#doesn’t take much for people to grovel at the feet of a man does it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zarcake-writes · 3 years

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Berries and Cinnamon

I like Karl Heisenberg. And I was in the mood for something sweet, loving, and slightly sad. Enjoy!

The village is quiet as a bitter wind whistle past the rickety homes and down the muddy little side streets. Most of the houses are dark; only smoke rising from chimneys to show proof of inhabitance. The outline of Castle Dimitrescu is barely visible against the gloomy night sky.

Karl Heisenberg is alone on the muddy streets. The farm animals that usually roam the village during the day have retreated to the safety of their homes. While the cold weather keeps the villagers inside.

He curls his lip when he passes one of the houses. The smell of animals and wet hay is a scent he cannot grow accustomed to. Most of the village reeks; the stench of decaying wet wood and shit is so oppressive it clings to his coat. Personally, Karl finds the entire place to be an affront to his senses.

But worst is the people. Pious fools who consistently grovel and pray at the feet of Mother Miranda; yet cower in fear at the sight of the Lords.

Alcina revels in the fear. It feeds her massive fucking ego. Donna refuses to interact with any except for the few who work in her house. And Moreau is a disgusting freak whose only concern is the occasional validation that Mother Miranda may give. Karl, though, is not sure if he wants to be feared or validated.

A harsh wind blows past him, shaking the trees and nearly taking the hat off his head.

Snow is in the air. And with it, the promise of a harsh winter.

The human villagers have been in a panic about having enough food and supplies for the coming season. Karl has heard plenty of prayers, seen the offerings to Mother Miranda and the Lords in the tiny church. A few brave villagers even approached his factory at one point, asking for metal scrap.

Reluctantly, he gave them a few sheets of metal.

The humans of the village may fear the coming winter. In an attempt to survive, they give offerings to a Mother Miranda, a fake god. Their stoves are stacked with logs, and they cower under moth-bitten blankets hoping to see next spring. Karl does not share their fear.

He revels in the sensation of the cold slicing through his coat. Cold so sharp it reminds Karl of rust-coated metal. The frost-cold ground seeps through his mud-drenched boots. And as chilled wind bites his cheeks, Karl feels almost human.

Almost.

As Karl comes to the edge of the village that borders up to the forest, he stops. The woods are dark, and the path is barely visible through the overgrown brush and ever reaching trees. There are no lamps or torches to light the way. There is not even a sign. Yet, a trail of smoke rising above the trees comes from deeper within the forest.

He enters the dark forest. Immediately, his eyes adjust to the gloom. Similar to the village, the woods are quiet and cold. The trees creak in the wind as an owl screeches, causing every small creature to scuttle into the brush for safety.

Karl dislikes the forest almost as much as the village. There is not enough metal that sings for his touch. Not enough metal that is eager to bend beneath his command. The trees do not listen to him, roots do not break, and every fucking stone gets caught under the toe of his boot. The only good thing is the smell. But even then, the forest smells too pure. He feels like a trespasser.

The path ends in a small clearing with a small cabin in the center. It is surrounded by the remains of a wooden fence that fell to ruin long ago. A chicken coop is behind the house. Karl cannot stop himself from sneering at the smell of chicken shit. A small raised garden in the front of the house.

The cabin looks abandoned, but the black smoke climbing out of the chimney says otherwise.

Karl’s heart speeds up as he approaches the cabin. The stone pathway beneath his feet is new.

The metal lock on the door sings out to Karl. It would be easy for him to unlock the door using his powers, but he promised to stop doing that. The key in his pocket will do just fine.

Inside, the cabin is warm. The slow-burning fire in the fireplace casts the room in a golden light as shadows dance on the wall. The scent of mashed berries and cinnamon lingers in the air.

All the irritation and anger that was bubbling beneath Karl’s skin melts away. A single word comes to his mind: home.

The cabin is small but decorated by someone who loves their home. Pictures of people Karl does not know to hang on the walls. The faces are familiar, and he has heard their stories, but he cannot remember their names. Knick knacks and precious items linger in every part of the room.

On the opposite side of the room is a small makeshift kitchen area that is too small for one person. The stove is old and partially broken, but the sink and cabinets are new. A vase of flowers sits on the dining table. Next to the table are two chairs; one is partially pulled out, while the other is tucked away. A pang shoots through Karl when he notices the jacket and items piled on the unused chair.

A small couch sits in front of the fireplace. A blanket is lazily thrown over the back.

To his right is a partially opened bedroom door.

Karl shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the coat rack near the door. A familiar jacket is the only other coat hanging. His hat goes up next. And his boots are placed next to a pair of feminine boots.

The floorboards creak beneath Karl’s weight.

“Fuck, shut up,” he whispers.

The floorboards do not listen.

As Karl pushes open the bedroom door, the hinges squeak. He freezes, expecting the room’s occupant to wake up. But the room is quiet. And the form in the bed does not move. Behind him, the fire crackles.

The bedroom is small. The bed, which can barely fit two people, takes up most of the space. A pile of clothes lay on the floor near the foot of the bed. Paintings of the ocean and a field of flowers dot the walls. Karl has spent countless hours memorizing every swirl and color of the paintings.

Tucked into the bed is a woman. She’s buried beneath several layers of blankets. Karl can smell the lingering dust on them.

The mere glimpse of her makes his heart speed up, and his hands grow clammy.

For the longest time, Karl hated that she made him feel like a young man who has never been near a pretty girl. He hated the sweaty palms and word vomit he spluttered. He felt so weak that he decided to avoid her. But he couldn’t stay away for long, and he could not imagine chasing her off.

She shifts in bed but does not wake up.

Karl pulls off his shirt, tossing it into the pile near her bed. He winces at the noise his necklaces around his neck make. Even when set onto the bedside table, they still make a jingling noise. Even his belt clinks as he undoes it.

But still, the noises he seems to constantly make do not wake her. Karl is grateful.

Karl pulls the blanket back. She’s curled up on her side wearing a thread-worn nightgown. Carefully, Karl climbs into bed with her. He gets as close as he dares. The sweetness that clings to her skin is dizzying. He can't stop himself from reaching out and placing his arm on her waist.

She jolts at his touch and begins to move away. Karl hears her heartbeat speed up. He can smell the panic and fear already rising.

“Just me,” he rumbles in her ear.

She relaxes and leans into him. He feels the relief in her body.

“Karl,” she whispers.

He hums at the way she says his name. For the longest time, he detested his name. Karl. What the fuck is a Karl? Everyone else must agree that the name is terrible because no one calls him that, not even the family that Mother Miranda formed. Miranda herself hasn’t called him Karl since he was a child. For so long, he has been Lord Heisenberg.

But she calls him Karl. Karl. Karl. Karl. Karl. Whether she’s yelling at him, laughing with him, whispering to him in the darkness, or moaning his name with a reverence that should be saved for a church service, he loves how she says his name. He’s even begged her to never call him Lord Heisenberg, call him Karl. Only Karl. Karl. Karl.

“Karl?”

“Hm?”

“Did you hear me?”

“No.”

She rolls over in his arm to face him.

The orange glow of the fireplace slips through the cracked bedroom door, casting the faintest hint of light in the room. The curves and dips of her face are darkened, accentuating her features. The tip of her nose is highlighted, as is the plumpness of her cheeks. Her lips stand out the most. Karl has the urge to taste them, to taste her. But she can see the soft exhaustion in her eyes.

“I asked how your day was.”

It was shit, he thinks.

“Oh. It was fine,” he says.

Her eyes narrow. “Karl.”

He can’t keep her gaze. She knows him too well. Knows that when his jaw clenches, and he blinks twice that he is lying or avoiding the question.

But Karl can’t stop himself from lying to her about his day. He spent most of it with Mother Miranda and the other three Lords, so of course, it was a shit day. But he can’t tell her the truth because she will no doubt want to know why his day was shit. How can he tell her the religious leader of their village is a fucking cruel bitch? How would she react if he screamed about the other Lords? Moreau is fucking disgusting. And Angie is an annoying fucking freak. Not to mention the dick-cutting mega-bitch that is Alcina.

And worst is he can't explain to her that his shit interactions with the Lords and Mother Miranda were because of her.

All the Lords and most of the village know that Karl Heisenberg has a sweetheart he's trying to keep a secret. Angie asks irritating questions. Alcina gets this unhinged look in her eyes. While Mother Miranda is silent on the topic, but Heisenberg knows she is plotting something. He could see it with the slightest tilt of her head. The only one who doesn’t bother Karl is Moreau.

The sinister glint in Alcina’s eyes combined with Mother Miranda’s silence made Karl’s skin crawl. He knows they can hurt her, kill her, or experiment on her. Karl knows he needs to make some kind of claim on the woman in his arms before those two bitches can act.

Her hand cups his face, bringing Karl’s racing thoughts to a stop. He refuses to look at her. His face will reveal too much. She whispers his name, so soft and sweet, and he cannot refuse her anymore.

He meets her gaze, and she sees it all. The anger, hate, pain, and fear burned in him. But she does not push him away, only smiles and runs her thumb along his cheekbone. Her hands are gentle but worn from working in her garden behind the house.

“I will not pry for details, Karl. But you can be honest with me. I won’t judge you for having a bad day. We all have them.”

“I haven’t just had a bad day, sweetheart.” He clasps her hand that is still holding his cheek. “I’ve had a bad life.”

His voice cracks at the end. Body growing hot with embarrassment and fear of her judging him for the emotion that screams for release in his chest, Karl looks away. He cannot bear to see the rejection in her eyes.

But her silence is loud. Karl's ears begin to ring as his body grows hotter and hotter. He wants to scream for her to say something, anything. He wants her to push him away now for being a weak, broken man.

She does none of that. She sits up in bed, making sure to keep a hand on Karl, and readjusts her pillows. When she lays back down, she is sitting up. She smiles and opens her arms, welcoming him home.

Karl curls around her body, nuzzling his face into her chest. The tears in his eyes bleed onto her nightgown. If she feels the dampness grow on her chest or feel his trembling against her, she says nothing. She is silent as fingers moving gently against his skin. And slowly, the overwhelming emotion that nearly consumed Karl fizzles out until it is all gone.

“Your tits are soft,” he mumbles eventually.

She snorts. “Kind of like your gut.”

“Your tits aren’t hairy like my gut though.”

“And my tits are probably quieter. No grumbling from digestion.”

He hums in agreement. The only sound from her chest is the gentle beating of her heart.

“Go to sleep,” she whispers.

He opens his mouth to reply, but her fingers begin to move up and down his bareback. Nails that she keeps short and blunt leave soft trails along his back, taking care to ghost over the numerous scars. He can’t form a response, only hum at the sensation.

“Go to sleep, Karl,” she whispers again.

Her hands move up towards his head. She gently pulls at his hair, starting from the ends before pulling at the base of the strands. And with gentle fingers, she brushes through the knots in his hair, careful to not yank or hurt him.

Being in her arms is the closest thing Karl has ever been to having a home. Mother Miranda was no mother. And the other Lords are not his siblings. They are no family, just pawns that Mother Miranda will use as she pleases.

And used him she did. She took everything from him, turned him into a monster by making him perform terrible experiments. He’s numb to the monstrous things he has done and continues to do, that Karl does not feel human. Fuck, he hasn’t been human in so long.

But in this tiny cabin, in the arms of the woman he loves, Karl has a home and a family. And he feels human.

#karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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joucearchived · 3 years

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The Hell In Your Eyes - 3

Summary: Loki doesn't meet her until two weeks after his initial imprisonment, but he knows he hates her. He has to hate her. Because the way she talks to him and helps him and saves him meals can't mean anything. She is too soft to deal with Loki, who is hardened with pain, pain, and more pain. And Loki hates soft things.

Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes and loved it anyway?

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: brief mentions of violence

Word Count: 4836

Previous Chapter

Loki is annoyed.

Loki has sat through thousands of years of political dinners, exchanging thinly veiled insults under a layer of diplomacy, all while smiling through his teeth. Loki has spewed sensical nonsense, charming naive, innocent maids and sweeping young stable boys off their feet. Loki has endured Odin’s wrath — in all its horrible glory — countless times, and never once had he shed a tear, nor had a single cry escaped his lips.

The whole of Asgard had coined him the Dark Prince — and who was Loki to disappoint?

He had long since learned people saw what they expected to see.

And so as the entire realm rejoiced in his demise, as Laufey left him to die, as Odin condemned him for eternity, as Thor abandoned him, as Frigga had sided with her husband again and again and again, Loki maintained his carefully constructed front.

Yet one encounter with a mortal, and he had unraveled at her feet.

If physically kneeling before the wretched creature wasn’t enough, he knew she had seen past his mask. By the time he had regained his composure, he was sure she had seen him.

It won’t happen again.

Loki is a god, and gods do not crack. Gods maintain their image, regardless of circumstance. Gods do not show weakness, do not show vulnerability.

This is a lesson Loki knows well, a lesson etched into his skin countless times by Odin’s hand.

And yet for each time Odin reinforced this lesson, the very same lesson was burned away by Thanos a thousand more.

Loki tried, he truly did. Loki maintained his godly facade for an impressive amount of time, resisting as his body was taken apart over and over and over again. Perhaps it wasn’t as long as he thought. Loki feels as if his entire life was spent doused in agony, spent with his flesh melting off and his bones withering away.

Ultimately, a god is no match for a Titan.

But a mortal is no match for a god.

And yet, Loki has found himself at her feet — at her mercy — twice.

Even after, Loki couldn’t bring himself to summon his cruel exterior. Perhaps it had to do with the way she had waltzed into his space, all soft and defenseless, carrying that deplorable drink as if it was the elixir of eternal life (unfortunately, it tasted just as divine). Perhaps it was his body, still sated and full for the first time in months, reminding him of the food — the debt — he owes. Perhaps it was the way she held out her arm towards him, even though he could see it shaking.

Whether it was any of these things or none at all, Loki’s cool mask of indifference was rendered utterly useless at her delicate, mortal hands.

Loki hates her.

His hatred fills every fiber of his being. It’s a scalding, fiery hatred, much unlike the frozen excuse of Loki’s heart. His frost giant heritage seems to reject her very being.

Loki hates her voice, hates her hands, hates her. He hates how she makes him falter when there is no place for mistakes.

Loki’s thoughts are interrupted by Thor, who enters Loki’s quarters without an ounce of hesitation — ever the righteous, confident, arrogant bastard.

Ah, but Loki almost forgot. Thor is not the bastard — Loki is. How despicable; for really, Loki can not even call himself a bastard. Yet, ‘the Bastard Son of Odin’ has a certain charm to it. Perhaps another false title for his collection.

“Loki!” Thor booms, “Here are your clothes that Lady Angel washed. You should be grateful brother, for she offered of her own volition — ”

Is it so surprising someone would offer to help Loki without external influence?

“ — to see and visit you! You are doing well. I am happy to see you are finally making an effort to get to know all of our friends — ”

Thor is happy? For Loki, or for himself? Why must Loki, even now, strive to prove himself to Thor? Why is Loki’s worth solely dependent on Thor’s judgement?

“ — and Lady Angel is absolutely wonderful. I am delighted to see you two getting along so well! I can’t believe you finally made a friend— ”

At this, Loki’s composure cracks for the second time that day.

“What am I? A pathetic child wandering aimlessly through a school corridor? A helpless hatchling at the mercy of others — groveling for the bare minimum? Who are you to congratulate me for ‘making a friend?’ She is not a friend ,” Loki spits out. He can feel his teeth grinding against each other, his fingernails once again digging into his palms. “She is nothing more than another worthless mortal, unworthy of even breathing the same air as I, and yet you suggest I be grateful?”

Thor advances on Loki, his eyes hardening. The atmosphere is tense; unlike the typical bickering between the brothers, Loki identifies something distinctly different in the way the air vibrates. The space between the two gods crackles. “Watch yourself brother —”

Brother. The word grates upon Loki’s nerves. How can Thor so carelessly throw the word around, even knowing of its false implications — implications and lies Loki foolishly believed.

Sometimes Loki wonders if Thor does it on purpose.

“Do you hear yourself Thor? Bending yourself over backwards to defend this wasted excuse of consciousness — you are the King of Asgard. What is she? She is nothing.”

And now Loki is no longer staring at his brother, but the ceiling of his prison. His back is slammed against Stark’s hardwood floors and there is sharp ringing in his ears, likely the result of the crack in the floor right behind where his head is currently embedded.

Loki almost laughs.

Truly, it is comical — comical that even now, Thor’s first instinct is to physically threaten Loki. As if Loki doesn’t almost enjoy it.

But Loki’s laugh catches in his throat, prevented from escaping by the large hand tightening around his airway.

Thor’s hand is around Loki’s neck — a mirror of His.

A thousand years Loki has known Thor. A thousand years of childish brawls, foolhardy battles, pointless arguments. How many times has Loki betrayed Thor? Thor betrayed Loki? And yet, Loki believed he knew his brother’s character.

A thousand years Loki has known Thor, but never once has he thought Thor to be cruel.

Oh how wrong he is.

Thor’s hands are gripping Loki’s neck and for the life of him Loki can’t breathe. He tries to draw air into his lungs — lungs that are screaming with a familiar ache — and fails. Phantom pains flicker across his entire body and somehow, in the second before his vision goes black, Loki manages to croak out a strangled wheeze of a laugh.

Loki is once again strapped upon a bed of coals, once again stabbed with blades of flame, once again torched with fire so hot he freezes. Loki remembers the only other time he begged — begged and pleaded for the sweet mercy of death, all while knowing death was a pleasure he was never to be granted.

Loki is once again kneeling — boneless — at the feet of a Titan, looking up into a face promising endless pain, a face painted with the patience of a thousand moons and splattered with the ruined blood of a Frost Giant.

Loki did not know that a Frost Giant’s blood could boil.

Ah, but the Mad Titan knew, and he ensured Loki would never forget.

Loki recalls the moment he let go — an eerie echo of his fall from grace, his fall from the Bifrost. And he remembers the horribly invasive power of the scepter, along with the blessed relief and utter disregard for self preservation that followed.

And it is this — the relief — that plagues Loki. He does not fool himself; Loki may be the God of Lies, but he has no reason to lie to himself . It is not the destruction of New York nor the deaths at his hand that weigh upon his shattered mind. No, it is the fact that Loki found solace in his actions.

Make no mistake — Loki does not rejoice in his crime, but nor could he say he regrets it.

For if Loki were given the choice, he could not — would not — choose to spare Midgard at the cost of his own sanity.

(But Loki was never given a choice.)

Alas, Loki is already insane.

The Mad Titan has taken so much from Loki.

Physically, Loki has long since disregarded his own body. He remembers the beginning of his torture, when he still held the title of 'Prince of Asgard,' when he spoke with arrogance and oozed of indignantion. Oh how naive he had been. When the first whips had landed across his skin, Loki's thoughts could never have anticipated what the coming months would entail. Loki did not once stop to consider how he would escape the clutches of his captor — oh the confidence he held! — but instead lamented the scars he would surely have to bear. Dimly, Loki recalls worrying over his marred skin, irritated at the blemishes he would surely have to cover when taking future lovers.

Loki scoffs.

Loki does not recognize the man who spent time thinking of lovers. Or of his physical appearance. Or of his interests. Or of any other insignificant pleasure that ultimately contributes to the annihilation of a soul.

(Even now, Loki carries with him an irrational fear of physical touch — a seed planted by the Mad Titan that Loki cannot gouge out, not even if he tore open his very being.)

In fact, Loki wondered if his corporeal form had even existed anymore. But most of all, more than the ruination of his physical form, Loki mourns the damnation of his mind.

Ultimately, the Mad Titan did triumph over Loki. For no matter how many times Loki escapes, fakes his death, runs away, he can never evade the visions that haunt his mind, the voices that infect his thoughts, the termites eating away at what remains of Loki’s sanity.

(If Loki were given a choice, he would have chosen death again and again and again.)

Alas, Loki was not — is not — given a choice, for suddenly he is not lying on a bed of coals, but on his apartment floor again. Thor has since removed his hand from Loki’s neck and Loki half wishes Thor just kept it there. Just kept on squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until Loki died on that bed of coals.

Loki wonders, if he were to die at Thor’s hand, would his brother feel remorse? Or perhaps, more realistically, relief?

Unfortunately, Loki is not dead, and Thor is gazing at him, concern evident in his gaze. As if Thor wasn’t the one who put Loki in this condition — wasn’t the one who greedily snatched all of Odin’s affection, wasn’t the one who pushed Loki out of favor, wasn’t the one who led his brainless minions in a brash suicide mission, as if Thor wasn’t the one who stared Loki in the eye as Loki let go into the abyss.

As if Thor wasn’t the first domino in a long ripple effect that eventually drowned Loki in his sins.

Thor was the smooth pebble that young children skipped over lakes, just barely skimming the surface of a tempting downfall — nevertheless gracefully leaping unscathed across the reflective waters. Yet Loki was the jagged, unskippable rock, destined to fall through the air and fall through the water with no hesitation. Loki has long since come to terms with this simple fact.

No longer does Loki resent his brother, for he understands: light can only shine in the presence of darkness. And if Loki is condemned to darkness — so be it.

Loki does not resent his brother, but oftentimes Loki despises his lightness . What some might say is endearing — the inability for Thor to give up — is just a burden. Even now, Thor still thinks he can change Loki, can fix him. Thor still thinks that by vouching for Loki and providing Loki a place to live and surrounding Loki with Thor’s friends that he can mend Loki’s broken soul and bring back the brother he once had. Thor is still in denial — he refuses to grasp the very simple concept that Thor’s brother — the Second Prince of Asgard, God of Lighthearted Mischief — is long dead. And so Thor continues to try. But light yelling into the darkness does not change it.

And even now, with Thor looming above Loki, Loki does not resent his brother.

But Loki resents Thor’s very being — the core of who Thor is. Thor is a duality; one of naivety and compassion, yet tainted — or perhaps embellished — with a smidge of cruelty and arrogance.

And as Thor is speaking to Loki, mouth forming words Loki is too tired to hear, Loki simply lies on the floor, limbs relaxed around him, throat sore, and does the only thing he can do when feeling so utterly empty.

Loki laughs.

______________________________

Midgard is rather charming in some regards.

Loki will eventually have to investigate the laundry process, for he has just now made the curious discovery that freshly dried clothes are warm . He suspects they were warmer right after they were dried, but he can still feel the presence of the heat, lingering within the very fabric of his garments. He wonders just how much they were heated up to — would it have burnt his frozen hands at the peak of its fiery glory?

No, Loki’s hands are too well accustomed to fire now.

But he doubts that her hands are. He envisions Angel pulling his clothes out of the dryer, her hands touching the same clothes that he has worn, that he will wear, that he is currently touching.

Yet is it entirely possible Loki is standing around, imagining a scene that never played out, for it was not Angel who brought Loki’s laundry back to him, but his dearest brother. Looking at his pile of clothes again, Loki takes in the telltale signs of Thor. The messily folded shirts stare back at Loki, mocking him.

He wonders if she ever even did any part of his laundry. Perhaps she only offered it as a way to ease the uncomfortable tension that had arisen earlier. Or rather, (and his stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought) she lugged his laundry basket downstairs and dumped it straight into Thor’s arms.

Why else would she refuse his help to accompany her?

A twinge of something rises up within Loki as he realizes she accepted Thor’s offer to bring his clothes back. Or, much more likely, she had pushed the task onto Thor in a desperate attempt to avoid encountering him again.

Not that Loki could blame her.

And yet the uncomfortable sensation within Loki only grows, and he realizes that he feels something akin to disappointment. Loki cannot allow himself to feel disappointment. He had long since learned not to expect anything from anyone — or perhaps, much more cynically, to only depend on — to trust — himself.

Trust, Loki knows, is a fickle concept the naive embrace. Trust itself is ill fated, the certainty of an inevitable betrayal the same as the certainty that one day everyone living on this cursed realm will perish.

Loki hates Angel. He hates how she pretends to care for him, hates how she imitates Thor, hates how she always finds a way to break him, and Loki hates how Angel makes him feel.

Loki's silent anger boils inside of him — like the steady countdown of a ticking bomb — manifesting itself out of him as the laundry basket is violently launched across the room.

He hates how he feels absolutely no satisfaction at the way the freshly clean clothes scatter across the floor, hates how he lost control, and hates how the damned mortal forces him to feel emotions he does not want to feel .

Sometimes all Loki can do is hate.

______________________________

The heat from the clothes have long since seeped into the floor.

The sun is just now setting, dousing Loki’s room in a fiery glow. Warm light spills across Loki’s bookshelves, his impeccably made bed, the clothes strewn around his floor. Loki sits on the ground, bare of his illusions, allowing himself to just be .

Staring across the room, he notices tendrils of light carefully curling around the air, miniscule particles of dust dancing in the golden glow. This is a gold Loki enjoys. Unlike the brash, loud character of Thor’s gold — of Asgard’s gold, this is a much softer, gentle color. The comforting hue reminds Loki of his mother, and against his will, he feels a wall of despair beginning to build within his chest.

For a second, Loki loses himself as the wall crashes over him. He drops his head, allowing his hair to dangle in front of his face, obscuring his view of the floating particles. He feels like a child — wants nothing more in this moment than to run to Frigga, for her floral scent to fill his senses as she envelopes him in her arms. What Loki wouldn’t give to have Frigga’s delicate fingers comb through his hair just once more, for her soft lips against his forehead, murmuring words of comfort.

But he can’t have that. Instead, here he is, sitting on the floor of a glorified prison in the midst of a community of people who hate him, with nothing but Thor to act as his buffer.

Looking up, Loki gazes at the honeyed light as it glides over a particular heap of clothing. He watches, mesmerized, as the light gently moves, unhurriedly bathing each corner of the fabric in its rich glow.

If he were still on Asgard, Loki would most likely have been reading, thoroughly immersed in some story or another. The sun would have showered his pages in its quiet glow, lighting the words aflame. He would have taken a stroll in his mother’s gardens, breathing in the sweet scent of her flowers as he sat in his favorite hidden alcove. He would have taken out his book and continued to read, read until the golden hue of the sun was replaced by the tender shine of the moon. Only then would Loki return, serenely walking back to his chambers, stopping only to retrieve a cup of tea, and resume his reading on his balcony.

Loki wants that.

Loki wants an afternoon to himself, with no worries plaguing his mind.

Loki wants to be able to read, and to do so in an environment which permits him to let his guard down.

Loki wants to sit outside, surrounded by flowers, and watch as the sun transitions into the moon.

Loki wants to indulge in a hot cup of tea as he watches the moonlight spills across the pages of his book.

Loki wants so many things — and he can’t have any of them.

Standing up, Loki decides he has spent enough time reminiscing over what he cannot have today. He feels sticky and hot and cold and hungry and all he wants right now , is a long shower.

And so Loki walks over to the same pile of clothes, now dull and abandoned by the sun, gazing disapprovingly downwards. Thor is truly an imbecile, for he has not even managed to separate their clothes correctly. Loki is currently staring at a dark green sweatshirt, one he knows for a fact he has never seen before. Tiredly, he tosses it upon his bed and scoops up a clean change of clothes, then turns around and trodds slowly into the bathroom.

______________________________

Water droplets rain all around Loki, swiftly sliding down his body.

He doesn’t particularly enjoy showering — it reminds him too much of another substance: denser, stickier, and much more red, trickling down his skin. Loki much prefers baths. Baths, however, render their subject very much vulnerable, and Loki does not fancy risking any more vulnerability than strictly necessary.

So Loki is standing in the shower, unabashedly soaking up the shallow warmth the water provides. Surely if Thor could see him, his brother would lecture Loki on wasting Midgard’s precious resources. But, Loki reasons, if Stark truly possesses the excess of wealth he boasts of, Loki’s water usage will not be of much concern to the man. And so this is a luxury Loki will grant himself.

The shower is one place where Loki feels the safest, where he allows his thoughts to wander and drift into otherwise forbidden territories. Today especially has been challenging, and even his muscles seem to ache, the fibers pulling away from each other, trying to rip Loki apart from the inside out. His mind is exhausted, filled with swirling thoughts of Frigga and Angel and Thor, with the occasional Odin and Titan intruding whenever a particular body part cries out.

And as Loki gazes down at his body, the disfigured canvas of scars stare back at him and he attempts to soothe away the countless aches. No matter how much time has passed and how much magic Loki pours into himself, the pains never seem to retreat. Rationally, Loki knows it doesn’t make sense. He knows his magic is fully capable of healing himself, knows that by all accounts he is healed.

But Loki also knows he does not imagine the sharp pains coursing through his veins.

He is fighting himself — the part of himself that does not want the pain to stop. Because all Loki knows is pain, and he fears the absence of pain almost as much as he dreads its glorious presence.

Loki raises his head, allowing for the stream of water to bruise his face. And if Loki’s closed eyes leak the occasional tear, no one would know.

______________________________

Loki’s self destructive spiraling is abruptly cut short by three succinct knocks from his bedroom door. Still soaking in the shower, Loki debates whether or not to answer; after all, he truly has no desire to see his brother again today. Or preferably, ever again. Unfortunately, Loki is all too aware that if he does not answer the door to let Thor in, Thor will simply let himself in. And if there’s anything worse than seeing Thor, it will be seeing a displeased Thor while Loki stands nude and wet.

Reluctantly, Loki turns off his shower, changes into his freshly washed ‘sweatpants’, and leisurely walks towards the door. He is honestly surprised Thor hasn’t invited himself in yet. He is more surprised when he finally opens the door and is promptly met with — not Thor’s brutish face, but the goddamned mortal.

She stands there, in front of his door, barely out of arm's reach. Loki can’t help but drink her in. He notices her hair, laying loosely around her face, framing her profile. She’s sporting a sweater, much too warm for the present weather. Its collar is stretched out over years of use, teasing his eyes with a fraction of her collarbones peaking through. Her legs are barely covered by absurdly short shorts, and Loki feels the back of his ears heating up. Hurriedly, he averts his eyes, falling down to her feet, once again hugged by soft looking socks — mismatched.

His scrutinization is interrupted by her voice; so soft.

“Hey! Sorry if I interrupted you. I heard you were in the shower but I was going around taking everyone’s dinner orders. We’re getting Chinese.” She tilts her head to the side, lifting her chin ever-so-slightly, distractedly exposing the tantalizing skin of her neck. She swallows, and Loki’s eyes discreetly follow the bob of her throat. “I was just wondering if you wanted anything?”

It takes a moment for Loki to register her question and another for him to process it. She is going to order dinner? For him? And she is asking him for his preference? Loki has not had the privilege of preferring anything in a long, long time. Damn this mortal.

“I am not familiar with this particular cuisine, nor Midgard’s in particular.”

She meets his eyes then, and only after does it occur to him that her eyes had been previously glued to his abdomen. His abdomen, he realizes which has been bare this entire interaction. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He forces himself to roll his eyes, running a hand through his still dripping hair to hide the scarlet his ears have surely become. “I am saying that I do not have a preference, woman.”

She lifts her shoulders briefly in a gesture Loki has come to associate with Midgard’s daftness and promptly moves closer to him. Instinctively, Loki takes a step back, then curses himself for doing so. He truly must be losing it, backing away from a defenseless mortal. But she doesn’t push further, instead tilting her head at that angle again, asking him another question.

“Can I come in?”

Loki hesitates. He doesn’t understand her motives, doesn’t know if this is a trick the Avengers have set up or perhaps a test designed by his brother. All he knows is that Angel is staring at him with her eyes wide and innocent and completely devoid of deceit.

Angel must carry magic or Loki must be possessed by the Mind Stone again, for against his will, Loki steps to the side, allowing her to brush past him. The sleeve of her sweater comes into contact with Loki’s stomach, and he jerks away.

Awkwardly, Loki closes his door and turns to face the mortal, noting how hilariously out of place she looks, standing in the midst of Loki’s domain. With a wave of his hand, the previously scattered articles of clothing fly onto his bed, meticulously folding themselves. Angel’s surprised, quiet gasp does not escape his notice. She walks towards his bed, small hand landing on Thor’s sweatshirt.

“Take that when you leave.” Loki internally bristles at his own tone, noticing how Angel’s shoulders locked up when he spoke and did not relax when he stopped. “Please,” he adds.

To his surprise (again), Angel approaches him, sweater in hand. “Why?”

At this, Loki is caught off guard. Without warning, he is overwhelmed by distaste. His patience has been tested over and over again, and he does not have even a drop more to deal with this mortal’s incompetence. His hatred for her rushes back, multiplied a thousandfold. Who does she think she is and why will she not leave Loki alone? Why must she cut short his relaxation, intrude upon his personal space, inquire after him when he knows — he knows — she does so unwillingly? Why is she holding up Thor’s goddamned sweater, pretending not to know why Loki hates it so? As if she doesn’t know it belongs to Thor.

In fact, Loki is positive she is intimately aware of whom it belongs to, undoubtedly so. He hates Angel, hates her for reluctantly offering her help, hates her for her smoothies, hates her for asking him about his preferences. Briefly, he envisions snapping her neck. Effortlessly. But the image makes him recoil, bringing about not satisfaction, but horror.

His fists clench, his broken fingernails once again digging into bruised skin. It costs Loki an immeasurable amount of self control not to simply throw her out, hurl her from his quarters. Instead, he snaps at her.

“Girl, do not test my patience. I am warning you, it has been a very long day and if you do not exit extremely promptly, it will not end well for one of us.”

Loki hates the way her shoulders tense up again, hates the way she physically flinches away at his dismissal.

Loki hates how though he can sense her increasing heartbeat, her nervousness, Angel still looks him in the eye and informs him, in a terrified voice coated with forced calm, “I’m sorry to hear that Loki. I added this sweater into your laundry after it was done, but I should have known it would not have been welcome.”

Loki hates how she then drops her eyes, staring intently at her mismatched socks.

“I’ll just leave your dinner outside.”

Loki hates how she leaves, her hands gripping Thor’s — his — sweatshirt tightly, footsteps moving at a much brisker pace.

Loki hates how Angel closed off, how he closed her off.

Loki hates how Angel clearly did do his laundry.

Loki hates how Angel thought of him, giving him an extra sweatshirt, offering him a choice for dinner.

Loki hates Angel more than he hates Thor, more than he hates Odin.

Loki hates Angel more than he hates the Mad Titan.

The only person Loki hates more than Angel is himself.

Fuck.

______________________________

We don't even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.

- Charles Bukowski

______________________________

Previous Chapter

Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @doct0rstrange

#Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #the hell in your eyes #thiye #loki x you #friends to enemies to lovers #reader insert #loki fic #jouce writes

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starlightrows · 3 years

Text

3 — The Pariah

The Queen of Tatooine Masterlist

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Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Non graphic violence, fire, hypothermia

Summary: Tempers rage in your small town, you are blamed for the less than savory change in patronage

Eventually the storm blew itself out, and your steady flow of patrons returned to eat, drink, stay the night, and move on. As autumn turned to winter, the storms and rain became more frequent, and began getting colder. Frost settled over the ground each night and melted by mid day.

A few weeks after Boba Fett had left your inn, on a chilly morning, you noticed a shift in the townspeople’s attitude towards you. Instead of quiet resentment or unspoken distaste, now they glared at you in the market. You were just trying to pick up some things you needed. More flour, a replacement pitcher for the one you knocked off the bar and broke, soap, and sewing needles. Many of the vendors would not speak to you, one of them wouldn’t even let you look at her wares. Confused and offended you tried to ask what you had done to have service refused, she met your gaze

“Your business is turning our town into a trading post for criminals and mercenaries” she spits “you can buy your soap somewhere else”

“I don’t choose who comes through this town” you point out

“Doesn’t matter, you let them stay” she snaps the box of cut soaps shut and gives you a look, trying to intimidate you into leaving

When you turn around, many of the other vendors at the market, and citizens of your town have gathered around the soap stall. Their voices rise up from their whispers to angry shouts and accusations.

People begin blaming you for their loss of profit, their stolen property… then the accusations get more and more fanatical. The storm that knocked over a large tree and damaged someone’s speeder, another man’s daughter running away to the next town for a boy, the town children’s new interest in playing “bounty hunters and thieves”.

You back away, try to leave the market and get back to the inn. But the crowd follows you, calling out horrible names and slurs. You pick up the pace and try to block them out, but the faster you go— the faster they get.

You’re running now, running to get away from the mob that seems to be growing with each house or business you pass. You’re almost there, if you can just get to the door. The head of the mob catches you by the fabric of your shirt and yanks you back. To your horror, the rest of the mob surges forward and breaks down your door.

Several men shove you and kick you to the ground every time you try to get up. You beg them to stop, to let you go, to make the rest of the townspeople stop what they’re doing.

You can hear them inside. Smashing your glasses, using rocks to shatter the windows, flipping the tables, ransacking the kitchen, probably stealing your money and your food.

Then there’s smoke rising from the back window. Someone must have knocked coals out of the hearth. People come pouring out of the inn, disappearing back into the town and surrounding woods carrying armfuls of your stuff and coughing as black smoke billows out of your home.

The men who had been keeping you down scattered off with the rest of the crowd. You got up on your knees as the flames overtook the inn… your business… your home… burning before your eyes, and you were powerless to stop it.

The sky darkens as ugly grey clouds mask the sun. You drag yourself away to the edge of the forest just in time for the rain to begin falling. Luckily the rainfall helps to beat back the red hot tongues of fire that have engulfed your home.

You sit for hours, half waiting for the mob to return and continue beating you with sticks. But there is only you, the rain, the ruins of your inn and the smoke that begins to rise into the sky. Rain comes and goes, and the sun begins to set behind mountains. The fire seems to have gone out. You know it’s dangerous to try to poke around in the wreckage, but you have no choice.

You haul yourself up, shivering on unsteady legs and step over what used to be the front wall. Blackened wood, melted and misshapen silverware, the hearth and chimney still stand. The entire upstairs has collapsed. It’s jarring to see burnt bed frames with charred mattresses covered in ash. There’s nothing left. What little you had that actually belonged to you was gone or burned beyond saving.

Night is falling and you’ll freeze if you don’t figure out some way to get warm or have shelter. You’ll figure out what to do tomorrow if you live to see the dawn. You continue to pick through the rubble until you find something you might be able to use. The wash basin you kept in the back and used to bathe and do your laundry. It’s made of metal and miraculously intact.

Dragging it away is more effort than you expected, it’s always been an awkward item to move around. But nevertheless you drag it away from the wreckage, just inside the treeline. Using two sturdy y-frame tree branches you prop it up against the wind, and set about making a small fire to stay warm.

Thank the Maker, it didn't rain again that night. And the fire reflected back against the bottom of the tub and kept you warm all night. At first light you’re up, putting out your campfire and picking through the rubble again to find anything that could be useful. You don’t find much… just an old hunting knife your father had left to you and an iron cup.

You decide your best course of action is to walk the 45 miles to the next settlement and either seek justice for what’s happened to you… or disappear and not make any trouble. The trek to get there will take three or four days, and that’s if you make good time. Might as well get a head start.

————

Word traveled quickly about what had happened. Many mercenaries, bounty hunters and their quarries alike arrive in town to stay at the inn and find that it’s been burned to the ground and the innkeeper has been driven out of town.

The desired effect of reducing criminal activity and foot traffic through the area does occur. But not before they’ve pillaged, vandalized and reaped havoc upon the entire settlement.

The one person in the criminal underworld who seems to miss out on this information is Boba Fett. He returns to your settlement to find the entire town struggling to pick up the pieces of their lives. Your inn is nothing more than a scorch mark on the ground it once sat on with a blackened brick hearth in the center.

His heart aches and his mind turns to dark thoughts of what could have happened to you, and who was responsible for it. He storms back into the settlement, and finds the nearest groveling peasant. It just so happens it was one of the men that kicked you down while your home burned.

“What happened here?” Boba demands. The man cowers from him and doesn’t answer. “I asked you a question. What happened?”

“It was the innkeeper” the man says hastily “She let all the criminals and mercenaries in the galaxy stay under her roof… and they ransacked the town”

He doesn’t buy it… something here doesn’t add up “I don’t believe you” growled pointing a blaster at the man “Either convince me, or tell me the truth”

“No no it’s true I swear! We drove her out of town hoping the crime in our settlement would stop”

Boba nods and lowers his blaster “Thank you”

The man looks relieved for a brief moment before he sees Boba raising his blaster again. Boba dispatches him quickly without so much as a word.

We drove her out of town, the man had said. He had no remorse for what happened. No concern for you, your livelihood they had uprooted. Boba was disgusted by it.

Boba returned to the ruins of your home and began to search for any signs of you, and where you might have gone. It doesn’t take him long to find the remnants of your smaller camp fire and the metal tub you used for shelter. A good sign that you were thinking on your feet and likely survived the fire.

He thought about you, put himself in your shoes and went through what must have been going through your mind. Where to go? What to do? Obviously remaining here would not be an option. So what’s the next step? Finding somewhere safer to go.

He knows of two other settlements in this region of your planet. One is 45 miles northeast and the other 62 miles southwest. Both are long trips to take on foot with no supplies. But if you were thinking strategically you would have chosen the 45 mile hike. There’s water sources in that direction and it’s a shorter distance. So that’s the direction he takes off.

————

It’s been three days and you’re not making good time as you hoped you would. No food and cold weather makes your movements slow. You’ve been drinking water but you can only trick your stomach for so long. Plus you’re traveling in the forest just within eye sight of the road because you don’t want to be seen by other travelers. The last thing you need is another angry mob.

Your head hurts and your stomach is bloated from drinking so much water, but you’re so hungry and exhausted from walking. You sit beside a tree near the stream you’ve been following up higher into the mountains.

You wonder what the new settlement will be like. You wonder what you will do there given that you have no money and nothing to trade. You wonder if they would help you take your money and land back if you explained what happened to you. Or would they too cast you out and leave you to fend for yourself. Winter is well on its way. If they don’t help you, you’ll be dead in a matter of weeks. If not from hunger, then exposure to the cold.

These are dark and scary thoughts. Normally you would push such thoughts away and busy yourself with work, but that’s not an option now. You have nothing but time, and your mind races with all the things you’ve lost.

You’ll never get married or have children. You’ll never get to expand your garden. You’ll never start the projects you’ve always dreamed of doing. Making your own clothes. Learning to paint. Writing stories. None of it. All your hopes and dreams will fade with you into the icy cold winds that will take you.

You have to try your inner voice urges you, you have to try to make it

That thought propels you forward. You force yourself to get up and keep walking towards the next settlement. You have to pause every 50 yards or so to rest against a tree, but you don’t let yourself sit back down. You have to keep going.

Meanwhile Boba takes a speeder and begins tracking you. He can tell you’re slowing down. Good because he’ll catch you soon, but bad because that definitely means you’re getting weaker. Suddenly he can see you on the tracking system in his helmet. He can see how slowly you’re moving. He gets off the speeder and goes on foot to catch up with you.

Switching off the tracking system he follows you from a distance for a moment or two. He calls out your name as gently as he can. You whip around and stumble sideways clinging to a tree to hold you up right. There is fear in your eyes. Usually when he’s hunting a bounty that is a mark of satisfaction for him, to strike fear and command respect. But you are not a bounty. He calls out your name again and removes his helmet and hopes you’ll recognize him.

He’s too far away and your vision is too blurry. In your sleep and food deprived mind he’s one of the people that burned down your inn and beat you on the ground. But you’ve poured all of your remaining energy into pushing forward, and have nothing left to put up a fight. You lean against your tree and stare blankly at the figure that you’ve decided is definitely here to kill you.

Boba approaches you slowly with his hands raised to show you he’s not going to hurt you. His face becomes more and more clear to you as he gets closer. You search your mind for the name that goes with his face you recognize. It’s not until he’s right in front of you, catching you by the arms as your knees buckle under you, that you find the name you’re searching for.

“Boba?” Your voice is small and weak, you barely recognize it “You came back?”

He takes you into his arms and pats your back “Of course I came back”

Tag List: @cannedsoupsucks @otterly-fey @paige6768 @littledragonlady

#Boba Fett #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x f!reader #Boba Fett x reader #The Queen of Tatooine #QT

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multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer · 3 years

Text

Bet On It (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey!! Here’s a fun little Draco Malfoy fic. I love him and have been in the mood to write for him recently, so I cooked this up! I hope someone enjoys it :) And requests are open! Thanks :)

Summary: You’re the it girl of Hogwarts, and no man can seem to tie you down. Draco’s the it boy of Hogwarts, and no girl can seem to keep him long. What happens when Draco approaches you with a bet that could make or break your reputation?

Bet On It

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 8,281

Warnings: a little bit of angst and a whole lot of fluff. like one mild curse?

“Look, it’s (Y/n).” You hear the whispers surround you as you walk to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. This is a natural dinner-time occurrence since you are the most popular girl in school. You’re the player of the school, the girl who can get any guy and always drops them in the next couple of months and breaks their heart. It’s a reputation you love to uphold.

“Hey, girls.” You sit down next to your friends, flashing them all a blinding white smile. Every boy within a ten-foot radius swoons at the mere sight.

“Hey, (Y/n). How was potions today?” One of your friends asks, completely ignoring every boy nearby.

“It was alright. You know I don’t like Snape, so that’s never fun, but at least my potion didn’t blow up this time,” You chuckle, the smile never leaving your face. Part of your charm to boys is your natural confidence and kindness. Even though you have the reputation of a heartbreaker, you’re still kind to everyone. It’s an odd dynamic, but it’s the dynamic you’re known for.

“Hey, (Y/n).” A boy sits down next to you. You’re not quite surprised, just startled. You turn to see Harry Potter next to you, a smile donning his face at seeing you. You smile in return.

“Hi, Harry.” You turn to face him. You had already been down this road before. You dated Harry in sixth year, and it’s currently seventh year. Maybe he thought time would change things, but it hasn’t for you.

“How was your day?” He asks, fiddling with his hands in his lap. You feel bad for making the poor boy so nervous, so you try to be as casual as possible. You’re still human, after all.

“It was decent. We had potions together today, right?” You hum, turning slightly to your plate to eat a bit as you chat.

“Yeah, we did!” Harry brightens at the fact that you noticed him in class. You give him a polite smile.

“Well, you know how Snape can be. You’re not the only one who doesn’t like him,” You say, a small laugh escaping your lips. Harry looks triumphant at your laugh in the conversation.

“Yeah, I get it. He’s a pain.” He runs a hand through his already messy hair. As much as you enjoy a pleasant conversation with someone every once in a while, you really wanted to get going. You needed to get to the astronomy tower for some alone time. Boys had been hanging off of you all day long and you’re looking forward to a much-needed break.

“Indeed, he is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go. I’m terribly sorry, but I’m feeling the beginnings of a headache and I’d like to lie down.” You smile pleasantly at him and stand up from your seat. You had finished your food quickly so you could go to the astronomy tower sooner.

“Oh, of course. I’ll see you around, (Y/n).” Harry gets up and heads over to Ron and Hermione, talking animatedly to them as he arrives. Ron’s ears perk up at something he says and he immediately gets up and walks over to you on your way out.

“(Y/n)!” Ron grins at you as you approach the door to the Great Hall.

“Hello, Ron.” You smile politely again. This was tiring every day.

“I heard you have a headache. Do you need any assistance?” He asks, real concern swimming in his eyes. You chuckle softly.

“No, but thank you, Ron. You’re very sweet for asking.” You brush past him in the politest way possible. You had dated Ron just a little bit before Harry in sixth year, and he was as persistent as anyone to get back together with you. Before Ron, you had even dated Fred, George, and Cedric back in fourth and fifth year. Like you said before, you’ve dated quite a bit and you’re always the one to break up with them.

Once you’re past Ron, you make a beeline for the astronomy tower. No one stops you on the way.

Once you arrive at the top of the astronomy tower, you finally let your guard down and relax. You look up at the stars, closing your eyes and relishing in the moment alone. That is, until you hear a voice next to you.

“Needed to get away?”

You whip around, seeing Draco Malfoy sitting in the corner, likely annoyed that you had shown up. Draco’s one of the few, if not the only, boy in Hogwarts who isn’t throwing himself at you at any given moment. You hadn’t talked to him much, but you also didn’t plan on it in case he turned out like the rest.

“Yes. Sorry for bothering you.” You scramble to stand up. Draco shrugs.

“Suit yourself, leave if you want. I’m not one of your fanboys, though, so if you stay I’m not going to try and endlessly chatter with you. I’m here for peace and quiet, too.” His voice seems offended that you immediately wanted to leave, likely because you thought of him as a “fanboy.”

“Right. I suppose I’ll stay, then.” You sit back down, relaxing slightly when he doesn’t make a move to continue the conversation.

You decide to test the waters after a few moments of silence.

“So, why are you up here?” You hum, looking up at the sky instead of at him. He grunts in annoyance.

“For peace and quiet, didn’t you hear me the first time?” He grumbles, obviously annoyed that you’re disturbing his peace. You chuckle. You’re not used to this reaction from guys, so this is a nice change for you.

“I did. Just wanted to see if you’d change your answer, that’s all.”

“Change it to what? Because I wanted to see you? Please, I’m not one of your meddling nosey little--”

“Fanboys?”

“Yes.”

“I bet you would be.” You smirk, finally looking over at him. He looks like you just slapped him across the face.

“Excuse me?” He growls, annoyance spreading across his features.

“You would be. If you knew me.” You smirked. You’re not sure where this arrogant confidence came from, you would never dare talk to another boy like this.

“Yeah, right. I bet I’d have you groveling at my feet before I fell for you.” He scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Not true. I’d break up with you like every other guy I’ve dated.” You sigh, looking away again.

“Is that a challenge?” Draco asks, standing to his feet and walking over to you. You hate how he looks down upon you, so you stand up in front of him.

“And what if it is?” You quirk an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued by the conversation.

“Let’s make a bet, then, shall we? Whoever falls in love first loses and gets broken up with.” He holds out his hand for you to shake. You look down at it.

“And what does the winner gain?” You ask, eyeing his hand cautiously.

“The satisfaction of humiliating the other person, being right, and ruining their player reputation in school.” He states matter-of-factly. You narrow your eyes at him.

“And the conditions? What are we doing exactly?” You ask.

“Well, that’s easy. We’ll be a couple. We will date until one of us falls in love, which will be you, and I’ll break up with you.” He smirks arrogantly. You grab his hand and give it a firm shake.

“You’re on. I won’t lose this bet.” You scoff, letting go of his hand immediately after. He chuckles.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, darling.” He lets the pet name roll off his tongue gracefully, annoying you. He walks down the stairs of the astronomy tower, a new pep in his step. If he’s already using pet names then he’s going to fall for you so much harder and faster than you would for him.

Oh, yeah. You’ve got this in the bag.

~+~

You walk down the hallway to your next class, hips swaying absentmindedly as you carry your books. You ignore the whispers around you, silently wishing that people would stop talking about you behind your back. Whether it’s good or bad things, you’ve always been talked about. It’s been getting on your nerves lately.

“Hey, (Y/n), is it true?” One of your friends sidles next to you, matching your pace down the hall. You furrow your brows.

“Is what true?” You ask, turning slightly to look at her.

“That you’re dating Draco now,” She states matter-of-factly. You deadpan. Right, you had almost forgotten about the stupid bet you made with that slimeball.

“It...is.” You force a sweet smile onto your face as if you’re happy about dating Draco of all people.

“Wow. I never took him for your type, but I’m happy for you! Although, I know other people aren’t so optimistic…” She trails off, frowning. The smile almost immediately drops from your face.

“Oh? And what do you mean by that?” You hum, pretending to care. You honestly don’t give a crap about who likes or doesn’t like your relationship, because you have half a mind to tell everyone that you don’t like it either. But that would be forfeiting.

And you’re no quitter by any means.

“Oh, well I just mean some of our other friends who had a crush on Draco. They won’t be happy. And also...Pansy. But you can take her! I have full confidence in you.” Your friend pats you on the shoulder, a small yet nervous smile resting on her face. You frown.

“Take her? What do you mean? She’s a just another girl, what could she do--”

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n),” You hear your name shrieked down the hallway. Your head swivels to see Pansy Parkinson standing at the end of a hallway branching off to your right. You internally sigh. Of course, at the moment you’re on the verge of saying she’s no big deal, she shows up.

You look back to your friend only to see that she’s already gone. So much for backup.

“Hi, Parkinson.” You deadpan, continuing your walk to class. Only a little bit left to go before you’re at potions class.

“So, tell me, is the rumor true?” She matches your pace much like your friend did, except her footsteps are more akin to stomps than anything.

“That I’m dating Malfoy--”

“Yes, that you’re dating Draco!” She interrupts you with her horribly shrill voice. You clench your jaw in annoyance until you see the potions classroom coming up.

“I’ll let you figure it out for yourself, Pansy. See you around.” You suddenly duck into the potions classroom, looking triumphant for getting rid of her so easily. She wouldn’t dare yell at you while in the presence of Snape, mostly because he already finds her annoying and doesn’t seem to mind you so he’d probably give her detention.

“(Y/l/n), care to have a seat?” Snape asks you, one brow arched at your arrival. You realize that you’ve just barely made it to class on time, and everyone is already in their seats. Good thing Snape doesn’t already hate you.

“Yes, sorry.” You timidly look around for the remaining seat and making your way toward it.

Oh, great. Look who it’s next to.

“Glad you could finally join us, darling,” Draco says, smiling maliciously at you. You roll your eyes and sit down.

“Says you, Malfoy.” You groan, taking out your potions book. Draco tsks next to you.

“Calling your boyfriend by his last name? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t like me.” He sneers. You shoot him a glare.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re taunting me.” You growl.

“Malfoy, (Y/l/n), are you listening?” Snape eyes the two of you, anger evident in his posture and tone. You duck your head, embarrassed.

“Yes, professor,” You and Draco murmur. Surprisingly, Snape lets it slide this time.

“You’re lucky you were talking to me. Otherwise, you’d be in big trouble.” Draco smirks at you.

“And what does that mean?” You whisper back.

“I’m a Malfoy. I don’t get in trouble. For hardly anything.” He winks at you.

“Oh, shut up and listen.” You hiss.

“If you insist, darling.”

~+~

Things had been going...amicably, to say the most. You’ve been “dating” Draco for about two weeks at this point. Your first tactic was to just hate Draco and then you’d never fall in love, but it was easy to see that it wasn’t going to work. First of all, you may not fall in love with him, but….he also wasn’t going to fall in love with you that way, either. So you decided to switch things up a bit starting today.

“Hey, baby.” You smile and sit down next to Draco in the Great Hall. It’s lunchtime and you cannot wait to throw him off for the rest of the day.

“Ba-” Draco chokes on his drink as soon as he hears your new pet name for him.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You fake concern, trying to make it look as real as possible. If he believes you’re in love with him, then he’ll fall in love, too. At least, that’s the plan.

“Y-Yeah I’m...fine.” He clears his throat, setting his drink back down. You smile and get your own plate, making sure that you’re sitting as close as possible to him while still being able to eat.

He seems slightly uncomfortable, but easing into it since the two of you are in a “relationship” and it’d be weird for him to be uncomfortable around you. Besides, he’d had his fun with his pet names and smooth lines. It’s your turn.

“God, you’re a bit much don’t you think, (y/l/n)?” Pansy groans from across the table. You look up at her, a passive smile gracing your face.

“I’m sorry you think so, Pansy. Fortunately, you’re not my boyfriend, so I don’t quite care what you think. Isn’t that right, darling?” You muse, turning to Draco and using his own nickname on him. Draco smirks, knowing the game you’re playing and how he’d get to poke fun at Pansy at the same time.

“Of course, love.” He puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you even closer to him. You’re startled, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you lay your head on his shoulder and smile. Pansy snarls and gets up, leaving from the Great Hall.

Surprisingly, neither of you move, you just stay there wrapped up in each other. You can feel Draco’s heartbeat under your head, getting slightly more rapid as the seconds drawl on.

“Oi, are either of you two listening?” Blaise Zabini asks, waving a hand in front of you and Draco. The two of you break apart and turn to look at him, sheepish smiles on your faces.

“Sorry, what were you saying, Blaise?” You ask, a heat creeping up your neck. You wave it off as embarrassment.

“Couple of lovebirds, you two are. I was just saying it was funny how you showed Pansy up.” Blaise rolls his eyes. You turn back to your food, hyper-focusing on that instead of a quiet Draco next to you. Then it dawns on you.

Love? He called you “love.” Is that a new nickname?

~+~

It’s been another month since you and Draco had started dating. In total, it’s been a month and a half. By now, Draco has caught on to your lovey-dovey style and has followed suit. Now it’s a true battle.

“(Y/n)? Love?” Draco grabs your hand, startling you out of your thoughts.

“Hm? Sorry, baby, I got lost in thought.” You smile, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand. This has become a regular thing for the two of you now. Hugging, holding hands, his arm around your shoulder, pretty much anything up to kissing. You had yet to kiss him, and you didn’t plan on it any time soon.

“I was just asking if you’d meet me at the astronomy tower tonight?” He hums, affectionately leaning the side of his head against yours. You smile out of habit.

“I’d love to, what time?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder to be more comfortable.

“Does eight sound alright?” He asks, his thumb raking smoothly over your hand that he holds in his. You keep from shuddering at his touch. No, you’re not in love. You don’t even have a crush on the boy. This is all a game.

A game that you’re going to win.

“Sounds wonderful. I’ve got to get to class, but I’ll see you tonight.” You stand up straight and turn to him, a small smile resting on your lips. He smiles back at you, but you can tell it’s more of a forced smile. That’s one thing you’re better at. Hiding your true intentions. He may be smooth, but smiles are not his strong suit.

“I’ll see you tonight, dear.” He lets go of your hand. You turn and walk to your divination class. What does he have planned for tonight?

~+~

When tonight rolls around, you’re not sure what to wear. You don’t want to dress too informally in fear that he’d not like your outfit and it would hurt your chances of wooing him, but you also don’t want to dress too nicely and look like you’re expecting too much. So, you opted for a nice blouse and a skirt. A good middle ground.

“I cannot believe you’re still dating Malfoy,” Hermione sighs as you step into your common room. Although she’s not Slytherin, you had let her in so she could be there for you. You needed someone to rant to, and she has been a saving grace during these times. See, she doesn’t know that you’re not really dating Draco, but that’s exactly what you need. She hates him, and you need a person in your life telling you that he’s no good for you. Every other girl just swoons over him and says how you’re so lucky.

“I know, ‘Mione, you say it every time.” You smile at her as you descend the stairs.

“Just making sure I keep you on your toes,” She says, giving you a small smile back. You know she disapproves, but she’s been a good friend recently. And disapproval is what you need, too, so she’s helping more than she realizes.

“Thank you. I’ve got to go now, but thank you for helping me get ready tonight. I owe you one,” You giggle as the two of you step out into the dungeons.

“Yeah, you do. Now...go have fun.” She gives you a weird smile. You laugh and walk away from her, making your way to the astronomy tower.

You walk up the long set of stairs up to the top of the tower, nerves gnawing at you the whole time. Why did he ask you here? This is private. Why did he need to talk to you in private?

“There you are. I was afraid you weren’t going to show.” You hear Draco’s voice as you reach the top of the steps. When you reach the peak, you look before you to see that Draco has set up a cute little picnic in front of the railing. You’re taken aback by the gesture.

“Draco, this is…”

“Is it too much?” You look to him and see that there’s...genuine worry written on his face? No, this is some cruel trick.

“No, no. It’s perfect.” You smile and sit down as he sits down next to you.

“I had some chocolate strawberries prepared for us. That, and I got some chocolate frogs. I know they’re your favorite.” He smiles what seems like a genuine smile at you. You’re surprised. When did this Draco show up? And what game is he playing here?

“Draco, I don’t know...I just--”

“Shh, I know...I know you’re going to talk about the bet. I don’t...I don’t want to think about that for tonight, alright? Let’s just...relax. Talk. Be normal, for once.” He takes your hand in his, and now you’re beyond confused. But you play along. Although you’re confused, this is still...really nice. You don’t hate it. You don’t hate him.

“Alright.” You agree, relaxing next to him. You lay your head on his shoulder and the two of you gaze up at the stars.

“Are you familiar with constellations?” He hums, picking up a chocolate strawberry to eat. You think for a second.

“No, not really. Are you?” You hum, getting more comfortable by the second. In all honesty, this is an ideal date if it were under better circumstances.

“More than. Would you like me to point out a few to you?” He asks, suddenly turning the chocolate strawberry to you. He raises his eyebrows as if to offer you the strawberry. Is he...planning on feeding it to you?

“For me?” You giggle, looking up at him. He smiles bashfully and nods.

“For you. Open up,” He says, leaning the strawberry in more. You open your mouth and take a bite of the strawberry, relishing in the sweet chocolatey taste. You hum and grin up at him.

“Delicious,” You say, smiling widely. You’re not sure you’ve ever had this much actual fun with him before. You’re not sure how to feel about it.

“Oh, you’ve got something,” He leans in a bit and locks eyes with you, “...here.” He wipes something off the corner of your mouth. For a minute, you’re locked in each other’s eyes, neither of you able to move.

You break out of the trance first, ducking your head to avoid him seeing your blush. This is still a bet.

“Thank you,” You murmur, hoping he didn’t see your blush.

“Of course. Constellations?” He asks, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as well. You smile.

“Please,” You hum, leaning your head back on his shoulder. The two of you spend the next three hours pointing out constellations and talking about nothing and everything at the same time.

Once the date is over, you help him pack everything up, and the two of you sneak downstairs and back to the Slytherin common room. It’s past curfew, so you try not to get caught. You’re successful.

“I had fun tonight,” Draco says as the two of you walk back into the common room. You stay between the two sets of stairs leading to the differently gendered dorms.

“Me too,” You admit, smiling truthfully at him. He gives you a small smile back. You’ve decided that you like his genuine smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow...love,” He gets slightly closer to you on the last words. Your breath hitches in your throat. Is he about to kiss you?

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” You mutter quietly, not daring to move a muscle. He swoops in and plants a sweet kiss on your cheek before swiftly turning around and walking up the steps to the boys' dormitory. You stand there for a moment, speechless, until you follow suit and leave to go to your room.

One question plagues you as you walk back to your dorm, the trip seeming agonizingly longer than usual. Why would he go to such lengths tonight if the two of you were in private? There was no reason to do this since it’s not putting on a show for others. No, he knew this was just for the two of you. So why do it?

This leads you to another startling conclusion:

You’re starting to have feelings for Draco Malfoy. And you think he might feel the same.

~+~

A week after the date, things are going swimmingly. The dynamic has shifted just a bit, with the two of you being even more affectionate than you were. The hand-holding and hugs have turned into that and more. The small brushes of hands, his hand on the small of your back, have all elevated your feelings toward him and you’re just hoping that he feels the same way. You’re not in love. At this point, he can still fall in love before you and you can break it off. Just because you have slight feelings for the boy does not ruin the bet. Besides, you’ve had feelings for all of your other boyfriends at one point, and look where they all turned up. Dumped. You’ve still got this in the bag.

“Are you going to the quidditch game tonight, darling?” Draco hums, intertwining his fingers with yours as the two of you walk to potions class together. You grin at him.

“Of course. You told me you’d let me wear your old jersey, so I’ve got to go out and support my boyfriend, right?” You smirk, nudging his shoulder with yours. You don’t miss the small blush that spreads across his cheeks. It’s like he becomes a different person when no one’s watching the two of you and he has no arrogant reputation to uphold.

“Well, with your support, I know I’ve got this win against Gryffindor in the bag.” He grins and kisses your cheek. You bite your lip to keep from smiling so widely.

~+~

That afternoon, at the quidditch game, you find your spot amongst the crowd. You’re sitting with a few of your Slytherin friends as well as Ron and Hermione, surprisingly. They’re still wearing their Gryffindor scarves and hats, but you’re glad they’re sitting by you. You know Ron’s still infatuated with you, so you’re not surprised that it didn’t take a lot of convincing to get him over here, but you’re glad Hermione’s with you. Besides, Ron has stifled most of his flirting now that you have a boyfriend.

“Blimey, you look great (Y/n).” Ron smiles at you. You did say most of his flirting.

“Thanks, Ron. It’s Draco’s old jersey. I figured I’d better support my boyfriend.” You smile and show off the jersey, throwing Ron off. He grumbles something under his breath but keeps up his happy act.

“Well, I’m just hoping to get this game over with soon. I need to get back to studying for the test in DADA tomorrow.” Hermione huffs as she finds her seat next to you.

“Hermione, you’re literally the smartest witch at Hogwarts. You’ve got this test without even studying.” You snort, watching the players take their place on the quidditch field.

“Says you! You’re just as smart, (y/n).” Hermione scoffs. You laugh and shake your head, mostly focused on finding a certain platinum-haired boyfriend of yours. You find him off to the side, looking for you. Your hand shoots up and waves. You see his head turn to your area and he grins at you, winking. You blow him a kiss back and he pretends to catch it as he mounts his broom.

“God, you two are sickening.” Hermione gags next to you. You scrunch your nose up.

“Are not.” You huff. She laughs.

“Sure.”

“Hey, (Y/l/n),” You hear a shrill voice to your right. Great, she’s back.

“Do you mind, Parkinson? I’m trying to watch my boyfriend play quidditch.” You groan, not even turning to face her.

“Too bad your precious boyfriend was snogging me before charms earlier today,” Pansy smirks as you finally turn to face her.

“That’s nice... if I believed you. God, Pansy, everyone knows you’re desperate for my boyfriend. I can smell your lies from a mile away. Try tricking someone more gullible next time.” You roll your eyes and turn back to the field, easily finding Draco hovering as he looks for the snitch. You hear a high-pitched ‘hmph’ and footsteps walking away from you.

You see Draco’s eyes light up as he spots something across the field. He’s off in a flash and you see Harry try to follow behind him.

You watch as the golden blur darts around the stadium, coming close to a stop almost right in front of you. Your eyes focus on the two boys dashing after the golden snitch that are about to run into you. Your eyes widen as they approach.

Harry, to avoid hitting you, veers up at the last second and misses the snitch. However, Draco flips over you sideways at the last second and grabs the snitch mid-air, landing not-so-gracefully behind you. He holds the snitch up and the entire Slytherin section goes insane.

“And Draco Malfoy catches the snitch! Slytherin wins!” You hear the announcer shout.

“Almost hitting me, huh?” You turn back to Draco, a smile playing on your lips. He grins at you.

“But I didn’t hit you, did I? Made sure of it.” He smirks playfully. You look down and lock eyes with a seething Pansy Parkinson who’s glowering at you with Draco. Thinking back on it, that’s probably why you did what you’re about to do next.

You reach up and cup Draco’s cheek, bringing him down to you and connecting your lips. You feel him tense up in shock for a moment before he relaxes and kisses you back. The seconds feel like an eternity before you pull away, breathless. You hear cheers around you, most likely from your kiss and the win. You’re not sure if he’s breathing heavily from the stunt he just pulled or that kiss, but he looks at you with his lips slightly parted and a faraway look in his eyes as he processes what just happened.

“Hey, Draco, get down here!” You hear one of the Slytherin teammates call to him. He shakes off some of his shock, blinking a few times before he mounts his broom again. A wide smile finds its way back to his face and you’re left wondering if you made the right decision or not. It was a heat of the moment thing, it didn’t mean anything...right?

Right?

~+~

“What was that?” Draco asks you once the two of you’re alone after dinner.

“What was what?” You feign innocence, not really wanting to talk about it in the first place.

“The kiss,” He states incredulously.

“Oh, that! Yeah, um...it was a heat of the moment decision to get back at Pansy. Sorry.” You laugh it off. That’s not the entire reason, but it’s also not a lie, so you roll with it.

“Oh, that’s it?” He asks. He seems almost...disappointed? No, that’s not right.

“Yeah, why?” You ask, concern finding its way into your voice.

“No reason. I’ll, uh, see you around. I gotta go.” He presses a hasty kiss to your cheek before walking off.

He didn’t want it to be real...did he? Did you?

~+~

Another month later, you’re officially in deep crap. It’s been almost three months, and that was the deadline you had set for yourself to make Draco fall in love with you. In reality, the opposite had happened. You’re afraid that you’ve fallen in love with him.

Scratch that, you know that you’re in love with him, and that makes you very afraid. However, he seems to be reciprocating everything you’ve felt, so you’re wondering if he’s in the same situation. No, you’re sure he’s in the same situation. It’s written all over his face every time you kiss. You see the love in his eyes.

Yes, you kiss regularly now. It’s been happening quite a bit since the quidditch match, and in all honesty...he sneaks in kisses when you’re in private, too. Which is why you’ve planned when you’re going to confess to him.

“You ready for our date tonight, darling?” Draco hums, a smile playing at his lips as he walks up to you and slides his arms around your waist. He lifts you up and gives you a small peck on the lips. You giggle.

“Of course I am.” You grin, kissing him again.

“Remember, the Room of Requirement. Eight o’clock.” He sets you down, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“Can’t wait.” You start to walk off, blowing him a kiss. He “catches” it and stuffs it in his pocket.

“For later,” He whispers, winking. You giggle and part ways with him.

Yeah, you’re definitely in love.

~+~

When eight rolls around, you’re ready. Draco told you to dress nicely for this date, so you opted for a nice winter dress. You make your way to the Room of Requirement, finding it quite easily despite its reputation for not showing up a lot of the time.

Inside, Draco has set up floating candles all around the outskirts of the room and you see a small speaker in the corner of the room.

“What’s this?” Your eyes light up, taking in your surroundings.

“I set up some candles and this….phonograph, I think is what the muggle-borns called it? It’s supposed to play music, and I thought it fit the atmosphere…” Draco trails off, looking at you for your opinion.

“It’s beautiful, Draco. And it fits the mood perfectly. I mean...I know I’m special when the Draco Malfoy uses a muggle contraption for our date.” You tease him, walking up to him. He bows his head as a blush takes over his features.

“You know I want the best for you, (Y/n/n).” He lets your nickname slip, meeting you in the middle of the room. You smile fondly at him and he mirrors your expression.

“I love it.” You murmur quietly. You want to say something else instead of ‘it’ but you hold your tongue. It’s not the time yet.

“Care to dance?” Draco holds out his hand to you as a soft ballroom song starts to drift out of the phonograph, flowing through the room, giving it a sweet aria.

“I would love to.” You take his hand and the two of you start to glide across the floor. You’re no expert dancer, but you’d been to a Yule Ball before, and you’ll be going to another one this year. You like to be prepared.

“You’re quite the dancer, (Y/n/n),” He murmurs, capturing your eyes in his. You can’t look away.

“I have a good partner,” You blush, moving to a more intimate dancing stance. Your arms wrap around his neck as his wind around your waist. Your inches from his face, staring into his eyes.

The music seems to fade away as Draco leans down and kisses you deeply, stopping your dance across the floor. Your eyes flutter closed and your hands find their way up into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

When you finally break apart, you feel like you’re the only two people in the world. You feel ready to conquer the question that’s been aching in your heart for the past few weeks.

“(Y/n/n), will you go to the Yule Ball with me?” Draco murmurs, stroking his thumb across your cheek. You smile fondly at him.

“Of course. I...I have something to tell you, Draco.” You whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly will scare him away from you.

“Yes?” He asks, his eyes so full of love that you want to just shout it out right now. Him asking you to the Yule Ball only fuels your desire, since that’s at least a month away. He expects you two to be together for a long time.

“I...I love you.” You admit, feeling a large weight lifted off your chest. A large grin breaks out across Draco’s face.

“You do? You really do?” His eyes light up and you want to cry tears of relief.

“Yes, I really do.” You laugh a little, tears of joy pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Oh my god, I thought...I was afraid you were just really good at acting,” Draco lets out a puff of air, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I-I love you, Draco.” You smile, feeling your heart soar. He loves you, too.

“That’s a relief. Well, I suppose I can drop this facade, now.” His hand drops from your face and he takes a step back.

You feel your heart shatter at those few words.

You look at his face to see that his usual genuine (or so you thought) fond smile is gone, replaced by his usual arrogant smirk.

“W-What?” You ask, your tears of joy turned to tears of devastation.

“I mean, really? You really thought that I was in love with you? Maybe I should go into acting, I mean, I seemed to fool you.” He laughs, crossing his arms in triumph. Your lip quivers as tears spill down your face.

“You- you liar!” You cry, wiping madly at your face to stop the tears but they’re too fast.

“Come on, (Y/n/n), we’re through. We both knew it was going to end this way. Spare me the heartache. I won.” He spits bitterly at you, rolling his eyes in annoyance. The cocky smile never disappears.

“I thought it was real,” You choke out, feeling your breaths coming out raggedly as you go through the heartbreak you thought you had avoided.

“Well, you thought wrong, darling.” The sarcasm drips from his words heavily.

“Don’t call me that! Don’t- don’t speak to me ever again!” You scream, running out of the Room of Requirement.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic!” You hear him call as you run out. You dash through the halls wildly, not sure of your final destination. You finally find a closet that you hide in, locking behind you as you sink to the ground and cry your eyes out. You stay in there for a while, sobbing into your knees until your heart’s content. Although you stop crying after a while, you still feel the heartbreak and suffering. The pain doesn’t go away. Not for a long time.

You thought he felt the same.

“You thought wrong, darling,” Draco’s cruel words echo in your mind endlessly. You thought wrong.

You thought wrong.

~+~

You don’t get out of bed for the next two days. On the third day, one of your friends finally drags you out of your bed and makes you go to class.

“You can’t let your grades slip, (Y/n),” She had told you.

You were honestly willing to let anything slip as long as you didn’t have to see Draco anymore.

On your first day of going back to classes, you try to block out the whispers.

“Did you hear that Draco broke up with her?”

“That’s the first guy to break up with her right?”

“What happened to being the playgirl of the school?”

“I guess she’s not all that anymore,”

“I doubt boys will even give her a second glance after this,”

You try to block them out, and you’re partially successful until Pansy comes along.

“What’d I tell you, (Y/n)? Draco would always come back to me. We both knew it,” Pansy says snarkily as you pass her in the hall.

“Oh, shove it, Pansy. He’s not even with you, he just--”

“Oh, that’s right, you haven’t been here for the past two days because you’ve been pathetically staying in bed. He asked me out yesterday,” She cackles, her freshly manicured hands taunting you as she laughs.

“He...what?” You’re dumbfounded for the second time this week, feeling tears prick at your eyes again. He never had feelings for you. At all.

You didn’t get out of bed the day after that, either.

~+~

After another day of staying in bed and letting everyone’s words get to you, you finally get up again. You put a little effort into your hair and makeup, trying to maintain at least some of your dignity as you force your way back into the world.

“(Y/n)! You’re back!” Hermione runs up to you as you walk into the Great Hall. She tackles you in a hug and you numbly hug her back, not sure if you’re feeling anything right now besides heartache still.

“Hi, ‘Mione.” You mutter, your eyes finding their way to the Slytherin table on their own. You see Draco hand in hand with Pansy, striking your heart with a sharp pang.

“Come on, come sit with me and the boys.” Hermione leads you away, forcing you to tear your eyes from the platinum-haired boy. You don’t feel his eyes on you as you sit between Harry and Hermione across from Ron at the breakfast table.

“Hi, (Y/n).” Harry and Ron speak up sympathetically. You give them a pathetic wave, digging into your breakfast quietly. No one says a word.

“Well, (Y/n), you have quite a bit of school work to catch up on. We have a test in transfiguration today, and of course, there’s always potions to catch up on, Snape is quite the…” Hermione continues on, but you tune her out as you continue to eat.

“Hey, are you okay?” Harry sets his hand on your shoulder, breaking you from your thoughts. You turn to look at him, eyes glazed as you take in the concern on his face. You force a small smile on your face.

“Never been better.” You lie. You see a small frown form on his lips. He knows you’re lying, it’s not hard to tell.

~+~

It goes like that for a couple of weeks, the same draining day after day after day. You get used to the lifeless routine, hoping that one day color will return to the world. Everything seems duller than it used to be. You can’t bear to look at the constellations the same way anymore, either.

That is, until one day.

“(Y/n), can we talk?” You hear a pained voice behind you. You turn around, a blank look staying steady on your face.

“No.” You deadpan, seeing Draco standing there.

“Please...I need to speak with you. Alone.” He begs, going as far as to stop you when you try to walk away from him.

“You already won, what more could you want from me?” You ask, your tone staying even and deadly with venom.

“It was...Please, let me speak to you alone--”

“No!” For once, you’re feeling more than heartache. You’re feeling anger.

“(Y/n/n)...”

“You don’t get to call me that! You lost that privilege when you ripped my heart out, tore it to shreds, and stomped on it right in front of me! Sure, it was in our little bet to break each other’s heart, but you didn’t have to be so cruel.” You seethe, letting your pent up frustration go on him.

“That’s what I want to talk about-”

“You can save your apology because I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear how you still hate me but you--”

“It was a mistake, okay!” He yells at you. You see people start to stare at the two of you. You grab his arm and shove him into the empty hallway, slamming the door behind you.

He starts to say something, but you hold your hand up to silence him.

“No. You do not get to waltz back into my life with your smooth lines as if you didn’t completely ruin it with your words just a few weeks ago. You said it yourself, Draco, we’re through. You even have Pansy now.” You growl, tears pricking at your eyes again. No way would he get away with this. Not again.

“Please just...hear me out. I know it’s not as easy as just saying sorry--”

“No, I’m done, I’m leaving. I can’t-- I can’t…” You start to choke on your own words again, the tears finding their paths down your cheeks. The barricades have broken again and you’re left with the rivers you thought had finally dried up.

“No. I’m not leaving you alone until I tell you this. I do love you. I did back then, too, I just...I let my pride get the better of me. I couldn’t tell what love was until I lost it. You left a void in my heart and...and I tried to fill it with Pansy but I didn’t need another girl I...I needed you. I broke up with Pansy just a few days after being with her.” You hear his voice turn hoarse and you look up to see tears running down Draco’s cheeks, too. In all your years of knowing him, you had never seen him cry.

“Your smooth lines…got us into this mess. You and your stupid bet,” You growl, wiping the tears off your cheeks furiously.

“And I hate myself for it! I had feelings for you back then, dammit, I just knew I wouldn’t be able to ask you out normally with you accepting. I’m not even sure I knew that I had feelings at that point. I messed it up...I mess everything up... with my reputation and pride.” He admits, reaching a hand out to you. You look at it and shake your head.

“I’m not...I’m not convinced,” You sniffle.

“Please, I’ll do anything to convince you. No matter how long it takes. I want you back (Y/n), and I promise I’ll do whatever it takes, however long it takes, to gain your trust back little by little. Until you’re mine again.” He promises.

You look into his eyes and see through the cracks tiny pieces of hope. You think maybe, just maybe, that the genuine smiles and love that you saw were real. The genuine kindness that you so ache to see again. And maybe now you have a chance to see them again. What does he have to gain at this point? Why is he confessing all of this right now? It’s ruining his reputation as a player and flirt, which is exactly what the bet was all about. Why?

“....One more chance. And it’s not coming easily. You’re working for it, Malfoy, I am not one to win back easily. Any wrong moves and you’re gone. For good.” You promise him, the tears finally slowing down until they’re reduced to occasional sniffs.

“That’s all I’m asking for.” He reaches for your hand, but you pull it away from him.

“We’re not a couple. I’m not ready for that. I hardly trust you anymore. We’re friends and that’s it right now. We’ll see how it goes.” You warn him. He nods vigorously.

“Anything for you.” He nods.

For the first time in weeks, there’s a small kernel of hope in you that wasn’t there before.

~+~

It’s been two years since that day, and you and Draco are back together and happily dating. You have been for almost a year at this point. You’re sure he’s the one after he went through a year of torture trying to get you back. He finally earned your trust and love back and the two of you have been happy ever since. He hasn��t done anything to deter you. Nothing big, anyway.

“Draco, fetch me the mistletoe, will you?” You hum, grinning at your boyfriend as you finish decorating your new apartment for Christmas. The two of you have been out of schooling for a year and a half, happily enjoying the new freedom. You’ve both gotten amazing jobs as Aurors, getting to work side by side in the ministry of magic as you catch dark wizards and put them behind bars. Things honestly couldn’t be better.

“Here you go, love.” He goes to hand you the mistletoe, holding it slightly out of your reach above your heads. You giggle and lean in, kissing him deeply. He kisses back, wrapping a hand around your waist as the other continues to hold the mistletoe above you.

“That was sweet, but I do want that mistletoe now,” You joke, reaching up and taking the mistletoe from him. He complies.

“I was thinking...it’s a few days before Christmas, would you mind opening one of the gifts I got you early?” He asks, gesturing to a big box sitting next to the tree.

“Draco, we’re supposed to wait until Christmas to open gifts,” You jokingly complain and he grins, knowing you won’t say no to opening a gift early.

“Oh, come on, it’s just one gift.” He teases, sliding the box over to you.

“Oh, alright, if you insist.” You grin at him, tearing open the outside wrapping paper. You open the big box and find another slightly smaller box inside, only to open that one and find another smaller box inside. You giggle as you continue to open boxes and find smaller ones inside until you finally reach a small box that fits into your palm, wrapped neatly in wrapping paper.

“Go on, open it,” Draco coaxes you on. You smile.

“But it’s so small and cute,” You hum, admiring the cute little wrapped box.

“I think you’ll like what’s inside more.” He chuckles. You giggle and tear the wrapping paper off of it, showing a small velvety box. You gasp, tears pricking at your eyes. Draco takes the box from your hand, getting on one knee as he opens it up to you, revealing a sparkling diamond ring in it.

“Draco, I--” You choke on your words, tears of joy brimming your eyes.

“(Y/n/n)...you make me the happiest man alive. I’m so lucky you gave me another chance because I cannot imagine my life not by your side. So...will you do me the absolute honor, and marry me?” He asks. You notice his hands shaking and you let out a short burst of air before nodding vigorously.

“Yes, yes of course I’ll marry you, Draco!” You cry, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. Draco stands up, excitement clear on his face as he takes the ring out of the box and slides it on your finger. He delicately lifts you in his arms and kisses you passionately. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as possible.

Now, truly, things can’t get any better. And you mean that with all of your heart.

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shoutogepi · 4 years

Text

Birthday Breakfast

Bakugou Katsuki

word count : 1.8k

[ ☀︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ] fluff and smut, i deem thee smuff!— a term i made after being utterly blown away by this fic that i read last night. *bows down to moe*

themes : uhhh oral. reader receiving ;)

bio : The birthday boy gets to eat whatever he wants for the most important meal of the day.

author’s note : something sweet and short, because I can’t get enough of domestic Bakugou, it’s his birthday, and I’m feeling soft (but still saucy LMAO)

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🄸t’s nine in the morning when Bakugou’s eyes finally open. To most people, nine a.m. is not considered sleeping in, but for the hero who wakes at dawn and sleeps at dusk, this is definitely a luxury he doesn’t normally indulge in. Speaking of indulgence, the first thing he sees when he turns his head on the pillow is his sweet girlfriend’s face, doting eyes already looking at him and filled with excitement.

“Happy birthday, Suki!” You cheer, throwing your leg over his hip and clambering on top of him. You’ve been waiting for a whole hour for him to wake up, switching between scrolling through your phone and staring at his handsome, restful sleeping face.

He doesn’t bother hiding his lazy grin, thick arms wrapping around your waist as his hands lay along your back. “G’morning, Princess,” he murmurs, craning up to plant a kiss on your lips. His voice is deep and gravelly, laden with slumber.

You pull away much too soon for his liking, and the first frown of the day appears on his lips as he strains his neck higher, wanting your lips back on his. But you only wiggle back, eyes alight with enthusiasm as you begin to chatter. “How did the birthday boy sleep? Are you excited for your party tonight? I hope you don’t mind, I invited a few more people than I told you about, but—”

“Shhh,” Bakugou hushes you, fingers curling around the back of your neck and bringing your lips to his once again. He sighs into the kiss, content washing through his bones at the intimacy. His favorite time of day has always been just after waking up from a night of tangling in the sheets with you, whether it be from snuggling or plowing you into the mattress.

You giggle into his mouth, and you feel his lips twitch into a big smile as his favorite noise falls on eager ears. You give him a minute to smother you in kisses before you try to pull away again, laughing as he continues to pepper your face with affection. “Sukiii,” your laugh is followed by a cutsey whine as he nibbles your jaw gently.

“Y/NNN,” he replies teasingly, rough hands incredibly gentle as they wander around your back, shoulders, and sides, dipping underneath the hem of his t-shirt you’d worn to bed and brushing against your skin. The drowsy smile remains on his face as he watches you shiver, eyes focusing on how you bite your lips ever so slightly.

Leaning back to sit upright on top of him, you take his wrists in your grasp and hold them on his chest, making him quirk an amused brow up at you. “Let’s eat breakfast, baby, I picked up a buncha groceries yesterday after work so I can make whatever you want. You get to choose, birthday boy,” you beam down at him, playfully booping his nose with a finger.

Bakugou can only stare up at your radiance in adoration, his hands moving to glide along your exposed thighs. Raking his fingertips along your flesh back and forth temptingly— not quite enough to breach the hem of the cotton hanging off your body— he smirks at you, watching as you close your eyes and sigh at his caress. “Anything I want?” He clarifies, his brow still raised as his smirk begins to split into a grin.

You’re still in your blissful little bubble, unaware of the conversation suddenly steering toward a more suggestive direction. “Mmhhmmm,” you answer, finally opening your eyes again to catch his intense gaze, heat suddenly rushing to your cheeks. You squeak as your boyfriend pounces on you, grabbing your wrists, rolling you over, and pinning you to the mattress as his knees spread your legs.

“Oh, I know what I want, then,” he growls, flashing his straight teeth and pink gums at you in a playful, predatory snarl. He draws backwards, maneuvering down the bed so he’s lying on his stomach between your legs, his forearms wrapping underneath your tented thighs and gripping the tops of them with capable fingers.

You gasp as he presses his face into your panties, your cheeks and chest flushing even harder at his shamelessness, your hand flying to press your fingers to your mouth in embarrassment. “Ka-Katsuki, I didn’t mean—”

The blonde rubs his face between your legs, enjoying how wide your eyes stretch and the flustered look on your face. “Ah ah, the birthday boy gets to eat whatever he wants, Princess,” he grumbles, nipping at your clit through the cotton fabric. He grins when you whimper, your legs jolting in his hands as he holds them open. “Sorry babe, I don’t make the rules.”

You lick your lips as his fingers hook into your panties, and you lift your hips without a fight as he drags the material down your legs and off your feet, throwing them over his shoulder as he settles back into his place.

“Mmmm, good girl,” Bakugou praises, closing his eyes as his lips trail down your thigh toward your knee, then back up to between your legs, then repeating the motion on your other thigh. His fingers dance along your hips, and his pride only grows when he catches you throwing your head back into the pillow, your hands clenching into small fists.

Your pussy twitches as his heated breath lands across your body, a tiny noise leaking out of your closed mouth. Casting a desperate glance at him, your heart thumps loudly when your eyes meet his, and his tongue slides between your folds, nice and slow. His hands travel up from your hips to grab your waist, thumbs stroking the smooth skin on the side of your navel tantalizingly as his tongue lays long, flat stripes up and down your slit.

You’re extra sensitive in the morning, your body not yet numbed from the labor of the day, and Bakugou knows this— takes full advantage of it. He closes his eyes as his tongue does the work; slipping around your petals, rolling along your clit, and trailing in leisurely circles around your entrance. Moaning into your dripping sex, his movements passionate and unhurried, he devours you like you’re the only nourishment he will ever need, like he could spend his whole life in this position, ravishing you. He eats your cunt until you’re soaking, slick dripping down your ass and dampening the sheets, desperate for any kind of penetration because every time his tongue dips inside of you it’s gone instantly, leaving you breathless and destitute.

“Sukiiii,” you mewl as he pulls away from your opening again, your head tossing side to side with a pained expression on your features.

Bakugou continues his ministrations, unphased, sucking your clit between his swollen lips and lathering the pink nub with hard and lethargic licks. “Hmmm?” He purrs, sending a vibration through your pussy and making it spasm around nothing, your hips digging into the mattress.

“Please— I need more, pleasepleaseplease god, please,” you grovel, sanity a thread from being lost to the wind.

“More?” He chuckles, one hand sliding off your thigh. Your body jumps as his thumb brushes your clit, a choked moan croaking out of you. Your limbs are shaking as the digit travels south, splitting your folds with ease. He drags the finger back and forth along your slit, coating it in your ample arousal to ensure he’ll give you the best possible feeling. The tip of his thumb teases your trembling hole, pushing back and forth by just millimeters, just shy enough to cheat you of feeling the pleasurable stretch you so frantically desire.

You cry out in distress, tears beading up on your lower lashes at his torture, your chest heaving hopelessly as you weakly raise your neck to look at him. Bakugou throws you a little taunting pout, scarlet eyes full of mischief.

“Aw, babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you needed it that bad.” His thumb pushes into you and heat shoots through your body, emanating from the stretch in your core. Bakugou has grown into a beefy man since his schooldays, and his thumb is the thickest finger on his hand, just long enough to wiggle against that special spot inside of you.

Your hips crash against him as his mouth takes your clit inside once again, a growl dislodging from his throat and sending tingles through your entire body. His thumb pulling out all the way before sliding back in, the stretch feeling heavenly after his torment. You can’t hold back your moans— they ring out and bounce off the bedroom walls unrestrained and Bakugou savors each and every one, only fueling him to lick a little quicker, finger thrust inside a little deeper.

“Mmm, my pretty girl gonna cum for me?” He instigates, mouth returning to satiating you just as soon as he’s finished his sentence. Your body is squirming in his grasp, and you nod enthusiastically, jaw hanging open as your thighs try to wrap around his head. His thumb keeps on rubbing against that spot inside of you, and you feel the tension heightening in your abdomen as his actions speed up, egging you on, giving you everything you need to reach the finish line.

Your body seizes as your orgasm hammers through you, a string of broken moans and blabberings floating from your lips as you pulse around his finger, a fresh wave of slick spilling out of you and onto his chin. He swaps places between his thumb and his tongue, the finger rubbing your clit to draw out your climax while his tongue reaches deep inside your hole, slurping up your wetness and tickling your insides. Your body feels weak as the pleasure begins to dull, your toes still stretching in euphoria and your fingers still latched onto the sheets for dear life.

Once your cunt stops twitching on his mouth, Bakugou finally sits back, a cocky smirk on his lips as he wipes the bottom half of his face with the back of his hand. You’re completely breathless, and you’re sure your face is flushed and your eyes dazed, probably holding that goofy, dreamy look they always do when he brings you such ecstasy. “That… That was… god, Suki,” you huff, your brain still too jumbled to make a coherent sentence.

Bakugou grins confidently, a gleam in his red eyes as that mischievous look returns to his gaze. “Was?” He chuckles darkly, dropping down to plant his hands on the sheets underneath him. “We’re just gettin’ started, Princess.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

ahaha shitttttt 🤭🥴 happy birthday baku part 2!! 💥💚🧡

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

#this was supposed to take 20 mins ;-;#shit like this makes me question my shouto loyalty #bakugou fic #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugo fic #bakugo smut #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki fic #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha fic #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha fic #bnha smut #bnha x reader #my fics #my fics katsuki

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fallingoverharrypotter · 3 years

Text

Last right off Diagon

Inspired by prompt Curiosity for @drarrymicrofic , and written for a laugh.

It's an ugly little hole in the wall, Draco thinks. Peeling paint, done the muggle way, and dirty windows that probably wouldn't let in the mere amounts of light that this area of Diagon is privy to. Especially with the amount of crap blocking Dracos view inside.

So he can't see the proprietor. He can't see whether theres anyone else inside. Shit. He wants to turn back, give up. Take the bag hanging at his side and toss it into the Thames right fucking now.

He's hyperventilating. He can't believe he's actually standing in front of this stupid store with a bag filled with. Curios. And he's actually hyperventilating.

"Um-"

And Draco jerks, hard, right into the window.

His nose stings, and he can feel the beginnings of blood dripping atop his cupid's bow and down his chin. He's not hyperventilating now: thank Merlin for small mercy's. He turns to direct his swearing at the person who startled a man in the middle of a panic attack, blood flooding down his face, and sees a wand directed right at his nose.

Draco, ex-convict, is unfortunately used to this reaction to his presence. He doesn't waste his precious sanity on worrying about it anymore, but at this point he's feeling a little fragile all in all. So when his panic attack picks right up from where it started, and his head starts to get a little woozy from the lack of oxygen and the continued expelling of blood from his nostrils, he doesn't blame himself much.

"Fuck- fuck, Sir I'm really sorry. Let me. Can I just fix- oh. Wait," and then there's a hand on Dracos shoulder, and the picture in front of his face clears a little now that theres an anchoring to his woozy drifting: he sees a young man, bright pink hair, yellow amber eyes, and looking scared to shit. Alarm bells ring momentarily, before the kid says: "... Mr. Malfoy?"

And of course that's the Black nose. Draco's nose. And this is Aunt Andromeda's ward - grandkid - the metamorph. And that's still 12 inches of Cherry directed right at his bleeding nose, and Draco has a split second out of body experience where he remembers that time he broke this kid's godfathers' nose when he was about the same age.

"I'm Teddy... Lupin. Um. Andromeda Tonks' grandson? Can I episky your nose? It looks pretty bad."

Draco must shrug in acceptance, because the next second the kid applies what seems like quite an expert episky charm right at the break, plugging the flow of blood. A modified scourgify collects all the blood from Dracos face and his clothes too, and now he looks just as he'd intended. Patrician and handsome, collected and unbothered. No blood. No panic attack in sight any longer, like it was siphoned away too.

Draco still hasnt said a word since he stopped muttering foul language at the sight of the wand. This 17 year old seems too quietly confident to be even the requisite amount of mad required for a Black. As Draco thought though, the nose is right, and the chin. It makes him... kind of fond for the kid he hasn't seen since he was 5. Especially when Teddy is looking up at him like hes worried beyond belief for a silent man in the middle of Diagon who's a bit too fragile for his own good.

"Ted?" Comes a call in a hauntingly familiar voice, then. Teddy turns towards it, the figure walking out of the door of the dirty old antiques shop, and Draco can't do anything but twitch a little when the bag on his shoulder looses whatever traction it kept, and goes clattering to the cobbles beneath his feet. The clang of burnished silver goblets, Lucius Malfoys old wizarding table clock, and whatever else Draco was able to scrounge up from the Manor to justify this trip to seeing Harry after 10 years away - after 10 years of running from the inevitable - that clang echoes like it's heralding Draco's imminent demise.

When Harry's eyes meet Dracos, all 3 meters of space and a 17 year old kid between them, Draco feels like hes 24 again. When Harry's eyes go wide with shock, that must be 20. When his eyes narrow, then that's 18 (post trial). And then when Harry pulls his wand and points it at Draco, well, that's years 11 all the way through to 17.

A levitation charm, and Dracos bag settles back on his shoulder. Teddy mumbles something about getting back to the till, and goes rushing back through the door his godfather is still kind of blocking. Harry has to walk forward - towards Draco - to let the kid around him, and then they're only 2 and a half meters away from each other.

Which shortens to 1 meter when Harry crosses the distance. "What you got there?"

Draco's a little stumped. Has been for far too long now, so he has to fake some courage. "Curios."

"Right," says Harry, eyebrows pushed under his fringe. "Ten years, inconsistent letters, and you turn up at my shop to bring me-" incredulousness "-curios?"

"You've named the shop Curiosity's Curios, Harry. You can't blame me for trying to adhere to tradition."

Harry scoffs. "Leave off. No smoke screens, please. From what I've heard you're out of Level 9 - don't bring it here."

Draco deflates. He has a moment to think about whether this is going to help matters or make them worse. But he does know that it'll make Harry laugh.

He drops the bag on purpose this time, clanging echoing once again. And then his knees follow, until hes folded up in front of Harry on the cobbles at the far end of Diagon Alley.

"Harry James Potter."

"Good god, Draco."

"I hereby apologize for that time when I stomped on your nose on the Train that one time and covered you with your stupid invisibility cloak, and then wished you dead when you still turned back up at dinner later that night."

"Come on, get up. Just because theres no one here now doesnt mean someone wont turn up and see you debasing yourself on the street."

"Dont interrupt, or I'll sonorous myself."

"Merlins sake, then hurry it up."

"Harry, honestly, you're an idiot if you think people are wandering all the way down here to buy dirty old antiques at lunch time on a Monday. We are well and truly alone."

"This is the weirdest grovelling I've ever heard."

"I've seen the error of my ways. Truly. Your godson all but pushed my head into your dirty glass windows and broke my nose. It's almost poetic, really."

And that got it, because Harry laughs. Loud and booming, echoing across the cobbles and the stone walls. "And you think he has no Black madness!"

"He doesn't," Draco counters, rising up on his knees. "What he does have is the strange Potter-nurtured ability to turn up when is most inconvenient!"

"Well," and Harry leans over so that his face is closer to Draco's. "Someone should have thought about the severe consequences of letting the last Black stew amongst the riffraff when he went off undercover for 10 years, shouldn't they have."

Draco sighs mournfully. "And I see you've protested my absence admirably by refusing to clean your shop windows for a decade. Truly, Harry, I admire your dedication to the cause."

"Oh!" Exclaims Harry, reaching out a hand to touch Draco's nose. "That's why theres this grime all over your face-"

"Oh god stop!" And Draco flicks his wrist with a quick scourgify of his own to get at- "Don't mess with me like that, Harry."

Draco is pouting and Harry is laughing again.

Draco gets up eventually, with Harry's hand in his own helping him. They walk into Harry's shop, and they settle down so that Draco can write a few letters of greeting to his loved ones. Hes sure that within the hour the stacks of cups and saucers and clocks and trinkets and curios that Harry has been collecting for years will be shuddering at the force of the howlers that'll just force their way through the wards Draco could put up, so he doesnt bother with them. Will let them come. His feet are resting in Harry's lap, and Harry has a firm grip around an ankle. Teddy is looking back at them from the till in confusion and boredom, annoyed that his sly questioning glances haven't brought forth any answers.

Harry and Draco are both 34 year old men who have been very content for the last 10 years to just accept whatever is happening. The last owl flies off announcing Draco's return to the surface, and then Harry is pushing off from his chair and announcing that if Draco really is going to be sticking around, he better make himself useful. Draco counters by saying that his nose has only just been broken, and he can feel the remnants of his panic attack in the depths of his bones. Harry laughs loudly, and Teddy seems to snort - without remorse - but all the same Draco hops up and makes three cups of tea. Makes himself useful.

#drarry #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #tone consistency? i dont know her #drarrymicrofic #kind of #prompt: curiosity #fic #definitely not 50 words #my fic

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foilfreak · 3 years

Text

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 2

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

Chapter 2:

The journey to Mother Miranda’s personal laboratory was much shorter and more enjoyable than the original walk to the meeting site, in Salvatore’s humble opinion.

Mother Miranda was mostly quiet, distant, and preoccupied throughout the duration of the walk, even more so than normal. That being said however, while this sort of behavior would usually spell disaster for whichever one of the 4 lords was forced to be in her presence during these sorts of moods, in this situation, Mother Miranda did not appear tense or agitated or hostile like she usually would be. Just lost in thought. As though she were only quiet because she was too busy thinking about something else to speak. She didn’t even seem to mind his various attempts at starting conversation, which surprised, but endlessly delighted, the mutant man.

‘Mother must be in a very good mood today. She hasn’t hit me or told me to shut up the whole time we’ve been together. Maybe she’s made another breakthrough with the cadou? I’d certainly be very happy if I were in her shoes’ Salvatore excitedly thought to himself as the woman in question stepped forward to unlock and open the large steel door of her personal laboratory, allowing Salvatore to step into the facility before closing and locking it again behind her.

“Moreau, do you recall the set of mutation experiments I began at the beginning of last year?” The raven mother asked, turning around and beginning to quickly make her way down the long, dark corridor.

“Y-you mean… the o-ones with the new c-cadou strain th-that I… that I d-developed… f-for you?” Salvatore stutters, breath labored and body struggling to keep up with the taller woman’s vastly larger steps.

“Correct” Mother Miranda says, turning a corner. “As impressed as I was with the final results of this particular strain, I’m afraid it still isn’t good enough. None of the subjects I implanted with cadou last year turned out to be favorable candidates.”

Salvatore stops in his tracks, a look of horror and agony on his face as news that he’d failed mother once again practically tears him apart from the inside out. “O-oh Mother… I-im so s-s-sorry to h-hear that… b-but don’t w-worry… I’ll-I’ll try h-harder next t-time… I w-won’t fail y-you again Mother, so p-please… please j-just give me a-another chance to get it r-right… i b-beg of y-you…”

Mother Miranda stops and turns toward the mutated lord, staring at him in silence as he drops to his knees and grovels at her feet, begging desperately for his failures to be forgiven.

“Off your knees, Moreau, this behavior is unbecoming of a Lord such as yourself. Besides, I never said that you were the one to blame for the lack of successful results, nor am I necessarily displeased by the fact that these experiments yielded failed vessels.”

Salvatore allows his gaze to rise to his mother’s face, where, true to her words, the parts of Miranda’s face that Salvatore could make out from behind her mask did not appear marred with the familiar expressions of anger and disappointment that the 4 lords were usually met with after another round of failed vessels.

“Y-you’re… you’re not upset with m-me?” The deformed man asks, his voice laced with shock and disbelief.

“No, my child, I’m not upset with you. While these experiments may have ended in failure, they did provide me with useful information that may prove to be pertinent to our mission in the near future. In fact, as I said earlier, the reason why I’ve brought you here is because I want to give you a gift, as a reward for all your incredible work. Did you expect me to be upset with you simply because this round proved unsuccessful as well? Do you really think so poorly of your loving mother, who works tirelessly to ensure her children are happy and rewarded for all their faith and trust in me?” Mother Miranda sniveled pitifully, turning her gaze away in mock dejection as Salvatore, horrified that he’d insulted and hurt her somehow, scrambles to his feet, gently taking both of Miranda’s hands into his own and holding the supple skin to his bloated and deformed face, desperately hoping this would comfort her.

“No no no no, o-of course n-not, Mother… I-I’d never expect s-something like th-that from y-you… and-and I k-know better… b-better than a-anyone… just h-how h-hard you w-work… not j-just on y-your experiments… but f-for all o-of us… too… you l-l-love us… you… love ME… I-I’ll always love y-you, Mother… always” Salvatore blurts, stumbling over his words as he tries desperately to comfort Mother Miranda, an effort he’s seemingly rewarded for, when Miranda takes one of her hands away and brings it back to the top of Salvatore’s head, once again gently brushing her hand against it.

Salvatore’s knees nearly give out from under him as the heavenly sensation washes throughout his body like a raging typhoon, leaving him feeling tired and weak yet hungry and wanting for more, though whatever that “more” was, Salvatore was quick to beat it back down deep within himself, knowing this was neither the time nor the place for him to be entertaining such… primal desires about someone like Mother Miranda, no matter how little he intends to act on them.

“Thank you, Moreau. You always know exactly what to say to make Mother feel better. You’re such a good boy” Mother Miranda says, making sure to put extra emphasis onto the last two words as she reaches forward and pulls Salvatore closer to her.

“G-g-g-gggg… good… boy… me?” Salvatore chokes, tears beginning to fill his eyes as Mother Miranda’s arms come to wrap around him, pushing the deformed man’s face to lean against the soft, feathery material of her bosom.

“Yes, Moreau. You’ve always been very special to me. From the day I met you, you’ve been such a good, well-behaved boy that I never have to worry about” Miranda begins, her face blank and expressionless as she passionlessly strokes Salvatore’s face. “No matter how simple the task, those 3 are always making mistakes of some kind and forcing me to come and clean up their messes after them, especially that snake Heisenberg. But you? No, never you, Moreau, not my special, perfect little boy who always tries his best to make Mother happy. Do you enjoy making Mother happy, Moreau?”

“Y-y-yES! Of-of c-course I do” Salvatore moans, his voice slightly muffled by Miranda’s chest as he violently nods his head in affirmation, tears freely falling from his eyes as his head swims deliriously from the endless wave of kind words and gentle touches.

“Good! I always knew you did. And for that, I'm going to reward you with something very special. Something to… keep you busy... while I’m away for a little while” The raven mother coos again.

Salvatore stops for a moment when the meaning of Miranda’s words finally registers in his brain. “While… w-while you’re… away? You’re l-leaving us?” Salvatore asks, his voice growing increasingly distressed with each word.

“Only for a short time, hopefully,” Mother Miranda answers, “but yes, at the end of this month, I will be leaving the village in order to attend to some very important business I have. I’m not sure how my journey will fare, however I'm optimistic that it will be the key necessary to finally getting my Ev- uh… pardon me; the key to finally achieving our goal of creating a perfect vessel. Doesn’t that sound nice, Moreau?”

“It-it does” the deformed man says quietly, still put off by the mention of Mother leaving, but not wanting to put a damper on his mother’s incredibly rare good mood. “But… where is i-it… th-that you’ll be g-going… an-and for h-how long?”

“Just down the mountain to pay someone a visit, however I have no idea when I'll be back. That will depend on how successful my mission goes, I suppose.”

Silence falls over the two as Salvatore, still upset by the news that Mother Miranda would be leaving, continues to take in the comfort and warmth of his Mother’s arms for just a moment longer, selfishly wishing that Mother held him more often. Eventually however, Mother Miranda does pull back from the superficial embrace, gesturing for Salvatore to follow her once more, which the deformed man begins to do without question.

“Of the 4 of you, you’re the last one to come and pick your gift,” Miranda says, unaware of the visible slump that Salvatore’s shoulders take on upon hearing this. “However, despite there only being one option left, it would appear as though your siblings have decided to spare you their usual games of trickery this time around. If anything, I think you might be the one to have ended up with the best deal after everything is said and done.”

Salvatore looks up at Mother Miranda with an expression of mild confusion, wondering what on earth she could mean by that. His musings are quickly interrupted however, when the two enter a large room filled with various pods.

“Of the 22 test subjects we started with last year, only 13 were genetically compatible with the cadou parasite, and even then, only 4 ended up surviving the full mutation phase. Despite their impressively stable conditions, they still aren’t suitable vessels for my purposes, however I felt as though it would be such a waste to just do away with them. So, with that in mind, I’ve decided that my gift to you all, before I must leave you for a time, is to give one test subject to each of you.”

“G-give? You’re… y-you’re giving us t-test subjects?” Salvatore repeats dumbly, not certain he understood where this was going.

“Correct” Mother Miranda affirms. “This is easily the most successful batch of mutations we’ve seen to date, and given the amount of time and effort I poured into making sure these last 4 survived until now, I’d at least like to see some use gotten out of them before they die or suddenly lose control of their mutations and go rogue.”

“Like… l-like what?” The hooded man asks nervously.

Miranda merely shrugs her shoulders, uncaring. “Anything you like. Housekeeper. Playmate. Labrat. Partner in Crime. Whatever it is you desire of your gift, you may have without question. And in the event they refuse you… well, you’ll at least have a fun little toy to chase after for a little while.”

“I... see...” Salvatore says quietly, growing less and less excited about this whole “gift” thing, now that he knows that his gift is just another person.

Another person to scream and wail at how unbelievably hideous and disgusting of a monster he looks, no doubt.

Without another word, Miranda heads over to the large control table located in the middle of the room, pressing a few buttons before 4 of the many identical pods begin moving toward them. Steam pours out the tops and bottoms of the metal pods as the large capsules slowly finish lowering themselves from their hung pedestals, displaying them directly in front of Miranda and Salvatore. The man in question stands anxiously in front of the still sealed door, nervously fidgeting with his fingers as he waits for Mother to show him his gift, a myriad of thoughts and fears and worries flying throughout the mutant man’s mind.

“The first 3 have already been chosen by your siblings, but the one on the far right is all yours” Miranda says, pushing another button that causes the singular pod in question to click open, its door slowly beginning to rise upward toward the ceiling.

Salvatore nods in understanding as he tries to avoid watching the door of the pod open, instead hyper focusing on what Miranda is saying as the tension in the room becomes so thick it feels as if it could be cut with a dull knife.

After what felt like an eternity and a half of waiting, the pod door finally finished opening, and in that exact moment, as the disfigured man’s gaze finally fell upon the sight of his gift for the first time, his eyes went wide in shock, his mouth dropped open in disbelief, and his hands fell limply to his side in complete and utter bewilderment at the sight that stood before him.

“That… th-that’s… for me?” Salvatore manages to croak out, his throat suddenly dry as a desert and the air from his lungs having left him the second before.

Raising his hand up toward the creature wired into the pod, the hooded man finds himself unable to look away, feeling almost mesmerized as his mind struggles to figure out whether all this is really happening, or if he’d finally succumbed to the insanity of his condition and dreamt all this up as a sick and twisted way of coping with his soul crushing loneliness. Either one was just as likely at this point.

“I’m sure you’ll still be quite pitiful on the day I have to leave, but at least this way you’ll have something to keep yourself occupied with until I return, yes?” Mother Miranda says smugly, clearly pleased by his reaction. “So, what do you think, Moreau? Do you like the gift I’ve gotten for you?”

It wasn't until after several moments of silence that Salvatore finally responded. After stuttering and slurring unintelligibly over several sentences worth of responses, 2 words, and 2 words alone, finally managed to tumble from the mutant man’s lips, his eyes shining as he finally reached forward enough to slowly and carefully intertwine his fingers with the small and delicate hand of the beautiful young woman that slept peacefully inside the pod.

“She’s perfect!”

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popcrone818 · 3 years

Text

Spitfire-chapter 3

Sorry that I've been gone for so long, here is the next chapter in my Sweet Pea story.

Hope you enjoy please leave feedback.

Aurora’s POV

I stormed out of Sweet Pea’s trailer, tears coming to my eyes as the scene played on repeat in my mind. He only saw me as a friend nothing more, no matter how close we had been. I heard a bang coming from his trailer and I knew that he knew I wasn’t coming back. I sat in my car just outside Sunnyside Trailer park as I watched Toni and Fangs ride in on their bikes. I knew they were going to Sweet Pea’s as today was our normal day of watching movies until we got bored and ordered food. It’ll be a shock to them that I’m not there cuddled up to him already. I threw my car into drive and took off back to my house, hoping that Archie was with Veronica and that dad was at work. I didn’t want to deal with anyone else today I just wanted to lay in the bath and listen to music. There were no cars in the drive way when I got home so I headed straight upstairs to my bathroom and started running a bath with bubbles for myself. I had cried the whole way home and my eyes were puffy and my makeup smudged. I lit a few candles around the bathroom before I heard the doorbell ring just as I was about to get undressed. I groaned and headed back downstairs my socked feet making little noise on the hardwood floors.

“This better be fucking good I’m not in the mood.” I swung the door open to be face to face with Toni. She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me into her body. I felt sobs wrack my body as she moved us inside.

“It’s okay, come one I know that you want a bath, I’ll help you.” She led me upstairs and back into the bathroom that smelt like the teakwood candles I had lit before Toni arrived. She helped me undressed which isn’t weird even though she’s gay, this isn’t the first time Sweet Pea has been a dick and I’ve needed a bath. She switched on her playlist specifically designed for moments like these and she came to sit on the edge of the bath with some make up wipes. After helping me take off my smudged makeup she sat down on the cold tile of the bathroom and turned to me. “Tell me what happened. He told us what happened but what happened with your side.” I sunk down lower in the bath before I answered her.

“Basically he thinks that I need protecting, that I’m so fucking breakable that he needs to protect me from everyone.” I took a deep breath and looked at her.

“Oh honey, no he doesn’t, he knows how strong you are. You have never not once backed down from putting him in his place, when most people would from one single glance from him. That first day we met you I remember talking to him once you left, he said that no one has ever stood up to him like that. We teased him saying that he liked you but he brushed us off. When you did your dance he couldn’t take his eyes off you. But I know for a fact he wasn’t thinking sexually, there was nothing going on in his pants when Fangs looked at him. That may sound bad but what I’m really trying to tell you is that; he may be a dick, and he may have anger issues that he really needs to resolve but he does like you, as more than a friend, he’s just afraid of you leaving, he only has us. Well us and the serpents, but even then he really only has the three of us and he’s terrified of any of us leaving him.” I blinked back tears as her words sunk in. I had just walked out of one of my best friends lives just because he called me a friend and because I thought he thought of me as breakable.

“Should I go back over there?” I asked her.

“God no, make him grovel, you’re a badass bitch who don’t need no man. Make him want you that much more, make him squirm. Honestly he probably deserves it. Tonight you and I are having a girls night.” She giggled causing me to giggle. “Now where do you hide your face masks?” I pointed out the bottom drawer in the vanity. She nodded and got out all the different masks that I have before she took off out the door. I shook my head at her before she came back in dressed in a pair of my pjs and carrying another pair along with underwear for me. She was wearing a light green pair that consisted of booty shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top. For me she had grabbed my black booty shorts with my huge tshirt that I had stolen from Sweet Pea. I glared at her before I got out wrapping a towel around my body and drying off.

“I thought we were trying to make me feel better not make me miss him.” I held up the shirt to the front of my body.

“Shit I forgot that was his.” I waved her off and pulled it over my head. I may be pissed at him but he still smelt amazing. Even the candles I had put on reminded me of his scent. We spent the rest of the night talking shit about Sweet Pea and Fangs and also laughing our asses off at memories either with or without the boys as we did masks and watched stupid girly movies which made the both of us cry.

Sweet Pea’s POV

Summer had came quickly. Rory was avoiding me at any cost, serpent meetings she would stay by the bar with Toni, or she would be working the bar. She never came to the wyrm to just hang out anymore and when I saw her in school she kept her headphones in and her head down. I had been spending a lot of time with Josie McCoy and she was fun sure but she was no Rory, I thought she could help me get over her but she couldn’t. She and I were just using each other and called it a summer fling but a couple weeks in I couldn’t do it anymore. I had watched Rory laughing at Fangs and Toni in the wyrm and I just felt like absolute shit, so I stormed out of the wyrm jumped in my bike and made my way to Josie’s.

“Didn’t know we had a hook up scheduled.” She chuckled as she opened her door.

“I’m not here for a hook up.” I told her looking down at my feet. “I cant keep doing this Josie, I’m sorry.” I went to turn back around and leave when she grabbed my shoulder turning me around. Her lips were on mine and before I could even think we were up in her room hooking up yet again. I looked at her and suddenly I couldn’t see Josie anymore I saw Rory which made me kiss down her neck and bite harshly. I felt her moan which only spurred me on more.

It wasn’t until I was laying down staring up at the ceiling that I finally saw Josie not Rory. I frowned and looked at Josie before I got up to collect my clothes.

“This is it, no more I cant keep doing this to myself.” I told her as I buckled my belt back up.

“You love her don’t you?” She asked as she wrapped a sheet around her body.

“Who?” I asked her playing dumb, in the last 6 months all I have been able to think about is Rory, I have finally come to the realisation that the things we used to do we did because I liked her.

“Aurora Andrews.” I looked down at the floor as I shrugged on my jacket.

“Yeah I do. I have since I met her.”

“Then go get her dumbass. You’re the reason she has changed and you and I were only doing this so that we could forget other people. And I know I’m not the only one it hasn’t worked for. I don’t know how many times you’ve called me Rory.” I turned away from her and started to head out the door. “I hope it works out for you Sweet Pea, you’re a really great guy and I’m sorry for using you these past couple of weeks.”

“I’m sorry too, I hope everything works out for you.” With that I walked out of her room and out of her house.

I made my way to Wyrm knowing tonight was a night she was doing a shift with Toni, I had to talk to her, I needed to talk to her even if I can only get her back as a friend I don’t care. I quickly spotted Toni as I walked in, but she quickly ducked into the room behind the bar.

Aurora POV

Toni joined me in the back room as I tied my hair up getting ready for my shift.

“He’s here, you either start the plan now or you keep waiting hoping life will go on. But I know the both of you are miserable without the other.” She went to turn around and walk out before I spoke up.

“He has Josie now.” She spun back around to me as my voice was so quiet. “He doesn’t want me anymore and the plan is now null and void. Can I just have the night off?” She shook her head and grabbed both of my shoulders before pushing me out the door. I stumbled a little bit before I crashed into a strong chest. Their arms wound around my waist and I was hit wth a familiar scent, one I hadn’t smelt in months, other than the occasional candle that had a similar scent. Minus the leather and cigarette smell. I looked up craning my neck slightly as I was in heels so I wasn’t as short as I normally would be, and I found myself lost in his deep dark pools of whiskey. He cleared his throat and I pushed myself away from his strong arms and chest standing on my own. I crossed my arms over my chest and just stared at him as I waited for him to say something.

“Rory.” He breathed out reaching his hand out to me. I took another step back away from him and saw his face fall. “I’m sorry about that night, I’m a fucking idiot, I didn’t realise only calling you a friend and making you think that I thought you were fragile would do this. I like protecting you, even though I know you can protect yourself, I like knowing that I’m needed. These past couple of months I have missed your touch, have missed our banter, I’ve missed the way you push me to be someone better than just a drug running Serpent. Aurora Andrew’s I miss you so much and I never thought I would ever say that about a Northsider but you are different.” He took a deep breath and our eyes locked. I felt my resolve crumple around me and I reached my arms up and tangled my hands in his hair bringing his body closer to mine. Feelings aside, because he never mentioned them and I knew he was with Josie now, I knew I missed my best friend.

“Ive missed you too Sweets, I’ve missed sitting on you, I’ve missed our movie nights and cuddles. I’ve missed everything about you even the way you smell, which sounds weird now that I say that out loud. I had this whole plan to make you regret being a dick but standing here in your arms I know that I never want to go that long without your arms wrapped around me again.” I buried my head in his chest and I felt him chuckle as he ran his fingers through my hair.

“What did this plan entail?” He asked me pulling away from me slightly.

“Basically it was just making you regret the way that you spoke to me, showing you I wasn’t fragile and kicking some Ghoulie ass, but thinking about that now I can see how stupid it was.” I laughed and brought him in for another hug. His head rested in the crook of my neck and I felt his breath fan over the exposed skin.

“Rory, shift is starting!” I heard Toni yell from behind the bar. I pulled away from Sweet Pea and placed a soft kiss on his cheek before I strutted away swinging my hips more than normal as I felt his eyes on me. He is such a boy. I joined Toni behind the bar and watched as Sweet Pea walked over to Fangs to start a game of pool. “So… that looked promising?” She questioned me as we started to serve some of the patrons of the bar.

“He apologised and told me all of these cute things that he missed about me, I was fucking putty in his hands and he knew that. I wanted to make him work for it but as soon as I felt his touch I was fucking gone. Toni I think I love that man over there.” She squealed and pulled me into her.

“I’m so gad you finally see it. Ive been saying that for months and you’ve just brushed me off every time. I actually remember you threatening me over it once too.” We giggled at each other and my eyes found Sweet Pea, he was already looking at me and we made eye contact before I blushed and turned away from him back to the job at hand of getting the older serpents drunk.

“Hey pretty lady, what are you doing after you finish up here?” I heard a deep baritone voice coming from behind me and instantly tensed up. I turned around slowly and threw the rag I had in my hands at Sweet Pea.

“I was seriously about to cuss you out and tell you I had a boyfriend, they always leave me alone when I do that.” He threw the rag back at me and I got back to the tedious job of cleaning all the glasses.

“You get that often then I assume?” He asked me as he sat at the bar. I rolled my eyes at him and grabbed a beer out for him.

“Every so often, once they saw I wasn’t around you as often they started to get worse. I guess your just a really scary badass Serpent that even the older serpents are afraid of.”

“Yeah I kicked one of their asses a few months back and no one has looked me in the eye since.” He took a swig of his beer before my attention had to be taken away by another Serpent.

“Hey hot stuff!” I rolled my eyes but went over to him anyway. “Once your done with mister 30 seconds I’ll take a beer and your number thanks.” He winked at me and I watched from the corner of my eyes as Sweet Pea clenched and unclenched his fists. I bent over slightly more than I needed to in Sweet Pea’s line of sight as I got the beer out.

“You can have the beer, because that’s my job, but my number and my attention are saved for him, so I would appreciate any rude remarks to be kept to a minimum or non existent.” I sent him a wink and shoved the beer into his hand before turning back to Sweet Pea.

“Um, when did that happen?” He asked gesturing to my body.

“Um, when my big cuddly teddy bear decided to be a dick. I told you I could take care of myself, now you’ve seen me in action.” I rolled my eyes at him as he looked back over to the perv from before. “Plus he probably heard you hit on me and I didn’t say anything so he thought it was alright tonight.” I shrugged and started to wipe down the bar.

“I always knew you could handle yourself Rory, I’m just very protective, and I guess you could say territorial as well.” He looked down at the bar not meeting my eyes.

“Oh I know you are Sweets, why do you think I let you give me all those hickies anyway?” He gave me a questioning look finally meeting my eye as I leant against the bar on the other side.

“Wait, what? You knew I was doing that to keep pervs like that fuckwit away from you?” He asked me, I nodded and leant over closer to him on the bar. My boobs getting squished between the bar top and my body.

“Of curse I did, I also knew you beat up the first Serpent that tried to hit on me too. I’m not stupid Sweets.”

“Never said you were. What time do you get off anyway?” He asked me as I leaned back to look at the clock.

“Uh, in 15 why?”

“Movies at mine? No Fangs, no Toni just the two of us?”

“Absolutely!” I looked around for Toni hoping I could get off early. I found her over by the pool tables with Fangs. “You go talk to her, I’ll make sure everything is right for her to take over.” He nodded and got up making his way over to Toni and Fangs, I saw her nod her head as I wiped the bar clean.

“So you having movie night without us tonight?” She asked as she retied her apron on her hips. I nodded and blushed. “Get out of here, and if I don’t get an update tonight I’ll assume things went great and we should start planning your wedding tomorrow.” She winked at me causing me to blush even darker. She pulled me into a tight hug before placing a kiss on my cheek.

“Ready?” Sweet Pea asked from behind Toni. I nodded and pulled off my apron before going into the back to get my things. Sweet Pea placed a hand in the small of my back as we made our way out of the Wyrm.

“USE PROTECTION!” I heard Fangs yell from inside and I blushed and looked at Sweet Pea.

“Toni also thinks something is going to happen tonight.”

“It can if you want.” He whispered in my ear before handing me his helmet. I shook my head and gestured to my own bike. His eyes nearly fell out of his head at my baby. I grinned before placing a kiss on his cheek and skipping off to my bike, turning the key and hearing the engine roar to life. I looked back to Sweet Pea who hadn’t moved yet, his jaw going slack before I winked at him and sped off to his trailer.

Being back in his trailer again after so many weeks of not being here was weird, he handed me a glass of water before we sat down on his couch and faced each other.

“How have you been?” He sat down his glass and licked his lips. I found myself watching his every move.

“Not too bad, been busy working and you know things with school.” He ran his fingers through his hair and I felt my fingers twitch.

“Okay, look we used to be close, I want to get back to that and this small talk bullshit is not helping our situation. In the last couple of months we have both been avoiding each other, after you stormed out of my trailer Toni told me why she thought I lost you. Look, I called you a friend because I thought that’s what we were, just best friends.”

“Look I understand that we were friends and I know that you calling me a friend shouldn’t have effected me the way that it did. But it happened and I acted on impulse,”

“The way that you left effected me in a way that it shouldn’t have as well. We were both acting on emotions, I love you Aurora, that is why I protect you, that is why I acted the way I did with Mantle that day, and why I got so emotional when you told me you could handle yourself. I know you can but I like feeling like I’m needed, needed by someone so important in my life. It gives me a feeling of accomplishment. I miss the feeling of your fingers on my skin, I miss when you would push me in the chest when I was being a dick, I miss you sitting in my lap and wrapping my arms around you, I miss cuddling in the couch and watching movies until all hours of the night.” He reached forward and took my hand in his anger one, he looked down at our interlocked hands and started to fidget with one of my many rings. “These past couple of months have been hell for me, as Im sure it has been for you. Toni hardly spoke to me she would talk to me through Fangs, and I knew she was with you when she wasn’t with us. It killed me not having you right beside me.” I squeezed his hand and looked into his deep whiskey eyes. I’m could see a slight sheen to his eyes and squeezed his hand again.

“Sweet’s, these months have been just as hard for me too, that’s why Toni stayed with me. I reacted the way I did because I thought we had something, because I thought you could see I could handle myself and when you would jump in it made me feel like you didn’t have that faith in me. I thought you cared enough to let me be myself. It hurt Sweet Pea,”

“Noah,” I cocked my head to the side and looked at him strangely. “My name, its Noah.” He looked down at his lap and I felt my face contort into a smile. “No one knows, so please keep it to yourself.” He avoided looking up at me. I reached forward with my free hand and grasped his jaw tilting his head to look at me. I held his gaze.

“Noah, I will never let anyone know. Thank you for sharing that with me.” He let go of my hand and I felt his calloused hands rest on either side of my face.

“I want to do something.” I nodded my head holding eye contact with him. He leaned in pulling my face closer to his, I closed my eyes as his lips gently brushed mine before he pulled my face even closer and deepened the kiss. He pulled away from me slowly I kept my eyes closed but caressed his hands gently as they laid on my jaw. “Aurora Andrews, I have loved you since you stood up to me, I felt soft and weak under your gaze,” I felt his thumb softly rub his thumb against the apple of my cheek. “I honestly hated the feeling but I found myself drawn to you, to feel your touch and to feel your gaze on my skin once again. I craved the feeling of your skin on mine, I became protective of you, I hated it when you joined and did the dance, I never wanted this life for you, I don’t even want this life for me, but if you feel the same I will work tirelessly to give you the life that you deserve.” I felt a tear roll down my cheek and Sweet Pea was quick to wipe it away. I opened my eyes and felt myself get lost in his honey coloured eyes.

“Of course I feel the same, I’m strong but I feel weak around you, I feel butterflies whenever you touch me, which is a lot by the way. I want a life with you Noah, we can get out of this together and have what we want.” I took his hands off my face and held them in my own. “I love you Noah.”

“I love you Aurora.” I pulled his face closer to mine and planted my lips on his, he pulled back slowly and rested his forehead on mine. “Be mine?” I nodded keeping my eyes closed when he pulled me impossibly closer almost sitting on his lap before kissing me passionately with his arms wrapped around my waist.

#sweet pea imagines #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea x reader #riverdale

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maxineswritingcenter · 3 years

Text

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 20

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Stiles and I sat outside the ruins of the Hale House in his Jeep. It was the early morning before school, practically the crack of dawn. Derek thought it would be safer there and they could do more research in the family archives that had survived the fire. It had been a few days since the attack at the police station and to say we were both shaken up was an understatement. We had both been so helpless. He had been paralyzed and forced to watch his father be beaten and I was under control of the person who had hurt him. They had put Stiles in counseling at the school. He said it helped but I’m not sure how much I believed him.

“Dad’s asking about you. Why haven’t you answered him?” He asked, staring straight out the windshield. Uncle Noah had called me multiple times, a least a hundred text messages, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

“Because I’m afraid.” I answered honestly, “You didn’t see the look on his face when he saw me with-with the claws and fangs. He looked at me like I was a monster.”

“He’s worried about you.”

“He’s worried about what I am, Stiles.” I looked at him, trying to hold back tears, “I’m the monster from the movies he took us to watch when we were kids. I can’t see him. Not now.” I have been crying a lot lately, but how could I not? None of this was fair? Why couldn't everything just stop? As soon as we stopped Peter and Kate a new and worse threat appeared.

Stiles sighed, “Alright, I get it.” He looked towards the house, “Derek... He treats you well, right?”

I smiled slightly, “Yeah, he does. He tries to be protective but I’m too stubborn for that.”

“I just...” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, “I just wish that none of this would have happened. All this supernatural stuff.”

“I know.” I said softly, “I’ll try to talk to your dad soon, maybe he’ll let me come home.”

“He will, (Y/N). He loves you. I love you too.” He avoided eye contact which is something he did when he was vulnerable. I leaned forward, hugging him tightly, blinking back tears. He wrapped his arms around me, breathing in deeply.

“I love you.” I pulled away, grabbed my bag that he had packed for me of my clothes from home and hopped out of the Jeep. After waving him off, I made my way into the house.

Derek was in the middle of the room, looking through boxes, his back turned towards the door.

“Man,” I said, dropping my bag off on the floor next to him, “I haven’t been here since I threw your uncle through that wall.” I smiled, leaning against his arm. He seemed off, his movements sharp and rigid.

“What’s wrong? Where's the rest of them?” Talking about the betas in the pack.

“They want to leave the pack.” He said, flipping through another book.

“What?” I asked, shocked.

“I can sense that they’re making a decision. All of them.” He let out a deep breath through his nose. I took his hand in mine slowly, hoping to ease his nerves.

“And what happens then? Is it just us?”

His anger spiked, “Well, we don’t have any other allies. Seeing that McCall is working with the hunters. All for some girl.” He grumbled.

“Wars have been fought for less.” I sighed, “I understand your anger. He betrayed us. He... Betrayed me. I mean they want to kill you for what happened to Argent’s wife. All for Allison who has been a little two sided of late.” Scott was my friend, and had been for a long time. I thought I knew the kid inside and out. But I guess I was still surprised by this town. Surprised by people I thought I knew.

“He’s not Chris anymore?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not when he wants to kill you. Besides, I don’t think the treaty he had with my father stands anymore.”

I caught their scent before they came into the room. Erica smelled like flowers and Boyd was like the deep woods. Derek closed the book he had been looking in, turning in their direction. They stood by the stairs, hardly meeting our gaze.

“You've decided.” Derek said like he was resigned to it, “When?”

“Tonight.” Erica said timidly.

“Everyone's gonna be at the game. We figured it was the best time.” Boyd said. I had completely forgotten about the game.

“It's not like we want to-”

Derek took a few steps forward, “What do you want?”

“Since I just turned sixteen a month ago, I wouldn't mind getting my license... I can't do that if I'm dead, you know.” Erica said.

“Well, I told you there was a price. We both did.”

“Yeah, but you didn't say it would be like this!” Boyd said, defending their actions.

“Yeah, but I told you how to survive-- you do it as a pack. And you're not a pack without an Alpha.” Derek turned back towards the stack of books.

“We know.” Boyd said, causing Derek to turn back around quickly. They both seemed anxious.

“You wanna look for another pack? How are you even gonna find one?” Derek asked. Erica looked up at Boyd to speak.

“We think we already did...” They explained how they were running through the woods and stopped. How they heard howling.

“Like, all of a sudden, we heard all this howling. It was unbelievable.” Erica said.

“There must have been a dozen of them-”

“Maybe more!” Erica interjected.

“Yeah, or maybe only two.” Derek scoffed, “You know what the Beau Geste effect is? If they modulate their howls with a rapid shift in tone, two wolves can sound like twenty.”

“Look, that doesn't matter, okay?” Erica said quickly, “There's another pack out there. There's got to be. We've made up our minds.” She looked at me, “You understand, don’t you? You never wanted this for us.”

“No one forced you to take the bite.” I looked at the both of them, they seemed shocked at how cold my voice sounded, “Sure, he changed two impressionable kids, but you could have taken the time to think it over. You heard what you wanted to hear and took it blindly.” Whatever sympathy they thought they would get from me was not something I was willing to give.

“We lost. And it's over. We're leaving.” Boyd finished. Derek didn’t feel anger, more sorrow, guilt, and betrayal. A familiar feeling.

“No. No, you're running. And once you start, you don't stop. You'll always be running.” After he spoke, both of them scurried away. We turned back towards the books, Derek deep in thought.

That’s when I picked up a new scent. A dangerous one.

“No...” My internal voice rang, “It can’t-” Derek grabbed a shard of glass from the table, throwing it back towards the intruder. The sly bastard caught it with one hand, the tip of the shape edge against his throat. We both turned, glaring at the man who was supposed to be dead.

“...I expected a slightly warmer welcome. But, point taken.” Peter said, almost amused. I stayed close to Derek, my eyes never seeming to find a distraction from the monster before us. Peter Hale was like a car wreck: no matter how much you want to look away, you can’t, you don’t want to miss a single movement. Derek kept an arm in front of me to shield me from any incoming attack.

“It's quite a situation you've gotten yourself in here, you two...” Peter said, “I mean, I'm out of commission for a few weeks, and suddenly there's lizard-people, geriatric psychopaths, and Derek's cooking up werewolves from every self-esteem-deprived adolescent in town.” He looked pointedly at Derek.

“What do you want?” Derek asked irritably.

“Well, I want to help.” Peter said innocently, “You're my nephew-- the only relative I have left. And (Y/N), I owe you an apology and I can show you how to be a true matriarch. You know, there's still a lot that I can teach you...Both of you.” He walked closer to us, Derek’s anger growing more and more. “Can we just talk?” He put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. The shoulder closest to me.

Very bad choice.

Derek looked at Peter’s hand, “Sure. Let's talk.” Peter was then thrown across the room into the staircase. He landed to a thud and groan, some wood from the railing falling on top of him.

A few hours went by and I had received a couple messages, namely from Coach and Stiles, both wondering where I was. I looked at the time, the game would start soon, meaning I was missing Coach’s speech. It was the same speech he made every year... It was the speech from Independence Day, but I don’t think he knew any sports movies.

Derek had been beating Peter for a couple of hours, running off his rage and mine. A groan made me look down, Peter was at my feet, panting heavily.

"Ya know, groveling isn't gonna make me forgive you." I stepped to the side, letting Derek grab Peter by the collar and punching him in that smug face of his. I needed to figure out how I could get to the game safely. If I went, that meant Gerard or any other hunter could grab me and use me as leverage to get to Derek. That would kill us both.

Derek growled and kicked Peter, sending him back towards the house. It was a side of the house I had only seen once or twice, when I had to run from the what turned out to be Peter all those months ago.

“You don't actu-actually think that I want to be the Alpha again, do you?” Peter chuckled nervously, panting hard, “That wasn't my finest performance, considering it ended in my death. I mean, I'm usually more-” He sat up. Derek grabbed his collar, rearing his fist back.

“Okay, go ahead! Come on, do it! Hit me. Hit me. I can see that it's cathartic for you!” Peter shouted, causing Derek to hesitate, “You're letting go of all the anger, self-loathing, and hatred that comes with total and complete failure.”

“Hey!” I shouted, coming around and slapping Peter hard across the face, "Watch your tongue."

Peter’s head snapped in the direction of my blow. Slowly bringing it back towards Derek, “I may be the one taking the beating, Derek, but you've already been beaten. So, go ahead. Hit me if that will make you feel better. After all, I did say that I wanted to help.”

Derek shoved his uncle back to the ground, “You can't help me.” He walked towards the main living area. I started to follow.

“You’re wearing the ring.” Peter panted, causing me to pause. I look down at the silver triskele ring, “That was my sister’s wedding ring.” This was Talia’s.... I left the room quickly, following Derek back to the main room of the house. I touched the ring softly.

Talia’s face was close to mine, a sweet smile on her lips. In the reflection of her eyes I saw myself, no older than two or three. Looking down I saw small hands playing with the many rings on her fingers, including the silver triskele.

“You like my rings, don’t you?” She said, her voice higher and more animated, the usual tone someone had when speaking to a young child, “Someday you can have pretty rings like this.” She smiled, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I was brought out of my memory by a text.

UNCLE NOAH:

Stiles is playing... You should be here to see this. For him.

Derek sat on the steps of the stairs, looking over his bloody knuckles. I sat beside him, running my fingers softly over his back. Peter managed to stumble into the room, leaning against a doorway.

“See? Prime example right here-” He began yet another monologue, “I’m not healing as fast. Coming back from the dead isn't easy, you know. I'm not as strong as I used to be. I need a pack. I need an Alpha. An Alpha like you. I need you as much as you need me.” He spoke only to Derek, knowing how vulnerable he could be.

Derek scoffed, “Why would I want help from a total psychopath?”

“First of all, I'm not a total psycho.”

“Coulda fooled me.” I glared.

He titled his head to the side, speaking defensively, “And, by the way, you're the one that slashed my throat wide open. But, we're all works in progress, right? So, we need each other. Sometimes, when you need help, you turn to people you'd never expect.”

"I killed you for a reason.” Derek glared, “You used mind control to kill people, you killed Laura, you tried to kill me, and you tried to force her into creating a new bloodline.

"All for a good reason."

"And that is?"

Peter looked like Stiles when he hadn't come up with a clever comeback, "Come back to me about that." He tried a different approach, “You tried to build your pack. You tried to prepare for the worst. You weren't ready. Because of it, Gerard is winning. He's taking his time. He's toying with Scott. He's going after your wolves, one by one. He's relishing in his victory.”

“How about you tell me something I don't know?” Derek said, getting more and more irritated.

“Oh, I'm going to, and it's gonna prove why you should trust me-- why you need to trust me. Because I'm going to tell you how to stop Jackson.” Both of our heads perked up.

“What do you mean? You know how to kill him?”

“Actually, how to save him.” He licked his lips, “There's a myth that you can cure a werewolf simply by calling out its christian name.”

Derek scoffed, “It's just a myth.”

“Sometimes myths and legends bear a hint of truth. Our name is a symbol of who we are. The Kanima has no identity-- that's why it doesn't seek a pack.”

“...It seeks a master.”

“And who else grows up with no pack? No identity?”

“An orphan.”

“Like Jackson. And right now, his identity is disappearing beneath a reptilian skin, and you need to bring him back.”

“How?”

“Through his heart-- how else?” Peter said as if it had always been the obvious answer.

“You know, in case you hadn't noticed, Jackson doesn't really have much of a heart to begin with...”

“He’s a spoiled prick.” I added.

“Not true.” Peter said, “He'd never admit it, but there is one person-- one person with whom Jackson shared a real bond. One person who can reach him. Who can save him.”

“...Lydia." We both said.

Peter leaned down close, “Your best ally has always been anger, Derek, but what you lack most is heart.” I jerked forward, Derek grabbed my arm, bringing me back to my seat.

“That’s why you’ve always known that you need Scott more than anyone. And even somebody as burned and dead on the inside as me knows better than to underestimate the simple yet undeniable power of human love. Perhaps that’s why you were drawn to our lovely (Y/N). She knew our secrets, yet still human.”

“I’ll show you human-” I growled, my claws sharp and ready to swing.

“Feisty.” He smirked. My phone started ringing and I cursed.

“Shit. I missed the game.” I slipped off the stairs, shoving by Peter on my way into the other room. Scott.

I pressed my phone to my ear: “I know, I’m sorry I missed it. Is Stiles mad?”

“That’s the problem.” Scott said, his voice full of dread.

“What is it?” I asked, gripping onto the doorway.

What he said next practically made my heart stop, “Stiles is missing.”

”I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone, rushing back into the room. Derek was already on his feet, catching me before I ran into him.

”Stiles’ is missing, we need to find him. Now.” I said hurriedly. He looked me in the eye.

“We’re gonna find him. He’s going to be okay.”

“But what if he isn’t? What if he’s not okay and it’s because I wasn’t there to protect him.” There was a tight ball of emotions in my chest, ready to burst.

“We’ll find him.” He said calmly, leading me out to the car.

The three of us made our way into the school, avoiding Gerard and whoever else he had patrolling the halls. There were a few deputies, we passed one who almost made me gag. I could smell that beef jerky spice rub. He was one to avoid.

We got into the locker room with ease thanks to my keys. We found Isaac and Scott in front of Stiles’ locker. Isaac was holding up a shoe.

"How come you get a shirt and I get a shoe?" Isaac grimaced, his eyes shooting up to look at his two alphas. Scott noticed his expression, turning quickly.

"We need to talk." Derek said. Peter walked up behind us, making a dramatic entrance. As usual.

“All of us.”

“Holy shit.” Scott whispered, “What the hell is this?”

“You know, I thought the same thing when we saw you talking to Gerard at the Sheriff's station...” Derek looked at him pointedly.

Scott’s eyes widened, “Okay, hold on! He-he threatened to kill my mom! And I had to get close to him. What was I supposed to do?”

“I'm gonna go with Scott on this one.” Peter said, causing us all to look back, “Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous!”

“Shut up!” We all said.

Isaac leaned over to Scott, “...Who is he?”

“That's Peter, Derek's uncle. A little while back, he tried to kill us all, and then we set him on fire, and Derek slashed his throat.” Scott glared.

“Hi.” Peter smiled.

“...That's good to know.”

“How is he alive?” Scott asked. I was curious myself.

“Look, the short version is he knows how to stop Jackson... and maybe how to save him.” Derek said, getting more and more irritated.

“Well, that's very helpful... except Jackson's dead.” Isaac dropped the bomb shell.

“What?” Derek and I asked.

“Yeah, Jackson's dead. It just happened on the field.” Scott motioned back to the direction of the lacrosse field.

“Okay, why is no one taking this as good news?” Isaac asked, so incredibly confused.

“Because if Jackson is dead, it didn't just happen-- Gerard wanted it to happen.” Peter said slowly.

“But why?” I looked back at Peter.

“Well, that's exactly what we need to figure out.” He sighed, “And something tells me the window of opportunity is closing. Quickly.”

Back at the Hale house, Peter and Derek were looking around for something that could help us. Scott finished getting off the phone.

“Oh. Oh, they found Stiles.’ He sighed in relief. I let out the breath I had been holding in since he had been on the phone.

“That kid is gonna kill me.” I leaned against the wall, a smile on my face.

“I told you, I looked everywhere.” Derek shouted.

Peter smirked and got down at the ground, looking under the staircase where Derek usually sat, “You didn't look here.” He removed a plank of wood and pulled out a thin rectangle. Has that always been there? Or had it been since the fire?

“What is that, a book?” Derek asked.

“No,” Peter scoffed, “It's a laptop. What century are you living in?” He opened the dinosaur looking laptop, “A few days after I got out of the coma, I transferred everything that we had.” He closed the laptop, seeing that it was still working, “Fortunately, the Argents aren't the only ones who keep records.” He stood up with the laptop, moving into the living room area, Derek and I following behind. Scott was in the corner of the room, talking to his mother. Melissa had gone with the EMT taking Jackson to the hospital for an official autopsy.

“Hey, Mom. I can't talk right now-What's wrong?”

“Something... Definitely something... I don't know what, but I think you're gonna want to see this for yourself.” He looked over at us.

“Go.” I said, motioning my head towards the door, “We’ll stay here.” Scott nodded, rushing out the door.

After a while, Scott called us and explained that Jackson wasn’t as dead as we thought he had been. Derek had the phone on speaker.

“They say he's in some kind of transparent casing made from the venom coming out of his claws...” He said. I grimaced at the thought of it.

“That sounds sufficiently terrifying.” Peter said, not looking up from the laptop screen.

“They also say he's starting to move.” Derek said grimly.

“Okay, look- I think I found something.” We both looked over Peter’s shoulders. “Looks like what we've seen from Jackson is just the Kanima's Beta shape...” Beta shape. That’s definitely not good.

“Well, meaning what? It can turn into something bigger?”

“Bigger and badder.” His voice wavered, meaning that it was definitely worse. My eyes widened as I saw the kanima’s next evolution. It was bigger and it had wings which and longer claws and would be in my nightmares.

“He's turning into that? That has wings!” Derek shouted, looking just as terrified as I did.

“I can see that.” Peter said curtly.

“Are those... more tails?” I asked, really hoping they weren’t what I originally thought.

“No, those are claws.”

“...Great.”

“Scott, bring him to us.” Derek spoke into the phone.

“I'm not sure if we have time for that...”

“Look! Somebody actually made an animation of it. Maybe it's less frightening if we-” He played the video. A loud shriek played over the screen. Peter closed the laptop quickly.

“Nope. Not at all.” He looked back at Derek, “We should probably meet them halfway.”

“Scott, get him out of there now. Go now!” Derek shouted into the phone, sounding more urgent than ever. Derek grabbed my hand, starting to rush with Peter through the house. Peter stopped in front of the door, stopping us from moving forward.

“Derek, we need Lydia.”

Derek growled impatiently, “There's no time for-”

“That's the problem.” Peter interrupted, “We're rushing. We're moving too fast. And, while everyone knows that a moving target is harder to hit, here we are, racing right into Gerard's crosshairs.”

I looked up at Derek, gnawing on the inside of my cheek, “I wouldn’t usually agree with him, you know that. But he’s right.” Satisfied, Peter opened the front door and we all came out. Peter reached for the door handle on the passenger side. I grabbed his hand, pulling it off.

“I don’t think so.” I chuckled and opened the door.

“I’m taller than you.”

“Get in the back, Peter.” Derek shouted, glaring. Peter hummed, getting into the back of the car.

As we drove, I looked over, seeing that Derek hadn’t put his seat belt on. I leaned over, trying to grab it. He swatted my hand away.

“It's not really that important." He grumbled. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Not important? Tell that to the seat belt that kept me from being thrown through my car window and killing me.”

“You would have healed.”

"Derek Hale-"

"I am a little busy worrying about a reptilian demon out for blood!" Derek said, glancing at me. Huffing, I sat back in my seat with my arms crossed over my chest. After a moment, Derek sighed loudly, followed by the familiar metal lock of a seatbelt clicking into place. Peter blew out air, followed by the sound of a whip cracking.

Derek looked back in the rear view mirror, eyes red.

We parked in the alley next to the railway depot, waiting for Scott and Isaac to arrive with Jackson. Soon after they pulled up, dragging Jackson’s body bag behind them. And after Scott and Isaac appeared Chris Argent behind them. We got out of the car, waiting around the corner and listening.

“I think he stopped moving...” Isaac panted.

“Where's Derek?” Chris asked. That’s when Derek ran around the corner on all four. Peter and I looked around the corner, seeing him do a flip, then land in a crouching position. Probably flashing his red eyes.

“Someone certainly enjoys making an entrance...” Peter mumbled.

“Must run in the family.” I said casually, smirking a little when he looked down at me.

“I'm here for Jackson, not you.” Chris said.

“Somehow, I don't find that very comforting.” He looked to Scott and Isaac, “Get him inside.” I stepped out to follow behind them when Peter grabbed my arm. I looked down at his hand, then him.

“Taking my hand off.” He removed his hand quickly, “But you need to stay out of this.”

“Why-”

“Because you don’t remember how to fight.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “Don’t remember how to fight?”

“Yes, You don’t remember. You were trained by your parents and my sister. You were an excellent fighter.” He looked over my clenched fists, “But when they took your memories, you forgot.”

“I know how to fight.” I glared.

“No, Derek taught you how to defend yourself. You swing your claws and hope to land a blow. That’s not fighting, you’re leaving yourself too open.”

“Look, we don’t have time for this.” I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath. My attention was brought to the voices inside the warehouse. We looked in through a nearby window. They surrounded Jackson’s body bag.

“Where are they?” Scott asked, looking around.

“Who?” Derek had his eyes trained on Jackson.

“Peter, (Y/N), and Lydia!” Scott shouted. Derek shook his head, kneeling down and unzipping the body bag.

“Whoa! Hold on a second-” Scott stepped forward, “You said you knew how to save him.”

“We're past that.” Goddamit, Derek. I’m about sick of him doing this. He knew that killing Jackson when there was a possibility to save him wouldn’t go down well with anyone.

“What about-”

“Think about it, Scott!” Derek shouted, “Gerard controls him now. He's turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog, and he set all of this in motion so that Jackson could get even bigger and more powerful.”

Chris stepped forward, “No. No, he wouldn't do that.” He said defensively, “If Jackson's a dog, he's turning rabid, and my father wouldn't let a rabid dog live.”

“Of course not...” Gerard’s brogue echoed through the depot. “Anything that dangerous, that out of control... is better off dead.” I inhaled sharply, my whole body wanted to run into the warehouse to be by Derek’s side but Peter was keeping me back.

“Pay attention to Gerard.” He whispered, “Look at him.”

“I can see him-”

“Look closer. Get his scent.” He whispered. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could smell metal and gun smoke, but there was something else, something foul.

“He’s dying.” I whispered, opening my eyes. I looked back at the group, watching Derek lift a claws hand to slash Jackson’s throat. That was Jackson beat him to it, stabbing his hand through Derek’s chest and throwing him across the room.

“DEREK!” I screamed, getting out of Peter’s grip and running into the back entrance into the main room of the depot. A cocking gun made he stop abruptly, Gerard had a gun trained on me.

“Please.” I begged, my voice shaking. Not only from watching the man I love be skewered and thrown through the room, but from the pain we shared. He only chuckled, motioning for me to join Scott and Isaac on the other side of Jackson’s body bag. I slowly stood besides them, watching Gerard and the area Derek was thrown in.

"Please get up... Please don't die on me."

“Well done to the last, Scott.” Gerard said smugly, “Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek to save him. You just didn't realize that you were also bringing Derek to me.” A whistle shot through the air, and the next thing we knew, Isaac had an arrow in his shoulder. Isaac fell back, grunting.

“Allison?” Scott sounded shocked, as if there were any other people we knew who worked exclusively with crossbows. Scott and I rushed over to Isaac, moving to get him away from her line of fire. A shot rang out, Jackson’s reptilian hiss echoed. More gunfire followed. We got Isaac behind a cement pillar. He was grunting in pain, gritting his teeth together.

“This is gonna hurt.” I said, pulling the arrow from his shoulder. Isaac yelled through his teeth. A roar cut through the air, making us all look back.

“Derek.” I smiled. We walked back, growing claws and fangs, ready to fight Jackson before he fully transformed. Scott and Isaac walked forward and as I stepped up, I felt a sharp pain in the back of my neck, followed by darkness.

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

Read part 21 here!

And there is where the story takes a turn, see I told you we'd get there.

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#derek hale x reader #derek hale fic #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fic

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innocentbi-stander · 4 years

Text

in celebration of getting 200 followers, I decided to add onto my long list of bamf!jaskier headcanons

consider the power of jaskier as an expert marksman

jaskier has always had extraordinary aim, intentional or not

he grew up using this to wreak absolute havoc on those around him, whether it be pranks, or getting revenge on those who insulted or wronged him

this was always just a weird quirk to him, until he befriended one of the old guards on his family estate, who saw jaskier’s innate ability and immediately thought ‘I must train this child’

so he taught jaskier how to use throwing knives, stars, slingshots, crossbows, and archery

jaskier had always been interested in music and the lighter things in life so he was surprised at how much he loved learning these

whenever he could slip away from his duties he snuck down to the guard’s hut to train, where he got better and better

years later when he runs away to attend oxenfurt the old guard slips him a set of new throwing knives inlaid with sapphires with nothing but a mischievous wink and a hushed “for the road ahead”

jaskier loves those knives more than anything else he owns, and months after posada geralt will remark across a campfire at the peculiarity of a bard owning such nice daggers

jaskier puts on a show because he knows geralt thinks that because he is a bard he mustn’t know how to fight, and jaskier has always been a firm believer in not showing your best hand so he laughs merrily and tells some long winding tale of how he came to find them in a market place and thought they were very pretty

bards love things that shine and jaskier is not exempt from this, what the witcher doesn’t know is that the shiny things that jaskier loves can also slit a man’s throat with the tidiest of cuts

the years go on and geralt goes on believing that he needs to fight his bard’s fights and protect him, while jaskier cuts down the people willing to throw rocks at witchers behind taverns when geralt is away on hunts

as sophisticated as jaskier believes he is, he’s also a man with a hair trigger temper who gets into many a fist fight with men who don’t seem to hear the pretty barmaid say no

when geralt asks where the bruises come from (there are a few on him but many more on the people who dare to cross him) jaskier babbles on about his clumsiness, or another lovely night gone wrong

some days he doesn’t know whether to be proud of his lying abilities or upset that geralt believes him so easily

years go by and jaskier keeps his secret, and geralt fights the monsters while jaskier takes down monsters of the human kind

the mountain happens, an apology (that jaskier smugly recalls much groveling), a reconciliation with yennefer, an adorable child surprise, an awkward period of time of learning to all live with each other, and an even more awkward explanation from jaskier informing geralt that he’s maybe not as human as he’s led him to believe. jaskier’s mother had wandering eyes and years ago those eyes fell upon a handsome elf who happened to have contributed to the conception of jaskier

theres a horrifying moment where jaskier thinks geralt will yell at him again like the mountain but the next thing he knows the witcher is kissing him and he’s more than okay with that

everything is good (except for being pursued relentlessly by nilfgaard) and there’s one more secret jaskier thinks he just might take to his grave

of course things never work out like that

it all comes to a head as it always does, nilfgaard has gotten the drop on their little group, they are fighting for all that their worth but jaskier can tell it won’t be enough, both geralt and yen are tiring and he has no choice

the world narrows down to him and the enemy as jaskier pulls out his knives

its ecstasy, freedom in its purest form and jaskier has never been able to fully let go of his most feral energy before, and he unleashes it all against the nilfgaardian soldiers

the bard fights like he never has fought before, he feels like a hurricane, blowing through the ranks, his feet dance a dance he’s never learned before, he ducks and turns in graceful arcs, and his weapons are but a silver extension of his very being

he fights and fights and fights because if they fall they’ll lose everything, and at the edge of consciousness he knows geralt and yen are fighting alongside him just as hard

in a moment it is over, and jaskier blinks to life once more in a small circle of open ground

around him are the scattered bodies of their attackers and there is red everywhere, on the ground, his boots, his clothes, his hands, and if he had a mirror he’s sure his face and hair are coated in it as well

for all his normal complaints about dirt, jaskier can’t bring it in himself to care much about the blood

even though its pointless, jaskier busies himself with trying to wipe off his hands on his already drenched doublet, carefully keeping his eyes away from where he knows geralt yen, and ciri are staring at him

he keeps his gaze pointed downward until rough hands force him to look up into his favorite golden glare

“Jaskier. what. the hell. was that.”

there will be time later to explain, but right now all he can focus on is that they’re all alive and okay, and in the moment all jaskier can manage is a slightly hysterical laugh as he says,

“well geralt, I’ve had those pretty knives for so long, I figured I might as well put them to use at some point”

and geralt knows there’s more but he too understands that its a story for later so he plays along, running a large but overwhelmingly gentle hand through jaskiers hair and snorts,

“you picked a hell of a time to use them”

I love feedback!

(Special thanks to @morte-mistrata for the prompt!)

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namjoonchronicles · 3 years

Text

bones | nj

↳ pairing namjoon, reader

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 3.0k

↳ summary namjoon’s only dream is to change the world, and sometimes when he couldn’t, he would turn to no one. even as it eats him up, spit him out and left him lifeless. the greatest mistake in love is to hand someone else the responsibility to your happiness, but is it really a mistake?

↳ warning depression; loosely inspired by the recent the return of superman show

↳ song shawn mendes ‘wonder’, maggie lindemann ‘couple of kids’

↳ author’s note new year greetings came four days late this year, sorry about that... i was searching for a suitable theme to write, so i opt for a non-serious one. i planned to engage in a 7-day writing challenge this week, starting with namjoon on monday. wish me luck! and happy reading! <3

“Please turn them off…” the deep grovel of his voice took you by surprise. It wasn’t like you to not have noticed when he walked in. The television had the show ‘The Return of Superman’ playing. By the sound of the troubling huff he let out, as he stood, hanging his long coat on the coat hanger, it seemed like he had a rough day. He didn’t look at you in the eye when he walked in, and it seemed like he would like to disappear today. You blinked to the view of his back disappearing into the hallway to the right, heading to his home studio. Hanging your face down to your lap, you pointed the remote to the screen and it turned to a black screen. Long story short, the kids in the show wanted to see him. And long story short, they weren’t able to reach a meeting point resulting in the kids meeting another artist instead. By the looks of it, Namjoon isn’t taking it lightly. By the looks of it, he seemed a little disappointed. And for that, you don’t really know how to interfere, or if he wanted you to.

Namjoon and you really stood in the grey area sometimes, when it comes to trespassing each other’s boundaries. It’s really difficult to read him sometimes, because he keeps so much to himself. It was something you both mutually understand when you both ended up together. The go-no-go point had always been a grey. There’s so much at stake and your intricated mind combined with his sometimes doesn’t allow room for negotiation. When something like this happens, you have to analyse where he stands. And sometimes you miss your hit. The more time you miss, the more frightened you are where the next one comes. They say, if you don’t have to watch your words with someone, you’ve found the right one. But when it comes to Namjoon, you refuse to say the wrong words because you don’t want to hurt him. Not after all he’s been through. So you took light, careful steps towards the door to his home studio. Watching him bended over his chair, mouse running wild. His face shone by the light from the computer screen.

“Hey,” you softly whispered. Leaning your face against the door frame, hand clasping the edges of the door.

He hollowed his cheek, tutted his tongue out and said, “Hey” to the screen instead. A short silence followed. Then,

“I didn’t know they were coming to see me. They lied to those kids saying they’ll meet me, and they didn’t. They must have felt so betrayed.” He hung his head low. He rubs his nose. “What can you do? It’s a show… It doesn’t make you a bad person,” your voice, gentle, persuasive as ever. It was the only way you think would get to him.

Since when did it matter what others think of him? You would be foolish to say that. Knowing Namjoon as long as you did, you know criticism no matter how constructive or harsh, they dent the same deep to him. Be it his music, be it his words. Silence from his side, yet again. Moving away you decided to say one last thing for his consideration.

“There’s always more than one way… My husband used to tell me,” you shut the door behind you, a lopsided smile on your lips.

Stunted by the pitch darkness he sat in, your words resonated in his mind and he looked down the keyboards and grinned. You are right, there’s always more ways than one.

More ways than one. To say that Namjoon had a perfect childhood would be vastly inaccurate. His brilliant mind was not without a cost. You both hid behind words you didn’t say. The pain that felt so familiar and the fear that is mutual. For a while, he somehow convinced you to push through. And with him, the glass is always half full. And by glass full, Namjoon’s quiet determination and drive would inspire you to keep going. When he is sound asleep at night, the dim light draws the shape of his body, you would place your palm on one side of his face, thumbing his cheek, just to feel him there. His breathings would slow down. His most vulnerable state, and just hours ago, he was reading to you a poem he wrote. The stirs would stop and you pulled the blankets further up his chin. You brushed his bangs back and placed a kiss on his forehead, letting your lips linger a second longer than usual. It just felt a while. Like it was a dream.

Gravitating towards Namjoon, it only seemed natural. The bike nights rides along the Han River, he bulleted through the summer night breeze while you opened your arms wide sitting behind him. The moon and the stars were witness to it all. He blew air bubbles to the sky while you tried to catch them all with your open palm. Sitting on the grass, his arms around your waist. You were falling heavenly, recklessly. Sharing lilac cotton candy, and meeting each other's lips through it. He tasted like cotton candy, sticky and sweet. You could feel him smile against your lips. “We can’t save everyone, Joonie,” you spoke softly, “Those we can, we could…”

With his shut eye, he said, “I did all that I could… but why didn’t it feel enough?”

It’s a terrible thing to feel helpless. To feel restricted, to feel limited. The barricades are held up and for someone like Namjoon who is adamant to strike barriers head on, there seems to be places he couldn’t break through. And that feeling is discouraging. It is limiting and groundless. Namjoon is determined to make changes in the world, wherever it fits. There are places he couldn’t go though, despite the remarkable footsteps he had already pioneered. Namjoon is brave, relentless. He refused surrender and the louder his voices are, the more shackles they put on his ankles. It is only due time that he would explode. He just had hearts too big for his body, and if you think he doesn’t have more to give, you’re wrong. He is as possessive to the things that are his, you just need to name it.

Possessive. The word would seem so harsh. But it was everything Namjoon is. You had just bawled the night away for having to marry a family friend’s son who had gotten divorce from two of his wives. You had never been so scared because not only was the man twice older than you are, he was also your tutor when you were 15. He had been eyeing on you since then, and it disgusted you so. With no words from Namjoon for days after you told him the story, your faith in him was fading. You felt so unprotected and sold away by your own parents. No one cared. The next day, the predator will come and he will take your hand in marriage whether you want it or not. You considered running away. But where would you go? Anywhere would have been just fine.

That same night Namjoon stormed into your parent’s house, drenched in the rain, pounding on the door. Then you heard your father open the front door to the porch.

“I may not be the son-in-law you dreamt of, nor am I a perfect son to my parents. I have nothing to give her. I am not adequate but I have dreams larger than myself, and that dream is to have your daughter as my wife. I am not the son-in-law you want, but I am the husband your daughter needs. My name is Kim Namjoon and I cannot let her marry anyone else but me.”

His wedding vows were immaculate. The night before your wedding, you asked him, “You want to take care of my heart?”

“Absolutely,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation and crinkly eyes, with a big smile.

When you think about those impeccable moments, you know his devotion is pure. That’s why loving him is easy and difficult.

What do you like most about me? What an odd thing to ask. Watching the people cross the road as the traffic light turned red for them. The fine dust reading shoots off the roof again today. The wedding ring on your ring finger, curled around the steering wheel of your worn out car. The diamond catching the light, decorating the roof of your car with little rainbows. You smiled to your chest then to the side. When is it ever not strange when it comes to Namjoon. Of course he had to ask you the easiest yet the most difficult question as you were rushing out the door with minutes to spare. Hopping on one feet, holding on to his stomach to keep your balance.

But you couldn’t forget those eyes. Those pleading eyes. Felt like it mattered to his life what your answers were.

The light turns green. You dropped the brakes and gently pressed on the accelerator. It could have been easily his heart, or his mind, mostly both. And possibly everything in between; no, most definitely everything in between. Or is it his arms, that feels like an asylum or a fortress, depending on the situation? Or his lips, with the things it says or the things it does? Or his ears that continue to earnestly listen to you whining or screaming or the static silence he demanded to make sense of?

Why did it have to be what he offers you? Why can’t you love him for what he didn’t offer you?

The answers aren’t simple at all.

And as the answer you said loomed over you, hours on end at work and through lunch and important meetings, you feel like the clock is ticking in your ear. Why didn’t you look at his expressions when you left? What were you rushing for? You made it on time but you left things unsettled at home. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right at all.

“Namjoon, you’re a firework.” The words you threw ringing in his ear like it was only yesterday, since he said he wanted you. It was the most remarkable, most detrimental, most damaging words he had ever heard someone say to him. It didn’t help that he was deeply enthralled by you. He was broken, so beautifully broken. The way his edges are both sharp and blunt and in patterns unique to him; he was a deliberately planned masterpiece. He understood what you said; and you talk in riddles he is fluent in. You hide in metaphors and intricate words of a poet. Your true feelings never fully revealed. Sometimes he feels like he is walking in circles, or falling in a bottomless pit. Sometimes he feels like he’s found home away from home and finally talking in a language someone spoke.

Firework. It could be a compliment and an insult. They are the prettiest in the darkest night, the glittering lights, the adrenaline inducing sound of explosion; always the highlight of a celebration, an achievement, the peak--everything good in life. But when the fireworks ended, the darkness loomed again, the adrenaline fell as the silence grew; anticipations dug its grave with each moment passing without sound--excitement, plummeting to the ground. Fireworks are temporary happiness. You said you were a mere spectator. It was both a compliment and an insult. Namjoon realised that what he projected wasn’t the same thing you were looking for. You wanted forever. He looked in your eyes the same way he looked at you when you left for work this morning; with longing he didn’t quite fathom the depth of.

When he sits in his room, getting lost in the words carried by the author, he forgets about all the things that worry him. With the desktop lit up of a wallpaper of you mashing his face between your hands, face so close to each other, smiling contently, behind him. This house is littered with love. They are in the walls, on the floor and all over the ceiling.

“I am terrified of you,” you said, laying next to him in bed one night. It felt like an untimely confession. The words he never expected from you. At first, he thought it was due to how intimidating he looks. He’s almost six feet tall, he frowns at everything, almost tactlessly blunt to anything about quality-- terrified is a weak word. He looks like he hates everything and won’t stay behind for anything that doesn’t interest him. But it wasn’t. Your fear was not from how he is built but the way that he stayed. You always expected people to leave after a certain time spent. But he just keeps coming back and everytime he does, you get scared.

“I had never had anyone stay that long before,” you looked up at the ceiling while he looked at you, counting your eyelashes.

“I don’t know what to do…” you turned to him and casted your eyes downwards, “People like you aren’t supposed to be with people like me.”

Everyone deals with pain differently. In the commotion of a subway station, in front of the crowded cafes, the congested road and the beeping from the cashier’s counter. These faces staring at the floor, these fast-paced steps, the little jogs to the closing elevator door. The beginning of the year always feels overwhelming. The expectation is high, the spirits and passion is off the roof. Guess it was the disappointment that scares you the most. How many years did January begin the same way and December had it all taken away or drained till you are hollow on the inside?

A pair of supple lips, butterfly kisses trail up your shoulders to your cheek, a pair of strong arms snaked around your hips, pulling you in a rib-cage squeezing hug. A smile grew on your lips.

“What are you thinking so hard of, it's’ not even noon yet?” the deep grovel of his voice disrupted your train of thoughts, much to your dismay. Then you switch to face him, pointing your index finger to the ceiling as his hand rests on your bum.

“There’s a time in your life that you’re scared of me pushing you away when you kiss me,” your eyes twinkle at him and he wanes in his stance.

“Why are you making me nervous so early in the morning?” throwing his head back, showing you his frustration, “We’re married now, you can’t push me away…I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

When the light caught his luminacing brown eyes, you thought about how astonishing it was; to be loved, to be understood, to be broken and healed at the same time--all by the same set of eyes. The way it catches the sun, rain and storm. There’s something a pair of eyes could say without words.

In autumn, when those eyes cried a river, head filled with broken dreams and dreaded nights, and you caught the net, the whirl of the still moments stole your spineless sanity. The dizzying concoction of despair and anger the year had. And in a few more days, the new year will come. With every year passing, the more you dreaded the things you didn’t do. You blame yourself for the things you couldn’t change. The year felt like a dream; floating in the air, weightless. With no stone to keep you in place, you wandered like a lost soul, the only thing familiar was those lumineering brown eyes. Those eyes, when you see them--home.

As he sat there, talking, endlessly, chuckling, showing you his phone screens and wishes he got for both of you, you drifted into space. You didn’t hear a thing he said, you just, existed. And you watched him, in all that he is. All the troubled nights he didn’t speak to you about, the pain he hid away, the things he didn’t say and everything he felt. Then you think about all the times that he saved you when you’re in pain. When his hugs were as strong as the deteriorating war in your head, when his whispers were louder than the demons, and the hand he held tighter than the things you couldn’t fight against. There’s forever in his eyes. And you hadn’t seen that in years.

In winter, when the cold is numbing and the only thing warm is his breaths, the world is white in snow and those eyes searching the crowds land on you and turn into a pair of crescents. No stones left unturned, the battles he faced-- Namjoon was the war you chose. It was then you realised that even if the world collides and the ground turns to skies, it's his hand you want to hold. Driving along the same route you came from, your tired eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror, you heard yourself asking, “What do you love most about you?”

Namjoon. Loving Namjoon is what I love most about me.

He shows you that no matter how self centred you were, you were capable of infinite love.

Namjoon might have lain awake for hours before you did. Arduously, he loved. Silently, he thought. In his mind, he would have kissed you awake. Then, when he asked you what you loved most about him, he least expected a deep answer, not at the time frame that was given to you. He felt found and kept safe. He found forever in you. No words would have sufficed.

“Bones.” “Bones?” “Bones… I love your bones. They make up everything you are.”

Curling his arms around your waist while you sleep soundly, he nudges his face in the back of your hair as he pulls you close. These bones love you too. Ferociously, immensely, profoundly. . . . . . Namjoon sent a video to the kids that wanted to see him that day. The kids are more excited than ever. They may not have met, but Namjoon’s sincerity flourished through the video message. You are absolutely right, there’s always more ways than one. We can’t save everyone, but we could save those we can. .

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atinybitofau · 4 years

Text

S E O N G H W A ⥈ mafia au series

RECAP: training with the boys begins and frustrations between you all get heated. Seonghwa offers you a kind gesture of motivation to get you to learn how to fight.

word count: 1600+ , tags: angst fluff

characters: ateez (ensemble), reader

⤩ CHAPTER 3 ⤩

character list . one shot

“So what DO you know how to do?”

Yunho has never recalled seeing such a pathetic attempt at shooting in his entire life. Up until today when he saw the way your hand trembles around a gun. San, on the other hand, was elated to watch you suck at every single thing you tried to do. You were downright frustrated knowing: learning how to shoot, physically defend yourself, and fighting back wasn’t something you sought to learn.

He kept his hopes high though, Yunho, wanting to see you prosper at the side of his ruthless boss. And even if San thinks otherwise of the circumstances, Yunho assumed your place beside Seonghwa would do the heartless southside king justice. Being with him for so long, Yunho knew of Seonghwa’s shortcomings. Love was undoubtedly one of the assets Seonghwa never had. Seeing as he’s at least trying, Yunho wanted to help out the fact.

He had become frustrated too whilst teaching you and decided maybe you needed a breather.

You were quiet despite San’s failed efforts to get into your head with his rambunctious insults. You only stared at the ground while the other two pondered over new ideas. You weren’t trying at all. You’d like to think it’s because you refuse to take part in justifying yourself for a self proclaimed husband. Honestly, you just had little motivation to try let alone exert any unnecessary efforts.

“Your husband’s arrived early.” A meddling voice fills your empty mind. “He‘s on his way to pick your ass up so look alive.”

Your lips curt a faint affirmation before taking your things and beelining for the building’s locker room. There was soft excitement that frenzied deep down in your stomach as you changed. Not that being around a bunch of buffoons bothered you much but you’d much more prefer the company of a senile swine like your husband than them any day. As pathetic as they sounds to you...

San’s picking at his nails cooly on the outside patio while Yunho leans against a pillar. You’re sat cozy in a chair with your bag over your lap as you all await the said mob boss’ arrival.

“Fashionably fucking late, as always.” San seethes through gritted teeth. “Does that asshole not know I have better things to do than babysit his sorry excuse for a wife?”

San was getting sick and tired of it already. Of course, unbeknownst to you, San absolutely adored his precious leader. It doesn’t excuse the fact that your obnoxiously attractive self gets to settle down with his own first love. To add to it, Seonghwa was effortlessly throwing you around like a treasure that must be watched at all times. Somehow, San realizes the time Seonghwa claimed he had when bargaining his new gift did not exist. So here San was doing Seonghwa’s bidding yet again.

Yunho notices the clench in San’s tight look and glares into his own. “Sannie. Let’s not get careless.”

“Bastard better think twice if he thinks I’m gonna still be sleeping in his house after this.”

San glances at you with no momentary comfort before sticking a cigarette into his lips. You note the face of shock that masks on Yunho’s face but says nothing at all.

“He’s here.” Yunho coughs out while glaring at the cancer stuck between San’s lips. “Kill that stupid thing.”

“With pleasure.” San growls back eyes groveling at you.

“San.”

You stand up upon seeing Seonghwa’s knowing glare from the cracked window of his sleek black SUV. The tables turned on the fellows around you when your heels flick on an opposite direction. Being unwanted never bothered you. Being unwanted forced into a situation has not once bothered you. Being victim to it and having the choice to walk out? Now that’s an additional option you’ve never always have and will always willingly take. You don’t do unnecessary efforts. And you know when you aren’t wanted.

“Y/n!”

You ignore them with heavy feet trudging in no resolute destination in mind. Your fingers play with the earphones in your bag before placing them in your deafening ears. You’re joined by a slow moving car at your side while you walk in no particular direction away from your fiancé.

“Honey, get in.”

You ignore him with a long press of your volume up button.

“Stop being stubborn, y/n.” His voice gets harder. “If I have to get out of this car so help me god I’ll—“

You snatch an earphone out of your ear. “You’ll have San deal with me?”

He abruptly brakes when you do. You let out a grunt of vexation before placing an earbud back in your ear.

Seonghwa decides to park his car right then and there to throw you over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Your face flushes in the hottest color of pink as you try to break free.

“S-SEONGHWA WHAT THE HELL?”

“This’ll be what stubborn gets you from now on.”

You resort to sulking in the front seat as your husband possesively holds his hand on the surface of your thigh. You don’t bother even looking back at where the both of you left San and Yunho, irritated eyes strewn on the outside of the moving vehicle.

“I’m assuming your training didn’t go too well.” He comments while driving faster this time.

You don’t reply making Seonghwa’s fingers twitch on your lap. So much for convincing yourself you aren’t wanted.

“Y/n, I’m no psychic. You need to tell me if something bothers you.”

You scoff. “And what, Seonghwa? You’re gonna fix it?”

“I most definitely will try if that’s what you entail me to do.”

You don’t move from your position as your husband drives you to what you know is back home. The eerie silence that fills the both of you in the car makes your gut clench. His fingers on your thigh aren’t helping the entire car ride either.

Seonghwa’s presence to you reminded you of air. He wasn’t a nuisance to have around and for an appraising relationship to move forth with lesser issues, that’s a good thing. Actually, to add to the fact, Seonghwa was much more meaningful company than anyone else. He never crossed any unnecessary lines and if he did, he did so with grace. It was hardly something you can’t sleep on.

He escorts you, with a distance between you two, towards your shared room and it feels domestic. There’s little need for words. Needn’t questions either. Seonghwa was far from an open book, but he’s not the type of novel that pegged your fancy anyway.

Seonghwa’s back was to you as he stripped out of his dark suit, shoulders bared with torturous temptation. Your mind was clouded no thoughts head empty when he brings you out of your trance with a slight quirk of his chin around his shoulder.

“I can at least draw to a conclusion,” He just keeps pushing the subject of matter you refuse to shed light on. “that the basics of living with a man like me weren’t taught to you properly then.”

Your face becomes shaded with amusement. “Living with a man like you requires basic training?”

“You always think so little of me, my precious wife.”

You feel like you’re in some fanatical love story— how fast he is to getting to your place, finger upon the tip of your chin. He lifts your gaze up onto his eyes with certainty and slight amusement too.

“I may not be of some threat to you but some people will think of you to them. I’m an expensive man and I don’t spend my money and the likes of it on just anybody.”

A twitched smile screws your expression. “And that’s supposed to impress me?”

“Scare you a better word for it.” He slips on a low cut long sleeve and a pair of casual pants before dropping you onto his lap. “I need to know. That at all times I’m never with you.. you’re prepared to take down the worst.”

Your breath hitches at the back of your throat as his fingers grace the exposed skin on your neck. His lips take upon the deed of pressing a sweet kiss, the feel of pain besting you. You don’t realize in the blur of the pleasure how a throbbing pain lingers where his lips lift.

“I know I promised not to take things too far but if you have no reason to fight, I’ll have to offer you one.”

It’s not a mark of lust nor was it a bite of love. It was a mark for people to see. It was a caligraphy of his own sort, making itvlegible for anyone to read. His lips relieves the vibrating pain and you’re curious. You turn to face him and his breath meets yours. You get caught up in something that isn’t there but you can taste. It was like something you need. A lot like air.

“It was meant for your skin.” He reassures you taking an inch of space back. “It’s not inclined for you to believe it’s also for your lips sake.”

You chuckle softly no blush apparent to his notion. “What a romanticist.”

He boredly hums. “Seems so.”

You wear a shirt that reveals the mark as if you’re proud to bear it. No, it’s not pride you feel entitled to, it’s the meaning. It gives you reason to fight.

Seonghwa stands beside you while you throw punches; in front of you when you kick and swing so he can teach you how it’s done.

It’s then you realize why he’s Southside’s king and why he deserves his title.

“Yunho informed me that your lack of skill was overbearing this afternoon.” Seonghwa speaks highly, eyes dawned with amusement and amazement. “That or I’m just one hell of a good teacher.”

You lean over to help him up. “I didn’t have a reason to defend myself. I think I do now.”

“While fighting me?”

“Something like that..”

@atinybitofau

a/n: ROUGH EDIT

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