. as jake stunned the wandless wizard, jay did something he shouldn’t have - he bowed down to pick up the wand from the floor, but in that exact moment, the witch in front of him aimed towards him and was surely about to jinx him-

“levicorpus!” you yelled with all your might, now only standing a few meters away from them both, and the witch too dropped her wand, now hanging in the air upside down.

jay turned his head to where your voice had come from, and his jaw dropped once he saw your face. “y/n?!”

“petrificus totalus.” the witch now dropped down onto the floor, head first, and you almost felt bad for her for a moment before you started thinking about what she could’ve done to jay if you hadn’t jumped in.

“what are you doing here?” jay exclaimed, coming closer to you. “are you completely crazy?”

“a small 'thanks' would’ve been nice,” you scoffed, and before he had the opportunity to say anything else, you turned your head to where your former classmate had crashed into the wall, and spoke again. “yewon? are you still there?”

you didn’t hear an answer, and you ran over to where you suspected she was - and she was right by the wall, lying on the floor and sobbing as she held an arm to her chest.

“hey, are you alright?” you crouched down next to her, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder.

“my arm...” she managed to get out in-between sobs. “it hurts...”

when you looked at it, it wasn’t bleeding nor did it have any visible curses on the skin. you turned your head around to jake, who was now standing behind you. “do you think it’s broken?”

“likely. with that force, i’m surprised more isn’t,” he said, and you nodded agreeingly, pulling out your wand and tapping it to her forearm.

“brackium emendo.”

yewon gave out another cry, but this time it wasn't out of pain. “thank you! thank you so much-”

“y/n,” you heard jay’s stern voice from behind you and you turned around once again. his arms were crossed over his chest, and if you had been anyone else, you likely would’ve crumbled under his gaze. but you couldn’t, not now, there were much more important things to do, people were still screaming on the other side of the castle walls and- “please, can’t we talk?”

you stood up, dusting off your knees with your hands before speaking to jake. “make sure she’s okay, please? and pick up that witch’s wand from the floor, and make sure neither of the death eaters get up.” jake nodded at you, flashing you a small smile, before you walked over to where jay was now standing, two tables away from the others.

the great hall was completely empty now, except for the four of you and the two stunned death eaters, and the atmosphere was almost tranquil, even though there was a full-on war going on just a small distance away.

“what are you doing here?” he asked, the desperation clear in his voice. “i thought they made it clear that-”

“i didn’t get to choose what i wanted to do, i was just forced into the room of requirement like everyone else, and-” you took a deep breath. “of course, i escaped. did you really expect me to just follow the others?”

“yes, because you’re underage, y/n!”

“by two months,” you spat, having a hard time controlling your anger at jay’s stubbornness. “i’m two months too young to fight? that doesn’t make any sense, you know i’m better at charms than most of your classmates!”

he shook his head, his eyes wandering around the room. “they were the rules, y/n. i can’t believe you-”

“can’t believe what? that i would want to fight for my school? fight for my friends? fight for this world to not go under-” you let a few tears fall down your cheeks, and you weren’t sure if it was out of exhaustion, frustration, or despair; likely a combination of them all. but you didn’t bother wiping them away. “fight for you. did you expect that i would just sit at home, just hoping that my friends, family, and boyfriend would all survive? not knowing anything and not being able to affect it would’ve killed me, i think you know-”

you were cut off as he pushed his lips onto yours. your eyes fluttered closed instinctively, and your hand that wasn’t currently holding your wand went up to cup his cheek. he tasted of blood from a small cut on his bottom lip and you tasted of salt from your tears, but neither of you minded. kissing jay felt so familiar; it felt like you were home again. it felt like you were back in your common room with him like you’d been a year ago, when no war had been going on and no dark lord was preparing for his final battle. jay’s lips smoothed over yours with such ease and such softness that if you hadn’t been standing, you could’ve fallen asleep from it.

“hey guys,” jake’s voice made you jump into reality again, and you moved your hand from jay’s cheek to his chest to push him away from you far enough for your lips to part from his again. “i hate to be the one to interrupt your moment, but uh... we should really get going.”

you nodded towards him, before looking back over at jay again, who did not look like he had wanted to stop his previous actions, a tiny pout on his lips. now that you were standing so close to him, you could study his face; there were several smaller wounds all over it, and he winced slightly when you reached up to remove a small piece of glass that had been stuck in a cut below his right eye. you used your thumb to wipe away the blood which had leaked down from a bigger wound by his jaw. “episkey,” you whispered, watching as the skin melted together and soon looked as if nothing had ever happened to it.

there was a loud bang, and the glass of the windows behind the staff table shattered everywhere - and in through the hole ran at least a dozen new death eaters, followed by students, teachers, parents, and other adults who were fighting for your side. and amongst them, you spotted none other than your brother - sunghoon was dueling a death eater, whom you’d seen before in the newspapers, all alone, but as he struck the other wizard with a jinx that seemed to have an extreme force, the death eater flew and slammed into a wall just like yewon had done.

in the few moments that you had stood watching your brother, the people around you hadn’t stopped like you, but instead started helping out in battles. you instantly joined jay’s side again, helping him battle a tall and broad man whose wand was producing beams of light at a faster speed than you had ever seen before. “incarcerous!” jay roared, and ropes appeared out of thin air which wrapped around the death eater and held his limbs tightly together.

“good one,” you told him, and turned around to find someone else to help - but standing right behind you was none other than sunghoon.

“jay, are you dumb?!” he screamed at the boy standing next to you. beads of sweat were rolling down his face and his dark eyes made him look of a mixture between exasperated and exhausted. “forcing my baby sister into a war?!”

“he didn’t force me, you idiot!” you frowned up at him, groaning. “i chose it myself. and what part of me is baby, sunghoon? i’m almost of age, start treating me like it!”

“either way, you can’t be here! you have to get back to the room of requirement!”

you shook your head and took a step closer to him. “in case you haven’t noticed, they’re fighting in here. if we don’t help out soon, we will all be dead. i’d rather die helping out than die arguing about this!”

you walked past him and raised your wand, ready to strike at a witch jake was taking on at the moment, but sunghoon grabbed your arm and pulled you back. you were about to shake him off and complain when he pulled you into a hug. holding you close, he muttered, “i can’t lose you. please, please, take care. never battle alone.” you squeezed him back and nodded into his chest, before pulling away from him. you heard how he told jay to protect you, and the two of them were just about to hug when a red light missed the tops of their heads by just a few centimeters, almost as if it was a signal that you all needed to get back to the war.

you and jay took on one death eater each, throwing spells and shooting colored jets through the air as quickly as you could. but after stunning your opponent, and helping jay do the same to his, you overlooked the room and realized just how many people there were. it was extremely crowded, with injured people crying for help while lying on the floor and voldemort’s helpers assaulting other wizards and witches with both their wands and their bodies. it was overwhelming, there were too many of them, how would you ever win this? your breath became uneven, and you felt like you weren’t getting any air. your head was spinning, and the ground felt like it was shaking below you - it likely was, to be honest - and you couldn’t stay in your place a second longer.

you turned around slowly, before moving towards the opening of the main hall and looked for the best place to go. to your left, your defense against the dark arts teacher was fighting two robed, tall men all by himself, though he seemed to have no problem doing so; to your right, the hallway was empty, so that’s where you went. you found a hole in the wall a bit away, and you could almost hear the fresh air of the night calling for you, so you climbed out through it. instantly, your lungs were filled with the cold air, making you close your eyes in satisfaction and sit down on the ground, relaxing fully. you instantly felt better, and you felt like you wouldn’t have to be out here for a lot longer before you could back inside, just-

“look at who we have here,” said a female voice from beside you, and you opened your eyes and flew up to stand on the stone debris from what had formerly been the wall. you recognized her instantly - she was one of voldemort’s most faithful followers, and you had read about her and her escape from azkaban in the newspapers before. “isn’t it the little mudblood who’s been helping lee heeseung in his plans against the dark lord?” you raised your wand to attack, but she was quicker. “expelliarmus!” your wand flew up into the air and landed right by her feet. you didn’t even bother trying to fetch it, you knew it would be to no avail. “tell me where the boy is hiding, and i shall spare your life.”

“i don’t know!” you cried out.

she raised her eyebrows. “hmm. maybe this will make you remember. crucio!”

you had never experienced pain like this in your life. you crashed down onto the ground, unable to control anything in your body. the pain was obliterating, intense, all-consuming. you screamed, but you couldn’t hear yourself, all your senses being dulled out by the pain.

and suddenly, she broke off the curse, though your muscles were still throbbing from the curse. “do you know where he is now, then?” she sneered.

“no-” just as you had managed to whimperingly utter the word, she flicked her wand once again. the second hit of the spell felt a lot like the first, but this time she held it for much longer. your bones were on fire, a million knives were pushing into your skin, boiling water was being poured over your body, your head was about to explode-

the relief you felt when she stopped the curse for the second time was indescribable. high-pitched, horrifying laughs were flowing from the death eater’s mouth before she once again spoke. “i think you know now.”

you wanted to slap the grin off her dark lips, but you had no energy to even stand up. instead, you gathered your last bits of power, and said, “i don’t. and even if i had known, i wouldn’t have told you.”

she chuckled, before shaking her head at you. “you silly girl... you deserve this.”

the third time the spell hit you, it was much worse than the other two times; she must’ve gone extremely angry by now. it felt as if you were in space, there was no air for you to breathe. your lungs weren’t working properly. you wished to do anything to make this extreme pain go away, anything... even disappear or... die...

though it had felt like an eternity for you, there were only a few moments after she’d cursed you that the curse was interrupted once again. you couldn’t even look up; you were curled into a ball on the ground, eyes shut tight, wishing that everything would just be over...

soon, there was a shuffle beside you, and soon a hand lay on your shoulder, shaking it gently. “y/n? are you alive? please, be alive...”

by now, you were just barely breathing; it was too hard, it took too much energy from you and you already had very little left.

“hey, it’s all fine now,” a voice told you, as a hand caressed your cheek. “she’s gone. you’ll be fine. please, just-” the voice paused, and when it returned, you could tell that the person by you had turned around and was now yelling towards the entrance of the castle. “jake! get some water, quick!”

you were too exhausted to listen clearly to his voice and try to recognize it, but from his wording, you could easily tell who it was. slowly, you opened your eyes, looking up at jay who sat crouched next to you. he had more bruises and wounds all over his face now than he had had when you had left him, and he was looking down at you with eyes of such panic that you’d never seen before. “fuck, y/n,” he mumbled. “you can’t just go off like that. do you realize how-”

he stopped in his tracks when you reached up with a hand to thread your fingers through his hair, pushing his fringe back and out of his eyes. “i’m fine.”

“a-are you sure?”

you nodded slowly at him, closing your eyes once again and letting your arm fall to your side. “i just need to...rest a bit...” jay let out a sigh of relief, and his hand went from your shoulder and up to your face, letting his thumb wipe away a few tears that you hadn’t noticed shedding. “what happened to her?” you hummed, voice low.

“oh, you didn’t hear it?” you furrowed your eyebrows. “i stunned her at first, but then voldemort spoke over the grounds and told his forces to retreat, to give us one hour to treat to everyone’s wounds and to say our goodbyes to those who are leaving us. he said that heeseung has an hour to give himself in, or else the war is on again.”

you were surprised that you hadn't heard voldemort's voice, but then again, you even now had to put in all your force to hear jay properly. you looked up at him. “he’s not going to, is he?” you questioned, to which jay merely shrugged. “he can’t, that’s-”

“y/n, are you okay?! someone told me what happened,” said jake as he came up to you two, an empty plastic bottle in his hand. “i only found this, it’s empty, i know, but i mean you can always-”

“aguamenti,” jay said to cut off his friend’s rambling, filling the bottle quickly before handing it to you. thanking them both, you sat up straight, although every muscle and every ligament in your body screamed as you did, and drank a couple of sips.

deciding that you wouldn’t get anything done sitting there all night, you put away the bottle and pressed your hands into the ground, trying to push yourself up, but instantly failed. jay saw your struggling and bolted up, offering his hand down to you and helping you stand up once you took it in yours. “how’s your balance?” jake asked as you froze for a few seconds when you were trying to figure out if you were blacking out due to the stinging feeling in your head or due to your blood pressure dropping from standing up too quickly.

“not good enough,” you chuckled. “will you guys help me?” they both nodded, and soon they were by your sides, letting you throw your arms across their shoulders to steady you.

as you walked into the castle again through the hole you had come out from a while ago, you couldn’t help but to think about what jay had said earlier. say our goodbyes to those who are leaving us... he made it seem like there are many who were too injured to bring back. there couldn’t be a lot, could there?

“where is heeseung?” you asked, moving your head between them to look at their faces. “he knows we are fighting, right? he can’t give up!”

jake stopped in his tracks, which made you jump back too even though you all were just a few meters from the main hall by now, and he gave jay a very specific look. “you haven’t told her, have you?”

jay rubbed his hand that wasn’t holding you up against the back of his neck. “i- i haven’t found a good moment to do it!”

“wha-” was all you could let out before jake spoke again.

“and you think this is a good moment?!” he almost yelled, shaking his head at jay.

“i don’t think we’ll find a better one, nor that we have any choice,” jay groaned, and just as your confusion and frustration of not being allowed into the conversation peaked, someone ran into your view.

“oh my god, y/n!” cried yewon, running up to you. “i’m so sorry for your loss, i wish there was something i could’ve done-”

and that’s when it hit you. you realized what jay and jake had been referring to, but you refused to believe it. she must’ve been confused, it can’t have been true, nothing was wrong-

you pulled away your arms from the boys and ignored their calls of your name when you sprinted forwards, past yewon and into the hall. you pushed away your thoughts of your aching muscles and how it was likely unwise to do this; nothing was more important right now than making it all the way to where the dead bodies lay in the middle of the room. they had removed the tables by now, and people were gathering in groups around the wizards and witches on the floor, though you couldn’t see anything other than the one body you were aiming towards. and as you reached him, the world turned black.

“sunghoon,” you whispered, crouching down to the floor and shaking him by his shoulders. “please, sunghoon. you’re not dead, you can’t die, not now, you...” before you knew it, your sobs were uncontrollable, your face buried in his dusty cloak. this couldn’t be real. there was no way. “wake up... i beg of you...”

you felt someone sit down next to you, and then a hand on your back. you instantly turned around and threw yourself into jay’s embrace, crying out loud. your hands clutched at the material covering his chest and once again you had trouble breathing, your breaths unnaturally short and rapid. jay held your trembling body to him as tightly as he could, hoping that if you felt that he was there with you he’d be able to hold you down in reality, to make sure your mind wasn’t floating away.

but as time passed, and you started realizing that sunghoon wouldn't come back, your sorrow turned into something else. vengefulness. they weren't getting away with this.

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you-did-well-moon · 3 years

Text

Werewolf!Yunho meeting his mate

Type: Werewolf au, angst, fluff

Pairing: Werewolf!Yunho x HumanFemale!reader

Word count: 2,994

A/n: I know this took a long time, trust me, it felt like a long time for me too. With how I view Yunho, I expected this to be happier than it is. I was having a hard time while writing this, and it reflected on the story. Anyways please enjoy and stay safe!

TW: toxic relationship, financial struggle, deadlines, stressed reader, emotional and verbal pain, toxic masculinity, if I missed anything please tell me.

You sat at the foot of your bed, still not made, staring at the mirror resting against your dull colored wall with lifeless blank eyes. Your posture slouched as you finished tying the laces of your running shoes huffing and letting your arms flop to the ground. Looking at the mirror, you tried smiling, but it was meak and disappeared as soon as it appeared.

You hadn’t smiled a real smile in so long, you forgot what it felt like. To smile. To be happy. The forgotten emotion was one you took for granted when it was easy to to bask in the warmth of it. Now it's just cold. Cold and empty.

You looked away from the mirror with a tight feeling coiling in the base of your chest not being able to bear looking at the stranger staring back at you any longer. Your gaze fell to the laptop, abandoned, due to frustration on your desk in the forgotten corner of the room. The thought of unfinished drafts and incomplete sentences shook violently in your mind. Disappointment in yourself pooling in your gut remembering your editor’s words.

“If you can’t give us at least a first draft by the end of the month, we’ll have to unfortunately let you and your novel go.”

How pathetic was it that you couldn’t even come up with a simple sentence. A description, dialogue, a metaphor. Nothing. Anytime you sat yourself in front of the desk, your mind went blank. The cursor blinking at the top of the page mocked you with the possibility of millions of words. Not one ever made its way onto the page.

The end of the month was in two weeks.

You felt tears of hopelessness stinging the corner of your eyes, and you abruptly stood up grabbing your wireless earbuds, phone, and bag. Making your way into the kitchen you grabbed the water in the fridge and placed it inside your back, nothing but a numb feeling alienating you from reality and its broken expectations. You heard the front door of your little apartment open and slam close shaking the thin walls of the building.

Your heart lurched as you winced immediately feeling like you were walking on eggshells. You were usually quick enough to leave before he got home from work, but you had been a tad bit late this one time. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly hoping for it to ground you through whatever vile words came from the one person you should have been able to trust with your ugliest feelings.

Trying to walk past your boyfriend, eyes trained on the chipped wood of the front door did no good when he kissed his teeth and huffed as soon as he caught sight of you.

“You’re never home when I get home from work, and the one time you are here, you run away not even saying hi to me? Not even a “hey honey how was work today” or maybe a “hi love what would you like for dinner?” and never a “you’ve worked hard would you like a massage?” It's the same shit every day. You treat me like nothing when I'm the reason you even have a roof over your head woman.”

You kept your mouth the whole time he rambled on trying to ignore the clear stench of beer being able to reach you even with all the distance separating you, and the feeling of disgust mixed with desperation pooling at the bottom of your gut at yourself for not speaking up for yourself. Opening your mouth instead of letting your voice be taken from you. A long time ago, you would always say you would rather die than be without your voice. In a sense, you had died a long time ago.

Around three months after you had started dating. That had been two years ago.

Your English degree really did you no good. Not having enough time to be an intern in college really screwed you over when no job would take a bright eyed girl with the same passion in her heart for writing as a Karen’s passion for business that wasn’t hers, but with no experience. Even if the apartment was under your name, you’d probably be kicked out in weeks time.

You hated all of it. Everything that made up both the small and big parts of your life, you hated it. You hated his greasy hair and beady eyes, the nasty rough stubble covering the lower part of his face as a result of his laziness. You hated the hesitation in leaving him because of the fear of the stack of bills piling up next to the fridge. You hated the editors who couldn’t find it in some part of their greedy selves to extend your deadline. You hated the empty drafts sitting in your laptop collecting what could only be dead dreams and despair. You hated the cold emptiness that was always present in the confines of your chest.

You recoiled at the way he said “woman” the same way someone would talk about a bug. Small and insignificant. Patronizing and confident in the worst way. You set your mouth in a tight line not even being able to look at him. Shifting your feet, you crossed your arms and looked up to the sky as if calling out to some unknown being to get you out of this pathetic corner you were trapped in. You cursed under your breath looking at the dying flowers on the coffee table with distaste as they wilted towards you mocking you.

“What was that?” His voice got rougher with the menacing edge of fanned masculinity and control. Something that could put you in a dangerous place in a very fast amount of time. You looked at him with dull eyes poking your cheek with your tongue as a cold feeling settled in your gut.

Your hands fell limply to your side and you chuckled humorlessly.

“Fuck you”.

Those two words were enough to set him off as you slowly blinked and looked at the ground feeling your heart falter when he abruptly got up. You tried to stand your ground, but the surge of confidence was quickly withering away with fear taking its place.

Ethan was bigger than you. Even if he wasn’t that much taller than you, there was a noticeable difference in his frame and yours. Weirdly enough, you didn’t regret your curse at him. The words still burned brilliantly on the tip of your tongue.

It was bittersweet of course. His nose flared, and his eyes bulged as he took large strides over to you knocking the coffee table over on his path to you.

“What did you say to me you-” his words were said through gritted teeth, brash and loud in the silent apartment.

Maybe he was bigger and stronger than you, but you were faster.

You inhaled sharply reacting fast as your hand reached behind you, turning the knob and slipping around it slamming the door close. Your bag bumped against your back while you bolted to the door with the word “stairs” painted in big bold letters across it. You were already at the door when you heard your apartment door open and Ethan angrily called your name. Threatening to break your laptop if you didn’t go back right this instant.

You couldn’t help but snicker at the weak attempt. It’s not like there were much but empty pages anyways.

A heavy feeling soon settled on your chest as you went down the stairs. Your apartment was on the 4th floor, and the stairs weren’t the most taken care of, but it’s not like you had much of a choice anyways. It seemed these days you were always wanting to run away from something.

Your heart felt a little lighter when the warm rays of sun met your skin and the fresh air outside flooded your senses. Your walk to the park went as usual. Cars racing to get where they needed to, people chattered about everything and nothing, and your thoughts wandered to a world far away from this one.

A world that wasn’t as dark as this one. At the same time your mind became your executioner, it became your safe place. The sick contrast making a nasty feeling flood your chest.

You arrived at the park with a small smile. The normalcy of the day bringing a little comfort to your still racing heart. Kids ran around, laughter ringing in the air around them as their parents watched on benches gossiping among themselves. People raced fast either by foot, bicycle, or skateboard, a visible sheen on their necks. You looked for the kind old man who always looked after your bag while you ran.

He owned a music store a few blocks away, and he always sat on the bench closest to the pond with his cute corgi and habitually feeding the ducks peas and lettuce leaves when finished with a certain chapter of his book. You walked up to him with a small smile as he looked up and took the sight of you in with fatherly worry.

“You look a little pale kid, everything alright?”

You did your best to liven up and gave your best customer service smile which the older man immediately saw through.

“Of course Mr.Jung. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m just a little tired from the editors. They’re on my back more than usual”, you laughed nervously as he hummed in understanding.

“I hope that boy of yours isn’t giving you any problems. Hey kid, have you ever heard of the term “break up?” he looked so serious you had to compose your shocked face.

You waved your hands rapidly “I promise Mr.Jung everything is fine there is...I...oh my” you took a shaky breath as he simply shrugged his shoulders and pet his smaller companion who was having a very serious stare down with a duck.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your yoga pants while you looked around at the tacky named paths trying to decide which one to run today.

“The Pupper Runner path looks particularly nice today,” he suggested. You looked at the path pursing your lips in thought. The path wasn’t one you ran frequently. Since it was one of the wider and flatter paths, there were more people such as families or people walking their dogs. You also didn’t like having run-ins with the cyclists who were grouchier around this time of day for some odd reason.

After contemplating it, you shrugged and decided why not. Getting run over by a ticking time bomb on wheels wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen today. With a small smile sent in Mr.Jungs way, you checked your shoe laces before starting out with a light jog making your way down the specific path.

There was nothing really different about today’s run than others. Just having to dodge the wheel demons and kids happily running ahead of their worried mothers. You were grateful for the distraction. It kept you from straying too far into your head. It was just you running. Running like you always did these days, your shoes slapping on the concrete path and Got7 blaring in your ears.

The heat of the sun shone on your skin, but oddly you still felt cold. It was always cold these days. A light breeze fresh to your burning skin as desperate eyes caught yours, and you were once again bought out of your stupor.

A small boy was kneeled down fingers clutching his untied shoelaces not far from his dad who was trying to calm a crying baby. You didn’t really have a strong adoration for kids, but his panicked pinched face compelled you to come to a slow stop in front of him. Your chest heaved as you bent down to his level sitting on your heels and wrapped your arms around your legs.

“Hey bud, you need some help there?”

The kid made a distraught sound as he nodded his face shaking his hair out of his eyes. He looked dumb founded as he stared at his shoe laces in search of answers they would never give.

“Mama said to make a bunny, but this looks more like my aunt Carol’s dog” he sadly told you.

You snorted reaching out gently to tie his laces with a double knot.

With a grin you looked up at him ruffling his hair and giving him a thumbs up which he happily returned with a toothy smile.

“It’s alright kid, you’ll eventually get it. Just keep trying yeah? Don’t settle or you might catch yourself tripping next time you go on a walk. You’ll get hurt. Wouldn’t want that would we”, you said, lips still stretched kindly upwards, but something in your words struck stingingly deep in your chest.

As the kid nodded happily with a carefree laugh you were about to get up when you heard the air being split and a strained voice yelling “watch out!!”.

You looked up, panicked, only to see a frisbee racing right in your direction with alarming speed. With the goal of protecting the small child, you quickly turned your body. Your shoes making a rough sound against the concrete as a startled light cry left the younger boy’s mouth.

With your hands ready, you easily caught the frisbee gasping at the shock of the situation. You quickly shook it off as you gripped the frisbee turning back to the child who profusely thanked you, his small hands shaking as they clutched onto the hem of your shirt.

You simply smiled reassuringly tapping his shoe and ushering him back to his father who has begun to successfully calm the fussing baby down.

With shaking knees you tried to get up only to wince and slightly waver at the sharp sting that hit your ankle area. You clenched your jaw feeling more than annoyed at the current situation in hand.

You stood up grumbling under your breath as a tall figure jogged over to you. While he made his way toward you, your narrowed eyes met his wide, apologetic ones.

You felt the world shift around you as a calming warmth shot through your body melding with the confusion and panic pooling in your gut, and his eyes widened impossibly as he stumbled managing to stabilize himself right in time in front of you. His figure standing just inches away from you as his hands trembled, and his lips slightly parted.

You got a slight whiff of cologne and mint, but more than anything, the weird feeling in your gut was making a way for the dreadful panic clouding around your heart.

You felt warm.

After feelings of feeling nothing but the hollow cold licking at your veins, there was a nice warmth settling in your chest.

You were scared of it.

With a heavy chest you slightly inched back left somewhat immobile due to the aching pain in your ankle. “What the hell?”, you immediately set off on questioning him leading him to shake his head frantically at you.

“I’m so sorry, i really am.” He put his hand on his chest as if trying to prove his sincerity to you, but you breathlessly took a step back stunned by the intense feelings taking over your heart and mind.

You tried shaking it off, but the warmth lingered.

You weren’t sure you wanted it to go away.

“There’s kids here”, you were so distracted by all the emotions circling your mind you couldn’t possibly put any effort into arguing with the young man. His lips parted to make way for his lips as he nodded his head in understanding. “I know, I'll be more careful next time. I promise.”

Somehow, you knew he was being truthful. You went to say something, possibly something dangerous, but you shook your head and waved your hand.

You tried taking a step but lightly hissed at the sharp pain that shot from your ankle up your leg. The man instantly dove forward steadying you with a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, and the other hovering in worry near your collarbone.

With wide eyes you looked at him as he realized his un-asked for touch and immediately went to back away.

He couldn’t.

Your hand was clutching the cloth of his shirt near his shoulder blades. Hands slowly uncurling, you smiled awkwardly, but he kept his hand where it was. At his touch, the warmth licking the insides of your body became all the more distracting.

“Um, I don’t think you can go all the way back home like this”, he cleared his throat looking at you shily under his bangs. Flustered, you smiled at the ground before looking back up and timidly asking “I can't. Mind helping me out?”.

At your question he let out a beaming grin nodding eagerly. He went to stand in front of you, and he crouched down looking at you over his shoulder with soft brown eyes. You did a small jump, and were caught by his hands slightly gripping under your thighs.

He gave a low chuckle that somehow was felt from where your chest was pressed up against his shoulder blades. “So...what’s your name?”. You let a light giggle escape, “Y/n, yours?”. You saw his jaw move with the syllables of your name whispering it to himself.

“Yunho”, you smiled also sounding out the name on your own mouth. You gave a shuddering exhale, and you laid your head on his shoulder letting yourself really rest for what seemed like the first time in forever.

That night you walked right past Ethan who was quick to begin yelling at you, and you tucked yourself under the safety of your blankets feeling the warmth still encasing your heart, so comforting and alive.

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nothingtolosebutweight · 2 years

Text

Don't turn your back on me: No More

Part 2 for the 'Oneshot' Lovely Kiss under the Rain, that suddenly became a 4-Part story.

Pairing: Heahmund x Ivar

Words: ~5000 (AO3)

Summary: Ivar's outbursts have gotten worse and Heahmund has to make a decision to protect himself.

Warnings: Angst, Heartbreak, Alcohol abuse, Domestic violence, Heahmund just has to go through some shit, Ivar is the bad guy here

@jackson--t ♥ @youbloodymadgenius @dini73 @istorkyou (as always, if you want to be tagged or un-tagged, just say something)

He was devastated. It wasn't the kind of despair that makes people rage with frustration, that makes them scream in fury. He was not like Ivar. Heahmund was the one who suffered in silence. A numbness had taken hold of him, had slowly consumed him completely over the course of the last few months until there was not a single spark of joy left in him.

Even hope had left him at this point. The hope that something would change, that the dark clouds above him would finally disperse, but the sun, whose warming rays he so longed for, did not bother to show itself.

Heahmund sat on the edge of the bed and let his gaze wander unfocused through the spacious bedroom. He was stalling. Every now and then, his eyes fell on his packed luggage, which stood ready to leave in front of the larger of the two closets. It reminded him of the decision he had made. The one he didn't want to postpone any longer - and did it anyway.

He had finished packing an hour ago, in a kind of haste, because he felt he had to hurry. He feared he wouldn't have as much time as he thought, but having already moved several boxes into his car until only the last two suitcases remained, he now just sat there staring into space, probably hoping that something would happen to dissuade him from his decision, that he could find another solution. He hoped for a miracle that he knew would not happen, and besides, he hesitated, because his weak side, the one that clung to the feeling called love, didn't want to go, was rather afraid of this step, but deep down he knew it was the right thing to do. He just needed a few more minutes until he felt ready to leave all this behind. Their home. Their little nest of love.

Love. It was such a small and insignificant word, and yet it was such a tremendous feeling that carried so much power. It could enrich one's world so much that one felt drunk with happiness. Love can move mountains, they say, but they also say that you can be blinded by it, and in his case, Heahmund thought bitterly to himself, it was the reason why he had lost himself completely. Love had robbed him of his dignity, his passion for life and his ability to recognize what was right and wrong.

The whiskey glass he held in his hand proved it to him anew. Lost in thought, he swirled the amber liquid back and forth before bringing the glass to his lips, taking another sip. The slight burning in his throat gave him a certain soothing sensation that he had come to appreciate, and the alcohol spread the feeling of inner warmth throughout his body. A feeling that once could be produced by love alone. Now he needed the whiskey to help him with that.

The half-empty bottle on the nightstand testified to the fact that he had already needed a lot of it today to calm his nerves and not to break down. Especially today, he needed his new best friend the most to get through the day, to get through it.

Alcohol was helping him to better bear his inner emptiness. He needed it to feel like he was filling up with something that made him feel good. At least for a short time. Whiskey had become a kind of blanket for him to snuggle under. It kept him warm. It pushed away the bad feelings that he didn't want to let get out because he didn't want to endure them any longer. It protected him from being destroyed by them, just as a blanket protects one from monsters lurking outside the bed. Under its influence, Heahmund felt safe.

Sighing in resignation, as if the whole weight of the world rested on his shoulders, Heahmund finally stood up, emptied his glass in one go, and immediately poured himself another. Forgotten was the fact that he had to drive off in a few minutes. It may not have been the weight of the whole world that he had to carry, but it was the weight of his world. The one he was about to destroy, which already had a gaping crack in the middle, the edges of which were so sharp that he was hurting himself more every day.

Four steps were enough and Heahmund had bridged the distance to the large white closet, where he was inevitably confronted with his own reflection staring back at him through one of the large mirrors attached to one of the closet doors. The dark spot on his cheek literally laughed at him and he had to close his eyes for a moment. The shame he felt about it was too great. The mark should have never been allowed to appear and it had destroyed the last fragile sprout of hope in him. With the emergence of this blemish, the hope of recovery was forcibly torn from the nurturing base he had desperately tried to keep alive. Rotten earth was now the only thing left in his heart, providing a breeding ground of despair for the worms to feast on which seemed to crawl deeper and deeper into him.

A week ago he had decided that he couldn't go on like this anymore, that this mark - a bruise - was the last straw that broke the camel's back, or in other words, that had broken his will to keep fighting for the continuation of his relationship with Ivar. Ivar Lothbrok. The boy who had come into his life like a thunderstorm. The one who had captured his heart in an instant, held it hostage ever since, and with whom he shared such a deep connection that Heahmund had believed he would fight until his last breath for the bond they were sharing. But maybe one didn't have to physically die first to feel as if one were dead. Perhaps on that fateful evening a week ago, he had taken his last breath for this chapter of his life, and now was the time to admit that and, most importantly, to finally stand up for himself.

Heahmund's eyes searched his reflection once more, his fingertips ran carefully over the bruised spot on his cheek, and memories of the evening, but also of the time before, since the direction in which their relationship had drifted had become more and more borderline, rolled over him. As it had so many times in the last few days. It haunted him because he had the feeling that he himself had failed the most.

Normally, he was the rock in the storm, the reasonable guy. The one who usually always had a solution for everything. He was the adult who stood with both feet firmly in life. He led an entire team in his job just perfectly, had the right advice for everyone and everything, and in the area where he needed a working solution the most, he couldn't find one. And now he was going to give up, too. Although it would break him even more. He knew there was a more painful time ahead, but in clearer moments he had convinced himself that it could also be seen as some kind of strength. Maybe it was true and it could actually be called strength to leave the person you loved the most behind to save yourself, or maybe he just needed a more or less convincing excuse to justify his plan to himself. To not feel as terrible as he was feeling at that moment, because he knew it wouldn't just throw him off track. It would ruin Ivar as well.

Heahmund had known from the beginning that Ivar was not always easy to deal with, that he had deeper problems that had eaten firmly into his soul. Nevertheless, he had fallen head over heels in love with him more than three years ago, despite their age difference, and he would never bring himself to say that he regretted his decision to start a romantic relationship with him, because that was not true. Despite the circumstances, he wouldn't want to miss these last few years. He only wished he could have handled things better, maybe even loved Ivar better, if that would have been possible at all. If he had been stronger, he might have been able to help his boyfriend. He couldn't imagine life without it, and the fact that he had to do it sent a new wave of inner pain through his chest, making him exhale shakily after swallowing another mouthful of burning amber.

Even in the rosy times at the beginning of their relationship, Heahmund had observed that Ivar was not in control of his emotions, that he too often went off the rails unnecessarily, that he could not control himself once he got upset. At first he had only seen it in relation to his brothers, especially Sigurd, and even found it a bit cute how Ivar could get upset about the smallest things. One wrong word, one slightly too biting remark, and there was no stopping Ivar firing back insults that were many times more hurtful than the actual trigger had been. Later he had realized that it was a kind of self-protection for his beloved. When he attacked most violently, the others had no chance to hurt him further.

It was no longer so cute as this behavior slowly started to enter between the two of them as well. As first disputes emerged, which under normal circumstances could have been solved quickly. But not with Ivar. There were no normal arguments with the youngest of the Lothbrok family. There was only combat. Verbally at first, and sometimes Heahmund had struggled with that, too. Words could also cut deep, leaving invisible scars that only flickered beneath the surface and merely made themselves felt from time to time, but he had quickly learned to deal with it, not to take it too personally. So there was no reason for him not to ask Ivar if he wanted to move in with him, and the joy that this simple question had triggered in the young man made the hint of a smile appear on Heahmund's lips at the memory of it - even now, when he didn't feel like smiling at all.

If Heahmund were to review the first time they lived together, he would say that the first six months were their happiest. Ivar felt like he belonged, he literally blossomed. They spent a lot of time together, and everything seemed harmonious and balanced. Only gradually, and as always with something like this, in small, creeping steps, everything had changed, when everyday life had taken possession of them and old habits had reasserted themselves. More and more small quarrels had flared up. Ivar had let his inner demon crawl to the surface to take command, at first infrequently, then every other day, and finally almost daily. Always with a tearful apology afterwards.

Of course, sometimes he had felt that he had grown tired of the constantly recurring pattern, that he lacked the feeling that something was improving despite Ivar's promising words, but he would have continued to overlook it with ease and a clear conscience. Had always done so until now, for the sake of love. The same love he still felt deeply despite everything. Even now, standing next to packed suitcases.

Now he could no longer ignore it. The whole situation had taken a turn that demanded too much of him. He didn't want to bend anymore, didn't want to give up the last remnant of his self, of his dignity. Heahmund did not want to fade away and become a shadow of himself, like the empty shell he was confronted with in the mirror. He had already let it get to the point where his own reflection had begun to frighten him. Empty, tired-looking eyes with dark circles, lips that had forgotten what a smile from the heart felt like, and a lifeless expression that conveyed painfully well just how it looked inside him.

Heahmund could still remember the first situation when Ivar's hand had almost slipped during an argument, the first major red flag that he had, of course, ignored in the end as well. He himself had come home late that night, a few days in a row already, and his workload was so heavy at this time that, after a quick kiss, he went straight to his desk to get some more work done. He had his head so full of the chores he still had to do that he had overlooked the small signs of Ivar's discomfort about the whole situation, and he should have known better.

I really should have...maybe everything would have been different then, Heahmund thought to himself anew, as the memory of the evening came to his mind. Even days later, he had inwardly berated himself for not having been more attentive. After all, he knew how sensitive his boyfriend was when it came to rejection. It was one of Ivar's deep-rooted fears and the easiest trigger, and he knew he should have acted more prudently at the time. But Heahmund wasn't perfect either. He, too, made mistakes.

So it came as it had to come. Ivar had snapped. Had given vent to his rage in a hurricane of insults. Ivar had let words gush out of his mouth that had startled the elder and Heahmund barely got a word in edgewise. It was generally not easy for him to find the right words in such heated situations. Those who didn't further poured oil on the fire, and so he had resorted to his time-tested behavior and simply silently endured what was hurled at him after the first attempts to calm the situation with reasonable interjections and attempts at appeasement had failed, as usual.

As a calm and level-headed person, he always tried to remain calm on the outside, so that they wouldn't blow each other up, but when he had seen Ivar's hand movement and, above all, had processed it and had understood what the younger man was up to, he had also felt anger and, above all, disbelief rising up inside him. He had been shocked - and so had Ivar. Heahmund had been able to read the shock about himself in his beloved's face just seconds before Ivar had fled the apartment.

It had started raining that evening, shortly after Ivar had disappeared, and Heahmund had without further ado grabbed an umbrella and had gone looking for him. Forgotten was his workload. His sweetheart was more important to him. He had finally found him completely soaked, freezing and shivering from the cold. Ivar's rage had faded, and they had been able to talk normally, had kissed at the end in the pouring rain as a sign of reconciliation, while thunder and lightning had raged over them like an evil omen.

Back home, Ivar had apologized again in tears. As he had done so many times before. Had vowed to improve. As he had done so many times before. Had admitted his mistake. As he had done so many times before. But he had also taken a first step and tried to communicate what was going on inside him, had tried to explain how he felt. A first step that had made Heahmund hopeful. For him, it was the right step in the direction he wanted them to go. Almost forgotten, therefore, was the fact that this quarrel had almost been the first that had turned violent. Nevertheless, he had warned Ivar that he would not be able to tolerate such behavior.

At the thought, Heahmund puffed with amusement at himself and raised his glass another time. How many times had he endured it since then without drawing the announced consequences? Countless times.

He had made a fool of himself. He, a man in his thirties with a leading role in his job, a man others usually looked up to, who was respected. He had allowed himself to be turned into a punching bag. Where had his self-respect gone?

He had closed his eyes to the bitter truth that his sweet little Ivar had become a tyrant.

After Ivar had crossed the final line one day without facing the threatened consequences, the downward spiral had begun, and Heahmund had allowed it, blinded by love. Over and over again, because those sweet-sounding apologies after each slip kept the fragile seed of hope alive. Only too gladly had he listened to the words he wanted to hear. His broken heart had been so hungry that it had devoured all those sweet-sounding lies, under the guise of promises, without hesitation. Heahmund had lost himself in his wishful thinking that one day things would magically get better, and wasn't Ivar still his sweet little Ivar anyway?

How could he not also see the good in his friend, include the good times much more in his reflections. Heahmund liked to close his eyes to the bad things, but saw the good all the more clearly in return.

Sweet Ivar, who always snuggled up to him in bed, who always needed a little bit of physical contact to fall asleep. His adorable Ivar, who whispered sweet words of affection in his ear every time they hugged and this they did often. Cute Ivar, whose bright smile spread so much warmth in Heahmund's body, whose laughter was a wonderful medicine on gray or stressful days. Caring Ivar, who made him snacks when he had to work late again. The kind Ivar who always remembered to bring him his favorite kind of tea when he went shopping. Who also always immediately thought of him when new varieties of tea came on the market, and who surprised him with little gestures like that almost on a daily basis. To other people these might be simple, insignificant gestures, but to Heahmund they were not. It meant that Ivar cared about him, that he thought about Heahmund even when he was doing boring things like shopping. It was Ivar's way of showing love and affection.

How often had the older man surrendered to these points, clung to them? Lately, more often with a bottle of alcohol as an anchor at his side. Heahmund had believed so much that in time they would be able to overcome their problems, that their love for each other would be strong enough and, above all, the most important thing it would need to help Ivar overcome his inner demons. He had really made a fool of himself - and it annoyed him more every day.

It would not get any better. That had become clear to him. Painfully - underpinned by the actual physical pain caused by the blow to his cheek. At that moment, his heart was completely ripped out of him.

It had happened at Christmas of all times. As usual, they had been invited to Ivar's parents' home to celebrate the feast with them and his four brothers. They had eaten well, had fun, and at the beginning of the day Ivar had been in a good mood, much to the older man's delight, but the more the day progressed, the more Heahmund had not been able to shake off the feeling that something was no longer right. The family seemed not to have noticed, just as they hadn't noticed all these months how much Ivar had changed, how much Heahmund had endured under the boy’s tyranny. In front of them, his beloved behaved quite normally. Only small quarrels with Sigurd, but that was a familiar picture for them all. Also that day, but Heahmund had noticed the small signs. To be honest, he had already begun to fear them.

He had heard it in the tone of Ivar's laughter. So false. He had seen it in his facial expressions, which had been pure acting. A friendly mask to keep up the facade. The look he had kept giving Heahmund when no one else was paying attention to him had been full of reproach, and he had already seen the anger flaring up in those beautiful blue eyes. Only he had no idea what had set it off, and he had caught himself thinking that he was dreading the end of the day. The moment when he would go home with Ivar and be alone with him.

He had drunk particularly much that day. Had covered it up with a cozy get-together at Christmas, accompanied by good red wine. His glass was constantly refilled in the process, discreetly.

Ivar had been jealous. That had been the decisive reason why his initially good mood had changed so much. He had already thrown it at him in the car on the way home. Jealous because of a simple remark Heahmund had made about a female colleague he liked. Purely collegial, of course, but that had no longer gotten through to Ivar, he was already too caught up in his rage. Besides, he had been pissed that he had to drive, since Heahmund apparently couldn't control himself on the subject of alcohol, according to the young man’s accusation. When the apartment door had slammed shut behind them, Heahmund had wanted to disappear into his office with another bottle of red wine and a snide and tired 'Whatever' on his lips to have his peace. This must have been a red flag for Ivar, because he had completely lost it and had started beating the man he loved.

Heahmund couldn't say exactly how many times he had been hit that night. It didn't matter to him, either. He was too numb to worry about it, and the thought that he would probably have accepted the next apology again made him quite ashamed. It revealed to him too clearly the extent to which he had lost his mind.

No. He was ashamed because he had actually forgiven Ivar. Initially. He should have left that very night, but no. They had lain in bed together later, cuddled up to each other. His sweet Ivar in his arms, crying, apologizing. He had avoided looking at him, not wanting to acknowledge the reddish mark on the older man's cheek as proof of what he had done. Instead, more promises had been muttered against his victim's chest or neck. And Heahmund had held him. Had stroked Ivar's back to comfort him. Him. The one who had punched him in the face with his fist just an hour before - without hesitation - because he still loved him so much that he couldn't see Ivar suffering without the inner urge to ease his pain, to be there for him.

Sadly, such situations were equally those that Heahmund enjoyed in a way. They did not argue. It was peaceful between them. Tenderly. Who needed to look closely at how this situation arose in the first place?

He had been so weak. Still was. But later that night, when Ivar was already sleeping peacefully in his arms, as if nothing unusual had happened, and he was still wide awake because of the shock that still had a firm grip on him, he finally realized what he had to do.

It wasn't even the attack itself that had shaken Heahmund up. It was his reaction to the blow. He had fought back. Purely out of reflex, but he had given Ivar a slap in the face that he still couldn't quite process. He still felt the burn on his palm, as if that action had been burned in forever. It was the very first time he had ever hit another human being. Never before had he lost his temper. Neither as a child nor as a pubescent teenager. Heahmund hated physical fights, and the fact that Ivar had driven him to violence even against the person he loved most had shaken him deeply.

What kind of person had he become?

Ivar, too, was more than shocked to realize that he had now been the victim of physical abuse, and his anger had dissipated in an instant, much to Heahmund's relief. He didn't know how it would have turned out if he had fueled his boyfriend's anger even more by his impetuous actions.

With a firm grip, Heahmund grabbed the handle of his larger suitcase, shouldered the lighter bag, and headed for the kitchen. It was time to bury the memories and to move forward. This time he would make sure that Ivar's words, whispered to him through tears of shame and self-pity, came true, that the promise that it would never happen again was kept.

He would break the vicious circle. Once and for all. He would turn his back on this apartment, their shared little cave that hadn't felt like home for quite some time, if he was honest to himself. He could no longer be the adult. The strong one. The one who was always level-headed and focused. The one who had a solution for every problem and kept his arms wide open for moral support. He couldn't do all that anymore. He desperately needed open arms himself that just held him.

Heahmund stopped in front of their dining table, placed his luggage back down and reached for his cell phone. He sent one last message that brought tears to his eyes before opening his phone to remove the SIM card inside and replace it with a new one. He placed the old one on the table as a sort of symbol that he was leaving his old life behind - right next to a letter in which he had bumblingly tried to find the right words to explain himself, to apologize for the way he was now stepping out of Ivar's life. He was just weak, a coward through and through, he couldn't do it any other way. He had to do it secretly behind Ivar's back, because he knew that he could not turn his back on his beloved, if he stood in front of him and begged him to not leave him.

His last message was directed to Ubbe, and he had simply asked him to stay with Ivar today. To accompany him home and not to leave him alone afterwards. He knew that the two of them were just doing the last errands for today's New Year's Eve celebration. He could not write the reason for his request. The words "I'm separating from Ivar, I'm leaving town" were too painful. He could not bear to say them, nor to see them written down. It would seem far too real.

Needless to say, he felt like crap for choosing that exact day for a fresh start. But on the other hand, it also felt right. There was something magical about the turn of the years. That inner urge to leave the old behind, to rearrange one' s life, to stand up and become a better version of oneself. Heahmund was in dire need of this and was determined to take advantage of this magic. It was the perfect timing for him.

His first step on his new path was a stay in a rehab clinic near his hometown in Ireland. He had to get back on track before he could deal with anything else. Like whether or not to terminate their apartment. Technically, it was his, but he would leave it up to Ivar to decide whether to keep it or move out. He would probably also continue to support him financially. After all, he didn't hate him, quite the opposite, but still he would have everything settled through a lawyer or an intermediary to avoid any contact. The fear was too great that otherwise he would give in again. The next thing on his list was his job. He would have to look for a transfer to Ireland or a completely new job. Currently, he had asked for indefinite leave of absence and, after threatening his direct resignation, had gotten it approved because he was too skilled and irreplaceable.

As his gaze fell on his tea collection, his heart instantly contracted, and another wave of guilt rolled over him, accompanied by a worry that threatened to choke his throat.

He was deeply worried about how Ivar would react when he returned to an empty apartment. Ivar would be terribly hurt. It would pull the rug out from under him and would make his worst fear come true again. To be abandoned. And although he had good reasons to be mad at him, to want to see him suffer, he had no desire to hurt him, but he knew that he would inevitably do so by leaving him. He deeply hoped that Ivar's family would be there for him. That they would be able to support him, to offer him a safe hold, just as Heahmund had done in the past.

Feeling the emotions he didn't want to feel threatening to overwhelm him, Heahmund went back into the bedroom, reached for the bottle on the nightstand, and didn't bother to fill a glass first. He drank directly from the bottle because he desperately needed some form of sedation.

A glance at the clock told him that he shouldn't delay any longer now, so he went back to the kitchen and grabbed his luggage again, taking a deep breath and gathering all the decisiveness he could generate.

The sound of the door slamming echoed in the hallway of the apartment complex and made him realize that there was no turning back now. He had left his key inside. What was the point of taking it with him? There was only one direction left for him to go. Towards a new beginning.

Part 3

#heavar #heahmund x ivar #vikings fanfiction #modern au #vikings fanfic #bishop heahmund #ivar the boneless #vikings #ivar lothbrok #fanfiction writers #my writing #my stuff

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ack3rlady · 3 years

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The Universe Had His Back - Chapter 5

Sunrise

Summary: The aftermath of the breathtaking encounter between reader and Levi when true feelings are revealed

Chapters: Four | Five | Six

Master List

Warnings: Fem! Reader, Angst, Fluff, Modern AU, Reference to alcohol abuse, slight swearing.

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Inspiration: Starry Night - Suho

Tags: @sooibian, @queenofcurse, @red-n-tall ; Anyone else who'd like to be tagged, please let me know!

You accepted Levi’s offer to drive you home, a decision you would come to regret the moment the car was in motion. The journey was quiet, with you mostly looking out of the window as he drove. Your greed for more time with him that you didn’t account for how dejected you would go on to feel once the adrenaline dried out. You hadn't exactly ended things with him on amicable terms. The ride home in his company just added salt to the unhealed wounds. Levi turned his head towards you several times like he wanted to say something, but didn't.

“How’s Luna?”, your words finally cut through the silence, voice low and shaky.

“She’s fine. Isabel stayed at home with her today.”, he responded, eyes focused on the road.

Then it was quiet again. It took all the strength to bottle up the multitude of emotions building up within you that were burning to be expressed. So, you decided to focus your attention on the row of lush green trees along the sidewalk, whirring past you.

Levi quelled his desire to lay his hand on yours more than once; intertwining your fingers snugly together while you ran soothing circles on the back of his palm - something he always did while driving with you by his side.

‘Old habits die hard’, he thought. Neither of you uttered a word again till your apartment building was around the corner. You sat glued to your seat, unmoving even after he parked.

“You know that you could just come see her, right? She asks about you every day.”, Levi’s gaze was still fixed on the car parked in front of his own, his voice barely audible.

You sighed, feeling ashamed for depriving your own baby of your presence.

“I’m not ready. What if I can't keep it together in front of her? I need to get better before she sees me.” you despaired, looking down at your feet, too afraid of the effect on Luna if she saw you like this.

“I’m going to be right there with you. And how do you expect to get any better if you deny yourself the exact person who is capable of making you feel so?”, Levi turned in his seat to face you, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

He was right. Of course, Luna was the only one who could pull you out of this abyss. Why had you been running away from her this whole time?

“C-Can I come see her after work tomorrow?”, you squeaked.

“You don’t have to ask. We’ll both be waiting for you.”, he whispered moving his hand to rest on top of yours.

You finally mustered up the courage to look towards him. He wore the same smile on his face that you had been in love with for the last eight years; the exact one that always assured you that everything was going to be okay.

Reader’s POV

You entered your apartment and laid the shopping bags on the counter. Taking off your shoes, you placed them neatly on the rack by the door, taking a little step towards keeping the word you gave Miche this morning. It was late in the evening; the Sun having just set. You glanced around your gloomy apartment, at the dark shadows and how even the brightest colored paints and fabrics looked somber in the dusk’s dullness. The eeriness of the space was starting to eat at you when something shiny on the kitchen platform caught your eye. It was a bottle of whiskey, its amber liquid gleaming in the residual rays of light entering through the window.

The conflict in your head began as you started walking towards it absentmindedly. Was tonight going to be the same as the other wretched ones of the last two weeks? Faces of Luna, Levi, Miche and Nanaba flashed before our eyes as you inched towards the humble kitchenette. Finally at your destination, you picked up the bottle and stared at it, putting up a hard fight against the demons in your head.

You jumped when the door to your apartment suddenly slammed open, making the bottle almost slip out of your hands.

"Sweets!", A loud voice called out to you, the light from the window reflecting off the intruder’s glasses.

It was a moniker given to you by your dear friend based on "your profession and character" as they liked to call it. But the truth was, it was a part of the 'couple name' they had created for you and Levi called 'Short and Sweet', earning them a few punches from the holder of the other half of the title.

“Hange, you almost gave me a heart attack! What are you doing barging into my apartment like this?”, you grumbled.

“Well, your door was unlocked. So, how was your run in with Shorty? Tell me everyth... What the fuck is that?”, they began with excitement, but it dissipated as soon as they switched the lights on and spotted what you held in your hands.

You looked like a thief caught in the act. Guilty.

“It-It's nothing. I wasn’t drinking it.”, you stuttered, hastily putting it away.

“You mean you hadn't started drinking it yet?”

They were probably right. That’s how your evenings usually began these days. You tried your hardest to conquer the need for a drink, only to eventually give in and ending up passed out somewhere in your apartment.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a knock. Miche and Nanaba tiptoed inside through the still unlocked door with guilty smiles, as if ready to turn on their heels in case if you decided to chase after them.

“So? How did it go with Ackermann?”, they asked eagerly in unison.

“Wait. Was my day broadcasted in the news or something? How do you already know?”, your face had a giant question mark stamped on it.

“Who do you think brought it all together?”, Hange grinned, proudly wiggling their eyebrows.

You furrowed yours, and audibly gasped seconds later when it hit you. The sequence of events played before your eyes; how each person you had seen today and led to you meeting Levi. First Miche and Nanaba, then Suki. Your jaw slacked, and you gaped at each one of them in complete disbelief at what they had just pulled off.

Miche quietly slithered to position himself closely beside you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders – a little too tight. Well, you were contemplating introducing their jaws to your fist, so you guessed he was just being cautious.

“Who else knew of this?”, you hissed.

“Not Shorty, if that’s what you’re asking. I cooked up the idea. But it was Erwin who played commander and assigned roles! Everything from you and Levi having the same day off work, Suki and Furlan pestering you two into going with them, Nanaba and Miche forcing you out of here, Isabel staying home with Luna so that Levi could leave, and now us being here to witness the success of our little project, it was brought together by him. In fact, Erwin is checking in on Levi as we speak!”, Hange exclaimed triumphantly.

You felt stupid after finding out that you and Levi got played by practically everyone you knew. How were they this good at keeping it under wraps?

“Why did you do this?” You asked.

“Because you are both too stupid realize how crazy you are about each other and how this estrangement is paining you. So, we just decided to nudge you in the right direction. You’re welcome, by the way!”, Nanaba grinned.

“What are you even talking about? He’s the one who willingly ended what we had.”, you despaired.

The memories of the months preceding the divorce were fresh in your mind. Levi couldn’t stand being in the same room as you for more than a few minutes at a time, constantly falling out with you over something or the other. You remembered how much it hurt when he always seemed irritated by your sheer presence.

“Rubbish! You should know by now that Shorty is a complete moron with his feelings. Don’t you remember how long he stalled asking you out on a date all those years ago? And also, how I finally had to ask you for him? This is history repeating itself, silly!”, Hange chuckled, gently flicking your forehead

“Erwin and I see him every day, Sweets. We know how much he regrets letting you go. But he’s too much of a chicken to do anything about it. We’ve been badgering him to reconnect with you for a while now. But he was terrified of making a move. The dumbass is utterly in love with you. Precisely why Erwin and I decided to take matters in our own hands.”, they stated matter of factly.

The barrage of information caught you completely off guard. But you couldn’t help but dwell on one detail in particular -

“He’s still in love with me?”

Levi’s POV

Levi felt restless on the drive back home, aimlessly fidgeting with his seatbelt and rapidly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He was worried about you. Well, he always was, but more so because of what happened today. He suppressed the constant urges to turn his car around and return to you because he needed to get home to Luna and relieve Isabel of her baby-sitting duties.

He parked the car in the driveway and walked through the front door, momentarily freezing upon seeing a tall blonde man seated on the couch with Luna half asleep on his lap, immediately relaxing after recognizing who it was. He was reading her a story from one of the many books you had bought while Isabel was lounging on the loveseat beside them, her face glowing under the light from her phone screen. All three turned to Levi upon hearing the jingling of his keys.

“Papa!”, the little one was refreshed by the sight. She ran to greet her father by wiggling her way off the man’s lap and on to the floor and hugged is leg.

“Hi, moon beam! Erwin, what are you doing here?”, he asked as he gave Luna a kiss and then looked up at the man.

“I’m here to check in on you. How was your meeting with uh... ahem?”, Erwin cleared his throat instead of mentioning your name in the toddler’s presence.

“Check in on me? How do you know about that? What did you do?”, Levi’s temper audibly rose with each question.

“I’m going to tuck Luna into bed, and you are going to wait right here for my return. We need to have a little chat.” he glowered at the taller blonde before he could answer, ignoring the sheepish smile slapped across his little sister’s face.

Luna was out cold the moment her head rested on the pillow given how worn out she was after horsing around with Isabel all day. Additionally, story time with Erwin already had her feeling drowsy by the time Levi had returned home. Ten minutes and a few goodnight kisses later, he was sitting at the dining table with the two adults, sipping tea that Erwin had just brewed.

“When do you plan to start telling me what is going on? I could have had dinner during the wait.”, he jibed.

“I take it that Suki and Furlan were successful in bringing you two face-to-face?”, Erwin’s tone was casual, maintaining steady eye contact with his old friend.

He proceeded to explain in great detail, how he and Hange worked with both your close friends to hatch this plan.

“Can’t you two keep your eyebrows and shitty glasses out of my fucking business?”, Levi growled.

“Since you both can’t communicate like mature adults and figure things out for yourselves, we had to step in as catalysts. Hange is at her apartment right now, making sure she’s okay.”, Erwin kept his defense short.

Levi was at a loss of words. Sometimes he felt like he wasn’t worthy of his two friends. Hange and Erwin always went out of their way for him when he was hit with a challenging situation, and all he ever did was snivel about it.

“Fine. I’ll give you both credit where you deserve it. I had been wanting to see her myself. But I didn’t know what to say. She is coming over tomorrow to see Luna. So, thanks, I guess.”

Erwin knew that this was the closest thing to an apology and appreciation that he was going to get from Levi. So, he took it with a smile.

“Awesome!”, Isabel's scream cut through the calmness.

“And you.”, his fiery gaze landed on her at the far end of the table where she strategically seated herself away from the reach of her older brother in case if he was particularly irked. “I’m going to take care of Furlan later. But you too are hiding things from me now?”,

“Hey! I was just following Erwin's orders! And how could I say no to having my favorite person all to myself for an entire day?”, she reasoned, her face resembling a cartoon cat that Luna was fond of; Puss in Boots, was it?

“So, how did it go?”, Erwin intervened before Levi could scold her further.

Levi took a minute to gather his thoughts. Images of your face flashed before his eyes, making his tense posture relax significantly.

“I - I don’t even know how to describe it. I feel like for the first time in forever, I might sleep well tonight just because I met her. She looked so beautiful.”, his lips showed signs of the smallest smile as he ran his fingers along the rim of his teacup, gazing at the dark liquid contained within.

He quickly composed himself after realizing that he had in fact just said these words out loud and they were not just in his head, but it was too late. Isabel oohed with amusement and yelped after receiving a flying spoon to the head from him.

“It was also... a stark reminder of what an absolute piece of shit I have been to throw away everything we had. She’s in so much pain.”, his softened expression clearly revealed the despair behind his words.

“As are you, Levi. You made a grave mistake. Unfortunately, you're not the only one who is paying for it. But there is no use lamenting over the past, is there? What counts is what you plan to do now. Have you decided what you will say to her when she visits?”

Levi let out a long, suffering sigh. “I regretted what I did the moment I came back to an empty home from the court that day, Erwin. Seeing her today only reaffirmed how shitty my life is without her. I need to win her back. I’m afraid she’ll reject me after what I did to her. But - But she still needs to know that I -

I’m still in love with her.”

Chapters: Four | Five | Six

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman x fem!reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman angst #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman headcanons #domestic levi #dad!levi #aot fic #aot x reader

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