#in my defense it’s a gloomy day and i just felt that that fit the vibe lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

distracteddegenerate · 3 years

Text

Carnation

Yuta x Fem!reader

Warnings: period sex, lots of blood mentions, yandere undertones for Yuuta, TW.Dubcon if you squint I just want to be safe lol, unprotected sex, smut

Got super carried away with this one which is why it’s so long lol. I decided to combine the asks since I have got a lot for Yuta. Second anon if you’re uncomfortable with this fic which is understandable lol just shoot me another ask and I can do something else for you.

You lay curled in your bed, the sheets and pillows a mess around you, a fluffy hot water bottle cradled tightly to your front. The side of your body you laid on was beginning to ache from pressure, and you felt flush from heat, but you dared not move. You dreaded the intensifying of the stabbing pains your own body was wretchedly subjecting you to. Of course today would be the heaviest of your period, the day you had scheduled for a study session with Yuta. He was due to come over in about half an hour, and your pains were yet to ease up at all, despite the painkillers you had recently downed. You could cancel, yet, this was the first ever study session you had set up with your handsome friend, and you were loath to cancel it over something that would clear itself up eventually.

You closed your eyes, and pulled the hot water bottle you gripped like a lifeline closer to the source of your suffering.

~~~

*knock knock*

Fuuuuck. Was it that time already? You groggily sat up, releasing your water bottle and in replacement lightly pressing your hand against the throbbing pain that was starting to surge more strongly in the pit of your belly. You gently placed your feet on the ground off the side of your bed, and rose onto the balls of them just as delicately. You began your gloomy shuffle towards the entrance of your room, fixing your ruffled hair into place.

You pulled the door open on yourself slowly, croaking as Yuta’s tired but docile face materialised into view.

“Good evening, (Name)-chan.” Yuta had his hands in his pockets and wore a kindly smile, the only thing betraying his pleasant demeanour being those familiar dark circles dusking the underside of his eyes. Dreary though they appeared, you could swear you saw a specular shimmer dance across his irises when he registered your form.

“Ah good evening to you too, Yuta! Come in and make yourself at home, I have some stuff set up on the coffee table.” You tried your best to look as perfectly in humour as you could, to not draw any attention to your current pain stricken condition. Must have been good enough, as Yuta had nodded in response and was now making his way over to nestle himself onto one of the pillows you had placed next to your make-shift study station.

You yourself was headed to the kitchenette, about to ask what Yuta wanted to drink when a sharp stab erupted from your core. You threw your hand onto a countertop and visibly winced, when you noticed Yuta’s widened eyes had been following you.

“(Name)! Are you okay?!” Yuta’s expression was alarmed, prepared to pounce up from his seating.

“Uh- I er uh- tripped over! Nothing to worry about!” You were blushing slightly, but righted yourself regardless and tried to stand as straight as you could. Yuta seemed slightly confused, and whilst he opened his mouth to speak you interrupted him with a casual “So what would you like to drink?”

“Er.. I’m fine actually, I had something before I left home... actually I think you should come sit down, er, carefully.” He still looked a little concerned. You nodded your head and made your way over to his side. Settling yourself down, you could feel more pain pulsating within you, a low rumble threatening another great stab like you had experienced just. You drew your legs to your chest in an attempt to alleviate it slightly, and picked up your copy of “a comprehensive guide to the relation of curses and the law”; holding it open in front of you.

You could feel Yuta’s gaze still trained on you.

~~~

“So, although the police would have to intervene if someone was hurt or killed in the incident, sorcerers still have the right to- er - (Name)?”

Crap. You were too focused on the waves of torture oscillating in your guts to keep your attention on Yuta explaining the info that went over your head in class to you again. And he noticed. You looked up at him softly, and offered a subdued “sorry.” You didn’t really have energy to maintain your act of being fine anymore. His eyes looked concerned. You turned your head to the floor and fiddled with your hands.

“Hey, (Name).” You heard him shift and alter the positioning of his legs. “Is it that time of the month?”

What?! Who asks that like this?!

You threw your head back up to look at him, your face red and mouth agape. He threw his hands up defensively.

“Sorry, sorry!” He hurriedly turned his gaze into the distance and rubbed the back of his neck. “I just.. I have a little sister, so I’m used to this sort of thing, or at least I know a bit more about it than other guys.” He looked back to you. “It seems like the pains at least are distracting you from your studies, if you need painkillers or something.. I can go get them for you.”

“I er...I already tried that… doesn’t work out that well for me.” Was your meek, barely audible reply. You played with the tassel of the pillow you were sat on. Yuta looked pained on your behalf.

“Y’know… I read online somewhere that there’s always something you can try out failing all else.” He caught your gaze, and held it intently.

It must be too good to be true, how would Yuta know some hidden method that you (as someone who experienced periods) didn’t know about for dealing with the pains?! Your eager look betrayed itself when a switch flicked in your head and your expression turned into one of astonishment. There’s no way he’s gonna suggest…

“Org*sms.”

You’d known Yuta for awhile now, but you had no idea just how… artless he was. Where was his tact?! Your cheeks burned from embarrassment. You felt like your face was about to explode.

Looking at him though, he was practically unfazed! As if you were going about some matter-of-a-fact order of business. What was this situation!

“I-is.. that a joke Yuta?” Your hands were curling into tight balls.

“Of course not, (Name). You look like you’re in so much pain. I just want to help alleviate it.”

What the hell did he mean by that? Like you will just hop up right now and go jerk yourself in the bathroom as casually as using the toilet.. Or.. could he have meant..

You felt Yuta’s hand settle on your thigh, as he leant down further towards you. “I can help you out (Name)-chan.”

You couldn’t deny, you’d always found Yuta handsome, but for things to move along this quickly… and of all times! Surely his level of straight-forwardness defied all social conventions, and yet, it was working. The feel of his hand resting on you, his hungry stare, the way he loomed over you, chest rising and falling intently. You could feel a different kind of ache emanating from your lower parts.

His hand drifted further up your body, coming to stop just below your belly button. “I want to help you… (Name)-chan.” You looked into his dark eyes. They were intense, hungry. You could swear he was salivating.

“B-but Yuta.. I-I’m.. You know! Isn’t that.. Gross? For you?” He shot you a sheepish grin, hiding his eyes in an evasive fashion. His hand travelled downwards once more, snaking up the inside of your loose-fitting shorts and looping his fingers over the sides of your panties. He toyed with them, rolling the cloth over your skin and lightly pulling at them. “I don’t think any part of you is gross, (Name)-chan.” His eyes flicked open again, drawing you back into his intensity. “I think every part of you is beautiful, even.” You could sense his earnestness, and it made your cheeks burn. You went to throw your hands up to them, but he quickly caught them in his. “So, what’s your answer?” He planted a kiss in your palm. “Do you want my help? (Name)-chan.”

Fuck.. the way he looked at you. Those ferocious, hooded eyes. Those calloused hands, usually wrapped around a katana, wrapped around yours right now. The burning you felt between your legs. God yes. God, you wanted it.

The alleviation of pain (and studying) was an afterthought.

~~~

Yuta had returned back to your living space with a towel from the bathroom. What? you didn’t want to get the floor messy. You could see an erection straining tightly against his black pants.

Fuck, you were really gonna do this. He set it down flat on the floor, and invited you to come situate yourself on it.

~~~

After removing his shirt (It was white, after all), Yuta knelt himself down in front of you. He had a certain glint in his eyes, almost conflicting the harmless smile that he also wore, as if he wasn’t about to blissfully pound your bloody c*nt into oblivion. He undid the front buckle of his pants, a bulge emerging, the explicitness of his bare dick concealed by gray underwear. He began palming at the protuberance. You eyed the display curiously, when you had a sudden realisation.

“Y-Yuta, w-what about… protection?” you asked, uneasily.

“Hm? (Name)-chan, you’re on your period, remember? You won’t get pregnant.”

“B-but..”

He cut you off. “I don’t have anything. Trust me.”

You nodded and grunted in acknowledgement. Yuta was always a trustworthy figure for you. Your strong, reliable friend who you could always depend on. He always took care of you, even during skirmishes with curses, arriving at your side before things even had the chance to get particularly hairy.

You watch Yuta as he tilts his keeling body forward, his hands landing on your ankles before travelling upwards, spreading your legs open in the process. You feel yourself blushing once again, tossing your head to the side. You can feel the front of your damp p*nties being touched, jumping in slight surprise at the abrupt action before Yuta starts rubbing at your cl*t through the fabric. He notices your breathing falter.

“Do you like it, (Name)-chan? Do you like how it feels when I rub you there?”

You mumble a small “yes.”

He’s applying more pressure to his administrations now. “Do you want me to take your p*nties off? So I can touch you properly?”

You answer yes again, this time more hastily.

With that, he curls his fingers over the sides of your p*nties, dragging your legs into the air as he twists his body appropriately in order to shimmy the restrictive fabric off of you. He casts them to the side, before pulling your trembling limbs back into their previous position. Once he settled them back down, he kept his hands on your thighs as he drank in the glory of your exposed c*nt quivering before him, the string of your tampon peaking out in a taunting manner.

You heard him cooing at you quietly. “Beautiful.”

You cringed, wondering if he’d still be thinking that when he’s stained with blood. Even so, you couldn’t help but melt under the feeling of his fingertips tracing circles into your inner thighs. The way you felt a thumb flick over your n*ked sex.

“Is your stomach still hurting you?” The sudden question snapped you out of your stupor.

Truth be told, you’d almost completely forgotten about your pains you were so caught up in the moment, but something held you back from saying so. As if Yuta would stop touching you if you let him know the “reason” for the two of you doing this was almost completely resolved. And, you were relishing in the tenderness of his comforting too much for it to stop.

“Y-Yes..”

Yuta bent further over you, his head looming over your core. He sunk down, his face leaning into the space of your skin where your tummy and pelvis met. He planted a light kiss there.

“Well, I’m gonna make you feel better.”

His grip on your thighs tightened as his head lifted, his presence shadowing over you once again as he held himself higher. Your heart pounded. He leaned further on your left thigh and removed his hand from the other, as you felt fingers poking at your aching heat again.

Could you feel… pulling?

You felt a horrible, obscene slick escape you suddenly when Yuta yanked out your tampon. He pinched it limply in fingers, observing it slightly before placing it on the towel you shared.

“Yuta?!” You whelped. It was ironic. The two of you were sharing an intimate moment with each other, almost completely exposed. But this? It felt somewhat... invasive.

You could sense Yuta shrugging. “It needed to come out.” Before you even had a chance to respond, you could feel him caressing your folds. He was circling his thumb over them, the peak of the eclipse swiping over your cl*t. “Don’t worry, (Name)-chan you look beautiful.”

You looked to him, but he didn’t return the gaze. His stare was boring into your most private parts, hungrily eating up the view. The calloused hand still wrapped around your leg was gripping on tightly, as you felt Yuta dip a finger into your sopping c*nt.

“Fuck.. it’s so.. wet.”

Well, that was a given you supposed. But you knew a lot of what was down there was also probably your usual feminine slick, with the way he was making you ache. He continued pumping his finger in and out, the motion becoming deeper and rougher, him gaining confidence in what you were willing to take in. You could feel your muscles strain around it.

“That’s three.”

“Wait, w-what?!”

“Three fingers, (Name)-chan. You’re drenched down here.” You felt him remove his digits, Spreading them out across your lips. You then felt him draw a line across your inner thighs that intersected your p*ssy in the middle. Was he… playing in it? You decided not to question, you were too caught up in a wanton haze, hips bucking upwards, begging for his touch to return to your most sensitive parts.

“Y-yuta..”

He looked at you and smiled sincerely. “-just need to make sure you’re nice and loose for me, (Name)-chan.” Before you could react, plunging fingers speared your weeping c*nt, pumping with violent pace. You yelped and crumpled in on yourself when you felt his fingers curl against your velvety walls, yielding against the pressure. You squirmed underneath him even more when he began spreading them, parting your insides. You hummed, laying your hand over the top of his head, entwining yourself in the strands of his hair.

He shifted into your touch. “God, love this. So fucking beautiful.”

He peered at you from beneath those dark lashes. “You think you’re ready?”

“Hm?”

“For my cock.”

At that, you nodded, releasing your grasp on his hair and trailing your hand down his chest as he straightened himself, looping his fingers over the sides of his boxers, staining it with blood. He tugged them down, his painfully erect dick springing out into open air. You found yourself surprised at the length. Yet, He was focused on you. Pointing at your top half he asked you, “Can you take all of this off?”

You nodded and complied hurriedly.

When you were done Yuta was quick, grabbing your knees to hold you in place, leaning over to plant yet another doting kiss on your body, This time in the space between your bare breasts. You felt him begin to push into you. He managed the entirety of his length, before pulling himself almost all the way out again. You noticed how he looked down, admiring the sheen of your blood now coating his member. He quickly snapped his hips back into you again, and began assuming a steady pace of rutting. Your legs found themselves wrapping around him, your ankles cross sectioning across his taught upper back. You wanted to tell him it felt good, but the most you could manage was a weak moan.

That seemed to set something off within him. He lunged over you, enveloping your entire body with his own. He planted one hand on the towel beneath you, firmly beside your head. The other found itself groping a t*t, clawing over it to pinch your hard nipple, surrounding the ar*ola with petals of red. His pace was raw and piercing, but the slight discomfort you felt was laced with a more intense pleasure.

You heard him groan. “-god.. You feel so good. Fucking you like this.. It’s just so.. primal.” He was lightly scraping his nails against you, tracing trails of scarlet down your body. You understood what he meant by that perfectly. The way he was looking down at you, almost slavering at the lips at your vulnerable form, like some wild animal lost in it’s lust.

The feeling of it, the sounds of it. It was also so expl*cit. Yet so gratifying.

You lost yourself, allowing Yuta to abuse your lower half as he pleased, even matching your hips to his punishing motions. The l*wd squelching noises as he fucked into your excessive wetness, the way he played with your sensitive nipple at the same time, your entire being yearning into his ministrations.

“I-I’ve always dreamt of this, (Name)-chan” You were too lost in a fucked out haze to really respond, humming lightly as you stroked the arm gripping your breast. His pace got even quicker then, rougher. His form that was already entirely draped over yours weighed down on you with even more pressure, the slap of his bucking hips against your buttox resounding loudly. It’s all too much, your legs weak when you cream his c*ck, a wave of release gushing out of you as your heat throbs wildly.

Your limbs go weak as you reel from the org*sm, your walls spasming around Yuta as he continued his bucking.

Yuta’s gaze rests on your dazed expression, his dark eyes settling over you. “You needed my c*ck didn't you?” He moves the hand that was on your bre*st to caress over your face. “Desperately. I know you did.”

You felt Yuta’s pace get rougher, losing it’s steady tempo as he chases closer to his climax. He thrusts into you heartily a final time before his release spills into you, closing his eyes as he rides out his orgasm out slowly and tenderly. He remains inside for sometime after, rubbing your hips with his thumb as he admires the mixture of c*m and blood streaming out of your hole and cascading down his dick.

“Beautiful.”

He looks to your face now, smiling gently.

“So, do you feel better now, (Name)?”

#jjk #yuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu x reader #jujutsu kaisen #okkotsu yuta x reader #reader x jjk #jjk x reader #dark jjk #period sex #okkotsu yuta #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #tw.yandere #tw.blood #tw.periods #tw.dubcon #smut #jjk smut

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wlwmarvelenthusiast · 3 years

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Could you do carol x fem!reader but like so angsty that I can cry myself to sleep even tho I’m on antidepressants and can’t feel anything but plz let there b a happy ending thank u so much love u

I'm not sure if this qualifies as angst but here's a draft I had that I edited a little to fit the request. I hope it does the trick :)

It Wasn't For You

Summary: A mission gone horribly wrong drives a wedge between you and Carol. Is the bond fixable, or are the things you both said unforgivable?

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,998

You weren't sure what that emotion was that was boiling in your blood as you stormed back to your apartment. Was it worry? Were you just upset? You let it sit with you a moment as you unlocked the door. It wasn't either one of those things. It was rage. It was hot, unbridled rage. The cause of it was a certain Avenger who you had thought loved you enough to not do what she'd done. Clearly, she hadn't.

She was right behind you, stepping through the doorway before you could slam it behind you. You growled under your breath as she invited herself into your home, closing the door only once she was in. You didn't even bother turning to face her. You went straight to the bar and poured yourself a drink, not offering her one and not planning to let her touch a single drop of your alcohol. You took a sip of the hard liquor.

"Would you listen to me for one goddamn second?" She huffed out.

"I listened to you for multiple seconds, Carol. It doesn't change any facts."

"I did it for you!"

"I don't give a fuck."

Truly and honestly, you didn't. What she'd done was immoral, infuriating, and wholly unforgivable. She could get down on her knees right there in front of the bar and you wouldn't have batted an eyelash. It wouldn't be enough. In fact, you were convinced that nothing would be enough for you to forgive her. It didn't matter how much you had loved her yesterday or the day before. It didn't how much you loved her today.

"I'd do it again," she assured.

"Then I would do this again," you turned to finally face her, eyes locking with the brown ones that could usually instill a sense of peace in your chest, but today seemed to have no effect. "We're done, Carol. I think it'd be best if you left, please."

You could practically hear her heart dropping into her stomach. There was a part of you that ached to bring her into your arms and soothe that hurt look off her face. You knew better. That piece of you would fade eventually. You'd learn not to love her anymore. In fact, you could probably learn how to hate her. The boiling rage that was flowing through your very veins could assist you with learning that.

"Please-"

"I'm asking you to go," you said, firmer this time. "Please, get out."

If she'd had a tail to tuck between her legs, she absolutely would have. She didn't even bother to protest again. The expression you'd plastered on your face made it clear it wouldn't have done anything anyway. She slowly made toward the door. Her hand touched the doorknob and she cast her gaze back to you once more. You didn't dare let your features soften. You could've sworn there were tears in her eyes as she turned the doorknob and left.

You breathed out as the door closed behind her, finally daring to let tears streak down your cheeks.

You stared down the super soldier, neither of you wanting to speak first. He was the team leader though, and basically your boss. You knew even if he was the first one to speak, you were going to be the one spilling everything. You didn't want to, not one bit, but you knew you were going to have to anyway. You wondered if you had the strength to talk about it. You wondered if he had the strength to listen to your recollection of events.

"I just need to know what happened so when they ask-"

"Fuck, Steve! Natasha fucking died and we're sitting here having this stupid conversation," you shouted, rising to your feet, tossing the papers in front of you off the table, and moving to the window. "I have a goddamn funeral to plan!"

"Look, neither of us wants to talk about this, but we have to!"

You sighed, clasping your hands behind your back as you looked out at the compound grounds. There were agents training, running laps around the building. Sam was the one guiding them, seeming to enjoy barking orders at them. You tore your gaze away from a sight that seemed to have lost its beauty now that Natasha wasn't there alongside the Falcon, chuckling with him as they watched the new recruits huff and puff.

"It was me or her and Carol chose me," you finally gave. "I was what would have been fatally outnumbered and Natasha was down. She was in the jet. Carol could have either gone and stopped the jet from crashing, or she could pull me out and neutralize the enemy. She chose the latter. That's what happened. Happy?"

"I need your report."

"I need to plan Natasha's funeral!"

You stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. You let out the breath that had been stuck in your chest, leaning your head against the wall and shutting your eyes. It hadn't been an easy couple of days. You'd have been surprised if you'd gotten more than three hours of sleep in the last three nights combined. Somehow, though, you still didn't feel tired. You felt a lot of things, but that wasn't one of them.

As if losing Natasha wasn't hard enough, you were also grappling with crippling amounts of anger and guilt. Natasha should have been the one that was saved. She was the obvious choice, and yet here you stood, and Natasha was gone. The anger, though? That was all for Carol. She had promised you that her relationship with you wouldn't have affected her at work, but it had. She'd saved you when she should have saved Natasha and all of those people in the impact zone.

"Can we talk?"

Speak of the devil.

You opened your eyes, using your shoulder blades to push yourself away from the wall. Immediately your entire stance got defensive. You crossed your arms over your chest. You watched as she searched your eyes in hopes of being able to read them like she usually did, but knew it would be to no avail. You didn't want her to know anything about what you were feeling. She didn't deserve to know what you were feeling. All she deserved was to be on the receiving end of your rage.

"No. I told you we're done, Danvers. We don't need to talk anymore."

"I'm not letting you go that easy."

"You don't have a damn choice!" You laughed humourlessly. "You can't stop me. You don't own me, and you definitely don't own my heart."

With that, you stepped around her, walking toward the doors of the compound. You could hear her footsteps trailing behind you. You didn't bother to turn around and glance at her, or even open your mouth to tell her to go away. You just let her follow you as if she were going to get something out of you. She wasn't going to. The last thing you wanted to do was hear some sort of failed explanation as to why she'd decided to save you. You knew why. It was because she couldn't separate home and work. You never should have trusted her to be able to.

You stepped out into the sunlight, cursing the sky for being so bright and sunny when it felt like it should be dark and gloomy. A storm cloud and roaring thunder might appropriately match the way you felt inside. Instead, you were forced to pull your sunglasses down over your eyes as you headed back toward your car, feeling you could use the walk toward it instead of making it come to you- a feature Tony has insisted you needed. As you arrived though, Carol finally reacted.

"Jesus Christ, would you hear me out?" She said, anger in her voice as she grabbed your wrist.

"Let go of me."

"Talk to me."

"I already said no. Let go of me," you demanded.

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, glaring at her as she retracted her arm. You unlocked your car, getting into the front seat. You didn't even glance at Carol as you started the engine, put the car into drive, and pulled out of your spot, leaving her behind.

It was early when you woke up the next morning, and immediately your day went different than normal. Your eyebrows furrowed when you stepped out of your bedroom and found an envelope slipped under your apartment door. It was completely unmarked. You knew the danger of anything unmarked. You were an Avenger. You couldn't find it in you to care, though. Without Carol's arms around you, you tossed and turned. Losing Natasha hurt so much more without Carol there to hold you through it. But it was her fault.

You reached down and picked up the envelope. You sliced it open with the knife that was resting on the table beside the front door. What you pulled out was a single piece of lined paper. It had clearly been ripped out of someone's notebook, the torn rings hanging off the left side. You unfolded the paper and immediately recognized Carol's handwriting inside. You crumpled it up and prepared to throw it, but then you hesitated.

She wasn't there. You didn't have to talk to her. You didn't want to talk to her one bit, but you were dying to hear her side of the story. This way, you didn't have to risk breaking and losing yourself to emotion in front of her. You uncrumpled the paper and held it out in front of you. You took a deep breath and let your gaze drift over Carol's familiar handwriting once before you moved your eyes to the top of the page.

Y/N,

I really hope you didn't throw this out. I suppose if you're reading this, you didn't.

I know you don't want to talk to me. If I were you, I might not want to talk to me either. Your best friend died and it is entirely and completely my fault. I know that. It is my fault. I could have saved her, and I didn't. I just need you to know why.

I know you think that I broke my promise. I promised you, Steve, and every Avenger, including Natasha, that I would never let our relationship affect our work. It must seem like I failed to do that. I didn't break that promise. I love you. I do. But I wouldn't do that.

I knew that saving Natasha was more likely to be successful than saving you. Saving her would have meant saving those three civilians too. Not saving you, though, meant that they would have gotten away, and it meant they would have killed dozens of our agents on their way out. There were so many of them. They outgunned our men by too much. I didn't do it for you. I did it for them.

It breaks my heart that I couldn't save her. If I could have given my life for hers, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. If choosing her over you had been the right choice, I'd have done it. I promise you that.

I love you, even if you can't love me back.

- C

Tears spilled from your eyes as the empty casket was lowered into the ground. When a hand brushed ever so lightly against yours, you stiffened. You glanced for a moment over at the woman beside you. Those brown eyes were locked on you as well, for a moment, before turning back to the burial. You took a deep breath before moving, threading your fingers between hers. You pulled a little closer to her.

Maybe you should have listened to her. That letter you'd received yesterday had been a lot to think about. You'd been so angry with Carol because she'd closed you over Natasha and you'd been selfish enough to think it was because she couldn't separate her feelings for you from work. When you'd found out that wasn't the case, it had taken away all your reason to be angry at her. What happened to Natasha wasn't her fault.

Once the red had faded, you'd realized how stupid you'd been being. Carol had obviously been hurting and you'd been gatekeeping pain because you'd been blaming yours on her. The guilt stewing in her gut was probably millions of times worse than yours. She'd had to make that choice out in the field. It was the right choice, you saw now, but that would never matter. You knew how that felt, and you'd pushed her away and left her to deal with it alone. You wouldn't blame her if she couldn't forgive you for that.

When the funeral ended and people started heading toward the reception, you stayed glued to the spot. You could tell Carol wasn't sure what to do. Her hand had tried to pull away to give you space, but this time it was you that didn't let her leave you. The hand that was in hers tightened enough that she got the message. You had to wonder if she'd stay to hear it. As always, though, she was better than you. Her efforts to move away stopped.

You stayed silent for a moment, standing in that position and wondering what to say. There might not have been words enough to express just how sorry you were. There might not have been anything you could say that would make her forgive you. You deserved that, though. You broke up with her. There was no obligation for her to take you back and you hadn't given her any reason to want to. You were the one who had pushed.

"I'm sorry, Carol," you muttered, knowing full well that wasn't enough. "I'm sorry for everything. I was selfish."

"I get it," she admitted. "It's okay."

She was better than you.

But it wasn't okay. What you'd done to her was far from okay. You'd taken one look at the guilty relief in her eyes after that mission and decided that she'd sacrificed Natasha for you. She was allowed to be relieved. You would have been, if the roles had been reversed. Just because you lost Natasha, didn't mean Carol wasn't allowed to be a little relieved that the love of her life survived. Now, you didn't get to be that.

"Baby... Carol, I just wanted you to know that I read what you wrote and I'm sorry for how I'd reacted. I'm sorry I didn't stop to hear you out before that and I'm sorry I pushed you away when you were obviously hurting."

She dared to pull you a little closer. "You can still call me Baby."

You had to let out a light chuckle at that, despite the tears on your face. You wondered if you were mourning Natasha or your relationship with Carol. Whatever the case, she reached out and brushed the pad of her thumb across your cheek. You couldn't resist leaning a little harder into her hand. She got the message, opening her hand and cupping your cheek, her palm pressing delicately against your skin and her thumb continued to trace your cheekbone.

"You were hurting too," she assured quietly. "You reacted that way because you were grieving. You needed someone to blame."

"It shouldn't have been you."

"I was easy," she said, hands sliding down so they were both in yours. "I could have saved her and I didn't. Whatever reasoning I might have had, that was the truth."

"I'm supposed to love you."

"You don't love me?" She questioned.

"I do! Of course I love you, Carol. But I haven't been great at doing that recently. I should have-"

"You love me and you were grieving your friend. That's it. And I love you too," she said, squeezing your hands. "Can we stop being broken up now?"

She was standing in front of you, a tiny smile on her lips, and forgiving you. She was asking you to take her back, like it wasn't supposed to be you on your knees begging for her forgiveness. You stepped forward, taking your hands out of hers so you could instead put them on her cheeks, and pulled her toward you until your lips had met. She kissed you back immediately, her hands finding your hips. She pulled away from you.

"So yes?" She said, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Because Natasha got us together and breaking up for good over her casket would not be honouring her memory very well."

"No, it wouldn't," you said, leaning your head onto her shoulder. You looked down at the wooden casket. "I miss her so much already, Carol."

"I know. Me too, Honey."

Your heart felt the slightest bit lighter now. You would've given anything for Natasha to be okay. The fact that she was gone still felt like a knife through the chest. At least now, though, you had Carol to hold you at night and kiss the tears off your cheeks. She had you to do the same for her. That was all either of you could do. Now, only time could lessen the pain. Carol put her arms around you and held you closer.

Just as you went to tell her once again that you loved her, her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, frowning at the number that was coming from outside the country. She showed it to you and you took the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Did it work? Do they think I'm dead?" Said the so familiar voice.

You glanced up at Carol, sure the shock on her face matched yours.

"Natasha, what the hell-"

"We've got a new mission. Are you and your lovebird up for it?"

Carol kissed your cheek and then spoke to the woman on the phone. "Absolutely."

#carol danvers #captain marvel #carol danvers x reader #marvel #mcu #wlw #lesbian #pride

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dnsbarbie · 3 years

Text

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬┃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

chapter two

warnings: season 4/manga spoilers, mentions and depictions of death, death, war, cursing, angst, eren being an asshole

word count: 6,406

notes: PROCEED WITH CAUTION major season four/manga spoilers ahead !!! ALSO — I’ve read the last chapter and bestie lmao — i just wanted to pour the dread I felt by posting this chapter since it is also vv sad!!!! ENJOY THOUGH !!!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER/S: moodboard/prologue, one

𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞

A malicious smirk curled upon the lips of a certain brunette, head peaking from the corner of a concrete housing. His bright, turquoise irises scanned the friend group of his intended target, arms linked one after the other, walking towards to door that led to the hallway of the dorms.

“Eren, is this really necessary?” Armin whispered beside Eren, his voice shook in the slightest as he watched the bunch near the door.

Eren scoffed, nodding his head firmly, never taking his eyes off of them. “It wouldn’t have to be if she didn’t pour salt on my oatmeal earlier . . .” The frown that decorated his face was fleeting, the scheming glint present again, as anticipation bubbled in his stomach.

Devon Janea stretched her hand out, placing in on the metal knob, she laughed along to what ever Sasha and Nifa were chatting about. Her palm twisted the knob, giving it a light push. A soft clank ticked above her head, followed by the liquid icy flow that took her awhile to recognize as water. It cascaded from her head down to her boots.

Both of her companion let out a gasp, pulling the wooden bucket that had fallen on their friend’s head.

Eren’s smirk, shifted into a series of baffling hysterics, his gaze pointed at the now soaking wet Survey Corps uniform of Devon. Her golden brown locks dampened, turning them a shade darker.

Despite the numbing sensation of Devon’s body, she managed to catch wind of someone laughing annoyingly loud. Her suspicions were confirmed as her vision landed on an elated piece of shit kneeling on the ground, clutching his stomach a few feet away from them.

She made eye contact with a pair of ocean eyes as she looked up, which immediately swam in mercy. If she wasn’t freezing to death, she would’ve laughed at the fear on Armin’s face but she was able to comprehend was the desire to crush Eren Yeager’s skull into ash.

“Oi, Yeager!” She bellowed, unclipping her soiled cape from her back.

“You’re gonna get it now . . .” Nifa mumbled, earning an enthusiastic giggle from Sasha.

Eren stood from his place, chortling toned down to occasional chuckles, he crossed his arms to his chest, observing Devon’s shaking form as she approach him.

The exasperated expression that had morphed itself on her face never wavering. Her drenched footwear squelched under the Earth’s pressure. “You have five seconds to tell me why — oh why you did that.”

Apparently, the seething irritation Devon carried in her tone triggered Eren’s funny-bone because not a second later, stupid laughs poured away from his very much punchable mouth.

It was short-lived, however — since Devon’s patience had ran thin and next thing everyone knew, her arm swung back, fist colliding painfully against Eren’s abdominal area, producing a clean booming crunch.

A series of oof’s can be heard behind her which she could’ve guessed were a few people who had came to witness this brawl that occurred quite frequently much to their squad captains’ displeasure.

He had stumbled back a few inches, ass meeting the soil. The agonized groan that escaped his lips were a blessing to Devon’s ears, and her eyes feast at the same suffering that contorted his face.

Armin instantly came to his side, eyes wide in panic.

Wringing her moistened hair in both hands, she raised an eyebrow as she saw Armin’s pleading eyes. “Don’t give me that look — “ She scorned, a mocking smile dressed her features. “He’s the idiot that came at me.”

Eren shot her a murdering daggers. “You started it!”

A child — an immature child —

“Excuse me?” Devon questioned, hands settling on her hips.

“You ruined my breakfast!” His voice boomed inspite the pain shooting at his stomach.

Devon pondered his words, brows furrowing in thought. Just then, a memory flashed between her eyes, producing an inelegant snort from her mouth.

A hand came to cup her lips instantly, doing little to conceal the blooming grin that had appeared.

“Oh, that.” She affirmed, voice filled with mirth. “In my defense, you kept kicking my leg for no reason— so—”

A foot after the other, she strided towards the boy who had now gotten off the ground, fists clenched at either sides. Regardless of the noticeable difference in their height, Devon stood tall, as she looked up at Eren.

“—technically, you started it . . .” She narrowed her eyes, staring at Eren’s equally annoyed ones.

Almost half a minute passed, the open courtyard remained quiet as both Scouts stared in each other down as if waiting for one of them to disintegrate into nothing but ash.

However, A firm cutting tsk made everyone flinch. Devon and Eren seem to stumbled back onto reality, goosebumps rising on their arms.

Both snapped their heads to the terrifyingly familiar sound and behold— with a deep scowl resting on his usually neutral face, Captain Levi tapped his foot next to the sploch of wetness on the ground.

His sharp glare cutting through the babbling Scouts in the middle of the scene. From the fair amount of distance, they were sure the Captain noticed their shaking figures.

“It wasn—”

“She di—”

The Captain’s raised palm silenced both the excuses that came rushing out their mouths, clamping them shut in a split millisecond.

“Both of you—” He started, teeth gritting as he spoke. “No one gets a speck of lunch until you’ve cleaned this up.”

Resigned huffs and nods were their response, head hung low but burning glare for one another remained.

Her clammy hands clutched the fabric in a tighter vice, closed palms beginning to shake at the emotions that had invaded her mind.

Devon Janea was once again in a position she had promised herself to never indulge in— but as her eyes bore into the green cloth that held the symbol of freedom, her eyes began to sting, teeth in a compacted clench, causing a dull ache to reside in her mouth— an ache she couldn’t dare feel due to the greater torment, the object in her hands brought.

It was her old Scouts cape. She had kept it when they had announced the reinvention of the Survey Corps uniform. The cape meant a great deal to her yet every time she laid her eyes on it, nearly nothing joyful popped in her mind.

She despised the idea of hating this piece fabric— she hated it— but she somehow felt the need to.

All of the things that happened to her– good or bad, her cape hung on her shoulders and bore witness.

It was there— this old thing.

It was there when they went to battle mindless Titan’s outside of the walls. It was there when every stage of fear shot through her system every single time her squad-mates met their cruel demise.

In the times where she cried for her fallen comrades until the sun rose, she had hugged this piece of fabric to her chest, muffling her outmost despair.

It was there when she fell victim to Eren’s pranks and their childish fights. This was present in the time she had felt an outrageous amount of bliss regardless of the situation in the outside world– a time where all she thought about was surviving, with them.

But now— it was . . . gloomy.

A distant call from outside her window caught her attention and she immediately got to her feet, observing the armor that decorated her body. It was far from what they used to wear but nonetheless more efficient for their current predicament.

They were fighting humans now.

She had never thought this day would see the light but assumptions can always be shifted, can’t they?

It was baffling to her how they’d need more advanced and heavier equipment when it came to war against people in comparison to the weapons and wardrobe they utilized with Titans.

Big, scary, man-eating giants.

Her younger self would most probably shudder in fear if she saw her now. She’d ask her all these question in order to make sense of her actions and most likely pretend she understood when in fact, she’s been thinking of ways to turn her over onto a brighter leaf.

As she tried to imitate a happy smile she used to carry, she could almost see her other self seething at the fabricated action. She gripped the straps of her black uniform, the material fitted like a second skin but very comfortable to move around in.

With a last shake out of her doubtful thoughts, she grabbed the green cloak from the floor, hooking it across her chest while she ran down and into hell.

Time seemed to pass by quickly — that or Devon has been spacing out now and then as Commander Hange was explaining the plan of action. The parts Devon had caught irked her.

“We’ll have to cover for Eren as much as we can . . .” Hange’s tired, but firm mutter echoed in the airship that has been prepared by Zeke Yeager and his most gracious disciples.

“We have to assume that he’ll cause damages and openly declare war,” The commander nodded at them, her gaze flickered from one scout to another that surrounded the table in the middle of the room. “Jean, Connie, Sasha and Floch — watch out for enemies over at the west. Take half of Levi’s squad with you.”

Devon watched the circle of her comrades as she rested her body on a nearby wall, eyes fleeting to Hange as she caught her gaze.

“Devon,” The commanding tone in her voice caught Devon’s attention. “You and Mikasa are to find Eren — and once you do, keep close and make sure to have your eyes on him at all times.”

If it wasn’t for Devon’s self-proclamation to shut up and do as she’s told without complaints,, she would’ve jumped out this flying balloon hours ago. But, she matched Hange’s stoic glare, a nod confirming her cooperation was enough for the commander to continue her discussion.

In the corner of her eye, she could spot a figure walking towards her. She kept her gaze forward, clearing her throat once the said figure had stopped beside her.

“If you want to smack Eren, I won’t stop you,”

Be this a normal situation, Devon would no doubt laugh at Levi’s sudden statement. She twisted her neck to face him, she’s met with those steel, cool stare.

“I know.” She affirmed, folding her hands back, hiding the fidgeting of her fingers that had no plan on stopping until they’ve left this depressing island. “Maybe I will slap him later . . .”

She saw Captain Levi nodding along to her words, and despite not exactly saying anything else, Devon appreciated the random interaction that somehow calmed her nerves a little.

The minutes of Hange talking was the only sound bouncing through the walls were indeed just minutes.

A deafening roar quaked the skies, Devon’s eyes shutting, hands coming up to cup her ears at the loud volume.

Show time.

She stumbled at the front of the airship, hands finding support of its walls, her head peaked out the scene through the window.

There he was.

Or it.

The enormous Titan stood at an intimidating form of 15 meters, baring his muscled back to them. His roars continued to pierce their ear, making them flinch each time it rattled their hearing.

“There’s no time to waste!” Captain Levi’s command came riddling through all the commotion. “To your stations!”

With that, the scouts saluted, each scrambling to get their equipment together as fast as they can. Devon instantly ran to her gear, hooking it around her waist. Her hands reached to take a hold of approximately ten thunderspears. The supposedly cool metal laid feverish on her palm but decided ignore it and resume to securing the heavy weapons on her shoulder.

Another angry roar and a series of frightened screams rattled her nerves yet she refused to waver at the thought of the situation outside.

“Mikasa,” Devon called, the attention of the raven haired girl turned to her, nodding. “C’mon, let’s finish this.”

Fire — blood — screams — explosions.

The list was dreadfully endless. With Mikasa to her right, they swung above the unfathomable condition of the town. Devon tried to avoid looking below but agonizing wails were impossible to ignore.

She knew it would be a mistake to succumb to the temptation and just peak downwards. Beyond the apathetic eyes she had been giving nowadays, was that frightened little girl hidden behind Wall Rose.

Looking down would mean remembering.

It was unclear whether or not she opposed to it or not. Does she truly want to revisit that horrible time in her life in a crucial time like this?

“Don’t.”

Her thoughts lurched back at Mikasa’s sudden intrusion. Devon felt her eyes burn at the side of her face, urging her to return the gaze. Mikasa had a glint of tenderness in her eyes as she stared at Devon.

“Looking won’t help anyone.” As if she had read Devon’s mind, had her thinking if her conflicted thoughts showed on her face as well.

“It won’t.” She agreed, exhaling a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. “Stand on that pillar, try to catch Eren’s attention — I’ll do the same on the that building at the left. Be careful not to be noticed by anyone else.”

The order came flying out of her mouth as Eren’s Titan form became more prominent to their vision. Mikasa swung to the direction Devon had ordered, leaving the latter to advance to her position.

Devon’s boots slid on the worn down roof of a house, fragile bricks now easy to pick apart, resembling a puzzle containing several missing pieces. She stalked towards the edge of the roof, squatting down to uselessly watch the treacherous scene unfold in front of her.

Eren turned, his eyes skimming through the civilians aimlessly racing away from him. Devon noticed how the large titan spun his head towards the right.

She had to squint to confirm that he did, in fact acknowledge Mikasa’s presence. A sigh of relief escaped her as she was sure of the exchange.

Past her relief was a gash of radiant light amongst the cauldron dark covered skies. Her eyes could hardly accommodate the brightness that invaded her sights but she could make out a form of a skeleton, slowly evolving with flesh.

She stumbled back at the thunderous punch the creature caught on its face. The tissues that haven’t fully developed yet squashed against Eren’s gigantic fist. Devon’s resistance to look away increased, with the amount of blows Eren delivered to the primitive titan as it wriggled uselessly below him.

A shot of a rifle snapped her attention away from the ongoing uproar to the source of the sudden gunshot. The thick layers of fog beneath the houses made it difficult to spot anything from where she sat.

At that moment, she hoped that Sasha and the others were able to place signal lights to ensure the clearance of enemies. She swayed her head hoping to catch a glimpse at anything suspicious from that direction but she was met with darkness and smog.

Devon gasped, hand abruptly clutching at the end of the roof as the ground trembled, followed by a loud groan which brought her attention back to Eren.

Her eyes widened at his state. His stomach now impaled in the center by a large pointy crystal lifting his limp body in the air. The titan seemed to have completed it’s transformation as it now stood, smoke seeping out of its shoulder, waiting for its arms to grow back.

She had never seen anything quite like it, despite being able to witness numerous unbelievable things in her days. The titan seemed to possess to ability to create structures using hardening, allowing it to make to spike it used to pierce Eren.

The strength this Titan possessed chilled her blood, instinctively look towards Mikasa. Luckily, she had her eyes on her too. And beyond the disaster, the distress that covered her features relaxed as Mikasa brought her palm up as a symbol to wait.

She turned her head back, fists balling tighter as the Titan grew a hammer on her hand, clutching the long handle. Devon repressed the urge to step in as it barreled the object towards an unmoving Eren, successfully smashing the crystal altogether.

Devon’s panic simmered down as a slightly smaller version of Eren’s titan emerged amidst the smoke.

Continuous flashes of light and booms of canons interrupted the fleeting solace Devon felt. Somehow, with all of those heavy weaponry, she was finally able to see the series of soldiers lined up nearly in front of Eren.

She saw his fingertips turn icy, incasing them in Titan hardening as he came up to cup his nape. He growled at his attackers, not noticing how to white fleshed titan swung back its hammer. He turned too late, only being able to provide his arms as a weak protectant.

Devon’s patience wore thin as she merely continued to watch as Eren was rid of his hands.

“The War Hammer Titan is a monster!” A joyful screech amongst the gloomy atmosphere pierced her ears.

War Hammer

“That’s what it’s called . . .” She muttered to herself, scowling at the name. “How corny.”

“It’s really going to finish off!”

Whoever it was, Devon wanted nothing more than to shut them up. Anxiety welled up inside her as the War Hammer Titan raised its weapon again, slowing as a figure — Eren — resurfaced from his Titan form.

She couldn’t help the feeling of a hefty weight being lifted out from her shoulders as she set eyes on his figure.

“Usurper, Eren Yeager,” The War Hammer spoke. “Do you have any last words?”

Although she could only see his back, a long inhale propelled her lips.

“Now or never, Mikasa.”

Loud and clear, Devon waited for it. As signaled, Mikasa’s form came rushing in the scene, almost too fast to be caught by the naked eye. She raised her arms, plowing a hefty sequence of thunderspears in the air and into the War Hammer’s neck, slotting it perfectly.

The release of the clip prompted its ear-splitting eruptions, blowing off its nape. Mikasa spun her body, eyes spotting Devon’s, an understanding nod between the two was exchanged and that was all it took.

She went off flying towards Eren, her heart pounding louder into her ears as she grew closer to his form. Before she could muster anything to say, Eren spoke.

“You guys actually came. . .”

Despite the lack of emotion on his face, Devon could hear the faint surprise in his tone. An unknown feeling of displeasure spanned on her chest as she examined the side of Eren’s face.

She noted the few but undeniably noticeable changes in his appearance compared to the last time she has seen him, reminding her of the many days they have been apart. His hair had grown past his shoulders, little stubbles have made it’s on his upper lip and — she would love to be wrong . . . she hopes she was because if she wasn’t mistaken, the vibrant turquoise hue in his eyes had dimmed into a spiritless pair of orbs.

The frown on her face didn’t falter, choosing to finally respond to him, “They were worried about you.” The admission seemed half-hearted yet she felt the need to tell him that in the moment.

“Eren,” In other circumstances, the hammering in her chest would absolutely delight her, but the one she was currently having flooded her with outmost dread, eyes piercing in to Eren’s own. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Devon found herself crouching beside him, as if he wouldn’t hear him if she stood. “You’ve murdered all these people —” She had to stop speaking, aiding the ache of her mouth as the words dawned to her. “No amount of reasoning could save you from this."

The heavy sigh she released helped lightened the tightness on her chest, looking at her feet, the heat of Eren’s Titan flesh seeping through her body.

“Eren,” The tense exchange was cut short as Mikasa landed beside Devon, calling his attention. “Please, let’s go home . . .”

“It’s not over yet.” At his claim, both girls’ features morphed into confusion.

“What —” Devon’s eyes widened, stopping the query on her tongue. “Motherfucker — “

The ground rumbled along with the rise of the War Hammer Titan. Slowly, it started getting up, its palm pressing against its head, pushing it back onto the body effortlessly.

“That’s impossible!” The incredulous tone Mikasa expressed was no different from the look that Devon gave to astonishing incident playing before their eyes. “I blew off its nape!”

“And I crushed it with all my strength,” Eren added, his monotone voice unwavering as he studied the titan.

“Mikasa!” Devon’s body acted before her mind, eyes laying on the sparks blossoming on thee Titan’s hand, a crossbow has come to life.

As an instinct, she grabbed Eren, a hand coming up to his waist, the other pointing her ODM gear at the first concrete she looked at. She fired the equipment, grapple shooting out. When it hooked on the infrastructure, she wasted no time to tug Eren out of the titan flesh and onto the air with her, just in time before the arrow hit their previous place.

It had been several minutes since the Scouts retreated back into the airship. Eren was able to devour the War Hammer, nearly getting to the Jaw Titan if it wasn’t for Reiner Braun’s unexpected appearance.

The loud cheers resonated along the walls, bouncing back outside as they celebrated a mission success.

Devon would be lying if she said she doesn’t feel the uneasiness leaving her chest, as her head weaved through the crowd, eyeing everyone’s condition.

Thankfully, no one was hurt, perhaps a bit of cuts and scratches but besides that, they were all well.

A smile slithered it’s way to her lips, watching her comrades. Floch leads the bunch, raising his fist in the air. “It’s a huge victory! The New Eldians Empire ends in victory!” He declared, earning gleeful shouts of affirmation.

His words, however, stabbed Devon back into a harsh reality, face twisting into a crestfallen frown. Determined to keep her thoughts at bay, glanced to the side, finding Jean, Connie and Sasha huddled close to the open door.

She sauntered to them, resting on her knees to be at their level. “I’m so glad you’re all safe . . .” She muttered, a grateful gleam in her eyes sparkled, throwing her arms around the three.

Sasha, being at the middle, curled both her hands around Devon’s waist, the other two doing the same in their respective side.

Connie, of course, had to clap back at the intimate moment, mumbling against Devon’s shoulder. “You smell like shit, Janea . . .”

They laughed, shoulders shaking. Devon extended her arm to smack Connie behind his head, making the latter flinch but grin as he spotted the glare she sent him.

“You’re one to talk,” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You look like shit.”

He stuck his tongue out, shaking his head at the brunette. Said brunette merely smirked before standing, landing a soft pat at each of their heads. “Good job, guys . . . I’ll just go check on Eren.”

They nodded simultaneously, understanding the look on Devon’s face as she turned back towards the hallway but not before hearing Sasha’s enthusiastic yell.

“Let’s celebrate and eat a lot when we get home!”

Devon looked back over her shoulder, flashing her a bright grin and nodded. “I call pork stew!” She laughed, heart warming at Sasha’s beaming smile.

As she went on her way, wooden flooring creaked beneath the weight of her boots, approaching the men contained in the area. Her eyes wandered down, noting how Eren was sat on the floor, a scout pointing a gun at him while Captain Levi glared right through his soul.

“Captain,” She announced her presence, garnering closer to them, inclining her head as a sign of respect

Levi didn’t look away, “Cheer up,” He spat instead, “Everything happened like you wanted,”

Maybe it was her buzzing mind, or the overall exhaustion finally catching up to her. But until she followed their gaze, she didn’t notice Zeke Yeager perched on the wall at the end of the hall, steam leaching out from where his missing limbs were once attached.

“Jenea,” At Levi’s voice, Devon snapped up to meet his eyes. “Bind him with this,”

Before she could react, Levi had thrust a wheeled rope on her hands, leaving her with no choice but to grip the braided strands. She didn’t get a chance to respond, seeing the Captain and his fellow squad member exit the room.

Suddenly, Devon recalls the short exchange she had with Levi before leaping into battle, The thought caused her to peer down at the same person that was their topic of interest was now at her hostage.

Eren was already staring back at her, making her eyes narrow the longer she looked into his. The turmoil sprouting at her conscience wasn’t a pleasant indication. Yet, she shut her eyes for a moment hoping to calm her aggression.

When she felt it was enough, she opened them back up, swiveling her head to Eren’s direction. He had his wrists offered to her, beckoning her to get to it.

Without a word spoken, Devon crouched down and began to swathe his hands together, placing a cloth between his palms to prevent him from slashing himself.

“I’m not going to turn into a titan in an airship.”

Devon kept her concentration at the knot she was forming, grasped pulling against the binds, further restraining his movements.

“You’ll never know,” She whispered, retaining her hands on his wrist despite accomplishing her task.

The silence was unbearable, yet Devon resisted the impulsive sentences bunching up her mouth. She wanted him to say something— anything that could possibly tame the anger she had for him.

Flickering lights on the hallway continued, baring the stiff aura that pattered heavily upon the narrow space. Devon and Eren very much indulged in their staring contest.

It was akin to glasses at the edge of the table, waiting for one to finally fall and shatter into microscopic pieces.

As aggravating as the soundless room is, Devon’s pride was far too great to break it, eyes boring into the orbs she once adored. She began to think to herself of the things that might have happened for Eren to be brought back to her this lifeless.

The more time she invested looking at him, the wrenched ache in her chest became torturous. She wasn’t entirely aware what came over her, but her hand was already poised up in the air, her palm connecting against Eren’s cheek.

A graciously blaring slap, echoed against the room, probably heard around the whole airship. His head banging into the wall next to him, relishing the strength of the contact

Even being the one to strike, Devon’s hand burned at the impact, making hiss, the other hand shooting up to soothe her stinging palm.

Her eyes were blurry when she looked back to Eren, cheek had started to redden. All the reserved attitude she had been building up the whole day demolished simply by entertaining Eren Yeager’s presence.

She knew it wouldn’t be pleasant but she failed to recognize exactly how distressing it would be. Her chest was heaving, palm clawing at the skin, hoping for the ache to lighten.

“Devon,”

She was wrong. The initial thought of having him talk flew out her mind when she finally heard his voice. In the quite space they stood in, it seemed annoying loud. Despite merely whispering her name, it was like he had yelled in her ear, which made her cover them as she was currently doing.

“No—” Her voice shook, failing to maintain the authority in her tone. “Shut the fuck up, Yegear.”

She spun on her heel, turning her back on him, rolling her head up to gaze at the wooden ceiling. Her breath was still uneven as she exhaled, running a trembling hand along her locks.

“Wha–what did you hope to achieve?” She asked, pouring out frustration at every word. “I really want to understand— just please . . .”

I don’t want to hate you, she wanted to say but decided against it. Deeming the phrase inappropriate for the situation.

Without even having her eyes on him, Eren was well aware of her raging desperation. He knew why she was insistent and what exactly she wanted from him.

But all he had to say was, “It’s for everyone’s safety.”

If Devon was a volcano, she would’ve exploded right then and there. The bubbling vexation coursing through her veins made her head spin.

“Never in my life . . . and I mean never — have I despised a phrase as much!” She chuckled, no humor could be detected in the smile she flashed Eren when she turned around. “Is that it? Does that make all of this— justifiable?”

The blaze looming up her throat whenever she became a tad mindful of his eyes were indescribable. It infuriated her as she took in the state of the pair. So much that she felt to need to shield them from her vision.

“I don’t know what else you’re asking of me.”

At his blunt statement, Devon had difficulties deciphering which of her swirling emotions she wanted to project due to the outrage and melancholy submerging her sane conscience.

The little energy she had left prompted her to merely gape at his slouched figure, knotted wrists sat patiently at his lap. She lost the ability to make sense of his actions as his glare punctured her soul, sending an uncomfortable twinge in her heart.

“What happened to you?” Her hand slid to her neck, rubbing soothing circles to aid her shuddering tone. “I was angry the night before we came here . . . and even then, I still hoped for your safety— I hated that you left but I continued to believe that you had a good motive,” She willed herself to keep her eyes on him despite the impending urge to do otherwise. “But seeing you now — I’m beginning to doubt your stand in all of this . . .”

Being honest was something she wanted to do, even if she was in no way prepared for Eren’s response. She had to let him know as much as she needed proper answers to the swarm of questions she had thrown at him.

She touched her shoulder, wringing out the knot that was starting to form, as she ignored the noticeable tremble of her fingers. “You showed no mercy to anyone in this city — “

“No one deserved mercy — “

“Not even those children?” She was quick to surface the topic again, wide eyed as she awaited his reply.

It was one that made her heart stop, breath hitched at her throat.

“We were children too when something similar to this happened, weren’t we?” The way he delivered his question with no anger, but pure confusion halted Devon’s arguments, instead opting to study his expressions.

He spoke of nothing else but truth. They were children when Wall Maria was breached by the Armored Titan. In spite of not being a resident of that town, she was coincidently present when it occurred.

A dangerous chill cascaded along her spine at the memory of her younger sister. The image burned into her skull for eternity, how her little body got brutally smashed by a massive concrete that wiped out every thing in the perimeter she was standing on.

Devon lived with the regret of not being beside her, and letting her run further ahead without knowing it would be the sole cause of her demise.

“And we weren’t at fault just like those children.” Her resolve quaked in the slightest but she stood her ground. “They didn’t have any idea what was happening — They were just as clueless as us . . .”

Exhaustion was taking over Devon’s sight, far too tired to have a sensible conversation with Eren except the stubborn part of her refused to waver.

“Will you really no tell me?” Her persistence was starting to sound desperate, as she searched his eyes for the tiniest bit of sparkle she used to admire. Eyes drooped, her hands tugged at the rope on his wrists, pulling him closer as if she’d see what she was seeking in this proximity.

She nearly smacked herself at how foolish her thoughts had become. Perhaps it came from the perplexing sentiments she had for the brunette, those sleepless nights her mind wandered to him, as she sat on her bed waiting for him to make his way back.

Devon had buried emotions she deemed improper, and became more secluded when Eren left. She barely opened up to any of her close friends, fixing her face into a defaulted smile at times she felt the most unwell.

To see Eren give her the look she had been dealing with every time she stared at her reflection shoved her into a state of panic, immediately ambushing him with questions she knew would go unanswered.

With a deep sigh, she dropped her hand from its place, resting it on her side. “Alright . . . it would be a few hours until we reach Parad — “

A powerful bang startled them, Devon’s heart lurching on her chest as it had dawned to her that it was a gunshot. She stood rigid, unable to function despite the sudden commotion happening just behind the door at her right.

Fear rippled through her system as the furious yells turned into desperate pleas. Her throat ran dry at the single name a mix of voices shouted.

“SASHA!”

That fear was physically resurfaced as her palms suddenly felt damp, blood turning sickeningly cold. She eventually willed herself to snap out of it, grabbing the doorknob, almost flinching at the freezing kiss on her fingertips.

Too occupied by her thoughts, she hadn’t realized, she had pushed the door open until Connie’s deafening yell broke her cloudy mind.

“DEVON—” Her eyes snapped towards the panicked voice, unable to ignore it. A wish for it all to go away was the first thing that came to her as she eyed the fimilliar head of reddish brown hair that laid unmoving on the floor.

She struggled to react, helplessly trudging towards Sasha. “Sasha—” A shake at the shoulder was her initial response, shock still fresh in her mind. “Hey— Sasha! Hold on, okay? Stay with me—” Devon’s palm snaked to grasp Sasha’s, pressing harder, hoping to transfer some of her warmth to her terrifyingly algid skin.

Devon’s lips came down to where their hands were connected, breathing tepid blows onto Sasha’s palm.

“Nico—”

Hope sparked in Devon’s chest at the sound of Sasha’s hoarse voice, deflating the moment she notcied the severity of her condition.

“Is dinner ready?” The sob Devon released pained her commarades as they watched on, tears falling from their eyes as well.

“Sasha— Sasha . . .” Devon’s pleas grew hopless, as she delivered an impervious squeeze on her palm. “Please— don’t leave me . . .”

Sasha’s name spilled from her lips repeatedly, noticing the delirious swarm in her eyes, knuckles bathed in unceasing downpour of hurt dripping from her green orbs.

An unbelievablely excruciating pang barreled on her chest, as she felt the weak grasp of Sasha’s hand turn limp on her own.

“N— NO! PLEASE . . .” Fright surged on her bones, shaking hands slamming onto Sasha’s shoulders. Devon shook her still form, movements lumbered due to the amount of tears clouding her vision. The headache she had earlier worsened terrible, as it was forced to process the horrific scene laid out in front of her.

The tips of her fingers felt numb, as she caressed Sasha’s freezing skin, index and middle digit crawling up the side of her neck, gently searching for her pulse.

Although hope was wearing thin, she still found the strength to press at the spot, pausing for a second before shaking her head.

Connie’s hand that was applying pressure to the gaping wound on her abdomen loosen, as he drew in a sharp breath.

Jean, still having his ears shielded by his palms, had found the courage to turn around to see a heartbreaking image that will surely be imprinted on his brain for all eternity.

A series of loud cries erupted around her, making her realize that she had stopped weeping. The weight on her chest still unbearable yet she felt far too numb to acknowledge it.

Her eyes drifted to the door she had been in before the tragic accident, disappointment bubbling up her throat, not at Eren but at herself because even then, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at him.

A single question hung lax of the fragments of her wits.

Why?

Why did Eren choose to do what he did? Why did Sasha have to be a victim of this monstrosity?

No doubt, this war was to further worsen, Sasha won’t be the last one to suffer the end of this bargain.

The fire of unwavering adherence set ablaze in her remaining morals, determined to unseal Eren’s true motives for his repeated sentiment; for everyone’s safety.

Eren was not an enemy, but he does serve as a threath if he continues to feed them obscure reassurances that might put them in a danger like this. The enemy was the thoughts boiling in his head, caging him alone with those possibly sinister notions.

Devon had a great hunch that Eren gives vague answers because he was hinding something important, a plan he knew they wouldn’t agree on.

Perhaps it was her drained sanity thinking, but Devon have passed the stage of giving a damn as she let the thought worm into her brain.

If she can’t beat the enemy, she would have to join them.

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ye4gerismarchives · 3 years

Text

the bachelorette chp 2 final part

an: sorry for taking so long! here's the masterlist!

tags: black reader, fem coded reader, lots of drama, minor vulgar name calling

tag list: @taybird

The first thing on your mind when you woke up was Bertie's kiss. It was so unexpected but so sweet. You almost forgot about Mikasa possibly stealing a guy you didn't really know. That's how nice Bertholdt's kiss was.

This morning you were having breakfast with Mikasa and Sasha, as usual. You knew this time was going to be different, however. You got ready for the day, thinking about what to expect from today's breakfast.

"So, I heard Bertholdt came out of his shell...oooh," Connie teased. As expected, Bertholdt's face reddened. The rest of the guys turned their attention to Bertholdt, curious about what he had done. "What happened, Bertholdt?" Porco asked. He was sitting near Bertholdt, so he was leaning into the taller boy's personal space. "N-nothing," Bertholdt says, looking away.

"A little BERTIE told me that you kissed y/n," Connie continues. "Connie, you're so corny," Onyankopon says jokingly. "You kissed?" Porco is now all up in Bertholdt's face. "Now, why would you do that? We're two weeks into the competition and you're kissing?"

"Hey, Porco, calm down," Eren jumps in. "Nah, because Bertie thinks he can just jump ahead. I mean, Eren, have you gotten a chance to be with y/n?" Porco huffed.

"He's too busy making out with Mikasa, y/n's best friend, he's probably not the best person to ask," Jean jeered.

"You shouldn't say anything at all, Jean. She has you wrapped around her finger. You're her pet dog," Eren snapped back.

"Isn't that the whole point? We're all supposed to give y/n our attention and seem interested in her," Armin jumps in.

His response shocks everyone the most. "So...you're not genuinely here for her?" Connie asked. His funny demeanor drops. "No...I need the money for medical school," Armin admits. "Nothing about y/n impresses me."

"Let's read what people are saying online!"

Levi had let you, Sasha, and Mikasa know that people had a lot to say about the show so far. He gifted you all a phone to take a look at during breakfast.

"Ok...so this first one is about Jean," Sasha starts. " 'Jean likes money...hence why he's here. He also has a short attention span in relationships."

"That...that doesn't sound like Jean..." you say. Unless?? Jean was a nice guy...a "nice guy". You couldn't believe it was all an act. He seemed like a sweet guy but that could also be a façade. "Ok...that one makes my brain hurt. Next please!"

Sasha passes the phone to Mikasa, who doesn't seem like she was there. "Mikasa, the phone," you point out. She jumps slightly, which is very not Mikasa-like. "Sorry," she says softly before taking the phone. You want to ask her what's up but, one, you have your own assumptions and, two, you didn't want something new to blow up in your face.

"Levi and Mikasa are planning on going against y/n. Their uncle/niece relationship says a lot. Mikasa needs to hop off the guys and let y/n have her moment."

Now, that one you could believe. Maybe not the part about Levi (he didn't seem to care) but you did feel that Mikasa was trying to interfere. You did laugh with her about her attraction to Jean and Eren but you couldn't help but consider that she could be plotting against you. The only role Levi would have in this is green-lighting her attempts. His job was to guide you and keep the drama going. He would have alerted you that something big was going to happen.

"That's kinda silly. You and Levi wouldn't pull something like that, right?" you nervously ask. Mikasa is quick to look you in the eye. "No, I wouldn't try that."

'No, I wouldn't try that.'

"Thanks for calming my suspicions," you reply. Mikasa's eyes widened. "What are you getting-"

"Can you hand me the phone, Mikasa?"

Mikasa moves her arm across Sasha and forces it in your direction. You've clearly hit a nerve. You snatch the device from her. "Thanks."

You read the next opinion. "'I'm on the edge about Jean and Eren'."

This was the second message about Jean and you couldn't help but be concerned. You would need to have a one on one conversation with him to make sure his intentions are right.

You weren't too surprised about the comment about Eren. However, You wanted to talk to him too.

"Well, Mikasa, it was nice seeing you. I'm sure you had a lot of fun last night. Get some more rest while Sasha and I go out. Alright?" you finally say.

Mikasa doesn't meet your eye.

(pick your fit!)

You hoped that this date would clear your mind and even give you some people to eliminate. You were excited about this date. You were going skating. It'd be more interactive and you wouldn't have to rely on subtle messages.

You and Sasha entered the same room where you met your previous dates. Today, you had Onyankopon, Armin, Nicolo, and Porco.

To your surprise, the energy in the room seemed off too. "Hi, y/n!" Onyankopon said cheerfully. There was a shaky feeling in his voice. Almost like he was nervous. Onyankopon was never nervous around you. He could easily walk up to you and you would converse for hours.

"Hey guys," you soon reply. Armin doesn't seem interested at all, Nicolo looks like he's in space, and Porco has an angry look in his eyes and can barely meet yours.

Suddenly, you don't even want to go on this date.

"Hey, what's going on? Why are you guys so...gloomy?" you ask. Porco finally looks up. "You know what's wrong? We're competing for a whore."

You felt like someone had just pulled your lungs on your chest. Did he just call you a whore?

"Hey!" Onyankopon barked. "You don't call her that!" You were taken back by Onyankopon coming to your defense. You had never seen him like this.

"Honestly, I'm so disappointed. I can't believe I have to go on a date with you guys! You're so ignorant. Armin, honestly, I can't believe you. You don't even want y/n. You're here to pay your bills off. And Nicolo? Why are you even here? We don't even see you around. And Porco, I don't even have to say anything to you. I think we all know what type of person you are."

The room remained silent for a moment. Your eyes began to water. You were overwhelmed. "I-I'm sorry. I need to step out." You turn on your foot and ignore Sasha's pleas to come back.

It was only the second week and there was so much going on. You understood that drama was key but this was too damn much.

"Oof-."

"Oh! I'm sorry- are you crying?"

You had bumped into someone. When you see who it is, your eyes widen. "Eren...what...no." You place your hands on your cheeks. You were crying. "Aren't you supposed to be on a date? Who made you cry?" Eren's tone became more hostile. You never thought you'd see him like this. "Eren, don't worry about it. I'm fine," you reassure him. Before Eren can open his mouth, you walk around him. You really wanted to find Levi. You knew who you wanted to eliminate.

Today's elimination was different. You were doing this out of anger. Eliminations were being held outside, where a limo was waiting to pick the next three guys up. You were also running elimination. Levi was just tap dancing in the back because yay drama.

"I'm so disappointed," you start. Only a few of the guys could make eye contact with you. "First, I wake up suspecting that one of you is in love with one of my friends.

Eren squirms slightly.

"And two guys aren't even interested in me. One of them is here to 'pay their bills' and the other is doing god knows what.

You look at Porco.

"Finally, I learn that I'm a whore apparently. Thank you, Porco, I'm so glad that you said what you said. You made eliminations very easy. We didn't even have to go on a date. Get your stuff and get out. The same goes for you too, Armin and Nicolo."

The boys don't even turn their heads to look at the three mentioned. Armin, Nicolo, and Porco go inside to grab their stuff. They don't look at anyone either.

"Don't even ask me about the roses. None of y'all are getting anything. None of you are getting the last laugh. Do better," you say before following your recently eliminated inside.

(SPACER I MET THE LIMIT)

CONFESSTIONALS

connie: i had such a great time with y/n. it's such a shame that a few of us pissed her off today.

bertholdt: i regret kissing y/n now. there's nothing wrong with her but see how much drama a kiss caused? i don't even know how connie found out.

armin: i do have my regrets. i didn't know that y/n was going to get that mad.

nicolo: no comment.

porco: oh no, stay out of my business. i'm not answering any questions.

(SPACER)

yeah, that was a lot. anyways, here's the elimination link. i’ll see y'all when I see y'all :)

#bertholdt x reader #jean kirstein x reader #aot x black! reader #black!reader #reiner x reader #bertholdt x black!reader #eren x reader #porco x reader #onyankopon x reader #armin arlert x reader #nicolo x reader

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ghostofstudentspast · 4 years

Text

Hide and Seek

#5 “Yes I’m bitter, it’s part of my charm.”

Draco x Reader

Another one for @nebulablakemurphy ‘s 500 celebration!!

This was going to be longer but I don’t have access to my laptop for the next two weeks and wanted to post this 😅

“Draco please,” you begged for the millionth time that day, “you know Pansy won’t go to Hogsmeade when it’s snowing, and I don’t want to go alone.”

“Hogsmeade is for kids Y/N,” the boy sitting next to you on the dining bench rolled his eyes and continued eating his breakfast and ignoring you.

“We are kids you prat,” you elbowed him in the ribs ever so lightly.

You’d been friends with Draco Malfoy for as long as you could remember. Your families had always been close, as pureblood circles usually are. Together you had played hours of hide and seek in the manor gardens before Hogwarts. When it was finally time for the two of you to head to school, you had nervously clung onto Draco’s hand for the entire sorting ceremony, all the way until they called your name.

It was lucky you’d been sorted into Slytherin, most of the people you knew were sorted there and Draco was no different. He wasn’t your best friend, but he was your oldest friend. This was exactly the reason why you could never in a million years tell him outright that you were hopelessly in love with him.

“Fine, if you stop whining I’ll take you,” the blond boy muttered without looking up from the book he had folded open on the table.

“I knew you’d come around,” You grinned and returned to your breakfast.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he teased and lightly kicked your foot under the table with a smirk, never taking his eyes off the pages in front of him. You nearly choked on your toast but managed to hide it with a cough.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to be affectionate towards each other. A hug, an arm around your shoulders, one of you messing with the other’s hair, it still caught you by surprise every time.

Like now, Draco had one arm slung over your shoulders as the two of you walked through light snow to get to Hogsmeade. Even through layers of sweaters and gloves, you swore you could feel the heat radiating off his arm. With the tiny snowflakes sticking to your hair and robes, it was comforting.

“You should really come stay at the mansion for a few days over Christmas break,” Draco squeezed your shoulder with a small smile, “Mum hasn’t stopped talking about you since…well since forever now that I think about it,” he let out a short laugh.

“We’re already coming down for the yearly ball Draco, I can’t just live at your house,” You laughed and shook your head. Narcissa doted on you like you were her own child and Draco never stopped making fun of you for it. He always swore she loved you more than him.

“Yeah but I never get enough of you,” he smirked as your cheeks darkened to a terrible red. At least you could blame it on the chill, usually it was painfully obvious. Sometimes you forgot how flirty your friend could be, and how much it actually affected you.

“I’m sure if you beg hard enough I can find some time,” you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning like a fool every time Draco cast a glance at you.

“Speaking of begging,” he stopped walking, people milling about you, making their way into the small town a few streets down. “I know you really don’t want to and you hate doing me favours but would you be my date for the ball this year?”

The Malfoy Christmas ball, an annual tradition beloved by all Pureblood families. It was a chance for everyone to get together, catch up and let loose a little. You loved those parties, it was a chance to see all of your childhood friends and dressing up was always a guilty pleasure. As a kid, you’d mostly spent the night running through the manor or stuck to your mother skirts. No one expected you to really behave as a kid but after the age of sixteen, everyone’s parents pressured them to bring a date and act ‘adult’. It was just how it had always been done, and even though you were aware how old and stiff Pureblood traditions really were, you couldn’t exactly say no.

Normally Draco was quick to get a date, he was handsome and smart, and no intelligent Pureblood would turn down a Malfoy. You however, were a little less enthusiastic about the prospect of dragging a random boy along with you all night. Nevertheless, you did (ditching them as soon as your parents had a glass of wine in them).

“Dray you know I would but…I’ve already said I’d go with Theo.” Your mouth tilted into an apologetic smile as you shrugged. Your heart was pounding in your chest, the one-time Draco asked you to go, even just as friends, and you already had a date…Fuck.

“You’re taking Nott? Seriously?” Draco scoffed, giving you a look of disgust.

“What’s wrong with Theo? He’s a nice guy!” You crossed your arms defensively. Draco was never a fan of your dates, he was just protective over you, but it still got on your nerves.

“Yeah he’s nice to you because he wants to get under your skirt,” he sneered and rolled his eyes.

“Oh my god, you’re so bitter!” You said, throwing your hands up in frustration.

“Yes, I’m bitter, it’s part of my charm,” he sighed accepting defeat, “come on.” He grabbed your hand and steered you into Hogsmeade again hoping to get out of there faster, so he could wallow in self-pity.

“You call it charm, I call it having your head up your ass.” You shake your head but let him drag you along anyway. “Listen if it makes you feel better I’ll help find you a date alright? I already know who’s going with who, the girls won’t shut up about it.” You chuckled to yourself at the thought of your dormmates and their late-night gossip sessions.

“Alright fine, but you better not stick me with Bulstrode,” Draco’s tone was snippy, but you knew he wasn’t really annoyed. He only wants to go with you as a favour, not a real date, you couldn’t help but think.

Finding Draco a date was easy. You had barely mentioned it to your dormmates in passing before Daphne had practically pushed her younger sister forward like a sacrificial lamb. Astoria was a shy girl, only a year younger than you. It was her first year taking a date and the poor girl had been wrecked with nerves, so Daphne had been on the lookout in her stead.

The worst part was, Astoria was gorgeous. She was this petite girl with gorgeous long dark hair and the clearest skin you’d ever seen on a teenager. It was awful. Not that you were jealous of course, you just knew she was more Draco’s type than you would ever be.

But with your mum’s help you had been primped into the elegant daughter of a Pureblood family. It really was a once a year occasion. Your dress robes were fitted perfectly to your size and your hair had been curled perfectly by expertly performed magic. Not yours of course, your mum’s.

With a soft pop your family apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. Theo was waiting for you there and gave you a big grin and a wave when he saw you appear. You waved back and met him halfway to the large iron gates barring entrance to the mansion itself. You parents left you with your date and continued up the walkway.

“Hey Y/N,” Theo smiled and roped you in for a hug, “you look really nice!”

“Thanks, you too,” You picked at your dress robes and tucked a bit of hair back into place. Theo was in most of your classes and you were always happy to buddy up with him for projects. He wasn’t exactly the smartest, but you had a lot of fun together and you didn’t mind doing most of the work anyway.

Theo was dressed elegantly in basic black dress robes, he was never one for extravagance and you kind of respected that about him. Taking his arm you made your way through the manor, knowing exactly where to find the huge ballroom it housed. Draco often complained about the house because it felt so gloomy and empty sometimes with only the three of them living there. However, with music pouring through the halls and people laughing and talking over each other it felt very much alive and warm.

The pair of you were careful to avoid the dance floor and make your rounds among old family friends. A friendly chat here, an ‘I haven’t seen you since you were this small’ there and introducing your date to family members. It was a formal start to the night but it was always better to get it over with before the adults had too many glasses of fire whiskey in them.

Draco hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you since the moment you stepped foot in the ballroom. You were all smiles and laughter as you walked around talking to Theo. His own date had been trying to get him on the dancefloor for the past twenty minutes but Draco refused to let you out of his sight for a whole song.

You looked stunning. To Draco you always did, but sometimes he forgot how much you affected him. He watched Theo whisper something in your ear and you responded by throwing your head back and letting out an obnoxiously loud laugh. Draco thought it was the most amazing sound in the world. Though, he was less pleased by the thought of someone else making you laugh like that.

“Do you think someone put a hex on him when he was younger, so he’d permanently look constipated?” Theo whispered in your ear as the both of you watched Professor Snape sneer at the people on the dance floor.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter as you watched your teacher grimace when someone tried to speak to him. You knew he was close with the Malfoys, but you always wondered why he actually showed up to these things. It was however a great source of entertainment for the evening.

“Nott good to see you,” The blond appeared out of thin air in front of you.

Subconsciously you held your breath as you cast a lingering look over his appearance. Black robes with a dark green lining, hair perfectly gelled back showing off his aristocratic bone structure. You swore you were melting into a puddle in front of his eyes.

“Cat got your tongue Y/L/N?” You hadn’t even noticed him speaking to you. You drew your eyes back up to his and a mischievous smirk rested on his lips as he repeated, “Dance with me.”

“That’s not a question,” you jab Draco’s side but take his outstretched hand anyway. “see you in a bit Theo?” You smiled at him as he nodded and shooed you away with a wink.

“You know I like you in green but if you were going to match me you should’ve just come as my date,” Draco smirked and pulled you closer to him. His hand slid easily to your waist as you rested yours on his shoulder.

“Oh, shut up,” you rolled your eyes with a smile on your face, “you don’t own the colour green.”

“I’m glad I don’t because you’ll always look more stunning in it than I ever could,” he leaned in to murmur in your ear, his hand squeezing your hip ever so lightly. If he hadn’t been holding you, you were convinced your legs would have simply given out under you.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you responded shakily. His slate grey eyes bored into yours and he almost looked like he was searching for the answer to an unspoken question.

“Draco!” a female voice called from a few meters away and the boy in question closed his eyes and groaned.

“If we run now, do you think she’d find me?” he whispered dramatically. The girl stalking towards them was in fact his date.

“Wanna find out?” You whispered back with a cheeky grin and grabbed his hand before pulling him towards the large double doors of the ballroom.

The two of you ran through the hallways of the manor side by side, robes whipping about you and footsteps echoing behind you. The two of you were laughing your heads off by the time you had escaped the house into the gorgeous gardens. Together you ventured farther into the garden, a light frost covering the grass and plants surrounding you.

“Draco?” This time the woman calling out your companion’s name was unmistakeably Narcissa Malfoy. She did not sound pleased at her son’s antics at all.

Draco’s hand found yours again and he pulled you along with him behind a nearby tree. You opened your mouth to complain before he covered it with his hand and shook his head. You could hear Narcissa retreating back into the house, but Draco didn’t move. Instead his fingers lightly touched your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

He was so close you could smell his cologne, it was earthy and warm, and you were back to being in danger of melting. You were nearly chest to chest and his body caged you in against the tree. You felt your breath hitch as his eyes left yours to look at your lips. His cheeks had a light pink flush to them as he swallowed and licked his lips.

“We should really go back.” He said softly without conviction. “I’m sure Theo will be wondering where his date ran off to.” He teased with a quiet laugh.

“Draco?” you said softly and he hummed in response, “shut up.” You breathed and pulled him in by the collar of his dress shirt.

You kissed him with everything you had. It wasn’t slow or tender, it was fiery and passionate just like the both of you. You kissed him for the first time like it could be the last. He kissed back with everything he’d been holding in for years.

He melted into your touch and pressed you against the tree trunk with his body. The bark dug into your back but you could only pay attention to how soft his lips were and how he was a really good kisser. His hands roamed from your waist to your rib cage to your hair as he feverishly kissed you.

He reluctantly pulled back for air and searched your face in the moonlight. The cold air doing nothing to cool down the heat in your cheeks. Draco’s eyes were wide and for the first time in your life he looked unsure of himself. You looked at him in that moment with all the love in the world and couldn’t help but smile. His face was just as flushed as yours and his perfect hair fell into his eyes from you running your fingers through it.

He leaned in to kiss you again but this time softly, so gentle as if he was afraid your break under his touch. As if he wasn’t sure you were real at all. He kissed your nose, peppered little kisses along your jaw and kissed every inch of your face. He leaned his forehead against yours, noses bumping gently.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he sighed, eyes closed. You could hear the smile in his voice and your heart fluttered.

“I can guess,” you giggled lightly and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“I am so incredibly in love with you,” his voice was barely above a whisper and held all of the emotion you couldn’t see on his face.

“I love you Draco, I always have,” you smiled brilliantly and kissed him again, never wanting to leave the hidden spot you had found for yourselves.

“Time to face my mum now I suppose?” He grimaced and buried his face in your neck with a sigh.

“Together,” you chuckled and grabbed his hand, placing a light kiss on his golden hair, “at least you already know your mother loves me.”

#harry potter #hogwarts #draco imagine #draco x you #draco malfoy #slytherin #hogwarts au #harry potter imagine #writing #hp fanfic #hp fandom #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #theo nott #astoria greengrass #christinas500celebration

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rawritzrobin · 3 years

Text

Glitter and Crimson

Title: Glitter and Crimson Chapter 2

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stella Covington (My OC)

Warnings: Cursing, past major character death, a little bit angsty, fluff.

Summary: The team regroup back in the Batcave. Back home, Stella and Jason have a rough night.

Sequel to Angel Amongst Bats

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Trouble in Paradise

Jason groans, taking off his mask and throws it on the large steel table.

“Rough night?” Tim asked sarcastically.

Jason turned around to glare at him, but Tim wasn’t looking at him. He was busy typing away the computer. Jason turned around and huffed, crossing his arms in anger. At the moment he looked like a giant man child.

Jason looked around the cave. Though his relationship with Bruce had gotten better over the years, they still weren’t that close. He hadn’t been back in the Batcave since Stella left. The caved remained the same.

Cold, dark, and gloomy.

A quiet groan came from the medical table next to Tim. Jason turned his attention to Dick, who was waking up from whatever Giggles had thrown at him. Dick sat up and place a hand on his head. He let out an annoyed sigh.

“Every single time she catches me by surprise. You would think I would know by now?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Thats the reason I wear a mask over my face. You think this is for looks?” He said waving his red mask in the air.

Dick shruged, and stepped off the medical table.

Tim ignored their banter. He was too busy looking for where Jester and Giggles might have gone.

“Any luck?” Dick asked from behind.

Tim shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m running a scan of particles in the air. Hopefully that will tell us exactly what type of portal they used.”

“It was a boom tube.” A voice said from the entrance of the cave.

Everyone turned to look at the figure standing next to Bruce.

Zatanna Zatara grinned and winked at the boys in the cave. She drew her wand, and in an instant, disappeared from Bruces side and appeared next to Tim and Dick. Tim brought his attention back to the screen, typing away furiously.

Bruce and Damian walked down to join her. Jason stayed in his spot a few feet away from them. He tried not to make eye contact with Zatanna. His place in the hero universe was still a little unknown.

Zatanna pulls out a USB from her coat pocket.

“May I?” She asks Tim.

Tim pulls back and gestures to the computer. She plugs the usb in, and multiple screens pop up.

“We had a run in with Mirror Master a few weeks back. He managed to get the upper hand on Barry, and stole one of his boom tube devices. We were wondering why someone like him would even need a boom tube, but our questions were answered when we traced a portal to Gotham tonight.”

Zatanna pulls up a video of the warehouse fight. This grabs Jason’s attention.

They watch as Dick appears on the footage, only to be knocked out by something falling from the sky in a puff of smoke. They fast forward to the part where Jason show’s up, and the portal is already open behind Jester and Giggles.

“Looks like Jester has made some friends.” Tim says.

Zatanna’s frowns. “According to my spells, they went to Earth 17-b.”

Tim tenses.

“No.” He says grimly.

“Whats in Earth 17-b?”

Tim turns to face Jason, his face full of worry. “That’s Stella’s world.”

Jason stands up. Zatanna, turns to look at him and takes a semi-defensive stance.

“Are you sure?”

Tim nods sullenly. “Positive. We write each other every week.”

Jason tenses. Why would that psychopath go there? Hasn’t he ruined her life enough? What was his plan? A million things ran through his mind. But he knew what his next course of action was.

“Send me there. I’ll take care of him.”

Tim shakes his head. “Jason there is no way we are sending you there alone. You don’t know anything about that world.”

“I know that monster is there. I know he is there to mess with Stella. I know I have to be there to warn and protect her.”

Tim stays silent. Jason ignores the many gazes in the room, and moves to put on his armor and mask. He walks up to Tim.

“Open a portal. I’m going. And if you won’t do it I know a certain someone who will send me there.”

“I’m in.”

Jason’s head snapped up.

Dick walked up to Jason and put a hand on his shoulder.

“If Stella’s in danger, I want in. Plus, I wouldn’t mind seeing that worlds Nightwing again. He’s a great guy.”

Jason did not argue. He merely nodded.

“If you guys are going I want in.” Tim turned his wheelchair to face them. “And before you say anything, I am capable of taking care of myself.”

The others merely looked down at him, unsure about Tim’s decision.

“I’m going. You’re not the only one with friends who have boom tubes.”

Jason and Dick exchanged glances. Jason shrugs. “Sure. Why not?”

Dick was a little bit hesitant, but nodded and agreed.

Zatanna let out a small sigh and shrugged. “Okay, whatever you guys want.”

She brought out a remote from her jacket. How that thing fit in such a small jacket was beyond Jason’s comprehension. She punches in a few codes and a yellow portal opens up in front of them.

They all step forward, but Dick stops them mid step.

“Wait. Shouldn’t we come up with a plan of some sort before we jump into another world?”

Jason pushes his arm down. “Jester is in Stella’s world. She’s in danger. We don’t have time for a plan.” He steps through the portal first.

“We’ll plan as we go.” Tim said, eager to see Stella once again. He rolled his wheelchair into the portal after Jason.

Dick looked at Zatanna, who had a disapproving look on her face, then at Batman, who unsurprisingly had on a stoic expression. Dick couldn’t tell what he thought about their plan. Dick merely sighed and stepped through the portal, deep down hoping that nothing goes wrong.

————————

Stella blinked and looked around the room she was in. It was familiar, but not in a good way. She wriggles her hands and realizes she is in chains. Her eyes widen in panic as she takes in the room she was in.

“No.” She quietly whispers. “It can’t be.” She escaped. Jason came and took her home. There was no way.

“Oh but it can my little birdie.” A voice came from the shadows.

Stella quickly turns her head in the direction of the voice. A dark figure steps out from the shadows. With two steps forward, the figure moves into the light. Stella struggles against the chains as she quickly realizes who the figure in the room was.

In an instant, he was in front of her face. He grinned widely and laughed a menacingly wild laugh. Tears started to flow down her cheeks.

“I’m back.” He says in a teasing tone.

Stella opens her eyes and gasps. She quickly sits up and runs her fingers through her hair. She places on hand over her heart and tries to regulate her breathing. She clenches her eyes shut and tries to relax when she realizes it was all just a dream.

“Doll?”

She opens her eyes to see a concerned looking Jason standing next to the bed. He was shirtless and still had on his Red Hood pants. The bathroom light was on and he was holding a fresh pair of boxers. It was clear the had just come home from patrol.

Jason sits on the bed and goes into protective mode once he notices the fear in Stella’s eyes. He wraps his arms around her and she buries her face in the crook of his neck. Stella focuses on her breathing.

1. 2. In and out. 1. 2. In and out. Don’t cry. It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. Don’t cry.

Jason rubs soothing circles into her back. He gently rocks her back and forth while whispering soothing words into her hair.

“It’s okay princess. It was just a dream. I’m here.”

Stella clenches her eyes shut once more and repeats her own words of comfort in her mind.

Jason let out a sad sigh. Their roles were reversed. Stella was usually the one who comforted him after he had a bad dream. But more often than not in recent days, it was him comforting her.

It was always the same nightmare. Stella outright screamed the first time she had it. It scared the living daylight out of Jason that night. He nearly shot his gun into the dark, thinking there was an intruder in the room.

The interaction Stella had with Jester had really messed with her psyche. She would have reoccurring nightmares about the night he kidnapped her. It took a few months for the physical injuries to heal. There were no real physical scars from that night.

But the mental scars? Those would probably never go away.

Some nights she would wake up shaking. The worse nights were when Stella woke up before Jason was home from patrol. On those nights, Jason would come home to Stella in tears or in the middle of a panic attack.

Those nights were the worst.

Jason felt so useless. He hated feeling vulnerable. He could tackle anything thrown at him in the physical world.

But the mind was something else.

Once he felt Stella’s breathing calm down, Jason pulled away to look down at her. The fear in her eyes changed to relief as their eyes met. He smiled softly at her.

“Nightmare?”

She nodded lightly and pressed her face into his shoulders once again. She took a deep breath and took in his scent. He smelled like sweat and cigarettes. Jason never smoked in the same room as her. In fact, he was halfway through quitting. He usually just had one on particularly stressful nights.

Tonight was one of those nights, for both of them.

“Sorry. It’s the hormones.” She mumbled against his skin.

Stella pulls away and looks down at her protruding belly. Jason’s eyes followed her gaze as he brought his hand up to gently rub her stomach.

Stella was 4 months pregnant.

It came as a major surprise. She had always thought about starting a family, especially with Jason. But at that point in time, they had only briefly talked about it. Jason’s vigilante life wasn’t exactly the safest and Stella wasn’t planning on having kids this early on in her life.

She panicked at first. After a week of throwing up, Stella went to a doctor thinking she had a bad case of food poisoning. Imagine her surprise when the doctor confirmed that she was indeed pregnant. Her first stop after the doctors office was straight into the arms of Alfred. He was the first person she had told. He was ecstatic, which made Stella feel a little less nervous about the whole thing. She was worried Jason wouldn’t want it. She spent the whole night freaking out next to Alfred. But the look on Jason’s face when she told him changed both their minds.

When Stella told Jason the news, he hugged her so hard she had to push him off her.

“Jay. You’re cutting off air to the baby.”

The baby.

Those two words rocked Jasons world, in the best way possible. He had always wanted to be a father one day, especially with Stella. He had a grin on his face the entire month after she told him. The whole family thought there was something wrong with him. They even confronted Stella about Jason being on some sort of upper drug. When they all found out, they couldn’t be happier.

A baby on the way brought on a source of normalcy. A spark of hope that each and every one of the bat crew had a chance at a family. That night, Dick bought 20 pairs of onesies, a stroller, and a carseat. Stella laughed when he showed up at their doorstep with an arm full of baby supplies.

Surprisingly, Bruce was super supportive. He had always wanted his kids to have a normal life outside of Batman. This was Jason’s chance to get away from it all. His chance to give his Jason a normal life, something Bruce could never give him.

Bruce offered to buy them a house the next day. Stella outright refused at first. It wasn’t like her and Jason weren’t making a decent living. Keep in mind the Covington estate rivaled the Wayne empire. It took a lot of begging and persuasion, but eventually Jason and Stella relented. They would be looking at homes with Bruce’s real estate agent next Friday. Jason wasn’t quite ready to give up their cushy, heavily secured apartment just yet.

The pregnancy started off okay. Stella’s case of morning sickness were bad some days, but most days she felt fine.

The cravings were real. Stella always had to have some sort of bread and butter at all times. It was so strange. One time, she sent Jason down the street to pick up Pop Tarts after patrol because the baby really wanted Pop Tarts. So at 4am, the Red Hood went to a 7-11 to buy a box of chocolate sundae Pop Tarts. The look on the cashiers face was priceless.

Things were going well.

At first.

It wasn’t until her second trimester, the nightmares began.

They stared off small. The usual nightmares your average Joe would have. Showing up late to a big meeting with investors wearing nothing but her underwear, a room full of spiders that wouldn’t die, teeth falling out, etc.

But the ones involving Jester were always the worst.

Stella sighed and looked up at Jason. His hair was slicked with sweat and she noticed a newly stitched up wound on his right bicep. She quickly looked for more wounds, but luckily it seemed like he only had one tonight. He continued to look down at her, his eyes still full of concern.

“Sorry Jay. I’m okay now. Go shower yeah?” She said, smiling lightly.

“Are you sure? The shower can wait until you’re asleep.”

Stella shook her head. “No way. Go shower before your dirty sweat gets into that wound and it gets infected. Besides, you stink.” She said with a laugh gently pushing him away.

Jason rolled his eyes and placed a kiss on her head. “I’ll be quick. Do you need anything?”

She shook her head again. “I’m okay.”

He looked at her sadly. He noticed the hesitation in her words. The sleepless nights were slowly starting to get to her. He knew how it felt to be afraid of falling asleep. But he didn’t want to pry and start something that would take more sleep from her tonight.

Jason helped tuck her in before placing a kiss onto her lips. Stella’s eyes were already starting to close from exhaustion. It was the third night in a row she woke up from a nightmare. She was exhausted.

“I’ll be right back.” He said with another kiss on her head. He grabbed the clothes he set aside, and moved quickly into the bathroom, keeping the door open incase something happened again.

Stella closed her eyes. She wanted to wait for Jason to come back before falling asleep, but sleep caught her before he was able to finish.

#Glitter and Crimson #Red Hood #Jason Todd #Jason Todd x OC #Nightwing #Batman #Sequel #Tim Drake #DCU #DC #I write things #fanfcition #Stella Covington #Jason Todd x original female character #AU #batfamily #batboys #red robin

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bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Note

Shiratorizawa team reaction to smol s/o who reserve most of the time, but will get violence and aggressive if anyone dares insult her height? ily

A/N: In this episode of, “Can you Spot the Slight Manga Spoiler??”

word count: 1411

warning: slight swearing in some!

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Seeing Takeuchi’s back disappear around the corner brought you a sense of comfort. Doing that was always tough for you, all the yelling and threats—but it wasn’t anything your experience with your insensitive brothers couldn’t handle.

Takeuchi got what she deserved and that was that.

“Y/N-san.”

You stiffened. Crap, you cursed, a small excess of your vulgarity stubbornly sticking in your head. Gone was the usual image he had of you, now replaced by your alter ego of hostility and deep-set rage. Considering that Wakatoshi was a popular figure at Shiratorizawa, he could do all sorts of things to you, exposing and disposing of you included in the fair share of privileges he had.

“Wakatoshi-kun! Sorry, I forgot you were there. It’s just that Takeuchi-kun was pushing my buttons so much that I had to…” your voice trailed off when he held up a hand that made your blood run cold.

“I understand it’s nice to see you express yourself more strongly once in a while, but I was just going to ask if you still want to visit that new cafe you had been talking about all week. So I can inform my mother about when I’m going to come home.”

You made it a point that day to never overestimate your boyfriend’s thought process ever again.

Tendō Satori

“‘I may be shorter than you, but I’m not below some freeloading shithead!’ That one was my favorite, hands down, Y/N-chan~”

“Satori, don’t tease!” you jibbed at Tendou, redness evident on your cheeks. “Mamiko-san forced me into a corner back there, I don’t actually enjoy saying those kinds of things. I know it’s not a ‘normal’ side to see from me…”

“Ah, for real?”

You stayed silent; what would be the right answer for someone who took so much gambles? Hands resting idly by the sides of your legs, you didn’t realize when your boyfriend had threaded his own lanky fingers between yours. Looking up at him made him crack a small smile as he leaned down to press a short peck to your temple.

“S-Satori!”

“All sides of you are cute, so don’t you worry ‘bout that, yeah?”

Semi Eita

You couldn’t believe you kissed your boyfriend with that potty mouth of yours. Curses and slander streamed from your lips like it was your mother tongue. In your defense, Ayumu had it coming. Contrary to that, you probably shouldn’t have gone overboard.

“I made her cry,” you murmured, burrowing your face into your hands, hoping it would disappear.

Taking his eyes off the assortment of drumheads in the music store display, Semi laughed. “Well, it was bound to happen. Ayumu’s always been a crybaby since preschool, remember? She really hated our guts ever since we were walking around in diapers.”

Your lips trembled at his retort. True, Ayumu had been everything you had called her a few moments ago. A moron, a brat, a self-absorbed bitch—

“But that doesn’t justify the fact that I should yell at her. Doing that doesn’t make me the bigger person.”

Chuckling to himself once more, Semi ruffled your hair softly. “Whatever you say then. But just so you know… you were pretty cool back there.”

Ohira Reon

Reon’s face fell faster than a skeleton chained to an anvil.

You’ve always been so reserved in front of him, so shy and dainty, barely letting out more than three words in public, maybe even a small giggle when you were feeling it. Otherwise, Reon had never seen you like this.

Passionate and seething in retort to the basketball club captain’s taunts. Kurosawa himself seemed to shrink in your presence despite having mocked you about it only seconds prior, face drained of all its color.

“Get out of my face, you impotent bastard! Next time you say it again, it’ll be more than a kick to your gut!”

For some “unknown” reason, Reon had a frantic urge in his stomach to run away too.

Goshiki Tsutomu

“Geez… that was actually super cool…” Goshiki strained, his face constricting into a painful look of admiration.

A blush graced your cheeks but you quickly brushed it off. “Really? I was just paying him back for making fun of my height.”

“Height is an important asset you have to protect. I’m glad that you did.”

“Yeah…”

Goshiki’s affection came in all sorts of shapes and sizes when it came to you. Relating it to volleyball was his favorite version. It wasn’t anything you wanted to complain about though, you were thankful enough he had the spare capacity to throw away his pride to build up yours.

Whenever you thought about it, your chest lightened. And this time, your heart soared.

Shirabu Kenjirō

“The cheek on you shitty fuckers! Say that again, right now. Say it! If you’re gonna talk shit about me at least do it in front of my face, you lame scumbags!”

The words flying out of your mouth was white noise in your ears, but you knew damn well those words didn’t fit well with your image. A yankii in a tiny high school student’s body seemed completely fictional—something to come across once in a while in one of your brothers’ shounen mangas.

“W-we’re sorry, L/N-san… We didn’t think y-you’d…” the squeak in Murakami’s apology made your chest swell.

“Didn’t think I’d what, huh? Wuzzat you said about my height?! ‘L/N-san’s such a short-stack’? ‘L/N-san’s probably a troll’? I’ll fucking curse you to death with my troll powers then!”

The two girls who had also been ridiculing you with Murakami behind the library’s History section whimpered, tears clumping up the mascara lining their thick lashes. “We’re sorry, L/N-san! Please don’t kill us!”

God, you shouldn’t be so happy to push two girls and a fully grown high school boy to the verge of tears but the satisfied feeling only grew on you. You weren’t the type to always stand up to yourself anyway; the thought made you wonder what your boyfriend would think about it.

“Kenken, did you see that! I took care of Murakami’s gang on my own!”

Looking up from his homework, he looked at you with earnest eyes. “That’s nice, Y/N-san. But if you’re going to curse someone, please refrain from doing it in the library.”

Kawanishi Taichi

Kawanishi swore, you changed moods faster than any of Shirabu’s quick sets. You were on fire just moments ago, pelting down thugs twice your size with only your words and a good, healthy portion of kicks in their guts.

Now, you looked so gloomy, even the clouds admitted defeat.

“I’m going to die, Taichi-kun. They’re going to come back with more of their friends and they’re going to beat me to death.”

“You’re not going to die, Y/N-chan.”

“Oh god, what if they cut me up into pieces and send my head to your doorstep? Taichi-kun, you’ve got to promise you won’t open your door any package soon, okay?”

“I’m sure they’ve got your message back there. You’re not going to die,” he tried again, bringing his hand to the small of your back to rub soothing circles through the cloth of your uniform. “I would’ve hated it even more if you didn’t stand up for yourself. Have more faith in that, Y/N-chan.”

For Kawanishi Taichi who seldom spoke more than two sentences in a conversation, he was willing to recite a million poems to make you realize everything you did was perfectly fine to him. And there was no better reward for that extra effort than the smile that adorned your face.

Yamagata Hayato

“That was really awesome, Y/N-chan! Can you do it again?” Yamagata sparkled at the way you threw off Suda’s insults.

“Y-yell at you? Is this one of your compulsions I should be worried about?” your face paled at his request.

Yamagata’s brows furrowed at your genuine concern. “Hey now! I complimented you, so don’t go about thinking I’m laughable or something.”

You fell quiet, lips pursed in a small pout. Should you be taking this so lightly? You knew Suda wasn’t going to stop even with the big rampage you did on him. But… looking at your boyfriend, ever so cheery and supportive, you felt like your heart had sprouted wings.

“Don’t think too much about him, Y/N-chan. You were really badass,” he threw you two thumbs-up.

“Thank you, Hayato.”

“So, are you going to pick up on my request after all?”

“No. Don’t even think about it.”

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exclipssesss · 4 years

Note

Ok so I love all of the Sanders Sides characters equally but that doesn't stop me from being overly protective with the Dark sides Namely Remus And it doesn't help when people make him even more adorable and baby! Anyway there's a version of Remus that's touch starved and I jUST WANT TO HUG HIM- So can I have a X reader (Platonic or romantic either is fine were Remus accidentally reveals he's touch starved and reader just grabs a blanket and cuddles him until he falls asleep??? PLEASE??thx!

I love this???? I don't even know about this hc wtf?? AAAA I LOVE THIS HC SO MUCH- and duh, who doesn't love Remus lmao.

~~~

Here For You.

Remus x Reader

;;Type: Angst(?), Fluff

;;Character(s) involved: The trash man himself.

;;

;;Warning(s): sad Remus :(, /bad/ words.

It's been a while since you and Thomas were friends, and seeing the sides was nothing more than an ordinary tuesday night. Well, that is until you met the rest of the 'dark' sides. And honestly? You never were to judge them so quickly. Even Virgil himself refers to them as the 'others', despite being the one who dislikes them the most, but there has to be a reason, right?

Anyways, you were trying to comfort all the sides after whatever just happened. With Janus suddenly getting accepted and Roman having a breakdown, not to mention Patton starting to doubt himself and Logan who's beginning to think he's replaced and/or unwanted, the mind palace is a mess.

But there is a certain side you haven't seen a lot today- which is kinda weird considering he's the loudest of them all, and it kinda worried you. With how the world turned upside down, the last thing you wanted was to see him suddenly turned gloomy-; so you looked for him, top or bottom, in and out. You made sure every place is checked. The mind palace- heck, Thomas' place in general is quiet. No bickering, no yelling, no songs, it's empty; almost unrecognizable. And with that you took a step further, going into his room.

Remus' room was awfully dark, not like what it's used to. He would always have weird creations or flashy super-gosh-darn-bright lights on to annoy whoever came into his room. So this is unusual. Without thinking, you turned on the lights, and in the corner of your eye you can see him at the edge of his bed, startled. He doesn't even seem to notice you're getting into his room, which is again; unusual.

He immediately fixed his posture when he realized you're in his room, grabbing the nearest notebook and a big spiky slimy pen, acting as if he was working on something the whole time. "Hello, (y/n)!" He said cheerily, summoning his normal gigantic creepy-esque smile he normally has. "Sneaking up on me in the dark eh? That's awfully dangerous of you~" He gave another smile, the type where you would roll your eyes on him. You brushed off whatever he just said, walking towards him in confusion.

"I haven't been seeing you anywhere, were you here the whole time?" You asked, raising a brow. He furrowed his own brows at the question, before shrugging both of his shoulders. "Why of course, why wouldn't i be?" He shot back, looking at you with another one of his quizzical looks. "I don't know, you were always the loudest of the bunch, so i assumed something's wrong when you didn't even make a peep."

He tensed, blinking a few times as if thinking of what he was supposed to say. When he looked back at you, it's almost he's choking out words just to make it seem real, funnily enough you see through his facade. "Awww did you miss me?" "That's it? No comebacks? Or rhetorical questions? This isn't like you Remus." You folded your arms, daring him to continue. He gulped a little, before somehow his emotions just.. Fell off. And he goes back to his notebook.

"I was writing down ideas for me to use, which just like Roman or how Creativity works in general, will need time and energy. So there's my reason, are you happy?" He said in a monotone voice. Avoiding your gaze and kept his stare to the stacks of papers in his hand, you didn't seem to believe him though.

"Who in the world writes ideas down in complete darkness?" You pushed again. Remus looked at you and gave an unamused look, raising an eyebrow of his towards both you and your question. "You do realize who you're talking to right?" He answered, or well, asked. "Yeah, but this isn't... You." words came out of your mouth like lava as you tried forcing it out. Remus thankfully noticed this, he puts down his little book and moved towards you, sighing as he finally gives you his full attention.

"Really? Tell me, (y/n), what am i like?"

"I don't know... You were always loud, all over the place, dare i say cheerful. Seeing you like this just doesn't spell 'Remus' to me."

He gave a little sigh again, before chuckling. But then that chuckle turns to giggles, that turns into laughs. You don't know exactly what he's laughing about, so you tried asking him about it.

"What's so funny?"

"Everything! Absolutely everything is hilarious!" He breathed out in between his howling laughs, you were too afraid to ask further, afraid that.. That you pushed an unwanted button. "Oh gosh! I can't believe this!" His laughter ceased after some time, leaving you still stoned on your spot.

"You're so nice (y/n), too fucking nice actually." His hair is messy, way more than usual. He wipes a 'tear' away with his hand, breathing steadily as to not break into another laughing fit. "You're like, the only person who actually cares about me now!" He chuckled again, this time with a headshake to accompany it.

"Wha-? No! Of course not, Janus cares about you, don't he?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, whatever. I mean, he's 'accepted' by Thomas now, so i can't really expect anything from him." He shrugged oh so calmly as if thoughts like that doesn't even remotely hurt him anymore, but it hurted you. "What? So you're not even gonna admit that you're lonely? Or even bored?" You pressed him - although with a gentle voice, somehow feeling your own heart shatter at the thought of him being left alone. Not enough to make you cringe or summon a tear. But enough to make you clenched your heart if only he isn't with you.

"What? You're kidding me?" He snickered, looking at you almost amused by your answer. "Me? Lonely? Bored? Pfft-- Look, me wanting attention? HAH, that's normal! Me being desperately touch starved? Eh, i can work with it. But me being lonely-? And bored?! I can easily wreck Roman's day and that's enough for me to have a good laugh for about a week, not including the teasing and-"

"Wait a minute, you're touch starved..?" You asked slowly, looking at him. He was lost for a second before the flustered look finds itself on his face after a few flying moment. "W-what?! No! What are you talking about? Where did you even heard that? Of course not you silly billy!" he waved his hand at you, defensively, and looks away in an attempt to quietly curse himself.

You sighed. Feeling as if you were gonna giggle at his own dumbfounded reaction but in the same time just wanna cuddle and wrap yourself around him, which is kinda weird since you and Remus isn't /that/ close. Sure you guys laugh over immature things, and maybe mess around with Roman a little, but he isn't your go-to when something were to came up. But now? You just felt as if you were to comfort him...

Screw it.

And with that, you immediately made it your priority for Remus to feel appreciated, or well- wanted. You sprung up from your position and immediately grab the blanket he has which is trashed on the floor. Before using it however, you shook the blanket up and down to get rid of the dusts on it, and immediately pushed Remus down on his bed. You did the same thing to yourself and layed down beside him, covering both of you with the blanket and cuddling close to him.

Though Remus only watched, he watched you with an amused gaze. Small smiles turning to a giant grin as you making yourself close to him, and slowly after that he spoke up with his usually high pitched voice, didn't bother to move away from you. "Not what i expected, but great nonetheless!" His hand wrapped around your body dangerously and you can only give him a warning glare, he acted out as though he wasn't doing it intentionally but come on, hand perfectly landed on your ass? Yeah, no.

You moved his arm up, landing it on your waist. And even though he gave you a little whine, he slowly shuts up when you just kept him close, giving him a dose of affection to cure him from being touch starved. He didn't even say anything after that, not sure from the sleepiness or if he just doesn't want to ruin the moment, but the silence was definitely comforting. Your hand reached his messy hair, running through his locks to calm him even more, which in a way kinda worked. And in a count of minutes, he dozed off, small snores coming through him. You can feel yourself dozing off too, smiling at the sight of him being so relaxed in your touch. That's it until you discover something under your pillow.

Two deodorants tucked neatly under it, brand new and untouched. You knew he loves eating these stuff, as gross as that is, and yet you can only giggle at the thought of him having 'snacks' right under his pillows.

Well, he's definitely a dork.

And the good kind.

#Remus x reader #Sanders sides x reader #Sanders sides #X readers #Remus Sanders #Fluff #Im so sorry this took so long xhdbjxjdj #I was procrastinating v er y hard 👉👈#Thank god its done doe #Anon #Ask

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scxrlettwxtches · 5 years

Text

worn out jackets pt.2 | hwang hyunjin

Genre: badboy!hyunjin x class president!reader, fluff, angst

Warnings: violence!

Word Count: +10.0k

Description: Hwang Hyunjin and you were now what were considered to be very good friends, but that doesn’t mean your relationship was a smooth sailing as the two of you wanted. The fact that you’re head over heels in love with him also doesn’t help that much.

Author’s Note: hahahaha remember when i said this would be posted in like a week? i lied. im so so sorry this took literally a month to write and im still not totally satisfied with it, but i really hope everyone enjoys it!! as always, my ask box is open to rants and comments about my writing, since there are little plot lines that i didn’t have time to fit in. :)

Part 1

After that incident with his parents, Hwang Hyunjin walked you home. Whether he was trying to be a gentleman or just paying back the favor of you comforting him, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t say anything during the whole journey, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

It seemed your mother had stopped by the house that day, since the spare key was back where it was supposed to be: under the door mat. Hyunjin stood behind you silently as you opened the door, but it was a comfortable silence, not like the suffocating aura from before.

“Thanks for walking me home, Hyunjin,” you said softly, bowing politely. Hyunjin’s posture looked relaxed as he smiled gently, waving off your thanks. You waited for a second to see if he would say more, but he didn’t.

You shut the door, threw your backpack on the couch, and were well on the way to taking a nice long nap when you heard Hyunjin call out your name.

“Hey, Y/N?” Startled, you moved back to the entrance, your hand on the doorknob when Hyunjin spoke again, “D-don’t open the door.”

Frowning, you obeyed and waited for whatever he was going to do or say.

“I’m too much of a coward to say it to your face,” his voice was muffled by the object between the two of you, “but from the bottom of my heart, thank you for everything that you do for me.”

By the time you had snapped yourself out of whatever trance you had fallen in (because The Hwang Hyunjin was thanking you what the fuck—) and flung open the door, the boy was already gone. With the street empty and gloomy, it was almost as if he was never there to begin with.

ii.

From that point on, the rest of the detentions with Hyunjin were actually quite pleasant experiences, if you had to admit. Despite still being infamously late to every one of his classes, he always seemed to arrive to the detention classroom before you did. He’d walk over to snatch a large stack of papers from your bag, and the two of you would work silently for the hour and a half. You never asked him to help you, but you couldn’t say no to the possibility of getting yourself some decent shut eye when you got home.

Neither of you said much during these detentions, though Hyunjin would occasionally walk over and tease you about how strict you were with your grading. In return, you’d chastise him for giving Minho passing grades when it was clear that he had failed, but would flunk Jisung just because (“he drank the rest of my apple juice without asking!”).

Just like that, Hyunjin’s week of detention ended, and so did your reason to spend time with him.

You couldn’t help but be a little disappointed about this. In a week, Hyunjin had broken past the tall, unyielding walls of your heart, and it scared you that he now had the most ideal opportunity to just walk out of your life, never to come back.

However, to your relief (and delight), Hyunjin stayed.

It wasn’t a dramatic change, at least not at school. Both of you still lived in completely different universes that never crossed, but it came in the form of a fresh bento box in your locker that you definitely didn’t make, or half of your work being magically graded and slipped into your backpack during lunch break. You weren’t sure how Hyunjin managed to figure out your locker combination to sneak in your lunch or steal some of your teacher’s paperwork, but you knew it was him.

Because of this, you decided to show that you were there for him too. Yours came in the form of class notes that you would slip in his bag when he wasn’t in the room, or the secret pieces of paper you’d slip in his locker to warn him about which teacher was close to giving him detention. True to your word, you had removed his detention from the school system (and maybe even a couple more).

It wasn’t the ideal friendship you wanted to have with him, but it was comforting to know that someone was watching over you.

Once out of school, however, Hyunjin was a totally different person, clinging to you like a koala to their favorite tree (you were the tree, sadly). After the detention week, he had never once failed to walk you home, always making sure you were safely inside before leaving.

Now, three months later, he was still waiting for you outside the school like he was every other day, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, eyes closed as he was lost in whatever music he was listening to through his earphones. With the winter sunset as a backdrop and the relaxed expression on his face, Hyunjin seriously looked even more handsome than normally did, and you didn’t even know how that was possible.

Pushing down your embarrassing thoughts, you quietly walked up to him and kicked his shin lightly. You honestly didn’t know how the “bad boy” Hyunjin persona was so ingrained in the school population when he would literally lose his shit if someone so much as tapped his shoulder without him knowing they were there.

“Y/N, what the fuck,” he groaned, bending down to rub his leg dramatically, “I wait for you until six o’clock to walk you home, and this is how you repay me?”

You raised your eyebrows in amusement, “Didn’t you say you had to model for the photography club after school, and that’s why it was only ‘convenient’ that we went home at the same time?”

Hyunjin blushed, “Yeah, of course. That’s what I meant, dummy,” he said defensively, and you wondered if he knew how adorable he looked with his cheeks puffed out in a frown.

“You’re the dummy,” flicking his forehead as he was still crouched down, you began walking to the school exit, “Photography club doesn’t even meet today.”

Imagining Hyunjin’s face with glee, you kept walking, knowing that the athletics god would catch up to you in no time. Whenever your Class President duties caused you to stay after school, Hyunjin always found a stupid excuse to stay after as well. To say they were stupid was an understatement, since he had reused the same one multiple times and had even once mentioned joining a club that didn’t even exist anymore. But you guess it was kinda cute, seeing how determined he was to walk with you even when it meant cutting into his personal time.

Hyunjin caught up to you with a brisk walk (which shows just how fast he was and how athletically incompetent you were), huffing. His cheeks still had a dash of pink on them as he complained, “Could you stop embarrassing me like that?”

“I’ll stop embarrassing you when you stop lying about having reasons to stay after school other than to walk with me.”

“Me? Walk you home?” Hyunjin’s face contorted into a mock horrified expression, “Preposterous.”

You couldn’t hold in your laugh this time, and you sent a weak punch to his shoulder. These were your favorite times with Hyunjin, the moments in life where neither of you had to worry about your status, your friends, your daily troubles. It was like nothing else mattered in these moments except you and Hyunjin.

As the two of you rounded to the school bus station, you felt two fingers gently graze against the back of your hand, sending electricity up your arm. It was these hints, these subtle actions that cause you to wonder if Hyunjin was actually trying to make a move. Yet, the thought would leave in less than a millisecond, because his fingers have never made it to the palm of your hand, much less to the point of lacing them together with yours.

“Why didn’t you say you were home alone yesterday?” he asked, leaning against a pole and silently offering you the only seat at the station.

“Okay, I’m one hundred percent convinced that you hired a spy to stalk me at this point,” you accused with no bite in your voice, “How in the world did you know that?”

“Jisung saw you walking to school this morning, and your mom always drops you off if she was home.”

“So, Jisung is your spy?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, with a strange amount of bite in his voice, “Like I would spend money to employ Jisung. I wouldn’t even accept his services if they were free.”

“Did something happen between you and Jisung again?”

Now that you were objectively friends with Hyunjin as well as Jisung, it didn’t take long for you to see the evident tension between the two. From what you’ve heard from both sides (and Jeongin, because Jeongin can get all the tea with his dimple smile and puppy eyes), it’s a lot better than before, but you couldn’t help but sense a sliver of agitation in Hyunjin’s voice whenever your conversations led to Jisung.

The boy turned away from you, staring at the pavement, “Not exactly,” he grumbled, and you decided not to push, since Hyunjin was the type to come to you if he needed your advice. It was clear that there was something, though, and you were thinking about how you could squeeze it out of either Jeongin or Jisung when the bus pulled up abruptly.

Seeing that it was already quite late for a school day, the bus was pretty empty, so Hyunjin and you got your pick of seating. As always, he offered you the window seat, apparently because “it’s farther away from the aisle where strange men could bother you.” It was a pretty valid reason, you had to admit, and you slipped into the seat without much protest.

As the bus chugged on, passing multiple stops, you began to notice that Hyunjin’s normally excited eyes were dropping slightly, as if he were about to fall asleep. That’s weird, you thought, because Hyunjin did look a bit tired in his classes, too. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, you saw his head fall for a split second before he caught himself and stayed awake for a moment before falling back into an uncomfortable slumber.

Still, no matter how much he tossed and turned, he never seemed to lean to your direction. It was too obvious to be a coincidence and you wondered why it felt like Hyunjin was subconsciously trying to avoid falling asleep on you.

Gently, you tapped his thigh to get his attention, but not in a way that could wake him up abruptly. God knows that’s the worst thing you could do to a person.

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, and his eyes fluttered ever so slightly at your call, “if you want–um, if you want to lay your head on my shoulder, you can.”

If he were fully conscious, you were sure that he would’ve refused, making some stupid excuse while trying to hide the blush on his cheeks. It was always a mystery to you, why Hyunjin, who soaked up physical interaction like a sponge, would always seem to shy away from it whenever it came to you. Were you just so out of his radar that he doesn’t even want to give you the false hope?

But in that moment on the bus, Hyunjin was probably too sleepy and too delirious to think about your words carefully, because he accepted your offer by snuggling against you. Snuggling. You. He rubbed his head against your shoulder, his soft black hair tickling your face, and his arms snaked around yours, holding it tightly. You thanked your lucky stars that he was fast asleep, since your face was probably the shade of a ripe tomato.

As he slept on, you finally got an up close look at his face (not that you didn’t have the chances otherwise, you just always found yourself looking away whenever he got too close), and you frowned when you noticed a pallid yellow looking bruise on his left cheek, skillfully masked with makeup. You also take note of the scar under his eye, not covered with any foundation but still blending in with the rest of his complexion. You remember when he got that, about a month ago, because he had knocked on your door with a sheepish smile and a dark shades of purple mottling his face.

Naturally, you had freaked out, dragging him into the kitchen to nurse his wounds. You eventually learned that this wasn’t a one time occurrence, especially since he began showing up at your door on various days with some sort of bodily injury.

Hyunjin never told you where the bruises came from, except when he reassured you that they weren’t from his parents. It was no secret that bad boy Hwang Hyunjin got into fights, came to school with bruised knuckles and cuts on his cheeks, but now that you knew him, now that you knew Hwang Hyunjin wasn’t all just thorns and sharp edges, you worried for him.

In the back of your head, you wondered if the boy knew how much you cared, or if he even bothered to know at all.

The bus soon neared your stop, and you sadly had to break up what was quite a comfortable position for both of you. Shaking your shoulder lightly, and brushing the hair out of his face, you whispered, “Hyunjin, it’s time to get up.”

The boy groaned, rubbing his cheek against your shoulder stubbornly, but you began pulling away, “Idiot, we’re gonna miss our stop!”

“Okay, okay,” Hyunjin mumbled a reply, obviously still only half conscious, but awake enough to sit upright just as the bus pulled into the stop. A little worried that he might collapse, you kept a firm grip on his arm even as the two of you stepped onto the street. It wasn’t until you could feel him steadying himself that you let go.

The two of you walked in silence, falling into routine. The streets in your neighborhood were relatively empty like usual, which got a little unnerving when you had to walk home yourself. Even with Hyunjin walking home, you still found yourself on high alert whenever you heard a strange sound, or felt the chill of someone watching you.

“Oh my god,” Startled, you whipped around to glance at Hyunjin, who brought his hands up to cover his face in mortification, “I fell asleep on you, didn’t I?”

You nodded silently, trying to act more casual than you were actually feeling. The blush on Hyunjin’s face could be seen through his fingers as he visibly panicked, “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I would—“

Waving your hands frantically, you dismissed his worries, “It’s okay! I asked you first.”

Hyunjin’s eyes were curiously wide, “You did?”

You laughed off your embarrassment, nodding, “Yeah. It was pretty cute, to be honest,” you added as an afterthought.

(You didn’t know, but this was the moment Hyunjin began to think—began to hope—that maybe his feelings were being reciprocated. If you were at least half as in love with him as he was with you, he would be satisfied.)

As the house came into view, the embarrassment of the moment died down, and Hyunjin began to grow talkative again, “Are you home alone again?”

“For a little,” you said, staring at the pavement, “My mom’s coming home really early morning.”

When you unlocked the door, Hyunjin silently keeping watch of the street, you started hesitantly, “Do you want to come in and chill?”

This wasn’t the first time you’ve asked, and Hyunjin has hung out at your place multiple times. For a moment, you thought he would say yes; you could see it in his eyes and his body language that he wanted to stay.

“Nah, I can’t today,” Hyunjin said sadly, running a hand through his hair, “I’ve got work.”

You felt a sudden pang of annoyance (and hurt, because Hyunjin didn’t have to lie just so he didn’t have to spend time with you), “You and I both know you don’t have a job, Hyunjin,” you tried to keep the taste of bitterness out of your voice.

Despite your efforts to hide your growing disappointment, it was at moments like this where it was clear that Hyunjin could read you like an open book. Immediately, he moved towards you, his expression apologetic as his hands twitched, almost as if he was holding himself back from reaching for you.

“I really wish I could stay,” Hyunjin tried to look you in the eyes directly to convey his sincerity, “It’s just, Channie-hyung wants us to do this thing tonight, and I really can’t ditch this time.”

You shook your head, “It’s fine, really” you said, and you genuinely wanted to believe it was. It wasn’t your place to be clingy, you reminded yourself, and it certainly wasn’t your place to be disappointed that he wouldn’t stay with you.

Hyunjin could only stare forlornly as you entered the house, the air between you thick with a tension that hasn’t existed since you first started interacting. Before you closed the door, you managed a smile as you said, “Tell the boys I said hi.”

iii.

What a disaster.

The moment you shut the door on Hyunjin, you sank to the wood floor, your head in your hands as you sighed dejectedly. Three months. Three bloody months, and the two of you still faced the same problem as you did when you hated each other.

Why was it that when it came to Hwang Hyunjin, you were just unable to voice your true feelings?

It was easier for a while, when you had finally learned to look past his expensive clothes to see the vulnerable boy underneath. It was easier back then to be true to yourself, because the two of you shared a mutual understanding that made you close. You found a kindred spirit in a world full of lies and expectations, and he found someone who was willing to accept him for who he was.

Now, you found yourself just as flustered, as helpless as when you first met him, because in just three months, it was not an exaggeration to say that Hwang Hyunjin held your heart in his hands. It terrified you, because every time you spoke to him, it felt like every casual conversation, every brush of the hand, every giggle meant the world to you. And the worst part was that he probably didn’t even know.

Hwang Hyunjin made you speechless in the best way. He made you laugh in a way you didn’t even know you could. He made you forget about the unpaid bills, the upcoming exams, the college applications that had consumed every moment of your life. He freed you from your own anxiety, calling you late at night just so you wouldn’t be up alone studying. He helped you with everything that you had always thought you would have to bear alone, and that was only a portion of why he was so special to you.

Maybe, just maybe, you were ready to accept that you were in love with Hwang Hyunjin.

After what felt like an eternity, you pushed yourself off the floor, wiping some wetness off your cheeks. Not even a boy like Hyunjin was going to distract you from doing your work, and you got quickly lost in your house chores while blasting your “sad girl hours playlist.”

On top of your seemingly miserable love life, there were a lot of things that you worried about as a senior in high school. Your mom still worked three jobs, and after taking on extra hours for one of them, you barely ever see her any more. If you were being honest, you had been mulling over the idea of not applying for colleges and just going straight to work. After all, any university would cost a shit ton of money that you didn’t have.

People would be mad, you thought amusedly, if you made it known that you weren’t planning on applying to universities. Your teachers would be most furious, not because they actually care, but because their star student dropping out after high school would be absolutely scandalous for their reputation. Jisung would be mad too, because he knew how much you studied throughout high school and knew how much you wanted to graduate with a degree.

And Hyunjin—Hyunjin would probably offer to pay for your education if you so much as mentioned that you didn’t have the funds to attend a university, and that absolutely could not happen. You didn’t want his pity money, and you certainly didn’t want to feel that you were leeching off him.

As much as you wanted a diploma to hang in your house, you’d rather work right after high school than beg for money from anyone.

So, it really looked like you were going to be a post-high school dropout.

Awesome.

You slaved away over your housework until it was well past 10 pm, which was when you realized that it was a good idea to sit your ass down and eat some dinner. With some effort, you put together a gourmet meal of ramen and some leftover bulgogi, and were eating contently in the kitchen when your phone buzzed. You jumped at the sound, because it’s rare that anyone would be calling you at this hour.

Without even glancing at the caller ID, you picked up, knowing that it was probably your mom (or a panicked Jisung who forgot what the homework was), “Hello?”

“You picked up,” a familiar voice replied, sounding relieved. The line cracked slightly as your heart skipped.

“Hyunjin?” you asked, standing up already, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

There was a moment of silence, and you were literally one second away from dropping everything you had to run to Hyunjin’s house when he spoke again, “No, everything’s fine. Just—“

Hyunjin trailed off before speaking tiredly, “I just wanted to hear your voice, that’s all.”

“I’m flattered, I really am,” you said, blushing slightly even though he couldn’t see you, “But something tells me there’s more to the story. Where are you?”

“I’m—,” there was a strained groan, and you immediately grew alert, “I’m actually on your street. Do you think I could crash at your place for a bit?”

You were stunned for a moment, too shocked to say anything, and Hyunjin immediately accepted the rejection with a bitter chuckle, “Guess not.”

“No, no, no!” you said frantically, “I was just caught off guard. Of course you can stay. I’ll come let you in right now.”

“Wait,” Hyunjin spoke sternly as you walked to the door, “Don’t open the door until I knock on it. There’s some drunk people walking around here.”

“There’s always at least a couple drunk people on this street,” you said mildly, but did whatever Hyunjin asked of you anyway.

“I know,” he replied, “but I’m still allowed to worry.”

His voice sounded close, and you could very faintly hear his real voice through the door as you heard someone shuffling around before knocking lightly. You hung up the phone and took the deadbolt out of your entrance.

“Not that I don’t enjoy your company,” you started as you pulled open the door, “but what exactly warrants a visit at ten—oh my god, Hyunjin.”

Standing in your doorway was a sheepish looking Hwang Hyunjin, more bruised, battered, and bloodier than ever.

iv.

“I know I’ve looked better, but can you please stop staring at me like I’m turning into a llama?”

There was no time for small talk, at least for you. Without so much as an indication that you had heard him, you yanked him into the hallway by his jacket, shutting the door quickly behind you. Hyunjin yelped, but followed you obediently and without much resistance.

Shoving him unceremoniously into a chair around the dining table, you immediately began fussing around him, cupping his face in your hands to check for cuts on his face, running your hands through his hair gently to feel for bruises. You didn’t have any idea what you were thinking at the time, only that Hyunjin was hurt, Hyunjin is in pain, why is Hyunjin bleeding. Then, you attacked his leather jacket, taking it off rather roughly when you observed that he didn’t seem to be majorly injured. Your hands then dived for his white t-shirt before you regained an ounce of self control and held yourself back.

“Can you take your shirt off?” you tried to push away your embarrassment as you gestured to the white piece of clothing. Hyunjin had never been injured enough for you to have to do any work on his chest or abdomen, and now you were being faced with the alarming prospect of seeing Hyunjin with his shirt off for the first time.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, “You seemed well on your way to do it yourself just earlier,” he sounded rather amused, and your cheeks flushed bright pink.

“I’m not going to take your shirt off for you, Hwang Hyunjin,” you snapped, and turned away to grab some disinfectant wipes and bandages. You heard Hyunjin chuckle softly as he wriggled out of his t-shirt.

In any other occasion, you would’ve been flustered beyond belief, blushing and making a quick exit. As embarrassing as it was to admit, you had never been close with many boys, certainly not to the point where you’ve seen any of them up close without a shirt. And it wasn’t a surprise to see that Hyunjin was really fucking hot.

But that day, all you could see were the dark purple bruises mottling his body, the thin slashes that looked eerily like knife cuts. The embarrassment dissipated, and you could only stare in horror because why why why—

Hyunjin had grown silent as well, watching you carefully as you knelt down in front of him and began cleaning his wounds. He didn’t flinch when the antiseptic touched his open cuts, and you found your hands uncontrollably trembling as you dabbed as his wounds.

You could feel frustrated tears pooling in your eyes as all you could focus on were those injuries, those god forsaken injuries, and—

“Hey, hey,” you felt a large, gentle hand over yours as they stopped your movement, “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”

Blinking the tears away, your hands fell limp in his, and you wanted nothing more than to sink into Hyunjin’s embrace, “Why are you showing up like this again?” you whimpered, trying to keep your voice steady, “You were literally here last week and now it’s even worse—“

“Well, I never asked to get beat up,” Hyunjin snorted, and his indifference to his own health hurt you. Is he completely oblivious to the fact that every injury he suffers pains you too?

“Where are you even going to get this hurt every week?” you finally find it in you to ask, because you’ve had enough of Hyunjin showing up with wounds that you didn’t know how he got.

Hyunjin tensed, you felt his hand stiffen over yours, “I...can’t say,” he spoke slowly.

“Why not?” you asked, frustrated. You turned your hand over to lace your fingers into his, a gamble on your part, but Hyunjin reciprocated easily, holding your hand as if it was the only thing he wanted to do.

“I just can’t,” Hyunjin repeated tiredly, looking at your intertwined hands intently with an emotion in his gaze that you couldn’t read.

“Are you not allowed to tell me, or do you just not want to?”

Hyunjin groaned, a twinge of annoyance in his voice, “Why are you so caught up about where I was?”

His tone of voice set you off the wrong way, and you retracted your hands as you replied defensively, “Well, if you’re going to be bleeding out in my kitchen every week, don’t you think I have the right to know?”

Suddenly, the look in Hyunjin’s eyes changed. He was no longer the open, vulnerable Hyunjin you just saw a moment ago. The air around the two of you was electric with tension, and his expression grew ever so slightly colder as he asked quietly, “Am I not welcome here anymore?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hyunjin,” you replied simply. You will never reach a point in your life where you wouldn’t drop everything to help Hyunjin if he ever needed it, maybe because in your heart, you knew he’d do the same for you.

“You’re never unwelcome here,” you stated honestly, before gesturing to him and the pile of bloody wipes and bandages on the counter, “but this has to stop.”

From his posture and his expression, you could tell that Hyunjin was far from calming down as he scoffed, “And what exactly is this?”

He was deflecting, you knew it, but you weren’t so infatuated that you were going to let him walk all over you, especially since he was the one coming to you for help, “What I mean by this,” you hissed, “is you coming over with bruises and cuts that you can’t explain. It’s you showing up at ten in the night and expecting me silently patch you up without asking you questions. It’s you,” your voice cracked ever so slightly, “coming with injuries that just get worse by the week, and you still won’t tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Hyunjin stood up abruptly, his expression so icy that you could feel a strange chill just by looking at him, “You’re not my mother, so stop acting like one,” he snapped. Hyunjin seemed to regret his words the moment he said them, it was a flash of guilt in his eyes that was instantaneous and sharp, but he didn’t apologize, gritting his teeth as pride got the best of him.

“You’re right,” you heard yourself say, walking over to him slowly. Grabbing the set of bandages and antiseptic wipes, you shoved them into Hyunjin’s arms, “I’m not your mother. I thought I made that crystal clear the day I lied to her just to protect you.”

“That should be everything you need,” you give a quick glance at the materials in Hyunjin’s arms, “I’m not going to tell you to get out. There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry. You know where everything is, since you invite yourself over so much. But I’m done helping, at least until you start being truthful.”

Hyunjin’s eyes lost their intensity as he watched you swing your bag over your shoulder. Putting the bandages on the counter, he asked in confusion, “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“It’s ten in the evening,” Hyunjin retorted, moving to put on his leather jacket as well.

“That didn’t seem to stop you.”

“That’s totally different.”

You nodded sarcastically, “Of course, everything’s different for you.”

“Stop being difficult,” the boy sighed, as if he was tired of fighting with you, but that only infuriated you more, because why was he speaking like you were the one making things hard for him?

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair then,” you said humorlessly, pulling open the door to welcome the biting cold. It seemed like it was only then that Hyunjin realized that you were being serious about leaving, because his eyes grew wide as he stretched out his hand instinctively.

“Wait, Y/N—,” you slammed the door shut before Hyunjin could finish. You could hear him making his way towards you, walking as fast as he could down the hallway, so you ran.You sprinted down the street, turning corners by instinct to get as far away from Hyunjin as you could.

Congratulations, you told yourself as tears dripped down your face.

You just pushed away the only person you had ever desperately wanted in your life.

By the time you made it to Jisung’s house, you were probably bawling. He lived pretty close to you, which was actually the reason the two of you became friends in the first place. Unlike Hyunjin, Jisung wasn’t wealthy. He wasn’t even well off, and you knew his parents were often out late at night to work double shifts, just like your mom. So, there was a high possibility that Jisung was home alone.

You punched the doorbell with unnecessary ferocity, your arms crossed tightly to defend yourself from the cold. To your luck, Jisung was still awake, and you heard him shouting as the door unlocked.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?” He asked worriedly, pulling you into a quick hug, “It’s so late and—are you crying? What happened?”

Jisung dragged you into the house, sitting you down in the living room as he wrapped you in a thick blanket. His immediate kindness only made you more emotional, and you continued sobbing into your hands. Jisung had disappeared for a few minutes to return with a cup of hot tea, since you were freezing.

“Woah, woah, what’s going on?”

Gently, he pulled your hands away from your face. You must’ve looked like a mess, red-faced with tears all over, but Jisung didn’t mention anything, only crouching in front of you while gently comforting you.

“I fought with Hyunjin,” you said when you could finally breathe properly.

Jisung frowned, “Was Hyunjin at your place?”

You nodded, “He comes over every week whenever he’s all bruised up and hurt, a-and today I guess I was just really sick of him coming to me but he won’t ever tell me what happened and then everything just blew up—“

“Y/N, breathe,” Jisung stroked your hair to calm you down, because you were hyperventilating at that point, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“He hates me.”

“I don’t think Hyunjin will ever be capable of hating you,” Jisung let out a chuckle, as if he knew something you didn’t, “As cringy as it is to say, that idiot cares about you more than he cares about anyone else in the universe. He was probably was just too riled up from earlier to think about what he was saying.”

“What happened?”

Jisung looked conflicted, and for a moment, you thought that he wouldn’t tell you either, “He got into a fight,” he said cautiously, as if he were treading on thin water.

Even through your tears, you couldn’t help but scoff, “Really? I thought he just fell down every single staircase he walked on.”

Jisung cracked a smile, looking visibly relieved that you were able to joke around, “Hyunjin…has a knack for pissing off the wrong people, and that tends to get him in trouble.”

“He’s also the son of some really fucking rich parents, so there’s eyes on him wherever we go. Whether he wants it or not, people will know who he is,” Jisung continued, moving to sit beside you on the couch, “It didn’t help that freshman year Hwang Hyunjin was angst embodied in an attractive, athletic body and he was able to punch people left and right but still relatively get away with it.”

“As much as he got away with it before, that shit catches up to you eventually, and now there’s a lot of pissed off people that want to settle the score with him.”

“What, so he just hosts a fight club where everyone lines up to kick his ass?”

Jisung laughed, “I think you’re underestimating Hyunjin, Y/N.”

“Well, he’s the one showing up beat up every week, so I don’t have much to go on,” you replied sarcastically.

“Trust me when I say this, Hyunjin knows how to throw a punch,” Jisung said, and the truthfulness behind his voice slightly worried you, “And Hyunjin doesn’t really look for trouble anymore, at least not like before. If anything, he’s getting caught up in shit mostly because of us.”

“Us?” you frowned, “Who’s ‘us’?”

“Did you really think that Stray Kids was just a dumb posse name we made up to be the next Mean Girls of high school?”

“Absolutely, and you will never convince me otherwise,” you said, deadpan.

Jisung rolled his eyes and ruffled your hair, “Can you stop deflecting? I’m trying to be serious and answer your question,” a smile betrayed the corner of his lips, and you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter just spending time with him.

“Look, Stray Kids don’t just prance around the school and do dumb stuff,” Jisung said, “We do bad things, things that could get us in huge trouble. We hack into companies to expose exploitation. We steal and sell in markets that absolutely are not legal. None of us are good people.”

You were still reeling from the load of information that just got dumped on you, but you weren’t going to allow Jisung to fall into that self-deprecating hole, “You’re a good person,” you said firmly, “The rest of the boys are good people, too. You wouldn’t be comforting me in the middle of the night if you weren’t a good person.”

Jisung managed a smile, “You’re always so determined to see the good in people you care about,” he gently took your hand in his, “I wish you could stop and see the good in yourself sometimes.”

There wasn’t anything you could say to that. You knew your worth, and you knew your limitations, so what was he talking about? You weren’t ever insecure about your status either, just bitter.

The boy seemed to understand your disbelief at his words, because he asked softly, “Why can’t you accept that Hyunjin is in love with you?”

You leapt out of your seat, standing away from Jisung as if stung, “He’s not in love with me!” you snapped, your anger rising to hide your sadness, “We were friends at most, and after today, I’m not sure we’re even acquaintances anymore.”

Jisung grew heated too, because he was tired of seeing you unconsciously hold yourself back from finding love because you thought you didn’t deserve it, “You’re so observant about everyone around you. You saw that Jeongin had a cold days before we realized. You say that Chan was having problems sleeping, so you lightened his schoolwork. You saw that Minho liked to dance, so you made arrangements for him to join the school dance club even though he wasn’t a student. You notice everything, big and small, so why can’t you see that everything Hyunjin does revolves around you?”

“Hyunjin has grown up so much in just these last three months, because of you,” he spoke softly, “He stopped smoking, which we had all agreed was a lost cause since we’ve tried to stop him for years. He hasn’t brought a random girl home for months. I know you’re stressed out because he shows up all beat up every week, but he would’ve shown up every other day if you had known him before. He doesn’t even like to fight anymore, it’s more of a necessity and a consequence from his past.”

“He’s so happy now, because of you,” Jisung whispered, pulling you back to the couch, “Why can’t you see that you mean the world to him?”

“I can’t,” you said, trying desperately to control your voice, “If I give myself that slightest bit of hope, I’ll be disappointed. If I let him in completely, he could destroy me. Jisung, look at me now, I’m trying to push him out and everything he does still hurts,” your voice cracked as you struggled to hold back your tears.

“We’ll just hurt each other,” you said quietly, Jisung pulling you into his arms as your cried silently. He silently wished to whoever was listening that you’d see Hyunjin would never, not in a million years, wish you pain. He was forced to watch for months as the two of you teetered around each other, too afraid to make a move but so desperate for each other’s company.

“We’re too different to make it work, Jisung.”

vi.

Going back to school the next day was torture. You had stayed the night at Jisung’s house, too drained to walk back home when it was so dark. You didn’t feel any better in the morning, and when you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your face was still puffy and blotchy from crying yourself to sleep.

Jisung and you walked to school together, and he seemed determined to make you feel better. You humored him as best you could, because you really were grateful for his company. Jisung could make you forget about your problems, if only for a moment, and he joked and quipped the whole bus ride to the school.

By the time you made it to your locker, Jisung following you with his books already in hand, you had managed to push the Hyunjin fiasco out of your head almost entirely. Yes, it still hurt, like a dull ache that wouldn’t go away, but you weren’t going to let him affect the rest of your life.

“I’m hurt,” Jisung was saying with that adorable pout on his face, “Stop slandering my breakfast!”

“Half of the egg shell was literally in my rice,” you replied, the corner of your lip quirking up amusedly, “I can still feel the scratches in my throat.”

“Oh, very funny,” Jisung let out an exaggerated laugh, “Remind me never to cook for you again.”

“That’s fine by me. Honestly, maybe I should make breakfast for you and give it to you at school. After this morning, I am highly concerned,” you said cheekily, before you sensed someone watching you. Turning around, your smile fell as Hyunjin looked at you from down the hall, his gaze unreadable.

The two of you stared at each other, and all of the pain from the night before came flooding back. He was still sporting those nasty cuts on his face, and his knuckles were wrapped poorly, no doubt done after you had left. He looked conflicted, as if wondering whether he should confront you. You probably had the same look on your face because, as much as you two had your differences, you didn’t want to leave any bad blood between the two of you. Hyunjin’s body moves towards you as his mouth opened to say your name and–

“Y/N, are you coming?” Jisung called from behind you, delicately tugging at your sleeve, and the connection snapped like a dry rubber band. Hyunjin stopped in his tracks, his whole body physically tensing up as if he had been slapped. The guilty expression had disappeared, and as you turned to give Jisung a gesture that you’ll follow him soon, you noticed his jaw clench angrily. His hand clenched into a tight fist as he leveled you with that infamous Hwang Hyunjin glare, the one that froze your heart. With a newfound vigor, he spun away from you, and without a look back, turned to walk down the opposite direction of the hallway without even giving you a chance to speak.

Utterly stunned by what had just happened, you blankly followed Jisung as he gently led you into the physics classroom, only answering him with nods or shakes of your head.

In that split second, Hyunjin’s eyes had flashed with so many emotions that you couldn’t decipher all of them clearly. Anger, frustration, coldness were just the few you could see. You found part of you wanting to run after him, to yank him by the arm and ask him what the fuck his problem was. But the final bell stopped you in your tracks, and you turned reluctantly towards your physics classroom.

As you pulled out your textbooks to get ready for class, your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the empty desk three seats to your left. Hyunjin’s normal desk. Was he skipping again? Frowning, you unconsciously began tallying the amount of absences he’s received in the last month. What if the teacher gets fed up suddenly and sends him to detention?

Without any conscious thought, you had begun fretting over Hyunjin again. Then, halfway through class and with your notebook filled with less than satisfactory doodles, you came to the mind boggling realization that it wasn’t your job to worry anymore, especially not when he paid back your kindness with distrust.

“Y/N, do you want to stop daydreaming and solve this equation on the board?” A sharp voice pierced your thoughts, and you flinched at your teacher’s pointed glare. You took a long look at the question as your brain began to put the pieces together, and stood up calmly, taking the chalk from your teacher’s hand.

Feeling the scorn boring down your back (your teachers never really liked you, the result of being too smart but too poor to afford full tuition), you solved the problem methodically and without hesitation, not even glancing at your teacher’s face. You knew it was right, anyway.

Jisung gave you a discreet thumbs up as you sat back down, shutting out your teacher and her obnoxious droning. A discreet slip of ripped notebook paper slid onto your desk, and you turned to look at Jisung who raised his eyebrows expectantly. With a quick roll of your eyes, you quietly glanced down at the note.

Did anything happen with Hyunjin today?

You scowled, scribbling furiously. No, it’s literally nine in the morning. Focus on class, idiot.

Stop moping, you scolded yourself. Your world doesn’t revolve around Hyunjin. You’ve gotten by every day without him, and now that he won’t be there anymore, you can still get by. You thought of his smile, the one that made his eyes disappear, the one that made him lean against you for support from laughing too hard. It hurt, but after seeing Hyunjin’s hardened gaze in the morning, you supposed it really was too late.

You spent the rest of the day drowning yourself in your studies, and Hyunjin’s seat remained empty.

vii.

School felt like those bombs that had frustratingly slow countdowns to them, and you were never as glad to leave as you were that day. Fortunately for you, student council wasn’t scheduled to meet after school, and you were one of the first people to step out of the building.

Your mother wasn’t picking you up this time. Actually, she'd been coming by less and less once she had found out that you actually had someone to accompany you home. You glanced at the time on your phone: 4 pm. And unconsciously, you found yourself sitting down on the side of the steps, waiting for your usual partner.

The moment it dawned on you, your face flushed, because how childish was it of you to expect Hyunjin to walk you home? You shuffled around awkwardly, but didn’t stand up. As much as you hated to admit it, you really wanted to walk with Hyunjin. Maybe it was just a safety issue, and maybe it was just your hope for a final attempt to patch together your fragmented relationship.

Besides, despite everything that would happen in his life, Hyunjin always remembered to go home with you. It was almost a ritual at this point, and as the minutes passed with no Hyunjin in sight, began to regret taking his presence for granted.

Five minutes, then ten minutes, and finally fifteen minutes passed, and you were ready to give up. Sighing quietly, you swung your backpack over your shoulder and you began to walk home alone. You stared at the school door forlornly, as if your staring would make him magically appear. Of course it didn’t.

You could almost hear him as you walked by yourself. You could almost smell his expensive cologne, hear his high pitched giggles, feel his hand brushing over yours. And more than any other moment in the past two days, you felt utterly, completely alone again.

It was an “again” situation, you tried to tell yourself, this isn’t any different from middle school, when all you knew were loud snickers, damp notebooks, and marked up desks. You were back to square zero, but the most painful part was that you had gotten to at least square ten smoothly before getting emotionally sucker punched in the gut.

Your phone buzzed in your hand as you walked down the empty streets, listening to whatever music you had saved on your playlists. Actually, a lot of the music you listened to was recommended by Hyunjin whenever you hung out at his apartment. He had pretty good music taste, if you had to admit.

It was a text from Jisung, asking if you had gotten home safely. You replied with a smiley face, since you weren’t exactly at home yet but there were only a couple of streets left.

You were still paying attention to your phone when your peripheral vision caught two men hanging out on the left side of the street. It was a rather narrow alleyway, and now that you were already walking, there wasn’t a way you could turn back without seeming obvious. One looked frighteningly well built, and the other was lean and tall, smoking a cigarette casually. Your eyes kept them in check as you tried to pick up your pace, and it soon became pretty clear that neither of them were drunk, which was suspicious. Only drunk people mingled in streets like this one.

You felt a leering pair of eyes track your movement as you passed them, your heart beat erratically as you prayed that you were only imagining things. The smell of smoke filled your nose, but you refused to give away any indication that you had noticed the men. You were five feet past them and beginning to lower your guard when you felt it. An unfamiliar hand grabbed your shoulder, and your heart jumped up to your throat.

There was no time to check whether the hand was hostile or not, so you reacted instantly, whipping around to slam your elbow into the outstretched arm. It was the big man, who grunted in surprise and let go of your shoulder instinctively. You took the split second to start running, but your meager attack did little to deter such a well built man, and he grabbed you by the waist, dragging you as you screamed.

You thrashed and thrashed, kicking and punching with very little force behind it. Your brain ran on overdrive, and in a last ditch effort, you managed to yank out the metal hair clip in your hair. It wasn’t sharp, but it did have a blunt pointed edge, and as your long hair fell out of its bun, you slammed the clip into the man’s thigh.

It broke through the skin, you could feel it and hear it as the man howled. Without missing a beat, you rammed it into the same spot again, and his hold on your waist loosened. Moving around, you stabbed his leg one more time before you managed to slither away, wasting no time as you bolted as fast as you could.

A sharp pain caused you to shriek; you had forgotten about the second person who finally decided it was time to get involved. He caught the ends of your long hair, and with a harsh tug, he yanked you to the ground, your hands scraping along the rough pavement.

“I have to give it to you,” the man sneered as you scrambled to regain your bearings, “You weren’t as easy as I thought you would be.”

As he thought? Was he waiting for you? You didn’t even know who he was! Your brain was woozy from adrenaline, and your thoughts ran a mile a minute.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone fight Yekwon like that,” the man sounded mildly intrigued, as if studying a surprising science experiment, “And since he’s over there moaning like a bitch, I guess I’ll have to return the favor for him.”

Without warning, a foot slammed into your stomach and you gasped for air, the pain spreading all over your body as you curled around yourself. Something was definitely bruised or cracked or broken, and you couldn’t hold the tears that spilled, every breath you took sending a wave of shock from your abdomen.

You just wanted it to end. The fight had left you, and when the man pulled you back up on your feet using the back of your collar, you could only struggle half heartedly. He seemed displeased that you kept your head down, trying desperately to avoid eye contact, and he pulled your hair backwards, forcing you to look at him.

“I have to admit, you’re pretty cute,” In any situation, the man would have been relatively good looking, but all you could see was a monster that you couldn’t escape, “I can see why he likes you.”

The smile on his face turned manic, the hand tangled in your hair moved like a flash, slapping you so hard your face went numb, “You shouldn’t waste your time with the likes of him,” he sounded sad, “I’m much better company, don’t you think-?”

“Really? Assaulting random girls on the streets,” you could almost cry because you knew that voice. You were sure it was him, even though the man’s body blocked you from his sight, “Damn, Minhyuk, you just keep lowering my expectations.”

“You insult me,” Despite being caught, Minhyuk’s voice rang gleefully, his grip going back to your hair as he swung you into view, “Do you think I have that much time on my hands?”

You’ve seen Hyunjin angry before. You’ve seen when his innocence is overcome by the darkness in his heart. You’ve seen the many faces of Hyunjin that he had when his walls were up and armed. But the moment the realization hit him that it was you, Hyunjin had never looked more utterly terrifying.

“Shocked?” Minhyuk laughed, unaware of Hyunjin’s change in attitude as he lapped up his own small victory, “Did you really think you could fuck with my business without some payback?”

“You hit her.”

Hyunjin’s absolute calm was unsettling, causing shivers down your spine as you watched Hyunjin fall deeper and deeper into his own rage. The light in his eyes had faded, and was replaced with a look of cold fury. He stared at you, growing angrier with every wound he counted.

A moment passed and a whirl of black flew at you. The grip on your hair immediately disappeared as Minhyuk was suddenly thrown back by a bullet-like punch to the face. You rolled away, taking cover on one side of the street, watching as Hyunjin destroyed Minhyuk one punch at a time.

“You fucking hit her,” he was snarling now, grabbing hold of Minhyuk’s shirt and slamming him against the wall. In vain, the man tried to fight back, but a Hyunjin pushed over the edge wasn’t someone you could just beat.

Jisung was right. Hyunjin could pack a punch.

A chilling crack cut through the air as he snapped the man’s wrist with a deliberate force, “You don’t get to fucking touch her with your filthy fucking hands!”

Minhyuk fell to the floor, whimpering in pain, and the burly man stood farther away, his hand still clutching the wounds that continued to leak blood onto the ground. He stared at Hyunjin with a mix of hatred and fear, but didn’t make any moves to attack him.

Hyunjin, after assessing the situation and knowing that the fight was over, ran to your side, his hands hovering over your face, but too afraid to touch you, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault, fuck.”

Your heart couldn’t stop racing as you tried to control your breathing, “It’s fine,” you panted, a hand over your chest, “I’m fine.”

You didn’t notice the broken smile as Hyunjin repeated your words softly, “Yeah, you’ll be fine, I promise.”

As gently as he could, he pulled you up, swing his leather jacket over your shoulders as he maneuvered you onto his back. You instinctively buried your face in the crook of his neck as he murmured with the softness he’d only ever give to you, “Let’s patch you up at my place.”

Before he turned the corner away from the alley, he addressed the Minhyuk once more, his voice coming out as a low, frightening snarl, “If you so much as breath near Y/N again, I’ll break more than just your wrist.”

viii.

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when you finally realized where you were, Hyunjin was already setting you down delicately on his couch. Even with his efforts to be as gentle as possible, every movement caused you pain, and you bit your lip to avoid crying out. Taking his bulky leather jacket off your shoulders, Hyunjin absorbed the sight of your unseemly wounds.

His jaw clenched tightly with every bruise, every scratch that he saw, and he tore his eyes away from your body before he’d actually erupt in fury.

“I’ll grab some supplies,” Hyunjin spoke softly, trying his best not to startle you, “Let me know if you need anything.”

Your instincts urged you to respond, but you couldn’t even expend the energy to nod, much less say anything. At the corner of your eye, you caught the helpless expression on Hyunjin’s face and your insides turned. The moment he was out of sight, your hand crept up to your stomach, which was rippling with low currents of pain. You gently felt around, and something was definitely bruised.

Hyunjin walked back into the living room, freezing when he saw the pained expression on your face as you clutched your stomach.

“Did he,” the boy gripped the bandages in his hand tightly, “did he touch you there too?”

You shook your head, trying to ignore the pain, “No, but he kicked me pretty hard.”

“He kicked you,” Hyunjin repeated, his expression growing murderous, “I should’ve killed him.”

“Don’t. It’s just bruised, anyway,” you dismissed his worries, since Hyunjin didn’t sound like he was joking.

Hyunjin didn’t look like he was convinced, but he let it slide for now. As the anger died down, he seemed to shrink in confidence. He avoided your eyes, gently starting to disinfect the multitude of scratches that marred your legs. You stared at him as he worked, your brain moving sluggishly as you tried to decipher his silence.

He had begun methodically, obviously having cleaned injuries before. It made you wonder about the disaster that was Hyunjin’s bandages on his knuckles, especially since he seemed to know exactly what to do. As he made it to your arms, though, you noticed that Hyunjin had gradually started trembling. It was slight at first, his hand shaking as he wrapped a particularly nasty cut on your elbow, but as he worked down to your palms, it became rather alarming. You tried to catch his expression, but the long black hair hid his face from your view.

Hyunjin’s movements began to grow less steady as his hands began to grow out of control, and that was when you pulled yourself out of your trance-like state. Closing your fingers over the hand that was currently dabbing alcohol over your palm, you prodded gently, “Hyunjin, are you okay?”

The boy froze, his hand tensing in your grasp. You were beginning to worry that he had stopped breathing when he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and defeated, “God, I really don’t deserve you.”

Your heart jumped as you frowned, “What are you talking about?”

“It’s my fault. This is all my fault,” Hyunjin said brokenly, “Minhyuk found you because of me. Minhyuk targeted you because of me. He fucking lay his hands on you,” his breath hitched as even the mention of the incident sent his blood boiling, “because I was too selfish to let you go.”

You could only listen with your eyes wide as you felt Hyunjin clutch your hand like a lifeline.

“I always knew I would never be able to move forward from my past,” he started, “Even after Chan, even after clearing much of my name on files, I realized that it was hopeless, because no one will ever really forget my actions.”

“Chan told me to be careful, told me that spending so much time with you would put you in danger,” Hyunjin said quietly, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb, “But how could I stay away when you’re the one person in the world that actually makes me want to keep on living?”

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you couldn’t even spend time to mull over what essentially was an indirect confession, too busy trying to understand what Hyunjin was trying to get to, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said earnestly, finally looking at your directly as if trying to convey his sincerity, “I know you don’t think that’s true, but you mean more to me than anyone else in the universe. I’m not lying, Y/N, please understand—I need you to believe me, please—“

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” your unoccupied hand buried itself in Hyunjin’s hair as you rubbed his scalp placatingly because Hyunjin had begun to grow desperately frantic.

He leaned into your touch, as if it brought him a sense of comfort that nothing else could in comparison, “I thought it was fine,” he whispered, “I’m with you all the time anyway, I could protect you if something happened. I was so fucking stupid, and the one day I couldn’t make it in time to walk you home, you got hurt.”

You hummed to show that you were still listening, your hands continuing to massage through his soft locks in an effort to calm him down.

“I’m so jealous of Jisung,” Hyunjin confessed suddenly, catching you off guard, “He can spend time with you so comfortably, and you two are so close, I hate that I’ll never be able to understand you the way he does.”

“Jisung and I understand each other due to circumstances,” you agreed slowly, “But we don’t have to live similar lives to understand each other, Hyunjin. Don’t you think we’re connected by something else?”

Hyunjin opened his mouth to reply before shutting it immediately, his eyes exposing his hesitation. When you gazed at him questioningly, he steeled his nerves, and spoke the words that had been threatening to burst out of his chest for the last three months.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your jaw went slack, “Y-you’re—what?”

“I’m in love with you,” Hyunjin repeated more definitively, but his voice was tinged with a sort of resignation, as if he had completely accepted that his confession wouldn’t be reciprocated, “I have been for months.”

“But—you never,” you struggled to get your words out as, “you always pulled away from me whenever we started to get closer. You’re so clingy with everyone else but you always avoid me.”

Hyunjin chuckled, “Y/N, if I let myself fall, I’ll never be able to stop liking you.”

“And why is that a bad thing?”

“Because I can’t be in love with you!” Hyunjin said frustratedly, ”I’m too dangerous, too broken, too scared to treat you right. I’m not good for you, Y/N.”

“Why don’t I get to decide that?” you asked just as fervently.

Hyunjin flashed with hurt, “Stop phrasing it like that.”

You frowned, “Like what?”

“Like you love me.”

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you sighed, a smile peeking at the corner of your lips, “I can tell you with absolute certainty. I’m also in love with you.”

Hyunjin froze for a long, torturous moment before his eyes grew impossibly wide as he grabbed both your hands, “Really?” His voice sounded so innocent and so hopeful, and all you wanted to do was to wrap your arms around him and fall in his embrace.

“Really.”

Hyunjin leaned in closer towards your face, your foreheads touching and his hands delicately placed on your arms, “I’m worried that I won’t be good enough for you,” he murmured, “I’m scared that I’ll put you in danger. You deserve the world, Y/N, and I’d give it to you in a heartbeat, but I’m afraid that I won’t be able to.”

“I don’t need the world, Hyunjin,” you brushed his cheek as your face flushed a bright pink. He was so close, you could count his eyelashes and see every imperfection on his face, “I just want you to let me in.”

Hyunjin giggled, his breath fanning your face. Cupping your face with his hands, your lips were only millimeters apart when he answered, “Deal.”

As his lips pressed against yours with all the gentleness and love that Hyunjin held for you, your heart finally lost the weight you’d been carrying ever since you realized how far you’d fallen for him. And maybe, just maybe, you two loved each other enough to make this work.

#hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagine #hwang hyunjin scenarios #stray kids #stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #my fics

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lov3nerdstuff · 5 years

Text

Someone to you

*Loki x reader*

Part: Oneshot

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: little language, some gloomy thoughts

Summary: Loki knew that feeling deep within him, and he tried to suffocate the first kindling before it would become a raging fire, burning up his very being to the essence yet again. What Loki felt indeed, was hope. A stupid and desperate hope that maybe just this once he could actually be somebody to someone, something more than just the villain, the lesser brother, the monster… that he could be someone, to you.

A story written in Loki's perspective about how he learned that even he deserves kindness and love. Your love.

Original Request: Hi! Do you make song based requests? If you do I'd love a oneshot of Loki x Reader based on the song Someone to you by Banners. Thank you if you can ♡ -> by @hunter-with-a-tardis

A.N.: Okay folks, this has gotten a little dark, but I promise it has a fluffy ending indeed! It doesn't really fit the song based on the melody, but I focused on the lyrics! 💚✨ Enjoy!

______________________________

For the longest time, Loki had felt lost in this world. In every world. Lost and alone, broken, abused and shattered in so many ways that he'd given up any attempt to hold grudges against individuals, and at one point simply started to feel hate for everyone and everything. Yet he knew very well that hate wasn't the right word for what he felt, but it was easier to title it hate and delve into that feeling than admit, even to himself, what it really was indeed that was keeping him up at night and made him burst with a raging, dark energy at daytime.

To Loki, self-awareness was his ultimate doom, his one true mean to selfdestruction. He knew what he felt, he knew what had caused it and what it meant and yet… he couldn't change a single thing about it. Sometimes he wished he was as oblivious in his emotions as the midgardians he spent his time with, but that just wasn't how his mind worked. No, his mind picked up every pebble and inspected it to the depth of a single atom, twice.

And he'd lived in this illusion of universal hate for so long that it had become his reality, a shallow one, but it was still enough to dictate his behavior and sometimes, if he wasn't careful, also his thoughts. He felt himself slipping into living within yet another lie, one brilliant enough, carefully enough woven to suffice. It was his own, after all. As long as no one would be able to see through his facade, there was nothing, no one, worth dropping it for in return.

So Loki found himself living among his brother's friends, the people who despised him without ever having bothered to get to know him. But really… him trying to take over their planet all those years ago, to them, must've seemed like a good enough getting-to-know each other.

Loki didn't really bother to tell them the truth, for things were easy enough while they hated him and believed he hated them in return. And honestly, by now, he kind of did sincerely hate them. He hadn't in the beginning, but their coldness and constant rejection had forced Loki to withdraw further and further into his own mind. A very dangerous place to dwell in indeed and yet the only place he felt truly safe (at times).

The days passed away like leaves in autumn, withering and tumbling down into the abyss of indifference. And autumn it was indeed when something happened that made Loki's carefully constructed reality come crashing down on him like a building's collapse. It was the day he met you.

Honestly, it had been a day exactly like every other. He'd picked a book from the library, then sat down in the floor length window in the living room and ignored everyone and everything around him as he escaped into the world between the pages, right into the rough paper resting against his fingertips.

That was until Stark, that tin of a fool, came sauntering into the room and inevitably drew everyone's attention towards himself. Why exactly Loki chose this one instance to actually listen to the man of iron was beyond him, but he put his book down in his lap and looked over to the two figures standing in the middle of the room.

"Alright everyone, this is Y/n." Tony announced loudly, clapping you on the shoulder. Loki's eyes met yours and you… smiled.

He frowned immediately, deeply irritated, and looked back to the book in his lap. His ears however didn't once leave the announcement of your presence.

"She is… well, why don't you explain it yourself?" Stark asked and took a step to the side, giving you room to introduce yourself.

"Well, hi everyone. I'm Y/n, like Tony said already…" Your voice was soft, like liquid silk that ran straight from Loki's ears to his mind, wrapping around his senses in a way he couldn't really prevent. "Before anyone starts guessing, I'm not an Avenger, or even remotely trained in combat or the sorts. I'm…"

"...going to live here, for a while." Tony finished the sentence before you could, making Loki frown to himself once again. "She's going to be living with us. So please treat her nicely, and look out for her a little. No funny business. I'm looking at you, Reindeer Games…"

Loki ignored the comment, just like he always did, but he felt your eyes on himself like a scorching heat burning his entire left side.

"Alright, I gotta go, but everyone please introduce yourselves now and the sorts… And Cap, will you show her to her room later? The guest bedroom on the third floor will do." Tony ordered quickly, then addressed you once more. "Y/n, dear… I know for a fact that you'll be fine with those guys here, but you better stay away from the odd one over there."

Loki just knew immediately that Stark had meant him, causing him to roll his eyes to himself. Obviously he wouldn't at least this once be given the chance to start off on the right foot with someone. No, they were all rushed into prejudice before he even got any chance to make things right. At least this once.

And oddly enough, Loki wanted to make things right with you. Maybe only because you were new indeed, a blank piece of paper for him, but then again… you had smiled at him. Just for a very short moment, and without any intention to mock him. Just a sincere, innocent smile. Maybe you simply didn't know who he was and what he'd done? And yet… he couldn't forget about that one smile, even if he tried.

For the next minutes Loki quietly observed how everyone currently present introduced themselves to you, his eyes following you through the room as you moved from Natasha to Thor to Wanda… Smiling at everyone and exchanging meaningless smalltalk. Gosh, how Loki hated smalltalk, or anything that was meaningless really. They asked you about all the most ridiculous things, while Loki himself would have wasted no time to ask the really important things. For example, why Stark had interrupted you in your attempt to explain who you are or where you are from. What had brought you here despite being of no obvious use to the stupid little team? Questions upon questions that he could've asked, but he didn't, for the solemn reason that this was not the right place nor time. He looked back at his book, trying to read the words that threatened to escape his mind the second they entered it. Hell, why wouldn't his damn mind just leave you and the stupid idea that at least one person in this freaking building might actually grow not to hate him alone for good? He couldn't focus, and his ears picked up every word of your conversations with the others. It really wasn't even interesting, but something within him seemed to cling onto you so desperately that he grew more and more angry with himself by the minute.

He didn't even know you, for heaven's sake, then why did it feel like your appearance was the single ray of light breaking through the cold sky, filled with heavy clouds of dark? A single ray of light, keeping him from fading, from disappearing from reality altogether. A ray of light drawing him in like a moth to the flame. Like Icarus and the sun.

To be honest, Loki knew why. He knew that feeling deep within him, and he tried to suffocate the first kindling before it would become a raging fire, burning up his very being to the essence yet again. It was exactly this feeling that he'd tried to drown out with the cold hate all along. Why he'd tried to push reality as far away as possible, for he knew what would become of him. He couldn't help it, couldn't extinct the tiny flame that had so suddenly flickered to life upon your one damn smile. What Loki felt indeed, was hope.

A stupid and desperate hope that maybe just this once he could actually be somebody to someone, something more than just the villain, the lesser brother, the monster… that he could be someone, to you. But he didn't want this hope, for hope was a one way road to disappointment and pain.

And until this very day, Loki had done a great job to extinguish every bit of hope from his very being and drown it in hatred and mockery.

"Hey…" Your voice, very close suddenly, made him snap out of his mind and back to reality, only to find you standing right next to him, towering above his sitting form. He didn't dare looking up from his book.

"Since everyone else seems to avoid you as good as possible, I just wanted to say hi, at least."

"Didn't anyone tell you to stay as far away from me as possible?" Loki asked defensively and without his eyes parting from the page he'd tried reading for the last thirty minutes.

"Oh, they most certainly did. All of them, actually." You replied calmly, not at all bothered by his admittedly hostile attitude. Geez, Loki didn't know for himself why he was behaving so hostile towards you when all he really wanted was to make you like him. Maybe it's just who he was now, the cruel empty shell of a broken man.

"And why didn't you listen to them?" He asked, inhaling a little more audibly than he would've liked.

"Because the things they said didn't make sense… that you're dangerous, insane, cruel… not worth my time and effort." You mused, shrugging, and there was a tone to your voice that made Loki's heart pick up speed.

"You are not making sense, mortal." He snapped, cringing inwardly at his own behavior as his mind begged him to stop this ridiculous hostility.

"I'm…" You stopped for a moment and Loki almost believed he had finally broken you, finally made you see how horrible of a person he really was. Yet, you continued in a tone as calm as ever. "Would you be so kind and show me to my new bedroom?"

"Why would I? So that your new friends can mock me and have a decent excuse to end me for coming too close to their newest plaything?" He snorted sarcastically, closing his book with a loud pang and rising to his feet in his usual graceful manner, finally towering over you as he knew he was standing too close to you for his own good. But if being mean didn't work to scare you away, maybe intimidation would.

"Why would I do such a thing indeed, mortal?" He asked again, his voice dropping down to a dangerous and quiet low that spoke of nothing but disgust. It couldn't have been further from the truth, he felt drawn to you beyond measure.

"Because I would like you to know where you can find me when you need a break from torturing yourself like this." You replied calmly, yet so quietly that only Loki could hear, looking right into his eyes and he felt his blood freeze over for a moment. He stared right back at you in a maddening mixture of shock and awe, unsure if his physical presence continued to exist once his mind swallowed him into the depth of abysmal nothing.

"Loki!" Thor's thundering voice however ripped Loki from those depths, as he was forced a few steps away from you. Loki let Thor pull him away without a shred of resistance, eyes still irreversibly fixed on yours as he only heard the echo of his own heartbeat hollowly drumming in his ears.

How could this creature that was you have such an enormous effect on him? Mess with his mind even, trick the trickster indeed.

"Y/n, did he… hurt you, or try to?" Steve asked then, and his words reached Loki's ears, but not his mind.

"Why would he?" You replied calmly, turning to the soldier with a friendly smile. "We were just talking."

"Looked more like he wanted to murder you in the most gruesome ways…" Bruce commented carefully, giving Loki a suspicious look.

"Maybe, who knows…" You shrugged at them, smiling, as you turned back to Loki. The look on your face told him that you knew indeed. You knew that he wouldn't ever hurt you, nor anyone else if it could be prevented.

When Loki forcefully jerked his arm out of Thor's grip and made for the door with quick and long steps, all he was really asking himself was just WHY you knew.

_______________

For the next few days Loki stayed out of your way. Whenever you would enter the room, he would turn to leave in return and thereby cause his heart to clench in the most painful ways. And every single time he asked himself why exactly he was doing all that… all the pretense, all the hostility and all the false hatred. You'd not once given him any reason to dislike you, you always said hi to him (being the only one who even acknowledged his presence most of the time) and tried to talk to him a few times even. But there had always been someone in the room with you, someone's watchful eyes on him as you spoke and that always had resulted in him pulling back from you, more and more until he didn't talk to you at all anymore.

And for once, he experienced what real hatred felt like, in the hatred he found for himself and his behavior towards you. It wasn't your fault after all that he fought a war within himself that he was very close to losing on either end. Fighting off the darkness was routine, really, and he'd grown used to that constant fight long ago. Yet, now that he was fighting off the hope on the other end, he was at risk of losing on both sides. If he only could stop this nonsensical behavior at once, and maybe give you a tiny shard of his real self, maybe then he wouldn't feel so torn anymore. He wanted to be closer to you, to get to know you… who you are, why you were here, why you seemed to be able to see right through him and still didn't try to save him from his misery. Because, if he was honest with himself, he was desperately hoping that you would save him indeed. That you would lead him through his own darkness and guide him to a better place. And he was hoping that he could be someone better for you, since he failed to be better just for himself. And that, exactly that was what scared him. He didn't want to use you as a path to the light, he wanted you to be the light, for him.

This war within him continued on for weeks, but he had let go of the hostility immediately after one evening's events. He'd been somewhat sarcastic and mean as usual, ignored everyone at dinner really, until one thing he had said in particular had made your face fall and for the first time, Loki had seen sincere sadness and hurt in your eyes. He'd gotten up and left immediately, silently promising to make sure that he would NEVER be the cause of those emotions again. After that day, things had been different for him. He'd still stay away from you, but he never once had said a single hostile word to you again. He had been just the same old to everyone else of course, but with you… he'd become reluctant, almost. The hope within his mind had grown into a flame almost painful in its fury, urging him to give in. Ironically, the one thing that worked best against the hope was reality for now. He'd spent a few weeks locked up in his room to sort through his own messed up emotions, then spent a few more being mean to you, then a few more being basically a mere shadow on the wall. Always there, always listening but never noticed until someone needed something to be scared of.

He couldn't sleep at night. His mind would torture him with countless possibilities for how things could become even worse from where he was, while his logic would try to draw up a plan on how to make things right. He absolutely hated that with the hope, also the deeply rooted desire to be loved had resurfaced and clung onto the hope in return, making him ache for your attention and your approval. Such a horrendous desire, really… he'd spent centuries getting rid of it. And now it was suddenly back, hitting him like a hulk smash.

Unable to even remotely find rest, he got out of bed and left his room to head to the living room where he'd left his current read in the afternoon. It was three am in the morning, he didn't even bother to change into something other than his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt for he was certain that he wouldn't run into anyone anyway. The sound of his naked feet on the cold stone floor reminded him just how much of a prison this place really was. An big and empty one, but a prison nonetheless.

When he walked around one final corner before entering the living room, he immediately spotted your small frame, dark contrasting against the giant window. Maybe you'd heard him approaching, but he didn't know for sure and he wanted to leave it at that. So he kept standing on the other side of the room, observing you as you observed the millions of bright stars in the night sky. That maybe was the only good thing about the avengers base being out here… one could see a million of stars every night, if only the clouds allowed it.

For the longest time Loki observed you in silence, his heart beating strongly against his ribcage in an almost painful manner. Until finally he gave in, unable to resist the raging hope any longer. With a second of careful thought and a few rays of soft green light, he recreated the entire night sky in the living room, surrounding you in a bright bunch of a million stars. The small gasp that escaped your lips brought a smile to his face, a moment before he turned to leave, not without granting himself two seconds of admiring your beautifully overwhelmed expression.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to you when he returned to his room with quick steps, his book long forgotten. No, he would've loved to talk to you, but he simply did not know what to say after all this time of severely screwing things up with you.

You'd been nothing but nice to him from the very first moment and he'd been nothing but poison to your lovely being. A fool, scared and lashing out in fear of getting hurt. Ironic, really, considering that he'd been well aware of this the entire time, yet again unable to change his own behavior. And now that he'd finally gotten over himself, he was more than sure that he'd already managed to drive you so far away from himself that it was past any point of return.

So he just lay on his bed, on top of the neatly folded green covers, and stared at the ceiling in the dark. Until a few minutes later there was a faint knock on his door.

He knew that it must be you, nobody else would ever knock on his door and nobody else would be awake at this time, but him. He had the door swing open gently without as much as moving a finger.

"May I come in?" You asked quietly, standing in the door frame as your eyes inspected his room quickly, yet intently. He almost smiled at your curiosity, the urge to study your surroundings… it's something he found himself inclined to do as well.

This was his last chance, and he was done pretending, done trying to keep you at a distance.

"Yes." Was all he could really say, in as much calm as he could manage. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling as he heard your soft footsteps approaching him slowly. Would you hear his frantic heartbeat in the insufferable silence of the room?

Then he felt the bed dip ever so slightly as you moved to lay down next to him, at a safe distance, but he could feel the heat of your body on his side nonetheless. It felt nice.

"Would you do it again? For me?" You asked calmly, yet again in a quiet voice as you stared up at the ceiling as well. With the smallest of smiles Loki brought the stars back from the sky into his room, filling the entire space with a soft light in form of a million little sprinkles. You let out a soft sigh, and Loki's smile widened. Maybe you didn't completely hate him after all.

"This is really beautiful, you know…" You said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Have you seen the entire universe?"

"Not only this one… there's more, so much more." Loki replied easily, and he felt more at ease than he had in as long he cared to remember.

"Amazing... I can't imagine what it must be like to see all those incredible places!" You sighed.

"Would you like to see some of it?" He asked before he could stop himself, his voice laced with the hope he didn't care to repress anymore.

Now, finally, he felt confident enough to turn his head to look at you, finding you looking at him already with a soft smile. And just like the first day you had met, Loki felt your eyes forcing their way into his soul, touching it with a gentle caress and leaving imprints wherever they went. What surprised him most however was that he let you in, without timidity.

"I'd love to. See some of it, I mean…" You smiled at him with that heart-warming, all-consuming smile of yours and Loki couldn't help but stare. Here you were, merely two feet away, lying on his bed and smiling at him as if he wasn't… this. Wasn't himself. He wanted to ask you about your reasons, but he didn't know how. For once in his life, his eloquence was lost on him. And thus he did what he knew he could do best, turning his head back towards the ceiling and moving the stars around the two of you, going from planet to planet while both showing and explaining to you which secrets each place held in its depth and uniqueness.

You listened intently to him, nodding, giving soft noises of approval or occasionally asking questions about the things he said. Loki found himself relaxing in the conversation, smiling more frequently and looking at you from time to time, observing your beautiful features while you admired the imagines of distant places he conjured up just for you. And sooner than he would've liked, Loki found himself wishing that he could show you the universe for real.

Time flew by like the stars you passed on your magical journey, and soon night turned into dawn. By morning, Loki had spent more time looking at you than looking at the stars, really, and he found the urge to be close to you growing into the insufferable, while you seemed completely enamored with his tales of distant places and times. He would've talked on forever if only to make you happy, to bring this light to your eyes and dwell in the comfort of your presence. But after the sun started to rise, you decided that you would have to leave to get at least some more rest. Obviously Loki didn't make an attempted to stop you, but wished you a good night (even if it was morning indeed).

During the following days, Loki was back to his usual self (with everyone but you, of course), placing some carefully worded threats and intricate insults into the conversations he was systematically excluded from. Only when nighttime rolled around, he would be in his room, waiting, until you would come to hear more stories, or to chat about all the most meaningful things, but not once about anything personal. He enjoyed this new ritual immensely, allowing himself to be raw, honest, true… during the day he may belong to his demons, but during the nighttime he belonged to you. And even though he would've loved to be more than just a storyteller, a means to passing time to you, he was still content to be something to you, at least. But with every night you spent lying next to him on his bed, listening and looking at him like he himself was the single most fascinating thing in the entirety of the universe, Loki found himself wishing for more.

You were truly lovely, the kindest and smartest person he'd ever met and he constantly asked himself why by the gods you were spending your precious time with him. Eventually, he figured, he would run out of stories to tell and you would stop your nightly visits, his own personal time spent in the light.

But he wouldn't let that happen, or rather he simply couldn't. If this one last time he allowed himself to hope, to try to be somebody to someone, turned out to leave him hurt again, he knew he would lose his fight against the darkness, and thus lose his final threat anchoring him to reality.

That is why tonight Loki decided that he would visit you for once, in your room. He'd never been there before, you had always come to see him in his own space. It was still a little while until you usually would be coming over when he made his way through the dark hallway, up the staircase and towards your door.

Just when he lifted his hand to knock, the door was opened in an instant and you almost ran into him as you moved out of the room. Loki's eyes widened as he looked down at you in surprise, but a moment later he couldn't resist peaking into the room behind you (he was, after all, of an impeccably curious nature).

"Hey Loki..." You looked up at him in that adorably flustered expression. "I was just going to come see you, actually."

"Hello Y/n…" He replied calmly, giving you a small smile. "I… I wanted to visit YOU, for once."

"Oh…" You smiled to yourself, looking down to your bare feet for a second. "Well, do come in then!"

You moved out of the way, backing into your room and Loki followed with careful steps behind you, looking around himself. Your room way probably double the size of his own, with an open window front and the lovelies furniture. And it was only a guest bedroom, after all.

"What made you come here tonight?" You asked, studying his face intently as you leaned your head slightly to the side.

Loki took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, fighting off his pride. Why was it so hard to just tell you how he felt?! Maybe because all he'd really done for the past few decades was keeping his feelings to himself, if he admitted to having them in the first place. He just wasn't any good at being honest in a nice way anymore. Is that something one could unlearn?

"I'm here because… because you told me to find you here when I needed a break from torturing myself." He finally said in a faintly shaky voice, jaw clenching as he looked at you with everything he didn't know how to say.

"Sit down." You ordered gently and Loki did as he was told, eyes not once leaving yours as he sat down on the edge of your bed in silence. He would do absolutely anything you asked of him and he didn't feel the slightest bit ashamed of it.

"May I try something that might make you feel better?" You asked quietly and with the slightest hint of insecurity, and Loki only managed a nod in return. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

His eyes widened ever so slightly when you moved towards him, closer and closer, and he could feel his body tensing involuntarily. The closest he had gotten to people in a long while was the distance it took to stab them.

So when you very carefully sat down in his lap and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close to you in the most innocent hug, Loki was lost. For a moment he forgot how to breathe, before a second later he wrapped his arms around you very gently at first, then tighter and tighter until you were pressed against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, dwelling in the overwhelming sensation of being so very close to you. Of you allowing him to be so close.

"Why?" He finally managed to ask, not once letting go of you. He might quite possibly never let go of you again, if it that would've been for him to decide.

"Because I like you, Loki." You smiled, playing with the tips of his hair on his back, making him let out an unintentional sigh. "I have from the very first day."

"Why?" He asked again, almost pleading in his tone as he desperately tried to understand.

"Why not? You are absolutely amazing… intelligent, funny, kind…"

"Don't mock me, Y/n…" He breathed, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your shirt. "Even if you might not have known who I was when we met, I'm sure I have given you enough reason by now to believe that I am not a kind person."

"I knew exactly who you are when we met." You replied calmly, resting your head against the crook of his neck, which made Loki's heart flutter almost painfully.

"Then why did you smile at me? If you knew what I was all along… Why did you have to do that to me?"

"Because you deserve kindness, Loki, maybe more than anyone else." You whispered, tightening your grip on him.

"I don't." He replied in the same quiet voice, relishing the feeling of your arms around him, your warmth a comforting blanket and your scent as addicting as anything could be.

"You do. And you are kind indeed, despite your suffering."

"I don't suffer…" He gave back in a tone that didn't even convince himself of his statement.

"I see it in your eyes, you know… in your behavior. In the way you carry yourself. You have suffered more in your lifetime than anyone should even dare to think of." Your voice was so calming that Loki found himself relaxing more and more, deep breaths making his chest rise and fall in unison with yours.

"You deserve better than this, Y/n… I wanted to be someone to you so badly all along, and what did I do? I pushed you away for weeks and proved with every word that I am more monster than man by now." The words came freely from his mind to his lips at last, lifting some of the weight off his heart as he spoke.

"A monster doesn't hope, Loki… A monster doesn't try to be better for someone. A monster doesn't spend nights lying next to me, making the starlight circle the room while explain the mysteries of the universe to me." You lifted your head and pulled back only far enough to be able to look at him in the eye. "I see you, Loki... All of you. The past, the present and the future and I will have all of it."

"You can't possibly see the past, nor the future…" He breathed, staring at you in awe as it slowly dawned on him.

"I can see a great deal of things." You smiled kindly, moving your hands from his shoulders to his neck. "Time is but a mere comma in the story of eternity, really."

"Who are you?" His eyes were fixed on yours, inches away only as he realized that quite possibly the greatest mystery of the entire universe was sitting right in his lap.

"Yours, if you will have me." You replied with an almost flustered smile. "I want to be someone to you too."

"You are. And you were, all along." He returned the smile, honest and hopeful and adoring, watching your expression for a while before he dared to speak up again, in the new found courage of acceptance, maybe even love, that he had been missing over a thousand years. "Y/n… may I be yours?"

"You are. And you were all along."

Without wasting any more commas in the story of eternity, you leaned down, closing the final inches between Loki's lips and your own.

"I may be my rawest self for you to see, but I'm still going to be a nuisance for absolutely everyone else." Loki finally smiled against the soft skin of your neck, placing feathery kisses along your jawline a good while later.

"I expected absolutely nothing less." You replied with the very same smirk. "And I'm very much looking forward to all the mischief yet to come."

_____________________________

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If anyone would like to be added to my general tag list, feel free to tell me in the comments 😊💚💚✨✨ I hope you guys enjoyed this story and I tried really hard to do Loki justice, his perspective is really intriguing yet difficult to write ☺️ tell me what you think!

#loki fanfic #loki #loki odinson #loki (marvel)#loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki fluff #loki x y/n #loki of asgard #loki friggason #loki x reader #loki x you #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston #Marvel

742 notes · View notes

blackmotionsoup · 3 years

Note

16, 21, 67

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish?

I mean I'm a sucker for a good bolognese, it's one of the two metrics I judge any restaurant (the other is how crisp is the house salad?). And if I'm getting takeout, it's gotta be chicken broccoli alfredo. However my favorite pasta to make at home is shells with, essentially - and this is not going to sound good but I stg it is - mashed peas. It's got lemon and heavy cream and parmesan and mint (though I usually swap it for shallots), and it's super easy and springy and comes together so quick! Here's the recipe if anyone wants to try (and yes I know BA is cancelled but in my defense I got this recipe before all their shit came out and now I have it basically memorized so):

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

Hmm..... Probably the canvas backpack I bought when I got my last promotion at work. I'd been wanting to get a Hershel backpack for months but I felt like I didn't have a good reason to until I started my new position, and I was so excited to get it. It's just a basic black canvas backpack, and eventually it wound up being too small for all my work stuff when I started covering multiple stores. So now it's my go-to everyday adventure bag - errands, hiking, long-ass walks around the city. And it's just big enough to fit a weekends' worth of clothes for a lil trip.

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

Perfect timing, it's pretty gloomy out today. I rather like them, though they usually make me very sleepy. I like going out for walks on these days or running errands bc it feels more... Exciting, I guess? Fewer people are out. And when you get home and change into warm cozy clothes it's just 😗👌 chefs kiss perfection. Also they're the best days for reading or playing mildly spooky games and also for eating lasagna.

#ask meme #thank u!!!

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cxmetery-gates · 3 years

Text

SURREPTITIOUS - DRACO MALFOY

CHAPTER THREE: DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS

SUMMARY: After getting her schedule, Leslie realizes that exams and essays just might be the least of her worries. WORD COUNT: 2.7k NOTES: Hello! It’s been a century..... whoops. WARNINGS: none!

MASTERLIST

THE NEXT MORNING, FOLLOWING THE feast the night before and catching up with others over breakfast, all the Slytherin six years patiently surround Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House, in the Great Hall as he files through their schedules thoroughly. Before the sixth years could be off on their way to class, their schedule had to be confirmed, ensuring they are fit for N.E.W.T.-level courses, considering how miserably difficult each class is.

Some of Leslie's housemates were already on their way, now leaving the young witch with just a few other students, all clad with a serpent emblem and matching emerald-and-silver ties.

"Greyscale," Professor Snape drawls.

The brown eyed girl takes half a step forward. He skims over her desired schedule, along with her O.W.L. scores, taking as much time as the previous students. Meaning, there was a heavy downpour in Leslie's racing thoughts for quite a few moments. Despite the beating of her heart, Leslie passed with high marks on her chosen classes. She was only worried about one in particular.

"Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Transfiguration are all fine. I must admit, I was pleased with your Potions mark and to see your continuation."

Despite Leslie's company and social inabilities, the long-time Potions professor (now Defense Against the Dark Arts) had a good standing with the girl. She did her assignments well and always lived up to his unrealistically high standards without complaint. Not many could say the same, so Leslie took his statement as a compliment. While the witch let out a breath of relief, Professor Snape had yet to confirm the last.

"But, I must ask: why the interest in Alchemy?"

Leslie had known her answer for a while. "My mother excelled in the practice, and I have always had an interest." Many years before Leslie was born, her mother had been gaining recognition for her work in the art, the Daily Prophet once even had a column titled "Witches You Should Know" with the mother's name at the top. Eve Greyscale was a talented, intelligent, and kind witch with a life ahead of her, but the world is unkind even to the most gentle of souls.

"Fair enough," the professor replies in understanding.

Professor Snape did not feel the need to question the girl further. After all, last term when she and the professor sat down for the mandatory meeting on what her last two years of Hogwarts should look like, Leslie informed him that she was still mostly uncertain which career path she desired. Perhaps Leslie would continue what legacy was stripped away all those years ago. "Lucky it was offered this term. Be sure you and Mr. Malfoy make Slytherin proud."

The girl could have blanched, but the parchment was held in front of her face, egging her to move and get on with her day. Leslie took the paper from the head of Slytherin House and glanced over to the pale blonde for a split second. As quickly as her eyes shot towards him, she looked away—she had not expected to see the young wizard already staring her down.

Leslie let out a long breath as she begun to head out of the Great Hall. Glancing down at the paper, her eyes absorbed her schedule for her sixth year at Hogwarts:

MONDAY: 10:00-11:00 : Defense Against the Dark Arts 11:00-12:00 : Lunch 13:00-15:00 : Potions

TUESDAY: 13:00-15:00 : Potions 15:30-17:00 : Charms

WEDNESDAY:

THURSDAY:

FRIDAY: 09:00-11:00 : Alchemy 11:00-12:00 : Lunch 13:00-15:00 : Transfiguration

The schedule is almost ideal, happy to see her Wednesdays and Thursdays would be free. Though, Leslie knows the off-days are intended for students to work on the vast amount of assignments. Nonetheless, she feels content.

"Hey, Leslie," a voice calls almost lazily.

Upturning her head, Leslie searches for voice, coming across a ginger boy. A distinct memory of her and different ginger boy, though a couple years her senior, alone and in very close proximity pops into her head and she feverishly tries to calm a blush. However, Ron Weasley spots it and it takes effort on his part to not laugh. Harry is with his friend and no doubt knows about the story in the two's head, having a twitch at the corner of his lips.

Leslie almost wants to run to the Slytherin common room, but instead, she smiles sweetly.

"Harry and I were comparing schedules," Ron informs her. "What's yours looking like?"

"Well, I have a free period now," - to this, Harry and Ron made a unanimous 'us too' - "And after, I have Defense Against the Dark Arts and then Potions later." Once again, the two Gryffindors make the same sound, the group pleased they share the same Monday schedule.

As the comparisons went on, Leslie discovered she also has Charms and Transfiguration with both Harry and Ron. It appeared the only class she had alone, at least so far to her knowledge, was Alchemy. The two Gryffindors made a face when they read the name on her timetable.

"Professor Snape said Malfoy is also in it." With a curl of her lip, Harry and Ron visibly see her lack of comfort in the ordeal. The duo understands all too well, and it only took befriending Leslie a year prior to propel their disdain.

"Malfoy is into that sort of thing?" Ron questions, his brow arched in disbelief. "Huh. I wouldn't have put him as someone interested in anything, except for being a royal git."

Leslie smiles though her eyebrows draw close. "Git or not, he's allowed to have interests. He's still a human, you know."

Ron scoffs, glaring at the platinum blonde now walking out of the Great Hall. "Hardly," is the ginger's reply which earns a good laugh from Leslie and Harry.

Now that the corridors were beginning to thin, Leslie decided she could afford to go back to the common room to grab more ink, having realize she only snagged a single bottle. "I'll see you in a few," Leslie tells her friends before taking the stretch to the dungeons.

══════════════════

Almost an hour later, Leslie's march ends at a queue leading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She was nearly late, but luckily, Professor Snape is very punctual about when to let students inside his classroom, leaving them all to wait outside until 10 o'clock exactly.

She just reaches the end of the line when the door is swung open, revealing the professor.

"Inside," is all he says.

Leslie did not miss Ron's bright hair and while she would have chose to sit next him and his friends, Professor Snape made it a habit to sort his students by House. So, Leslie took to one side as the other houses took to another. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws took the front while the house of serpents and lions took the back.

Unfortunately, due to Leslie arriving last, the very back row had the only available seating. And what made things worse was who sat in the spot next to the last stool.

Despite her glancing around, there was no other option but for Leslie to sit next to the blonde Draco Malfoy, not having realized (nor is she surprised) he was in the queue for the Dark Arts class. It appears his lap dog Pansy Parkinson and his goons did not pass or choose to take a N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts, otherwise he'd have his own posse to take up the remaining seats. For once, Leslie is upset she and the Parkinson girl do not share a course.

What had happened on the train did not falter in retellings. She felt almost thankful Malfoy created a distraction for her head, that much she will admit, but a giant part nagging at her was the fact that it simply was Malfoy who triggered the silence. She doesn't know whether her bumping shoulders was just a break in the wiring or if his presence meant something else. Leslie also was not wanting to find out. Not to mention, the ordeal made Leslie uncomfortable with their history considered.

"You are the worst person I have ever met, Draco!"

"If you would just listen to me, instead of acting crazy—!"

The witch blinks away a fight from last term and, ever so reluctantly, Leslie lowers herself on Malfoy's left, keeping her eyes far from his figure as a scar across her right hand replays a story. She sets her bag down, knowing Snape will use the first few minutes as an introduction to the course.

Leslie waits for a remark, something cruel to come out of the boy's mouth. But nothing of the such passes his lips. Instead, she finally notices his eyes are angled at her hand that was fiddling with the quill on her desk. Faster than a Golden Snitch, she redacts her arm under the table.

It was only then did Leslie notice how Professor Snape turned the old classroom into something of his own— truly his own. The atmosphere is heavy and gloomy, curtains pulled over the windows and the only source of light comes from lit candles. There were pictures, too, that rose goosebumps on Leslie's arms; they all depict what she assumes is the aftermath of evil curses and dark magic.

"I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

Every wandering gaze fell upon the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion, I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be more advanced." The statement did nothing to calm the nerves of each student. They all went in knowing the difficulties of N.E.W.T. classes, but the reminder from the monotone professor makes everything more real.

"The Dark Arts," Professor Snape continues having rounded the edge of the room towards the gruesome photos, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible. Your defenses must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" - all eyes absorb the sight of a witch shrieking an agony - "feel the Dementor's Kiss" - then a wizard with sunken, lifeless eyes huddled in a corner - "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" - finally, a bloody mass.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Parvati Patil asks. "Is it definite? Is he using them?"

The mere concept of an Inferius makes Leslie shudder. To reincarnate the dead to do one's bidding is far too disturbing for her to stomach.

Professor Snape's eyes shows he did not appreciate the interruption. "The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now, you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

It was an answer every student knew, but Hermione Granger shot her hand up anyways. Leslie had to bite back the humored smile as the professor surveyed the rest of the classroom, hoping for another hand to raise. But no one wanted to deflate Hermione's ego.

"Very well. Ms. Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform which gives you a split-second advantage," says the Gryffindor.

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six..." Professor Snape says dismissively. Next to Leslie, she hears Malfoy snicker, leading the girl to roll her eyes, a small huff escaping her.

The boy shoots his eyes to the left, eyeing down and smirking at Leslie. "I see the summer did nothing to kill that newfound feistiness. I almost miss the old you."

"And I missed it when you weren't speaking."

Dark brown irises roll once more to glare at silver grays, though the later holds a mischievous glint. Malfoy makes an exhale, the sound of a laugh being hidden. Leslie knows he is trying to get under her skin. Part of her feels it working, the other part truly just wants the boy to shut up. "Those Gryffindors really did a number on you. Especially that one twin—"

Before Leslie can retort, a voice comes from the front of the classroom. "If your conversations during my lecture are so important, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Greyscale, perhaps a free period would be better suited."

Eyes from all around shoot towards the pair in the back. Leslie notices Ron give her a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, Professor," Leslie utters, as Malfoy was too busy smiling to himself.

The rest of Professor Snape's lecture was simply instructions on how to cast a non-verbal spell. Luckily, Leslie was already halfway to success, having learned how to perform a Shield Charm thanks to D.A. last year. However, they never learned how to cast it without using words. Leslie felt her nerves kick in even with her professor preparing them with the essential steps.

"You will now work with the person next to you. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence."

Oh, how lovely, Leslie thinks bitterly.

The back of the classroom held a wide space, wide enough for each pair to have room to practice standing up. Malfoy stood before Leslie when Professor Snape sent them off on their way. Leslie suppresses a groan when she pushes her stool back.

From behind her, she hears Harry whisper, "Good luck. If he does anything stupid..."

Leslie tosses a reassuring smile to the boy. "I'm sure I'll be fine, but thanks."

Malfoy already stands waiting with his wand out as Leslie approaches. There's a sly smirk on his face. It makes Leslie uncomfortable: does he thrive on making her queasy? "I'll go first."

"Go figure," Leslie replies wandering a few paces away. A few feet from the Slytherins, two Gryffindor boys named Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were paired to spar but only stood glaring at the blonde boy. Both boys made the assumption Malfoy was going to put Leslie in the hospital wing. Unbeknownst to them, however, the gift that allows her to know their very thoughts will aid her during the exercise, avoiding whatever the reason was behind Malfoy's smirk.

It took a matter of five minutes before Malfoy's smirk fell clean off his face. Much like the rest of the students, he had grown frustrated by the lack of progress. Leslie was gaining some improvement, but of course Hermione had seemingly mastered the skill before anyone else. Her efforts should have given Gryffindor at least 20 House Points, but all Professor Snape was interested in regarding that house was taking points away.

"Excellent progress," Snape tells the Slytherins. "But be more demanding, Greyscale. It is not your strong suit obviously, but defending yourself against Dark Wizards require it."

"Yes, thank you, Professor," Leslie responds as her professor and Malfoy share a brief moment of eye contact.

Malfoy twirls his wand and then goes still once Professor Snape moves on. "Try screaming the spell in your head. It's slowly working for me so far."

Leslie's eyebrow raises. Truthfully, the advice would have made her laugh if anyone would have given it to her. But she's stubborn, and not ready for Malfoy to earn her praise. "I didn't ask for your help."

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go back to hating each other."

"I've always hated you." Her eyes narrow but it's a lie, and Malfoy knows that well.

The same sly smirk fell upon his face once more. "That's not how I remember things."

Malfoy would regret his advice a second later as he flies backwards, not yet ready to block the spell from Leslie's wand.

"Powerful, and effective. Twenty points to Slytherin," Professor Snape announces as Leslie wears the proud smirk Malfoy once had.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

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jawllines · 5 years

Text

"Its a bit dark I suppose," she admitted, waving her hand around lamely, "And the ceiling lights are more ominous than comforting at night and it feels more like an evil lair than a cozy bookstore."

His smile only grows bigger, "See? M'not an all gloomy, knife on the wall, grunge monster -- got me soft gooey spots too. Have a few art pieces I think you might like t--"

"Oi, don't get too big for your britches, I don't need an interior designer." She nips him off but he doesn't take any hurt from her words, only getting closer to her and raising the chair, moving it over a good chunk before setting it back down and holding onto it, nodding towards the chair and her face twists in confusion, "What?"

"Get on the seat then," he pats on it, "If you won't use me for my wonderful vision yet, then you can use me for my chair steadying hands."

Y/N's heart warms some, "Yet?" She repeats, plucking another nail out of the box and taking hold of the hammer again.

Harry shrugs, "Got hope you'll come to your senses."

Y/N has a bookstore and Harry owns the shop next door

Y/N's had it.

Absolutely had it!

When everyone told Y/N she shouldn't open up a bookstore beside a tattoo parlor, she let their worries float in through one ear and right out the other. She'd figured that they were just worried she was looking into opening up a business and the part of town she was on could be a bit shoddy at sundown, but the rent out for space was cheaper than anywhere else and it was right across from a bakery and café! Who didn't want to go to a bookstore after a nice cupcake and a half decent latte, to pretend they knew the first thing about Ernest Hemmingway in front of their smart friends and ultimately leave with a book that'll sit on their shelf for a total of five hours (they'll come back eventually, asking for a refund, and she could persuade them with a book more suited to them -- it's happened more times than she could count, honestly)? It was the perfect place to start out small, then escalate bigger and bigger. She had total faith in it!

But how was she supposed to do that when there was metal playing top volume at 9AM in the fucking morning?

There was always smoke clouding the outside of her shop, ashes in her flowerbeds, and men with piercings and tattoos all over their faces looming around. It wards people away like bug repellent. . .the days that the parlor is open are the days business can be ridiculously slow, yet the days that they're closed -- well, the door’s bell is chiming so often she questions whether or not she should take it down for her ears sake. It's those days that keep her running both moneywise and physically since she's running it primarily herself. It's those days that let her know that its the gremlins next door that keep people from even trying to come over.

Y/N loved books. She loved the intricate stories, interwoven plot lines, and unique writing styles. She loved being so enveloped within a universe that she's been reading for hours and it's felt like a blip of thirty minutes, not wanting it to ever end, and endlessly searching to see if there was a sequel (or if there was going to be one). Falling in love with the characters, hating others, rooting for none of them and all of them simultaneously. Being so stressed out that she has to stop herself from reading a few lines ahead to makes sure everything was okay (failing terribly), changing positions about twenty-seven times, reading as she walked to the bathroom to pee and barely wanting to put it down to wash her hands. She loved feeling immersed like she was completely involved in the story, and she knows she's not the only person who feels that way.

So she majored in business, got a loan from the bank, and opened up a bookstore. If she could spend the rest of her life helping people find the book that does that for them, then she would be happy -- it'd always been her dream.

Which is why this was so frustrating -- for them to be so careless around a dream of hers. She'd written several polite letters that she posts up on the door in the morning before they open, but even though they're not still on the door by afternoon, her politeness is being blatantly ignored. It's so frustrating. So absolutely frustrating, that she could scream!

Y/N had tried everything. Had brightened up the storefront with more posters, changing the awning above the doors and windows, added more art and posters, planted more flowers so that looked welcoming and bright even despite the dark, blacked out windows and ashtrays right next door. Nothing could deviate the noticeable decline in sales on the days the tattoo parlor is open as well.

So when she finds more ashes in her hydrangea, she's had just enough. Stomped her way over next door, even though it was about five minutes to open, and shoved her way through the parlor door. She'd never been in here before, so she wasn't quite certain of the layout, but right up front was a small counter with a smooth granite finish atop of it, and a gruff looking man sitting behind it, two large gauges in her ears and a swirly tattoo decorating his forehead. The entire essence of this place was dark; all broody and deep shades of purples, reds, and blacks. Their stores might be connected by one wall but couldn't have appeared more different -- Y/N was trying to lure people in with a muted olive hue, and here they were with a massive knife glistening and dripping with a jam shade of blood painted on their front wall.

"Listen," she began immediately, pointing her finger directly at him and wishing she'd worn something more intimidating like an exaggerated satin lapel Armani suit tailored to fit, but she doubted that would fair well heaving boxes around all day so she had to settle for a worn tee, The Great Wave sketched out on it in black ink, "I know you guys are running a business and I know being rough and rugged is your aesthetic and you were here first! I get that! But I'm running a business too and my business is books and reading and quiet not loud, blaring Black Sabbath at top volume for the whole block to here. And if I find one more cigarette ash in my god damn hydrangeas I'm going to fucking --"

"Hello," a voice rings from behind her, startling her to a jump and she sees the eyes of the man who she'd been yelling at (who seemed rather unfazed) flicker over behind her, "What do we have here? Riktor here cheat on you? The naughty devil can never keep it in his pants."

When Y/N turns around to confront the face, she takes in a deep breath. The guy before her is pretty. . .maybe too pretty to be working here and the only indication of him possibly working here is the shirt he wears that sports the logo and the ink running up and down his arms, plus a tattoo gun that he's polishing with what looks like a scrap piece of cloth, massaging it diligently across the stainless steel tip. . His eyes are a very clear, light green like what one might expect to be the jewels of a mermaids earrings, and lips that didn't even look kind of chewed up -- like he'd never known stress in his life. Two perfect, smooth shades of pink skin to a strawberry milkshake that pullback in a simper, watching her closely and waiting for her next move but her brain had slowed trying to process that a could have been the cute boy next door archetype was for some reason in a very grungy shop such as this.

The words he'd said to her finally set in her head, however, and her brows reset in their irritation, "I'm Y/N and I own the shop next door and --"

"So you're our little book bee? The hydrangeas are beautiful."

She pauses for a moment, taken aback, "Yes," she decides, "Yes, they are beautiful, but they can't be beautiful when there are ashes in them."

The man pouts his lips, own face looking disgruntled by this, "Well that won't do. We've got ashtrays right out front for a reason, but I'll see about moving them to the back and changing the smoking area around there."

"Yeah," she says, maybe a little to forcefully, still geared up for a fight but she was bewildered by the very sudden change in tune. Y/N had kind of been expecting a huge argument and yelling and maybe her storefront to be spray painted, but he was -- this boy was. . .being very suspiciously understanding, "That would. . .that would be good." Her shoulders relax, dropping, "And the music --"

"Far too loud," he nods slowly, raising his hand, "I tell them but they never listen to me. Long as I'm here it'll be down but when I'm gone they crank it right up. However, you have my full permission to come over here and yell at them. Say Harry sent ya, they should put it at a suitable volume."

Y/N's pointing finger lowers slowly, and she wonders if her face conveys how truly alarmed she is that he's being so approachable and considerate. While there is always the possibility that he's doing it to get her off of his back and back to her shop so they can get to work, his face suggests he's being sincere, so she lowers another defensive barrier that she'd boarded up to get herself to come over here. She gives one final nod, "Okay, good -- um -- thank you very much."

"Anytime," he shifts the cloth and tattoo gun to one hand, holding out the other, "Nice t'a finally meet you neighbor."

"Nice to meet you." She took his hand in her own, giving one firm shake before turning on her heel and hot tailing it out of there. Had she been around him any longer, she's sure she would've said something stupid given the chance, because he was way too fucking cute and she was not having that. She doesn't like when talking to someone makes her feel nervous -- Y/N actually makes a point to not feel nervous when she's speaking with someone -- but this boy. Well, fuck sake, she's still a little jittery as she reenters her own store.

She doesn't know if she could ever face him again, actually.

. . .

"You need to find another person to work here," Ayla saddles up on the front counter next to the register, one leg on either side, swinging them back and forth obnoxiously while Y/N was crouched over thumbing through a box of The Devil All the Time's hardbacks. She was counting them because she was fairly sure they'd shorted her by four books which would not have been a problem if hardbacks weren't the price of a limb. Ayla had come over to "help" but as always, her definition of help resorts to chatting with her with one of the bakery cookies held in her hand, watching while Y/N heaved and huffed big boxes of books around, "Get 'em to do all the grunt work and have yourself a latte while you read in the back room."

Y/N rolled her eyes, pausing on 26 to answer her, "M'good by myself for right now," she responded, looking up from the box to set her gaze on Ayla, watching her pick the dirt from beneath her fingernail, "Besides, teaching 'em how to do things the way I want them is such a bother, I'd rather do it myself."

"Still, you gotta be lonely," she shakes her head, "It can get so quiet in here even when there are customers, and y'know too much silence can drive you mad, I read."

She opens her mouth to respond, when a very distinct sound of a guitar riff floods muffled into their ears and her face sets into a deep frown, "How could it be quiet when I've got a shop neighbor who won't turn the music down?" Her voice escalates in sound every word, shaking her head slowly, "Y'know, I thought maybe the owner was actually genuine and really nice, but m'positive he's working today and the music's still blaring! How can they even focus on that going on? Won't the vibrations of the damn soundwaves fuck them over? They've got needles to people's skin, they should be focused."

It'd been a week since she'd gone over there and it was good for a few days; he stuck to his word about the smoking, putting the ashtrays in the back but that didn't really stop the few stragglers who were walking up to the place with a cigarette, so there were still buds on the sidewalk but it definitely had been better. However, the music was still loud and grating and nobody wanted to look at books when there were muffled rumbles of what she's certain is Led Zeppelin shaking her walls.

"They've got amazingly steady hands I heard," Ayla throws one last glance towards the vibrating wall before lulling her gaze back to where Y/N is squatted, "I dated a girl -- remember Rita? She used to be at tattoo artist and her hands were incredibly durable. . .she could go for hours knuckles deep inside me."

Y/N goes back to her counting, her finger on the binding of the book she'd left off on but she couldn't find the number she'd left off on, "I do remember Rita," Y/N murmurs, wracking her brain and tapping at the binding with the tips of her fingers, "She called me Prude Pringle for three weeks 'cos I refused a drunken threesome with you lot."

"A threesome?" Her face skewers, "When was that? Why'd you say no?"

"Back in August. Said no 'cos I was the only sober one and a little birdie once told me she couldn't partake in a threesome because she's too jealous for it."

Ayla nods, leaning back, "Good call -- 've I ever told you-you're a great friend."

Y/N opens her mouth to tell her to say it again but it's in that moment she realized that she definitely lost count and she's almost positive that the music got even louder! So instead of that, she slams her palm down against the bindings, "Fuck sake!" She nearly shouts, shoving herself up from the ground and dusting off her pants, "I'll be right back."

She charges over to the door, "Wait, shouldn't you jus' call and complain?"

Her suggestion is lost in the chime of her door's bell, again wishing she'd worn something more gruff and grungy than what she has but such is life she supposes. So she bursts through their open door in a shirt with a realistic gray octopus sat on a pile of books, surpassing the front desk man -- Riktor -- and heading towards the back, where the music was coming from. There's a low, throaty voice of someone trying to stop her but she ignores it, coming past the curtain threshold, and there she finds herself with a group of. . .well, of tattoo artists. There's about three hunched over bodies -- one working on adding an additional flower onto an arm's sleeve, another inking what looks like a balloon on someone's hip, and another who's giving an ankle tattoo, what looks like a hammer and a nail. A few other people are just sitting about, on their phones, combing their fingers through their hair, another throwing a whole bottle of water in one go.

All of them ignoring that she'd stormed in. . .all of them listening to music at top volume.

"Excuse me," she tries over the music, and when she barely gets a flicker of a glance, she goes louder, "Excuse me!" Again, there's no response, so she scans the room for the stereo, spotting it in the corner beside a man with black inked all up his neck. She goes for it without thought, twisting and winding around stools and chairs, taking the volume dial and spinning it low. That catches their attention, and the resounding noise of the tattoo gun's needle cuts off completely, "Excuse me," she finally states with a huff, "Could you please keep the volume a little lower? It vibrates the walls when it's up so high."

She gets a lot of blank stares. . .a lot. . .and wordlessly, the man who was sitting beside it leans over and turns it right back up, even louder than it had been before, everyone going back as they had before she'd come through. Y/N is infuriated! She asked so fucking nicely, how the hell could they just ignore that? Was it the octopus shirt?

In the next few moments, she doesn't think. Instead, she turns back towards the stereo, leans down and reaches behind the speaker before yanking the plug from the wall and the music cuts off completely.

When she lifts back up, she deadpans the lot of them.

"Harry sent me." She snaps before walking out, slipping beneath the curtain, sparing a glance at Riktor who has his brows raised and when she pushes through the door, almost running into a body. A body that is very much Harry, who has his fingers curled around the top of two bakery bags, brows furrowed.

"Y/N?" He looks concerned, and she wonders if it's written all over her face that she's irritated, "What's wrong?"

She looks at him, and his stupidly gorgeous eyes, and his way too pretty mouth, and just shakes her head, "Nothing's wrong, I took care of it."

She leaves it at that.

. . .

Y/N feels a little guilty later on. Not entirely guilty, because it felt good to shut it off entirely and she hadn't heard a peep from them otherwise, but guilty enough that she had thought about writing a note suggesting that they just switch the stereo to a wall that they're not sharing, but she stops herself. They'd probably just roll it in a ball and toss it in the trash anyway, so instead of writing a note, she worked on setting up the new display for The Devil of All Time and throws around a few ideas about how to draw people in with a poster or something detailing that this was going to be a movie soon.

Ayla had gone home after praising her for being a badass, leaving Y/N to her thoughts. A good amount of customers flowed in but it was a Monday and Mondays were always pretty slow (business picks up as the week goes on so she'd been expecting as much. So she does some housekeeping and wonders if she should hire someone to at least speak to when she's bored, but the thought of another person in here kind of gives her the willies. This store was her baby. . .her cute little, chubby fingered, drooly, bed wetting baby and the thought of letting a stranger step a foot near her innocent little baby to destroy it with their grubby hands got right under her skin. Y/N's better at working alone, she thinks, and she doesn't know how much she'd fair as a leader if she felt a teensy bit bad about taking initiative yelling at a ton of grungy tattoo artists.

She's suckling on her bottom lip, staring at a blank poster board and figuring she should probably take her little art project home rather than stay here any later than need be, when there's a jingle of her door's bell, and she looks up to see none other than Harry. Harry who looks very. . .very guilty, lips drawn downward, and Y/N opens her mouth to ask what he was doing but he holds one hand up, the other preoccupied with a rolled bag similar to the one from the bakery he'd had earlier in the day, "Before you rip me a new one, I just want to apologize. I had them turn it down all this morning and I leave for lunch and I don't doubt they twisted the knob all the way up again. I told 'em I would take the damn stereo away if they kept it up." He tears the beanie from his hat, combing his fingers through his hair, shaking out the curls, and waving the bag he'd brought, " So I brought you a piece of Boston Cream Pie. Told 'em they better be nice to you too, 'cos you're our neighbor and they ran off the last cute little boutique we had and. . ." he looks around, gaze fluttering about the room, "S'kinda dark in here, Pet, you should get some more lights -- ooh, do those yellow fairy ones, isn't that what they're called?"

Y/N's head tilts to the side, brows furrowing as she takes the bag from him, "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, sorry, off topic I know, I just thought this is a college town and y'know how they're suckers for fairy lighting; innocent little things, as soon as they get out they tear 'em down and pretend nothing happened."

Y/N tries not to show on her face that she definitely has fairy lights strung up in her flat, as she responds, "S'fine, um -- yeah, I'll look into that," she shakes her head, placing the bag to the side and unrolling it, reaching in for the pie and the fork, "Sorry about tearing the plug from the wall, hope it didn't short circuit or anything."

His eyes go wide, "No, no! No apologies told you to tell them arseholes I sent ya and that you did." He lowers himself before her familiarly and Y/N's brows raise, not expecting him to go ahead and make himself comfortable but not terribly turned off that he did. Though she was quite. . .taken by him -- enough so that she was sort of dry-mouthed as he stretched his leg out, leaning back and holding himself up with the palm of his hand behind his back. The ripped holes in his blue jeans pucker up, the cuffs of his jeans pinch rolled down to a very clean pair of pink socks and loafers. Once she sees the bottom half of him, she focuses then on the top, seeing him in a worn Pink Floyd shirt and he's just so. . .boyish, she can't get over it. "What're you staring at? Have I got croissant on me face?"

While he reaches up to swipe away at nonexistent crumbs, she shakes her head, "No, no," she reassures him, "No, s'just -- um. . .you don't look much like you'd be a tattoo artist. Or be the boss for that matter," her brows dip in, "Not like that's a bad thing, its just compared to the aesthetic of your parlor you kind of. . .stray from the part."

For a moment she wonders if that was rude but Harry doesn't seem all too bothered by her statement, poking at first his eyebrow and then his lip and nose, "Had a few piercings believe it or not. But I was with a girl a while back who absolutely hated them and I had 'em out so long that the holes closed up." He sighs, waving his hand over his face, "Would've gotten them pierced again but I found people find me much more approachable without them in, so I didn't bother."

Y/N's face skewers, shaking her head as she caps the sharpie she'd been working with, "That's shit," she mutters without thinking, finally popping open the plastic container with the pie, "You shouldn't have changed yourself for a girl's sake. If she really cared for you, then she wouldn't mind the piercings." She's digging the fork into the pie, wondering why it felt so easy to talk to him. . .he had a sort of charming way about him that sucked her in easily -- or maybe it's because she had nobody to talk to for hours on hours, being left with her own thoughts for way too long makes her rather susceptible to speaking without really being prompted to, "I mean, if I was crazy about a guy and he had like. . .like Nirvana's entire discography tattooed on his face, I wouldn't care if it made him happy, y'know? S'a shame thinking the world and all its people are s'pposed to bend at your will." She slips the pie into her mouth, realizing that maybe he didn't technically ask for her input at all, and her heart almost drops to her stomach because the last thing she'd want to do is make enemies with the one person who's on her side, "I'm sorry, that's none of my business."

She looks up expecting him to look pissy, gathering his things to leave, but instead, he's smiling, looking pleasantly surprised, "No, no, don't apologize. Wish I would've had you 'round when it was happening to me, would've done me some good."

And if she's honest. . .maybe she really should hire somebody, because she also (apparently) becomes very pushy and involved in other people's lives because she goes on to ask, "Well, what happened between you two? If you don't mind me asking." She pushes some of the whipped cream off the top of the pie, "I love a good romance story."

Snorting, Harry chuckles, "You're a bloody trip, y'know that? Just sat down and you wanna know all my nitty gritty feelings," He doesn't make any move to leave, "Your blatant and unapologetic interest is refreshing, however, so I'll give you it. I'm more or less an open book but this "romance" was more like a dark drama -- was the farthest from healthy." He shakes his head, "Would've brought a beer with me if I'd known I'd be getting into it, but basically, I met her when she'd come in for a tattoo on her ankle -- a little boat on her ankle -- and we sort of clicked right off the bat. She gave me her number at the end of the tattoo, kissed my cheek, and I was proper swooning. Everything was really good for a while too, like we would go on these cutesy little dates and then elaborate ones and when we had sex that was nice too but after like the second-month things kind of went to shit."

"She told ya to take out the piercings?" She guesses and he nods, a somber smile starting at his mouth.

"Started there, sure. Told me to take them out because they looked dumb or summat -- made me seem like a brooding teen punk is what she said, but I was so moony-eyed for her I took 'em right out without a second thought. At first, she loved haring what tattoos people got, and then she said I talked about work too much, but when I stopped she accused me of cheating on her instead of going to work. After convincing her I wasn't and I would never, we'd sleep together, cuddle to sleep, wake up in the morning and it'd start all over again. Started feeling like she wanted me to quit work altogether, stay with her at home all the time. . .would suggest it in the morning then cry when I left and blow up my phone all day." He shakes his head, "Won't say I was a saint, 'cos I definitely wasn't. Started ignoring the calls and messages after a while until I finally told her I couldn't do it anymore."

Y/N frowns for him, tutting her tongue, "A right mess. You were right to end things, 'cos if you don't have trust what do you have?"

"It's like I walked in and opened up a Nicholas Sparks book," he jests and she furrows her brows at him, "Like y'know just what to say, huh?"

"I'm very smart," she gives a fake gloat, "S'why I bought a shop next to an incredibly loud tattoo artist's whose customers like ashing in my flowerbeds. I'm full of grand ideas."

The jab makes Harry's lips stretch wide around a grin.

. . .

If someone had told Y/N while she was in high school, that her job would entail strolling in at seven in the morning, when the sky had just barely mottled a lavender, hazy dawn and wearing her cheap bear slippers -- she'd say they were crazy. Yet there she was, equipped with a box of nails (because they were much cheaper than command hooks), a hammer, and ten boxes of fairy lights so that she could lighten up the essential essence of the store. No matter how much she didn't want to admit that Harry was right about the lighting, he was, and she wasn't dumb enough to pass up an opportunity to make this place feel more home-y.

Harry was. . .interesting, Y/N thought. While she's ambling over the juniper colored rug (one she'd splurged on at the furniture store off main street, wool with a cotton-latex backing -- the man who had sold it to her somehow convinced her it was okay to spend the extra money for it to be 100% real and for a frazzled, newly bank loaned Y/N, she decided that wool was cool), she thinks about the time they'd spent together. He'd stayed a little while after he'd told her the story of him and his ex, waited for her to finish off the pie and reached for the container and stuffed it into the bag he'd brought it in. "As much as I'd love to stay, I really gotta hit the hay. M'right knackered," he'd stretched out his body with a loud, groaning hum and his eyes even watered some with the gratifying burn of it, "You should go get some sleep too since it's only you working here."

"How'd you know that?"

He'd snorted and rolled his eyes as he gathered his things, "Please, you're the only one I ever see coming in and out of here every morning and night, plus you just spent an hour talking to your obnoxious neighbor like we're old friends," he shook his head, "Need someone to talk to throughout the day or you'll go mad -- thought I could tattoo by meself and now I've got more than five knob heads working for me."

Y/N isn't sure what kind of weird mentor/mentee relationship was beginning to germinate between the two of them but she had no idea how to feel about it. On one hand, it's nice to have because while college does a well enough job of teaching you how to run a business theoretically, stepping into it on your own was a whole new world. Harry had been through the trials and tribulations of opening a shop, starting something, getting people there, and finding an aesthetic for his own store -- he could help her with some things, she's sure of it, and she knows that if she ever had a problem regarding being an owner, he'd most likely be the first person she sought out for advice. There was something undeniably charming about him, it made it easier to hear his ideas rather than wanting to tell him to shut the hell up and let her run her own store, hence the reason she's here so early hanging up string lights.

On the other hand, she fears he's only buttering her up so she doesn't file some complaint regarding his employees. Did he think she'd really go to the police? Or was last night him trying to feel out what kind of person she was and how far they might be able to push her before she does? She'd like to think that he was a hundred percent innocent in her intentions but she just couldn't ignore the flitters of doubt in her mind. Someone as winsome as he is doesn't not know that they could get what they want if they played their cards right and she wonders if he was pulling out all the stops on her -- bringing her pie, sitting with her on her rug, and entertaining her with a story knowing full well she'd be a sucker for it because, well, she owned a damn bookstore.

Despite all that, he was good company at the very least, and not too terrible on the eyes, so she figures -- even if this is him doing some sly buttering -- she'd let him come around. At least until he started to annoy her.

While Y/N lugs an old kitchen chair from the supply closet, she reckons that she needs to buy something of a small ladder for her endeavors such as this. There were a few stepstools she had placed strategically around the store, but they only went high enough for the bookshelves rather than for above them and along the junction of the ceiling and wall. She slides the chair up against the wall after spotting an outlet and prays that it's not wobbly as she plucks a nail from the box and holds it between her fingers, keeping the hammer secure against her palm as she hoists herself up. A small squeak leaves her in alarm when she thinks the chair is about to tip but the leg had only left the ground a fraction of a millimeter so she was fine for now.

The prospect of someone working for her was continuing to feel more and more like a good' she'd have someone holding the chair steady for her as she finally stopped tricking herself out and slowly pushed herself upward, straightening out her legs and positioning the nail just a few centimeters down from the ceiling. She pinches it loosely with her finger as she taps the blunt end of the hammer against it in gentle taps, seeing no need in wailing on it, especially when she wanted it at a slight incline so the chances of the wires slipping off and her having to get back up on this chair were slimmer.

Once she's finished the first, she's proper proud of herself. Is taking a minute to admire her work when the very sudden and alarming sound of her bell chiming and the sound of her squawking cry as she jumps and clutches onto the wall masks over the intruder, until she looks over and sees none other than Harry himself with wide eyes, "Oh, my bad Love, didn't mean to scare you."

"Could you at least knock?" she groaned, brows furrowed with a hand limply covering her chest, "We're closed, go home."

Harry snorts as he watches her dismount from the chair, catching herself on the wall once again, "Well, I was just coming 'round to open up, and I saw you nailing into the walls while standing on a very wobbly chair in what appears to be slippers and I came to offer my aid, if you'd like it."

"I'm fine," she told him, pushing the loose strands of hair that tickled at her face backward, trying desperately not to stare at him for too long. He looked like he just woke up and it was cute; he had sleep puffy eyes, fluffy, noticeably freshly washed hair pushed back by a pair of unnecessary sunglasses, swamped in a hoodie much too large for him and a yawn stretches his mouth out, "Why are you here so early anyway? Do people get tattoos at seven AM?"

Shaking his head, Harry sets down the sketchbook that she just now realized had been in his hand and a few different pencils, including a pencil sharpener and it only just hits her that Harry must draw and design a lot of that tattoos that he does, "Trying to do a few new designs for the wall but I get too distracted when m'at home, so I come 'round here before it opens. The vibe is. . .like, good for the brain, y'know?" Y/N nods, even though she doesn't know and she watches as he looks from the nail to the hammer on the seat, to the boxes of lights she'd ordered online, and a grin pulls at his mouth, "You took me advice, ey?" He looks proud of himself and Y/N can't decide if it's really cute or really annoying.

"Its a bit dark I suppose," she admitted, waving her hand around lamely, "And the ceiling lights are more ominous than comforting at night and it feels more like an evil lair than a cozy bookstore."

His smile only grows bigger, "See? M'not an all gloomy, knife on the wall, grunge monster -- got me soft gooey spots too. Have a few art pieces I think you might like t--"

"Get on the seat then," he pats on it, "If you won't use me for my wonderful vision yet, then you can use me for my chair steadying hands."

Y/N's heart warms some, "Yet?" She repeats, plucking another nail out of the box and taking hold of the hammer again.

Harry shrugs, "Got hope you'll come to your senses."

She gives him a soft shove to his shoulder only to find he's incredibly sturdy and she doesn't know how to feel about that either.

"Just don't stare at my ass, yeah?" She tells him, pushing herself up onto the chair again with no squeak required because the chair doesn't shift.

He gives a mocking, exasperated sigh, "Damn, the only reason I offered my help was so I could objectify you a little eensy bit."

Y/N laughs harder than she should and when she looks down at him, she can noticeably see his ego being stroked, and yeah, he's far too cute right now. She can't tell if she wanted more to coddle him to her chest and shield him from the world, or to be the one who is coddled, but she sweeps the idea of it from her mind just as quickly as it'd come. She wasn't looking to pursue the idea of any crush her mind and heart decided to concoct in an effort to finally do her in. Plus she's got no time for a relationship anyway. When it came to being with someone, she believed that it was something that took time and care -- like gardening almost. Planting the seed was the easiest part, but then you had to tend to it; water it daily, stroke it's petals tenderly, assure it that it's going to blossom so beautifully and once it does, you have to work even harder to not let it wilt.

How could she give the proper love and care to anyone when she's trying to work the garden of her bookstore? Nobody deserved to be second to that of a store when it came to their significant other, and from how mindful, thoughtful, and sweet Harry was. . .well, that wouldn't be fair to him either.

That's to say if he even liked her in the first place.

She shakes her head at herself -- why is she even thinking like that? Probably because he was looking all soft swallowed up in his hoodie and sweatpants, and he's helpful and kind and it's not often you meet boys like that. Usually, there's a catch and she's waiting for Harry's -- for him to be a closeted asshole who's magnanimity only scraped the surface but deep down he was nothing but molten, murderous evil. Maybe he was a homicidal maniac worming his way close to her so he could get her alone, lock her in a cage, and starve her out? Or he'd get her from behind, bludgeon her with a hardcover book just for the irony of it.

But then she looks down, sees that he's watching her hands and not her bum, his gaze flickering to her own before the corner of his lips draw back in a cordial gleam, "Your handy work is top caliber," he remarks, nodding towards where she's left the nail in the wall, "Bet your fingers are strong and skilled from all the page turning."

A huffed laugh comes from her nose, chest puffing out with it.

He couldn't hurt a fly.

. . .

Y/N needs to hire someone.

She knows she does, and Ayla nor Harry would let her forget it, but she's too proud! Told herself she could start and run a business with no help and had intended to keep it that way, but there was so much that was entailed regarding all of this it was going to drive her up the wall. Like when she's finally gotten taken off hold with Baker & Taylor's helpline to let them know they sent her forty copies of Fifty Shades of Grey and it's predecessors when she most certainly did not, but she has to step away from the phone because someone can't reach a copy of Dean Koontz's latest novel. Or when she's trying to multitask cleaning up someone's spilled coffee off the rug (assuring through a myriad of their apologies that it was fine, it's why she had purchased the industrialized carpet cleaner met for the tracked stains of a Great Mastiff's colossal muddy paws in the first place), setting up an automatic payment for the electricity (which had sparked in price considering the lights lining the walls but with this came more night time visitors so it evened out), and realizing that there were three people waiting patiently in line for her to check them out.

Having at least one other hand would be beneficial, but again, she could only stress how hard it would to find someone she trusted with her snotty nosed baby of a bookstore. Who would she feel comfortable leaving alone if she had to run errands? To run the store when she was home sneezy and feverish? To open up the books and not damage their binding with the box cutter like she'd almost did a handful of times (before specifically requesting they put a protective wrapping over the shipments so she didn't have to play the surgeon game of "let's not nick an artery" book-edition). The only person she could even kind of imagine was Harry of all people, and he was busy running his own thing next door!

She guesses she could put a help wanted sign up front, but she would draft up the application herself, and including a questionnaire seemed necessity at this point. At the very least so she could feel out what kind of person they'd be and whether or not they'd be able to click, or if they would share her intense and immense love for books and reading. If they're to work here, she wants it to be to their enjoyment as much as it's for their paycheck, which is a lot to ask from some people, especially in a college town.

Hiring someone seems worth it until she imagines the first time they manage to do something like knock an entire bookshelf over, and then she thinks she'd rather work around the clock 24/7 than dare let anyone who isn't her do anything ever.

All of this is weighing like two fifty pound dumbbells on her mind as she's sat on the ground, starting a new project rather than actually dealing with the problem at hand. A few weeks ago she had bought a decently large basket but had nothing to do with it so it'd just been sitting collecting dust in the corner of her room until an idea struck her of its purpose. She'd put books in it, sure, but books that are wrapped up all nice and neat, with only a short description of it scrawled out over the paper. There's one thing she's come to learn to be a reader herself, and that is no matter how hard someone might try, they will always judge a book by its cover. The story could be exactly what someone was looking for -- the right amount of suspense or romance, horror or comfort, a plot that would keep you intrigued, and a page-turner that you'll never want to end -- but you could pass it right up because you don't like the fruit bowl on the cover. Y/N reckons that every time you're in a bookstore or in the library, you're bound to pass what could've been your all-time favorite book, just because the cover hadn't had you arsed enough to pick it up.

So she bought all the supplies for it and waited until closing, as always, to set herself up on that green rug. She'd moved the display table on it (strategically moving the books atop of it on the checkout counter) off to the side to give her the maximum amount of space for the thick brown recycled wrapping paper, her four rolls of scotch tape, the bumblebee printed scissors she'd brought from home, and starting with twenty random books she'd plucked off her shelf as to not overwhelm herself. Y/N had successfully completed three books with a permanent furrow in her brow before she heard the gentle rapping of knuckles on glass, looking up to see Harry's silhouette and his face pressed against the glass, mouthing let me in and point at the knob.

Her mood almost lightens immediately at the sight of him, placing her palms flat on the ground to push herself up on wobbly legs (she'd been sitting cross-legged for at least an hour) and walk to the door, unlocking it with the keys in the deadbolt and twisting the knob. "Jesus, are you ever home?" He questions as he steps in, "When did I help you with the lights? Two weeks ago? Don't think you've left since."

"You're not the only one who gets distracted when you're at home," she responds, relocking the door before retreating to her makeshift craft center in the middle of the floor, "Why wrap books when a bowl of popcorn and endless movies are at my disposal?"

"And the popcorn is far too buttery for you to be doing both," he adds thoughtfully.

Y/N snaps her fingers and points at him, "Bingo," she holds the edge of the paper down with her socked toes as she grabs for the tape dispenser, running the sticky side against the sharp teeth and nicking at the pad of her thumb in the process, "Why're you always wearing a beanie?" She asks him, referring to the olive green knit that's tucked atop his head, "You've got such pretty soft curls, don't hide them."

It takes him back some, she can tell, and she starts to wonder if she should've said it at all but a soft smile worms onto his lips and he manages to look way too cute like that, reaching up to pull at the top of the beanie, letting his hair fall about freely. It wasn't particularly unruly -- just soft brown tufts, that must be killer to run fingers through -- curls sprout around his ears, growing down towards his shoulders. She'd never seen hair like his; it was clear he took care of it and she'd reckon he'd used a hair mask or two, because it appeared healthy and clean, "Thank you," he murmurs sincerely, "Didn't think people much liked them -- get told to get a cut about every other day."

Y/N scoffs, "Well tell 'em to shove it. I like them, they suit you and I don't lie. Only cut your hair if you want to, but if you like it, who gives a rat what people think?" She shakes her head, ridding herself of the frustration building within her at the prospect of someone being rude enough to tell Harry to get a haircut when he clearly likes it long, trying to soothe the way she'd grumbled over by moving on with, "Anyway how was tattoo-ing today? Any fun stories."

Harry settles his keys down on the ground where he soon places his coat after slipping it off his shoulders, leaving it in a heap that he then sits beside, "I would tell you if I didn't think you were deflecting, but I got this aching feeling that there wasn't a furrow in your brow jus' 'cos you were wrapping books."

She wonders how he does that -- he's got an eye for people, she guesses, and she thinks having a secret that you have to keep from him was probably akin to one of the layers of hell. Y/N had never felt so cut open around him; like he'd pried her apart from the inside out, looking inside, knowing everything before she had a chance to even voice it aloud at all if she even knew it herself yet. Hell, she could make a book metaphor but it seemed a little on the nose as she's sat amongst a shit ton of them.

"Hey," he hums, catching her gaze with his own, and he looks so. . .gentle -- concerned and soft and sweet, "Y'know, you can rant and vent to me about stuff, yeah? Owning a business can be rough and not many people know the actual tribulations of it; never see past the whole, "you're your own boss!" aspect of it so I get it." He puts a finger in the air though, "However, if you're about to say something poor on yourself, I'll have you know that you're doing very well thus far from the amount of people leaving here with paper bags full of books, and to come to a college town that's absent of any small, homey little bookstores when they're discovering their comfort in things that are cozy was a well-planed move. You've accomplished so much already and you should definitely be proud of yourself."

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, her free hand going to tuck the hair behind her ear, "Thank you," she responds, "That means a lot." And it does! For someone to say that you're doing good when you've started something so much bigger than you -- it feels nice. Like the hug of your favorite sweater, or the way it feels to place your head against a feather filled pillow. Y/N couldn't believe how easily Harry has nearly resorted her to mush, so much so that she nearly forgot her problem at hand, "I just. . .I think I need to hire someone but I don't really want to." She takes the permanent marker from underneath her knee, before writing on the copy of Kathleen Hale's No One Else Can Have You:

Awkward Teenage Disappearing Mystery

Very Creepy

She pushes it off to the side as she continues, "Like, the help would be nice, but then I have to like them, and trust them 'cos this place means so much to me and I've put so much work into it that I can't just let any old stranger come in! And what if it's a college student and they invite their stupid drunk friends over before close? I can just see my lamp being destroyed and then I'd have to scold them, but I'm shit at yelling at anyone, I don't think anybody takes me seriously and its not like I could dox their pay even if I really, really wanted to but I can't fire them either for one little mess up. Like what if they need the money y'know? On those Myer Brigg's type tests I always get stuck on the one where it asks if you'd have trouble firing an employee who was shit at their job but loyal and I had always imagined it really could go either way, but how am I supposed to decide whether or not someone has a job?" Pausing, she knuckles worriedly at her eyes, shaking her head, "But I shouldn't even be thinking about that because I don't even have a fucking employee yet, so. . ."

Once he's certain that she's not going to say anymore, Harry speaks up, "This is the stuff they don't really tell you when you get a business degree, yeah? It's hard. . .working by yourself is hard and working with people is hard, and it sucks trying to find who suits you best as your first employee. My first was Riktor. . .proper hated the bugger," he leans backward on his palms, tilting himself sideways so he could stretch his legs outward, "He had a fouler mouth than mine and I thought he was a prick, if m'honest, but when I saw him do a full sleeve of the most beautiful work I'd ever seen, got a chance to really talk to him, and found out that him n'I have loads in common. You just have to give whoever you hire a chance, pick their brain a little, you'll understand them more as a person so if they do make a mistake it isn't just some mindless bumbling idiot."

A frown tugs at her mouth, "Why do you always know what to say?" She grumbles and he laughs brightly, warm, wiggling down in her gut and fluttering butterfly wings lick and tickle her insides.

"M'bloody smart, s'why," he drops his lid down in a wink, "Now, explain to me what you're doin, so I can help," he tells her, "For the time being, I'm your employee, I work for five cents an hour and require constant affirmation that I'm wrapping correctly."

Harry helps her, even though he's shit at wrapping (they both find this out at the same time) and even though he asks a lot of questions and worms the endings out of her despite how much she both simultaneously loves and loathes ruining books for people. But it was nice -- he was nice -- and it makes her feel quite soft. Softer than she likes to feel in the presence of anyone. . .Y/N prides herself on not losing herself in the thoughts of a relationship, putting herself first in all things, and it can't be seen as selfish because who would she be putting second if she was alone?

But Harry was like a pest. A squirmy little bug that has settled in her, and planted imagery of them going home together rather than leaving each other after this. To continue their conversations. . .laughing and teasing and cuddling and maybe Y/N could be held one night instead of falling asleep buried beneath her covers trying to keep warm.

Though she eventually remembers that she likes having the bed to herself and she'd probably get too sweaty anyway, so she shakes the idea from her brain.

Harry brought her from these thoughts though when he had plucked the last book from her pile, looking at it with brows raised before turning it to face her, "On Dublin Street, ey? This looks pretty saucy," he peers at the back, eyes scanning over the description, immediately lighting up as he reads from it, "Braden Carmichael is used to getting what he wants, and he's determined to get Jocelyn into his bed." He flickers through a lump of pages with his thumb, bending the book backward some as he does, "Didn't know you were into such filth, Pet."

Y/N rolls her eyes, "I haven't read it, but Ayla swears up and down that it's the best thing she's ever read in her life so I figured I'd put it in."

He holds it in his hands, front to back, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a handful of bills, "I'll buy it off you."

"What?" She tilts her head but he's leaning forward, placing the money into her hand and closing her fingers around it, "Oi -- what're you --"

"Let's start a book club," he remarks decisively, a short nod of his head, "Just you and me. We'll read a few chappies, talk about it, and we'll start with this book right here."

Her mouth falls open, shaking her head, "Harry, I don't even have time to read books that I want to read, much less --"

"Then make time," he cuts her off, shaking his head some, "You love reading, don't you? Don't let what made you start up this store in the first place get swept under the rug. We'll read however many chapters we decide on and meet up for coffee on Sundays to discuss. This will kick it off, then we can move to books that we are actually interested in, but for now, we'll do a tester. Have you got another one around here?"

She doesn't really get a chance to tell him that yes she does, it's on the third shelf over from the desk on the erotica shelf (a cute little sticker labels it), because he's already stood up and ventured it out himself. It was true -- Y/N hadn't been able to read much since she initially got this place up and running, and she missed it terribly but it felt like it would be a chore more than anything some nights. It'd be easier to just turn off her brain than get invested in the stories she grows to love so much. And that's rubbish! Absolute rubbish, because she should be making time for the one thing that has always been her thing. She doesn't want to end up resenting this bookstore or books in general, just because she lost sight for what made her want to do this in the first place.

Y/N wonders aloud why Harry has made a habit of fixing problems she didn't even know she had yet, "I need you to start having problems too," she tells him, half joking, half serious, "Then I can start helping you out and this isn't so one-sided."

Harry grins at her, shaking his head.

"You help me," he responds, "You just don't notice when you are."

. . .

Y/N doesn't know why she feels so anxious. She and Harry had spent plenty of nights together, sat on her carpet and chatting with one another for hours into the night, pursuing her random projects and brightening up the store. He even stops by during his lunch breaks -- will bring some food for her even, mostly because she rarely leaves for lunch herself and sometimes forgets to pack her own. It had been routine almost, and she'd never felt nervous when he appeared at her door, smiling wide.

But now, when it comes to them meeting at the café to discuss this book though, she feels all types of tense and nervy. Y/N had left twenty minutes early, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and nibbling on it hard as she made her way to the café. She briefly considered calling Ayla to soothe her nerves, but she knows Ayla would merely gas her up thinking this was a date when it wasn't. So she just tries to shake off her jitters and treat it like she's going to work, only instead of turning right on Grand, she keeps straight along the cobblestone path to the Mud Mugs café she had suggested as their meeting spot.

(It was a cute little nonprofit shop with killer lattes and milkshakes that she's been trying to wheedle the recipes out of one of the baristas for at least a year but he won't budge.)

Once she pulls the door open, she first scans the area for an empty spot for them to go to, before she realizes that Harry was already there, tucked away in a booth in the far corner with a mug of his own and one that's full across from him. Her heart feels full as she walks up to him, letting her purse slip from her shoulder down to the inside of her elbow, and towards her hand with her fingers curling around the straps. Harry looked incredibly pretty, which she is beginning to realize is a trend with him. His shirt is worn and black, light washed blue jeans cuffed at the ankles, and plain white shoes with baby pink socks, a pink beanie that matches it tucked on his head. She wonders if she should ask him to go shopping with her because she's feeling like a walking toddler in her overalls, but when he notices her arrival he grins at her, looking her up and down, "Well, aren't you just the cutest thing?"

Y/N rolls her eyes, taking her seat across from him, "Shut up," she grumbles, before leaning over the table, taking the top of his beanie and pulling it upward, "What'd I say about these, huh?" She settles the mussed curls with her hands, patting it down and rearranging them until they sat less messy on his head, leaving it all soft and washed, "They're cute, let them breathe."

"Okay, okay boss," he pats at his hair, making sure it felt at least partially how he wanted it to, patting at the beanie and slipping it over to the side, "I ordered you a white chocolate latte, but if you want something different I can get that."

"No, no, thank you these are my favorite," she assesses the situation, seeing that he's got the book out, bright post-its stuck out of the pages, his own latte half gone already. His hand is palm down to the table, fingers splayed, showing off the big brassy rings decorating his fingers and she tries not to let her mind wander someplace filthy. Especially when his fingers curl up, knocking on the laminate tabletop decisively before starting.

"Let's get right to it then, what are your thoughts?"

The look he gives her is one that reads I already know what you're going to say but she says it anyway, "I'm just. . . just so confused," she shakes her head, like she's trying to rearrange her thoughts, "Like are they sixteen years old? Why is it so important that he saw her naked?" Her brows furrow, and he's listening carefully like she's making an analytical thought and he's drinking it in, "It's not like he saw her pussy out, he at most saw her tits and they're acting like he walked in with her bent over, cheeks spread an all."

It makes Harry chuckle, "So you don't find it super, completely, totally wild and embarrassing when someone walks in you naked?"

"I mean it's embarrassing but not over two pages embarrassing," she leans back into her seat, "Like back in college, this boy I was kinda friends with kinda just worked together in class with walked in on me while I was changing and all he did was squeal, went back to my living room and we pretended that it didn't happen. Easy as pie."

Harry snaps his fingers, "That's because your guy wasn't a prick, but this Braden character seems like an asshole. I hate him already, the cocky bastard." He shakes his head, "S'like he was created just to be a creepy bloke."

Y/N all but slaps her hand down on the table, "Right! He's liked an Edward Cullen without all the charming vampire bits."

"Crazy thing is, tha's exactly what I was thinking."

They continue on for a little over an hour and its fun -- a whole lot of fun, actually. Y/N wonders why she had even been dreading this in the first place because she should know to trust him by now. He had good ideas and good thoughts and a good everything, really -- or at least that's what it surely felt like. The two of them just fell into things so easily, she was having trouble remembering that they'd only met a month or so ago because the way they moved and spoke in sync almost, was something that could take years for two people to accomplish it. To add on to all of it, he felt like the kind of person where she'd be able to sit in silence with him and not want to crawl out of her skin because of it, which is a very damning feat for most, given Y/N can find reasons to be uncomfortable in almost every situation.

In these moments with him, she wasn't stressed about work, or bills, or anything really, and she could only hope he felt the same.

"This is a blast," Harry had spoken with his vocabulary joking but the meaning behind them sincere, dragging her from her reverie, and apparently dragging the thoughts directly from her head, "We'll keep doing this yeah? And we'll have to hang out other than this too -- the guys at the parlor would love you, I can feel it in my bones." For a moment he pauses, quiet like he's thinking, then remembering, and then suddenly, with a click of his thumb and forefinger the excited gleam on his face when he'd first suggested this appeared, "Come to the club with us this Friday."

Y/N's mouth opens, almost closing but she just barely gets out an, "I -- I don't know Harry, that's not really my um. . .don't think m'very good at clubbing, is the thing. Not really my scene."

"You don't have to be good, you just have to have fun, and I'll be there, so it'll be fun" he informs her, and she thinks he may be hypnotizing her with the soft green gaze of his, feeling as if he'd cracked her open and begun peering into her soul -- his eyes were too damn mesmerizing, she's almost certain that he was something out of a story. Certainly not human, but a mystical being with promises of magic and dust that turns you all shades of pink and purple and the absence of all worries that you could ever think to have. If eyes were windows to the soul, then Harry's soul is all types of alluring and compelling. She had half the mind to wonder if he were a vampire or summat. . .he'd suit the role nicely. "And since you'll be there, then it'll be even more fun."

Though she's uncertain, she doesn't dismiss him right off the bat. Maybe it would be good for her -- she could invite Ayla, who's always complaining how she's no fun anymore. It might be fun even. . .outside of her otherwise natural habitat and she had kind of wondered what Harry was like around his real friends. Not just his weird, work neighbor friend who she's fairly certain he only talks to her because he can spread some of his wisdom that would otherwise be bottled up inside him. They were kind of in the same spot job-wise, so it must be good to relinquish some of the aches and pains he's experiencing with someone who also does, or even just to see that she's doing a little worse off in sorting some stuff out -- he probably finds solace in the fact that he's not at that point in his career anymore.

This makes her worry though -- what if he likes her just as a work friend? She'd definitely had friends like that, where they do better justice in the setting that you met them in, opposed to the outside world. Like that one really good friend in your math class that you would never, ever in your life think to go to the mall with. Or the boy that helps you pass time at your part-time retail job in the mall, where both of you barely bat an eyelash at each other when you pass one another on campus. What if they go out together and he finds that she is much better as just his work friend? Or she finds the same? What if he's a raging asshole in a club and the glorious image of him is crushed to smithereens? The thought of it bums her out.

But then he's looking at her with this tender, warm gaze, words coming from his mouth like little caresses as he says, "Of course, ys don't have to if you don't want to, but know that I'd enjoy your company." He puts his elbow on the table, his hand pressed to his cheek, looking at her in an almost dreamy like manner and she's about a hundred percent sure it's unintentional which is twice as aggravating as it would've been otherwise, "I think we'd have a good time together."

He's got her, "I'll think about it," she responds, which always means yes, and the smile that she tries to suppress must give her away because Harry bursts into a full-blown grin.

"Thank god, I've been wanting to spice these club visits up for a while now," he rolls his eyes, "Can only handle Eliza and Zig's melodramatic blackout breakups so many times before they start becoming humdrum and prosaic -- I'd like to see your reaction to it actually," Harry twists the ring on his middle finger with the pad of his thumb, "And I've kind of been wondering what a clubbing Y/N would be, if m'honest. Can't decide if you'd be the quiet, contemplative author type in the corner people studying or summat or if m'g'na be seein' you on the high tables in one shoe, an obscure song on, singing every word."

Y/N pushes the heels of her palms into her eyes, shaking her head as a distant memory threatens to prickle her brain from a very disappointing night in college junior year, "I was one of them once and it was an ugly night all around," she admits.

"Well, you've got t'a tell me now." He leans in but she shakes her head adamantly.

"Maybe if you get me drunk enough Friday."

. . .

Y/N is a little drunk.

Not too drunk; she could still walk by herself and she was fairly sure she would remember this night tomorrow morning at the very least, but it was just enough that she felt like she was floating on the tips of her toes spindling through the atmosphere on cloud nine. She was sober enough to be very aware of Harry's presence at her side all night but far gone enough to not overthink it too badly. It was a happy middle that she very seldom got to experience at any given point of her week.

The night had started off well enough-- Harry came around to pick Y/N up, simultaneously complimenting and giggling at her choice of attire (she brought out a different pair of overalls just to humor the both of them, "Let's get drinkin', at this here club, I've got t'a be back at the farm by cock's crow!"), and drove them to his place, where she got to stay all of three seconds because his mate had come to pick them up. She was only able to experience the messy trough of his living room, littered with clothing and soda cans for a moment in which he uttered bashfully, "I sort of forgot to clean up." And when she was opening her mouth to tell him it was fine, there was a honk outside.

A man called Zig picked them up in a car a little worn for wear, with a loud clanking engine that she would have most definitely side eyed zooming down the road had she been walking somewhere, but he was nice enough. He had got out of the car and pulled the back seat forward, waving a dramatic mocking hand in swivels with a bow, "Your chariot awaits you," he'd gruffed out, voice mixed with an indistinct accent (like he might be Danish or Norwegian in root but Y/N didn't know enough about either to decipher it).

"Oh, Zig, m'honored," Harry tuts his tongue, a gentle hand on the small of Y/N's back as he helps her climb in, "It's not a trashcan for once."

Zig's face skewered up like the words stung, "Well, you said the book bee was coming and I figured the last thing she needed was to ride in a messy car," he closes the door when Harry climbs in beside her, helping her yank the seatbelt across her chest and clicking it in before his own, and when Zig opens the car back up on his side, "Especially when she has to spend a night with us max volume music listeners."

Y/N felt herself flush warm, "I'm sorry about that --" she had begun but Zig held his hand up, turning to face her some as he shifted the gear into drive.

"Ah, don't apologize. We were pricks and Harry gave us quite the upbraiding for it too."

This made Y/N feel both good and bad simultaneously. Good because Harry had been telling the truth, and the fact that he had somewhat had her back before they even got to properly know one another made her feel warm. Bad because that means she was about to go hang out with a handful of people who got yelled at by their friend/boss for listening to their music too loud. What if they all resented her for it? Sure, Zig didn't seem to care but she had worried about everyone else claiming her to be annoying or summat.

She ended up worrying for naught though because everyone proved to be very kind to her, despite their past grievances. When they'd got to the club, her, Harry and Zig were both greeted with an exuberance that she had never encountered before. They had reserved a booth in the far back left of the club, at a sweet spot where the music wasn't overpowering their conversation and there weren't drunk college students clearly underage falling all over them. The lights were muted purple and blue hues, with spots of red that cast down in random spots, and while all of it was colorful and intriguing, Y/N had never felt more out of her element in the beginning. They were all nice enough, poking and prodding at her brain some, figuring out what kind of person she was, and a few times she was even able to make them laugh (whether it be with her or at her she couldn't be sure but she soaked it in none the less and booked on it being with her because she can be damn funny when she wants to be). She'd been sat beside Harry, who was sweet as ever, checking in on her every so often with a firm squeeze to the thigh that sends tingles up her leg.

Y/N hadn't been planning on really getting drunk at first. Had been content with a few drinks until she was on the pleasant side of tipsy -- but it had spiraled fast when Harry had left her side. She'd never felt more like she needed a security blanket more, eyes widening when he is whisked off to the dance floor before he could make it back to their table after using the loo and she realized that she was with a group of people she'd only just met. Zig was still chatting with her but part of her felt it was because he and Eliza (his girlfriend) had just had a nasty little argument in front of everyone and she was the only other person sat beside him. It's when Y/N looks out to the floor and sees Harry either courting or being courted by a brunette in a sparkly slip dress that things take a turn for her.

This feeling began to fatten inside her; like dark black ink staining her insides, the foul taste of jealousy on her tongue. She doesn't know why she feels jealous even -- she thought she'd been doing a semi-decent job reminding herself that they were merely friends and this wasn't anything more than that. That he had invited her so that she could have a good time, not because he had this secret, fiery love for her that he was too fearful to admit aloud and hoped a little liquid courage would push him towards it. This wasn't a book she was reading, this was real life, and boys don't think in real life. Most of them turn a certain age and bulldoze through people in pursuit of finding their person. . .barely any genuine heartfelt men out there that could compare to the likes of any romance novel written.

So she took Zig's offer up on another shot. And then another. And another. By the time Harry had ventured back to the table, absent of his new friend and slipping back into the empty space beside her, she was floating and her insides were warm from the alcohol. Harry seemed a bit drunker himself, grinning wide and loopily at her, "Hi beautiful," he'd hummed amiably, "Are you having fun?"

"Mhm," she nodded to him, "Riktor thinks that whale noises to sleep are very soothin' but I've convinced 'im that blizzard noises are good too." Her brows furrowed with a thought, "Hey, who was supposed to want to be my employee? Didn't you say he'd be here t'night?"

That's when Y/N was introduced to Niall, whose deep Irish accent explained why he didn't even seem touched by the three pints he'd downed in their time there. He had maybe gone a little too in depth as to why he needed a job (he lost his, can't tattoo for shit so Harry's parlor was out of the question, and his girlfriend kicked him out after a messy breakup) but Y/N still asks if he'd fill out an application for her because it was her first time doing this and she wanted to do it by the books and he had agreed, "I look forward to workin' with ya, if ya pick me," he had told her and she decided then that she probably definitely would (but she was also drunk and is just proud of herself for not offering him the job right there).

Throughout the night, Y/N felt that they liked to poke fun at Harry a lot, whom took it lightly but she's beginning to realize more why he wears beanies or is a little blushy face when she compliments him in any way. They can surely rip him one when they want to, from the slow way he talks sometimes like he's tasting his words before he says them, to his favored pink socks in his loafers, and above all, they tease him for his soft, curls. It almost enrages her to some degree, when they tell him he needs to cut it, or that the manbun wasn't "it", and while she knows its just some teasing between friends, she can see even through her drunk brain when Harry stops enjoying the jests and is resorting to soft little smiles and halfhearted chuckles until they finally move on to a different topic.

It's when he's begun fidgeting with his head and asking people if they had an extra hair tie or beanie perhaps that Y/N decides that she's had enough of it. Pushes her mixed drink to the side and pats on Harry's thigh, "Budge up, then," she urged him, "Going to the toilet." Harry slips from the booth but instead of heading off in the direction of the restrooms alone, she grabs him by the wrist, pulling him along with her. He lets out a few confused noises but ultimately letting her lead him with trusting ease. The bathrooms are tucked in a dim lit hallway with predominantly red lighting and for some reason the marbled black floors that they had been on changes to a stain mottled carpet. Instead of taking him into the bathroom, she instead pushes him down some, up against the wall and looking at him seriously.

"Are they hurting your feelings?" She questioned him, talking in an octave higher than she normally would due to the booming speakers on the other side of the wall and he feigned confusion, tilting his head.

"With what?" He asked in return and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"You know what," she pushed and he curled within himself, looking down shyly because he did know what and that makes her heart feel like cracking in her chest. She reaches up, cupping his face in an overly affectionate manner before starting a reel of drunken affirmations, using both hands to tilt it up to face her, "D'ya like your hair?" She asks him, and when he does legitimately look confused this time she reiterates, "Do you like it long?" He barely thinks it over for a second, nodding his head gently and she hiccups, "Then don't listen to them. Same goes with your socks or how you speak. They're things that make you, you and if you like them then who gives a rat's ass what they think about it?" Adding a loving cheek pat, she leaves it with one more thought, and another soft hiccup, "They're only teasin' and they're your friends but teasin' can hurt sometimes too. Let 'em know when they're taking it too far, okay?"

Harry stared down at her with a certain look oozed from his eyes. She couldn't place her finger on what it was exactly, but it's the same look he gives her when she spits out a fact to a question that had just popped into his mind, or when she explains in detail the elaborate plots of some of the books she's read. Its soft and carries warmth -- close to adoration or a fondness but she wouldn't want to put herself on a pedestal with that -- and it makes her want to kiss him. Plant one on his sweet, pink pouty mouth and taste the bitterness of the dark liquor he'd thrown back just a few moments prior to her pulling him off.

"Thank you," he leaned forward, pushing their foreheads together for a moment, "Thank you." He repeated again.

The rest of the night, Harry was planted at Y/N's side and decided he seldom wanted to go anywhere without her. They were leaning into one another comfortably, relaxed, still chatting as a part of the group but also their own sector of thought and stories and jokes that made them a mess of eye-watering giggles. When a joints being passed around and Y/N doesn't take a hit with a polite, "I don't do that much anymore," (instead of going into an in-depth discussion on how she'd read a book solely about the lungs front to back and panicked to the point she'd handed the rest of hers off to her college roommate to do as she wished with it), Harry patted her thigh and gave it a small squeeze.

"Good," he'd murmured, just low enough for her to hear, "You're a good girl, yeah? Don't need this stuff," It had resonated deep within her, threatening a shiver down her spine at the slow syrupy way he'd said them and when she laughs a huff through her nose with a small nod, he grins, "Need'a just be me and you more, m'lungs would be aces."

"Your lungs are already aces," Eliza responds (at this point having made amends with Zig), passing the joint to Harry, "You don't inhale any bloody smoke."

Harry declines it this time around (though he had taken a puff earlier on when they first lit it up), in favor of tucking further into her side, "You smell too good to be around these heathens. . .like cupcakes or summat." A laugh leaves her, shaking her head and she wants to tell him no, that he's the one who smells so good. Wants to tell him how his scent is so lovely and so prominent that she thinks about it before bed sometimes, and in the least creepy manner, it soothes her weary mind to sleep -- but the words lock up in her throat. Instead, she only smiles gently and revels in the warmth of him glued next to her.

At some point his fingers had begun to play with strands of her hair (after asking her permission first), marveling at it and speaking to her softly, like he wasn't doing it. Had they been at home somewhere and not in a smoky club she would have filed this way in a book of sweetest moments she's ever had. He's looking at her like she was made of glitter, a soft gaze as he whispers how he thinks she's doing wonderfully with the bookstore and going on an anecdote of how she was handling running a business much better than him in his first few months. He tells her several times in several different ways that she was basically "kickass" and it's just too sweet. Especially when he begins gloating to Zig, Niall, and Eliza that he gets to see her almost every day. "Nice, pretty face," he hums, "I could only wish to have a face like that, yeah?" She turned, hiding her face some in where his armpit and chest meet, feeling his chest vibrate with a laugh.

By the time everyone was ready to leave, there were a handful of designated drivers, one of which being Riktor who was much sweeter than he had originally seemed. He held her hand, helping her step off the small drop from the booth they'd been in, and guided her and Harry (who had his arms secured around her shoulders) to his car. He drives them both to Harry's and Y/N's too tired and floaty to panic about the fact that she'd brought nothing to sleep in, or how Harry probably only had one bed and not a particularly comfortable looking couch. Would sleeping beside him be so bad though? She doesn't think so. Thinks it might be quite nice to share a bed with him, dipping her nose into the covers and breathing his scent in deeply.

Harry makes a game of getting them inside, running his fingers up her sides in a tickling manner that makes her shriek and scamper ahead of him. He seems to love that though, the drunken stumbling bound of his feet close behind her until she made it to his door and realized that she didn't have the means to get inside before he did. Swinging around she bats away his playful hands, "Fuck off, fuck off!" She laughs and he flashes her a big old grin, turning around to wave at Riktor as he drove off before unlocking the door and letting them in.

This time Y/N gets to look a little bit more at her surroundings. It was a bit messy but not a pigsty, just some tidying could be done to the living room and it'd be good as new she reckons. He's got two lamps on either side of his three seater couch, a beaten plain navy with a small tear in the arm, a shaggy rug that is large enough to cover most of the hardwood flooring, and a small coffee table top of it. His TV is rather large and it looks like he'd been watching something on Netflix but forgot to turn it off when they'd left, its tucked in the corner on an entertainment center diagonal from the couch. Her eyes flicker along his walls -- a large tapestry of dark, intricately woven vines into some atypical design her brain couldn't conceptualize as anything at the moment, a few art pieces that she'd never seen before and upon closer inspection, she sees his name written in the corner of the most beautiful designs.

"Harry," she all but gasps, leaning in, gently touching her fingers to the edge of the frame it was in, tentacles opened up like the petals of a flower, so realistic it looks as if she could reach out and feel the slimy texture of it beneath her fingers, "This is amazing! I -- I've never seen anything like this before."

"Thank you," he murmurs happily, "I only hang up the ones I'm proud of."

She only fawns over his paintings a little more before she ends up following Harry to his bedroom, where he flops down onto the mattress with a umph and slings his arm underneath his head. Y/N shuffled awkwardly on her feet, standing in the doorway, unsure of what she was to do with herself. It's not until his head lulls to face her, that he waves her over, "Hop on in, Pet, don't have a queen size just so you can stare at it."

"You're sure you're okay sharing a bed with me?" She asks him and his face scrunches up.

"Are you a blanket hog?" He inquires seriously and when she shakes her head, then he nods, "Then of course I am. Now get your cute bum over here."

A fire is sparked to life in her veins as she makes her way over to him. The thought of sharing a bed with Harry was something that crossed her mind more than she'd like to admit it did, and she shivers when the intrusive ideas of something more happening in this bed try to swamp her mind filthy. She ambles over to the other side nervously, crawling in beside him, lying atop of the soft down comforter in her overalls, shuffling some to get comfortable. It may be a queen size mattress but she finds that there's very little space between them, especially when Harry flips over onto his side and beckons her to do the same, "So what'd you think of everyone?" He prods, like a teenager at a sleepover, hair splayed out on the white pillow cover, "Did they treat you well?"

Y/N nods quickly, "They were all very nice. I like Zig most I think, he was sweet. Pretty talkative."

A confused look warps Harry's face, "When were you talking with Ziggy? I don't remember that."

"S'when you were off getting courted on the dance floor," she responded, maybe a little too quickly and perhaps with a little too much fire under her bum. She hadn't meant to come off as jealous as she had felt in that moment, but she's almost certain that she did if his telling smirk was anything to go by.

"Oh, Y/N," he murmurs, reaching out for her hand and bringing it to his mouth in a very gentle graze of his lips against her knuckles and she thinks she might have gone slack-jawed as the next words leave him, "You're jealous?"

She opens her mouth to respond but her minds beginning to resort to mush, the words getting lodged, unlodged, and relodged in her throat until she can finally respond with, "I -- I don't know." Because she doesn't. . .she doesn't know because she thinks she likes him but she's been convincing herself that she didn't and it's all just fucked. Fucked because of course, when she wasn't looking for anyone she would find Harry, and fucked because she wants them to be something, and fucked that all of everything is being presented to her right now when her brain is drenched in Absolut and him and his scent and his sea foam eyes and raspberry mouth.

"Don't need t'a be," he assures her quietly, "Only got room in my heart for you, I reckon."

Y/N doesn't intend to lean forward but she does. Scooting so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath leaving his nose unto her upper lip, her vision unfocused as she gets closer to him until her eyes flutter shut and their mouths meet together tenderly. It's innocent and soft. . .the first kiss everyone imagines when they're growing up, she was experiencing (minus the being drunk and having already had her first kiss) here with Harry. She almost didn't want to sully the moment by pursuing it further but her mind renders lustful as she pushes further, scooting herself closer to him, and a whimper muffled against his mouth when his hand, decorated in those beautiful, brassy rings, lies gently on her cheek. Cradling it carefully like she was akin to the frail petals of a flower, and once she deepens it, pushing closer to his body feeling as his fingers slip from her face down the slope of her shoulder, tickling as they skim against her sides and ending at the round of` her hip, where his grip tightens. It stirs something deep in her abdomen when his fingers dig roughly into her flesh, feeling as she pulsates around nothing when he gives her a rough tug closer towards him, urging her leg around his hip and she feels his cock, firming from beneath his zipper and against her.

Harry moans against her mouth before she draws away, feeling lightheaded as air finally gusts back into her lungs, and her eyes flutter open to see that he's staring at her.

"Y/N," he murmurs, a soft snuffle from his nose as he wiggles, "You taste too sweet, you know? Don't know how m'gonna think about anything but your mouth from here on out."

Y/N thinks that will be a problem for her too.

#OKAY I KNOW ITS A LIL SHORTER THAN USUAL I AM SORRY #BUT I WILL BE WRITING A PART 2 #YAHTZEE :D #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT :)))#WOOOO #HARRY SMUT #OKAY #WOO #WRITING

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serialreblogger · 4 years

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prompt from @lunarmultishine for A:TLA: “thrashing, as if in flames.” Ended up taking some liberties with it, but hopefully kept to the spirit!

Zuko had always tried so hard.

He wasn’t like Azula; he didn’t--he didn’t get people, never caught the secrets in their small expressions, he couldn’t tell when they were being sarcastic (“calm down, Zuzu, it was just a joke”). He stood too stiffly and didn’t fit in and “you’ll get better at these things when you get older,” Mom said, but he didn’t and--and he didn’t know what Dad wanted.

He tried so hard.

(he tried so hard, but it was never good enough. he was a failure. a disappointment. disrespectful. dishonorable. his father was right to banish him)

(his father was right)

(his father was always right)

(wasn’t he?)

((no))

Zuko still dreamt of that day.

He hadn’t, at first. When he’d just gotten command of his ship, for a full month after--after, he didn’t dream at all. Or if he did, it was just little things; ordinary ones, about Uncle playing a nonsense game of pai sho, or the Earth King coming to dinner. Oh, he thought about it often enough. Between the monotonous changing of bandages, and the throbbing burning pain where his eye had been (was his eye still there? Zuko couldn’t bring himself to check, in those early days), and the constant sway-sway-swaying of the ship (he was banished, and the floor beneath him was determined not to let him forget), Zuko spent every waking thought berating himself. How could he let this happen? How could he disappoint his father so thoroughly, so finally?

“I believe you have healed enough to take off your bandages,” Uncle finally said. “However, you must be careful not to aggravate your injury further, Prince Zuko.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Zuko replied.

He looked in a mirror as soon as Uncle left, for the first time since his banishment. He stared until tears blurred his vision (blurred his right eye; his left eye was there but barely and it couldn’t see anything clearly so what did it matter if tears gathered in its ruined slit), and then a tear fell, he saw it slip down what was left of his cheek--

He used the shards of the mirror to shave his head.

He had no honor. (sway, sway, swaying beneath his feet) Only the last thin hope of regaining it, as slim a chance as he deserved, but he would redeem himself. He left the phoenix tail, tying it up with a spare roll of white cotton. He would get his honor back. He would find the Avatar, he would--he would make up for his disrespect--

(he just wanted to go home)

he would make his father love him again.

That was when the nightmares started.

(they never ended. sway, sway, sway, and he never woke up)

* * *

Look. Sokka hadn’t signed up for this. Was it his fault he had a weirdo waterbending sister who broke the Tui-cursed Avatar out of his ice cube? No. It wasn’t his idea to go traipsing all over the four nations to beat the Fire Lord, it’d just kind of happened.

And now here he was, hunching into his sleeping roll in a Fire Nation cave and trying to ignore the gloomy Fire Nation prince who seemed to be having a lovely little nightmare in the corner.

How was this his life?

With a quiet groan, he gave up on plugging his ears under his blanket and just stared blankly at the rocks above him. Had he offended a spirit in a previous incarnation? Was this his punishment?

For a fleeting moment, things quieted down, and he dared to hope that Zuko would chill out on his own. That was probably the last straw. He should really know better than to hope for things like that; it made it too easy for whatever supernatural forces were conspiring to torment him.

Instead, the little pained noises turned into a high, quiet whine that was just painful to hear. Spirits, that wasn’t playing fair. Zuko was the bad guy, he shouldn’t be allowed to make sounds like that.

Sighing, Sokka kicked his way out of his sleeping roll and started over. To his surprise, Toph was already there.

Okay, cool, so this was taken care of, maybe he could just scoot right back to his bed without them noticing--

“Get over here, you blockhead,” Toph hissed.

Right. Blind. Foot-bending, all-knowing badger-mole girl. Sokka sighed again and sidled over.

“I’ve been trying to wake him for the past minute while you were dithering in your sleeping bag,” Toph grumbled, “but no dice. I don’t know how to get him up without scaring him more.”

“And, what, you haven’t tried just slapping him awake?” Sokka asked. She grabbed his hand before he could raise it, gripping it tightly enough to hurt.

“No, Snoozles,” Toph snapped. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not all ‘hit first, ask questions later.’ And...his heart rate is really high. I don’t wanna make it worse.”

“Okay, okay,” Sokka said, finally managing to snatch his hand back. He examined it quickly to make sure nothing was broken--what? the kid was stronger than she looked--before turning his attention back to Zuko. He’d quieted down for the past few seconds, but as soon as Sokka saw his face it was pretty obvious that wasn’t a good thing. It didn’t exactly look like he was having fun. Wait, was Zuko crying?

“Zuko,” he said softly. Tentatively he reached forward, extending his finger to poke Zuko’s temple.

The result was instantaneous. Zuko shot upright, gasping and bringing his hands up defensively. “No, please,” he begged, clearly still half-asleep.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sokka scrambled back, because Zuko had that look like he might firebend at anything that moved too close. Toph did the same, he saw. “It’s just us, Toph and Sokka, you’re here to help train the Avatar, remember?”

“With--” Zuko was breathing hard, like he’d just run a marathon. One hand came up to touch his... his scar, Sokka realized, with a sinking feeling. Zuko flinched when his fingers brushed burned skin.

“Hey, Sparky,” Toph said quietly. She waited until Zuko’s gaze had flickered to her, away, back again. “You with us?”

“Yeah,” Zuko rasped. He was still way too pale. “Yeah, I--sorry. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nope,” Toph reassured him. “Neither of us were asleep yet.”

“Good,” Zuko nodded, short and rapid like a startled bird. “That’s good. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, bud,” Sokka blurted. He hesitated, then shimmied back over to sit next to Zuko. “It’s not like you could help it.”

Zuko was quiet for a beat too long. “Right. No. I couldn’t... I couldn’t have helped it.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Toph asked gently. Sokka glanced over and saw she’d taken Zuko’s hand.

“I--” Zuko swallowed. “I don’t know. Yes. No.” He growled in frustration. “I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s okay,” Toph said easily. “We can wait.”

Sokka nodded, though he wasn’t sure Zuko saw. He was sitting on Zuko’s left side. “Take your time,” he added, just in case.

Zuko did. It must’ve been almost half an hour later that he spoke, and Sokka had almost fallen asleep at that point.

“It was my father.”

“Your scar?” Toph murmured, and Sokka wondered who’d told her about it.

Zuko nodded. It was harder to see him now; the moon had shifted, from shining almost full into the cave to somewhere further overhead, and now he was barely more than a silhouette beside Sokka.

“I wanted,” Zuko started, and spirits but he sounded so lost, “I don’t know what I wanted, anymore. I thought I wanted honor. Now I think I just wanted his love. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. I asked Uncle to let me join in on the war council, because I thought it would help me learn to govern well, and I promised him, I promised not to speak. But then the general said he wanted to use an entire battalion of new recruits as bait, and I--I was such an idiot. I actually stood up and shouted at him, in front of my father and everyone, and I’d broken my word to Uncle and disrespected the Fire Lord and all his advisors. It was foolish and hot-headed and I deserved to be punished.”

The silence stretched, and then Zuko shook his head. “But not like that,” he whispered in the darkness.

Softly, Toph prodded, “Like what?”

“Agni Kai,” Zuko blurted, like it burned to say the words. “He challenged me to an Agni Kai. It’s--it’s a Fire Nation tradition, I guess. A way to resolve conflict. I thought when I accepted that I’d be fighting the general I’d interrupted, but I was wrong. It was him.”

Sokka sucked in a breath, trying to keep quiet. This was... it was a lot.

“I think he might have been looking for a way to kill me, actually,” Zuko added reflectively, and now Sokka felt like he’d been punched in the gut, “but when I realized it was him I refused to fight. Thought I was a coward for so many years after that, but now I realize that attempt at respect is probably the only reason I’m still alive. It would be hard for even the Fire Lord to claim he’d accidentally killed his son in an honorable duel, when his son refused to fight him.”

“Zuko,” Sokka whispered breathlessly.

“So instead he just burned me,” Zuko continued, relentless now. A dam had broken, and now he couldn’t stop. “There were all those witnesses, so he couldn’t kill me, and he was so angry, and I don’t know why he hated me but I’m sure now that he did. And he grabbed my chin in one hand and my left eye in the other, and held me still while he branded my face. And I screamed and screamed and he didn’t stop, and nobody stopped him, and I dream about it over and over and over and then I wake up and it still happened.”

Sokka felt sick.

“And now I’m marked forever as a traitor, without honor, and that is never going to go away and it will never change. I thought I could change it by finding the Avatar and bringing him home, I thought that for so long,” Zuko’s voice was shaking and hitching now, Sokka thought he was probably crying, “and I was wrong. I don’t know how I could have been so wrong. I guess I was just blind.”

“Hey,” Toph hummed.

“Sorry--” Zuko tried to backtrack, but she just huffed.

“No, not that, dummy,” she scolded. “I know you meant like the metaphor. I meant ‘hey, you’re not a traitor.’ Actually, it sounds to me like you’re the most loyal person in the Fire Nation.”

“What?” Zuko sounded super confused. Sokka could relate.

“Look, we all know your father is the worst person currently alive,” Toph stated. “And if we want to talk about disrespect, it sounds to me like it’d be a lot less respectful to use a bunch of kid soldiers as bait than to say ‘hey, that’s a bad plan.’ Zuko,” and now her voice was back to sounding so uncharacteristically gentle, like she was picking her words carefully, “I don’t think your scar is a mark of dishonor. I think it’s a mark of bravery. You stood up for people who needed standing up for. And you did your best to stay true to yourself under a father who wanted to kill you.”

“She’s right,” Sokka agreed, surprising himself. “Everything you just told us--if that isn’t a story of honor won, I don’t know what is. You’re...you’re a good man, Zuko.”

Zuko let out a strangled sobbing sound.

“Uh, is it okay if we hug you now?” Sokka asked. “Because I kind of feel like this is a ‘hug’ moment.”

“...alright,” Zuko breathed, and then they were all a tangle of limbs and snotty emotions. They stayed that way, huffing and sweaty and comfortable, until they all fell asleep.

They didn’t dream anything at all.

(In the morning, Katara stood over their snoring dogpile, hands on her hips and a perplexed frown on her face.

“Ah, let them sleep,” Aang told her. “I woke up a little in the middle of the night and it sounded like they were having a pretty intense conversation.”

Katara rolled her eyes, but her stance softened, just a little. “Well, alright,” she grumbled. “You still need to practice your waterbending, anyway. Come on!”

And with a groan, Aang followed her out. The others slept on.)

#a:tla #atla #avatar the last airbender #fanfiction #linden's originals #linden writes #long post #the angst and the found family that is my jam #and i will spread it on my toast until my dying day #hm. yes #after spending 2+ hours writing this i do in fact feel much better #thank you for the prompt lunar #much appreciated!! <3

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angelic-holland · 5 years

Text

Seeing the Thing 10

Summary: I want you all to myself this time. Conflicted looks good on me. I'm trying desperately. I want you all to myself this time. I want to give you space but the amount between us is wrecking me.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: none!

A/N: yay for early upload!

“Morning,” you hear a gruff voice say and your eyes widen when you look up, seeing Tom’s face squished into the pillow, his arm around your middle, yours were squeezed between the two of you.

“Hi,” you squeak, brain running through the events of the night before.

“You look like you needed sleep but I wasn’t sure when your first class was, it’s only eight now so you can go back to sleep if you wa-,”

“Did you say something last night?”

“What?” “I was falling asleep, and you were saying something, or at least I thought you said something but maybe I wa-,”

He cuts you off with a quick kiss, morning breath and all.

Your nose wrinkles slightly and he laughs, “yes, I uh, I did.”

“Oh, for real?”

“I mean, did you really think I hated you?”

“No I just,”

“I did hate you for a while, always felt like you were stealing my best friend from me-,”

“He’s my best friend too.”

“I know but he was my best friend first-,”

“Does that really matter?”

“I just mean that-,”

“I need to get to class,” you cut him off, you don’t want to hear about how Harrison was his friend first and that you stole him or some stupid territorial shit boys went through. You also wanted to get to the bottom of what his “I like you” meant. You figured beneath the gloomy anger in his eyes and the hostility when you were around other people that he didn’t hate you. You knew from the way his neck would stretch so your lips fit perfectly with his that he didn’t hate you. You knew from the way his fingers ran along your collarbone and he asked you questions to keep your mind off of your panicked thoughts that he didn’t hate you. You just wish you had the guts to ask him how much he liked you.

“Yeah, me too,” Tom nods, sitting up slightly. He chuckled and you looked to see your hand still curled around his shirt.

“Sorry bout that,” you let go of his shirt and he shrugs.

“Didn’t mind.”

“Alright, get lost, needa get to class.”

You watch as Tom gets up. You look down and see his clothes on your body.

“Here I can-,”

“It’s fine, as much as I want you to get naked right now it’ll make us both late for class. Just give them back at some point, or keep them, whatever.”

“Ok, I uh, yeah,” you reply before he gives you a small smile and is gone.

Keep them.

They were comfortable, cozy, you wanted to stay in them as you grabbed Ben and Jerry’s and watched Netflix in bed, but instead you had your psychology of childhood class at 9:45.

After class you took your coffee to the quad and sat with Gianna underneath a huge oak tree.

“Everything good?” She watches as you bury your head in your hands.

“I uh, might’ve fucked up.”

“What did you and Tom do?”

“Hey! Why’s it gotta be about that?”

“Because, you uh, confirmed it stupid, you get all defensive when I’m right about something.”

“Shush, yes, okay, I may have fucked up there.”

“Oh my god you slept with him, please tell me you slept with him.”

“Shhh! Jesus Christ anyone could be walking around okay?” Your eyes dart around to the students walking across the quad, others laying on the grass near you, book or phone in hand.

“Well, did you?” Gianna pokes your shoulder and you grumble, flopping onto your stomach.

“It was bad.”

“Oh shit really? All I’ve ever heard was how good of a lay he is.”

“It wasn’t him, it was definitely me.”

“Why? Couldn’t get in the right mood?”

“I was in the mood, you know, but you know how sometimes you just get distracted and think of other things? And sometimes they just can’t find your g-spot? I dunno, it was a combination of all these things and I feel bad because I uh,”

“What? Please don’t tell me you faked it.”

“I did.”

“Girl..”

“I know, I know, it’s dumb and it doesn’t make me feel good to do but it usually works and they normally think I get there but Tom knew.”

“Oh my god, what did he say?”

“He was mad.”

“Understandable. So are you a thing?”

“No.”

“No?!” Gianna all but shouts.

“No, I don’t know, he uh, said he liked me? So he uh doesn’t hate me anymore,” you laugh weakly.

You feel the smack of Gianna’s hand against your shoulder, “Hey!”

“Of course he doesn’t hate you, he had sex with you dummy.”

“I guess but-,”

“And what do you want from him?”

“Huh?”

“Like I want Harrison to hold my hand when we walk to classes and whatever, but I don’t want any of that cheesy romance stuff, he tried buying me flowers one day but I told him he better spend his money on something useful like food for us to eat.”

“I dunno, I guess I don’t want flowers, that kinda cheesy whatever, besides they die way too quickly anyways. It’s not like he’s- like we’re- I don’t know. Okay, hear me out, you know that scene in Princess Bride?”

“I know every scene in the Princess Bride you’ve made me watch it like five times.”

“It’s the best movie ever made so of course you should see it at least five times.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Okay, hear me out G, you know right after Wesley saves Buttercup from Vizzini? And they’re arguing on the hillside.”

“Yes.”

“And she is pissed at him when he reveals he ‘killed’ Wesley? And pushes him down the hill?”

“Are you saying you want to push Tom down a hill? Because I totally understand that but-,”

“No, and then he says ‘as you wish’ and it’s everything that Buttercup needs to hear?”

“So some sort of declaration of feelings?”

“I guess so? Then I’d be willing to fall down that hill too but I just don’t want to get in over my head without anything to show for it.”

“Sometimes you just gotta, you know, be like ‘hey! hot boy! I like you!’ But if you’d feel more comfortable waiting for him to say something, by all means. I wasn’t exactly subtle when I flirted with Harrison, but in all honesty I should’ve just been like ‘hey dork be my boyfriend’ but I didn’t. So you do you.”

“Thanks G.”

“And besides, it’s normal for guys to not know how to get you off right away, but you can’t just assume they won’t ever get there, sometimes you just need to teach them.”

“Thing is, Tom’s definitely not used to that, not being able to get a girl off, so uh, I don’t know if he’d be down for a little lesson.”

“You’re truly so god damn clueless sometimes, if he likes you, he’s going to want to make you feel good, okay? Even if that takes all night or several tries. It shouldn’t matter.”

“I think I already bruised his ego enough.”

“Nah, he’s got plenty,” Gianna winked with a shove of your shoulder, “go get some.”

After your conversation with Gianna, the day passed in a blur, one coffee into the next, lecture hall after lecture hall until you found yourself in the back corner of the library, curled up in a ball in your chair, rebooting Qlab for what felt like the 30th time today.

You groaned before shoving your computer forward, giving you enough space to rest your head on the table. You knew logically you should go to bed. Just because the library had an all night study lounge and cafe didn’t mean you should spend all your time here. That didn’t stop you from using it though. As Qlab finally opened and stayed open you set to work mixing the sounds for the scene in the bar, light chatter with Toxic playing softly in the background. In your efforts to not get your asses sued for copyright you found a cover that was somewhat distorted. You checked the time on your phone, your brain starting to turn to mush. When was the last coffee you had? Lunch time? After your third class? That was… 10 hours ago.

You set to work scrubbing the distortion from the Toxic sound bite, planning on grabbing a coffee after you finished this bit.

***

Tom saw you working at the corner table out of the corner of his eye. He was typing his term paper on his laptop, getting distracted each time you let out a soft sigh or would lightly tap your hand against the desk. A few other tired students sat around the section of the library that was opened this late, coffee cups and paper strewn over desks.

He noticed you didn’t have a coffee next to you and shut his laptop, packing his bag before walking over to the Night Owl cafe.

“One vanilla misto and a royal English please.”

He glanced over his shoulder as the woman behind the counter made the drinks, watching as you pushed the computer forward and rested your head on the desk.

He chuckled softly at your small groan, turning quickly when you sat back up, typing away again.

“Thanks,” he pays for the drinks and carries them over to you.

***

You glance up as a mug is set in front of you, taking one earbud out.

“Hi,” Tom says, standing awkwardly at the side of the desk with another mug in his hands.

“Hi,” you nod at the coffee, “this for me?”

“Yeah, uh, it’s nothing, just lady at the Night Owl thought I said vanilla misto when I said royal English so she made this and I wasn’t going to drink it but I saw you were here so I figured you might want it?” Tom rambles and you stare at him confused.

There was definitely no way that’s what happened, but if Tom felt better telling you that than admitting he just bought you a goddamn coffee then you’d let it slide.

“Thanks,” you smile after a moment of him tapping his foot and you blinking out of it, taking a sip of the coffee.

“Yeah, yeah, so uh, working on homework?” He asks and you gesture to the seat next to you.

“Nope, trying to overlay this track with another for the show.”

You watch as Tom shuffled behind you, setting his cup of tea down and sitting down.

“What does that mean? Like you’re mixing two sounds?”

“Sort of, see this clip here?” You point to the track of Toxic.

He nods, you don’t catch his eyes glancing at you, glimpsing at the way your hair shaped your face or your ear peeking out from your hair, the way your fingers would tap along your cheek as you explained whatever it was you were explaining to him. He most definitely zoned out because you turned, eyes squinting as you frowned.

“So?”

“Cool.”

“I asked if you wanted to listen to it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, sorry,” Tom sets his mug down as you hand him one earbud.

He attempts to put it in his ear while you put the other in yours. You both realize you’ve got the wrong one and you lift your hand to take the earpiece out, laughing quietly in the otherwise silent library. His fingers brush against yours as he takes the earbud and you feel heat rise to your cheeks as he hands you the correct piece.

“Thanks,” you mumble and he nods, placing the right one in his ear before dropping his hand next to your laptop.

You eye his hand, fingers tapping against the table as you press play.

The two of you listen to the sound cue, you replay it as Tom’s pinky runs along your arm.

“What do you think?”

You can feel the goosebumps rise along your arms, he can as well, a shiver, something that’s rising above the surface that neither of you will comment on.

“Do you want to hear the chatter over the music or the other way around?”

“See, I’m not sure, I think that having it playing underneath the chatter, at least people will hear the instrumentals of it and hopefully understand the point I’m trying to make. Because the scene isn’t supposed to be a wild club with roaring music, it’s just a small bar in a hole in the wall town in Maine.”

“Then I think you’ve made your point.”

“You sure? Is it too clunky? I feel like it doesn’t blend well enough and Harrison’s gonna think it sounds ridiculous and I’ll have to redo it and then I’ll spend another night here when all I wanna do is go back to sleep and-,”

You didn’t realize you had worked yourself up, breath coming in short harsh gasps, your hands shaking against the keyboard until Tom’s hand curled around your wrist, sliding down to rest against the top of your hand.

“It’s okay, I think it sounds great. Then again I don’t know much about this stuff but it doesn’t take a genius to know that this sounds fantastic.”

“You sure?”

Tom nods, his hand just a firm presence on your upper arm.

“Okay, yeah, I uh, I’ll wait to hear it in the space before I make a decision but yeah.”

You relax against his touch, playing the next clip.

“Is that Cupid?” Tom grins, listening to the beginning notes.

“Yep, Harrison gave me a very specific set of songs for transitions, I think this is pretty fitting going from Sad and Glad to This Hurts.”

“Hmm, fitting. What other songs do you have?”

“Thank God I Found You.”

“Okay, that’s between this one and Getting it Back? Right?”

“Yeah, hey, why don’t you sound design?”

“Because these buttons and whatever? I have no idea what’s happening on your laptop,” Tom laughs, resting his head on your shoulder.

“You’re tired,” you comment.

“Only a little,” he rubs his eyes with his other hand.

“Come on, you should go to bed.”

“No, wanna listen to the music,” Tom whines and you roll your eyes.

“I don’t want you drooling on my shoulder,” you laugh, nudging him slightly.

“Fine, at least let me walk you back, don’t want you crashing in two hours and sleeping here.”

“You’re right,” you sigh, closing your laptop.

Tom hands you your headphones and waits as you pack up your bag.

He brings the mugs back to the Night Owl before falling in step with you out of the library.

“I have a question,” Tom asks, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the back of your own. You feel his finger twitch against yours, almost instinctively reaching for it. All it would take was the twitch of yours and you’d feel the warmth of his hand in yours.

But it’s late and you’re tired and you don’t want to run into anyone you might know, anyone who might get back to Harrison that you and Tom were holding hands. So you take a slight step to the side so your hands aren’t even brushing anymore.

“Okay, shoot.”

And Tom notices, of course he notices, even just the slightest movement that brings you farther away from him. And he huffs out a sigh before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nevermind, it’s uh, not important.”

“Oh.”

And silence fills the air, cold and biting like the wind, waiting for either of you to say something as you crossed the quad, walking across the street, no traffic at midnight on a Monday.

“Everything you, uh, say is important,” you mumble as you increase your pace, damn it, now you just sound like a mom trying to comfort her insecure kid.

Tom’s silent as you round the corner to your building.

“Okay thanks for uh, for walking me back,” you speak up as you get to the landing on the stairs for his floor.

“Anytime,” Tom smirks, dropping his arms, leaning his head to meet yours, he kisses you, lips insistent as his hands grip your shoulders, pushing you back against the wall.

“Stop,” you push him off, brushing past him and up the stairs.

“What? I can’t kiss you?” Tom asks angrily, feet stomping behind you.

“Not here! Not in public! Especially right where Harrison might show up!”

“Would that be such a bad thing? If Harrison knew?” Tom asks, watching as you fumble with the lock on your door before pushing it open.

“Because!” You try to keep your voice down but everything was just so frustrating. You wanted to tell him, you really did, tell him you were scared Harrison would think it’s a bad idea, whatever this was.

“Go on, tell me,” Tom follows you into your room, closing the door behind him.

Part of you is aching to tell him to leave, to just leave you be and let yourself wallow in the anguish of unspoken words.

The other part sets your backpack on the ground by your bed, taking a step back as Tom steps forward.

“Cat got your tongue?” He laughs, watching as you sway from foot to foot.

“Because if I tell Harrison, then it’s-,”

“What?”

One step backward from you, legs pressed against the edge of your bed.

He walks towards you, a glint of a smile on his face as he sets his backpack on the ground.

“Then it’s real?” He asked, tilting his head to the side as his hand rested on your hip.

“Maybe,” you breathe out as he pulls you close, body flush with his.

“Oh darling, it was real since the first time I kissed you,” Tom smiles that dazzling smile that you’re sure wooed every girl he’s ever been with because it was starting to do the same to you, stomach doing nervous flip flops as he kissed you.

Real.

****

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