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you-are-my-neverland · 2 years

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[id: a header with a deep blue gray background. in the center, there is a circular photograph of a lighthouse. behind the photo is a monoline sun, eclipsed by the photo. in block text across the center reads ‘the metamorphosis of the lost: an update’ / end id]

it’s been a while since i’ve done one of these, but my writing has been going pretty well these past couple of weeks, so while i prepare other content (re: character intros (!!!). in 2022, i’ve managed to cobble together act iii: relapse, which was written over the course of the spring semester. i also, more recently, started act iv: revolution, and that’s going by nicely, especially as i strive to meet my daily word goals (hello, excel spreadsheet).

anyways, in honor of having a taglist with more than one person on it, i’ve decided to post a few excerpts, which i haven’t really done for this wip lol.

all words + the taglist will be under the cut for length purposes.

i. the red saint & her shadow.

(an interaction between june and india from the beginning of act iii. a/n: this was written at the beginning of the year. writing them currently, i really feel like i’m missing something from their dynamic, so i’ve been rereading this scene a lot lol.)

Belladonna was quiet, her face slightly pinched beneath the domino.

“If you didn’t have to,” she started. “Then why did you?”

“How could I not?” India said, and it sounded too honest, too vulnerable, even to her own ears, as if it was painfully obvious she was revealing some hidden part of herself to someone else. “Back then, I believed they were helping the city. When I was younger, I used to scoff at the idea of vigilantes and heroes, but after a while, after seeing it firsthand, I did become convinced that I could change things for the better for someone else. It gave me a drive for the first time in my life. Instead of just trying to survive for no particular reason, I could do something about it.”

“Yes, I was young. Fifteen. All the people I know started out younger.” She paused, thinking carefully over how to formulate her next thought. “Someone I knew used to always say that we can’t help what happened to us, or what it turns us into, but we can try and change ourselves once we see our own reflection. We can make things clearer. We can use what we see as flaws to do better. I grew up in the South District. I was an orphan. I learned how to hurt other people to protect myself. I never thought about justice because I never thought it was something I could control.”

Until now. Until then.

India hated to think that Vin had given her anything, but he had. He had given her power for the first time in her life, had allowed her to write her own destiny, decide how she wanted to do things, more so than anyone else had ever before.

It was what had blinded her, in the end. Believing that following someone else’s cause was her own. India had been beholden just as everyone else was; that was why she had been benched. She just hadn’t realized it, how trapped she actually was.

Now she was free. Now no one could tell her what to do. Now India was allowed to decide what was right and wrong and act on it.

No more changing herself. No more being told to be better, be different, be someone else, someone they thought was more than whatever she was, a South District orphan born and raised on the rocks, unable to outgrow her own edges for fear of how unprotected it would leave her. India might not love her roots, but they were hers, in the end. She had come from this city. She was Kevlan, through and through.

ii. flame & phantom

(another excerpt from act iii. emrys and mika go patrolling after finding out india is alive as the red saint, but are unable to save a woman’s life. a/n: somehow, a lot of tmotl ended up being emrys’ story, which i can’t say i mind. her pov is a lot of complicated thoughts most of the time.)

She had said she could do this. She had sounded so cool and confident, too. Emrys had been proud of herself, for being able to stand up for what she wanted. The rest of the conversation hadn’t gone as well, but she hadn’t let herself be shut down. Not this time.

Now, she thought that they probably had a point, about her. Maybe she couldn’t do this.

Maybe she could.

Maybe both thoughts were equally terrible.

“I’m going to find India,” she announced. The flames licked at the edges of the jacket, already crinkling, the outer layer peeling away as the cloth beneath caught more easily, the fire dancing up into the sky with a bright shower of sparks that had her flinching back and shielding her face. The embers fell to the ground around Mika’s feet, burning and burning and then burning out.

Mika didn’t say anything. Emrys glanced at him coolly, and found him looking away from her. Fine by her. She didn’t care if he approved or not; better he didn’t notice she was gone at all, until she could clear more space.

Emrys waited another few seconds just to be sure, ignoring the part of her that whispered that she should check on him, make sure he was okay, but this was Mika. He was never not okay. Nothing fazed him, and no one.

She sighed, staring down at her own feet, battered and bruised through the white of the ballet flats. There were drops of blood scattered along the seams, which bothered her now that she had noticed; she couldn’t stop focusing on it, the innocuous drops in no pattern except the one she conjured.

Mika still hadn’t said anything. Emrys looked at the embers of the jacket, then turned to scan the skyline, wondering where she could start, the wind whipping through her body and helping to pull her seams apart with vicious, grabby hands.

The abandoned warehouse, she thought. The place where India had died. She should start there, right? If there was going to be anything anywhere, it would be there. Maybe a clue to India’s resurrection, even.

Emrys started to walk without even really thinking about it, setting forward at a determined pace, quickening as she got further and further away from the fire, and getting colder and colder. Without her jacket, much of the skin of her body was bare to the winds, her tank top protective but not warm. Kevla had vicious winters, so the fall became crueler as the months went by.

She had turned the corner by the time she heard the footsteps behind her, not clattering or loud, but soft and steady, a quiet, rhythmic thump that belayed Mika grabbing her arm and grinding them both to a halt as he slowed, clothes and hair settling back down on his body as gravity descended.

“Let me go,” she said, white knuckled.

Mika let her go. Emrys turned to move, and he tripped her. It was only years of getting used to falling that had her catching herself with a half-dance of steps, turning so that they were facing one another.

“Enough of this,” Mika said. His eyes were burning. She could hear the quiet sounds of him breathing, harsher than normal.

“No,” she said. “I told you. I’m going to find India.”

“And Crow and X-le told us not to,” Mika said.

Emrys scoffed. “Like you’re the poster child for following orders.”

“Enough,” Mika repeated. “We’re either finishing patrol or going home.”

Another Emrys would have been happy that he used the word home, but this Emrys was feeling vicious and vengeful and torn up inside.

“I don’t want to,” she said spitefully.

“Flame,” Mika said, the warning clear.

“You’re my partner, not my boss,” Emrys said scornfully.

“I’m not either of those things,” Mika hissed, stepping closer. “I’m just the person making sure you don’t fuck anything up.”

That hurt. Emrys didn’t flinch, and was absurdly proud of herself for growing thicker skin in the time since a few hours ago. She was getting better and better at it.

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” she burst out. “You’re the one that followed me to begin with. I never asked for your help.”

“But you needed it,” Mika said, and though she couldn’t see his mouth, she could picture the small, cruel tilt of his half smile. She had to narrow her eyes to stop tears from falling, already feeling them well up in her eyes, like she was some weak and pathetic person who couldn’t keep it together.

“I’m going to look for India,” she repeated. “You can go home if you want.”

iii. sunrise after the fall gala

(an interaction between india and june in the aftermath of the fall gala (which takes up the majority of the beginning of act iv) and india’s ill thought out confrontation with the black saint. a/n: more recent writing and a more recent interaction between these two. act iv has been a mess lol.)

The laugh slid off India’s face.

“You can’t create something from nothing,” she said savagely. “I imagine that not even Catrin Flint can save someone who was burned alive.”

“Someone could,” June replied steadily.

“Then maybe it was Kevla herself,” India remarked sarcastically, rising to her feet and gritting her teeth against the spasm her leg sent.

“You’re really not curious?” June asked, also standing. The morning air nipped at her cheeks, the rosy glow of the rising sun starting to cascade over the skyline ahead of them.

India shrugged carelessly. “It’s not that I’m not,” she said. “It’s just that it doesn’t matter. Or, it didn’t.”

June eyed her, pondering the words. In a way, that was understandable. June herself tried to care as little as possible pertaining to the motive of The Organization or the Benefactor. Motivation didn’t matter in the end. It was the actions that did.

They were both women of action, though they went about it very differently.

“Will I be hearing from you soon?” India asked after a second.

June looked at her, parsing her thoughts.

India raised an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, we were kind of in on this together, right? This whole revenge scheme, or whatever you want to call it,” she hurriedly corrected after June coolly raised an eyebrow at the words “revenge scheme.”

June considered her. “Yes,” she said after a pause. “We are.”

India smiled. It transformed her face beneath the domino, softening the edges. India, June had found, often bared her teeth, but rarely smiled.

“I’m a comm away,” she said, sounding almost pleasant and energized at the prospect.

“I might take you up on that soon,” June said.

“Not gonna kiss and tell then?” India replied. “Just going to string me along.”

June surprised herself by the sharp half laugh that bubbled out of her.

“You’ve been helpful,” she said instead of replying, doubting that she could match India’s newfound wittiness. She had always had a sense of humor, even as a child. June was used to being the dour, serious one. Now she was the serrated blade, cold as steel and just as harsh. “Thank you.”

India sobered, looking at her as if she was an alien before she managed a stiff and slightly unsure, “You’re welcome.”

“Take care of yourself,” June added. “I don’t want to find you dead in a ditch before you can be useful.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” India replied sarcastically, but they had talked enough times for June to pick up the undercurrent of fondness with which she said it. “Take care, Belladonna.” She gave June a two fingered salute, and June found herself returning her impression of it before she could stop herself.

India smiled, and then she was sauntering off into the darkness, only a slight limp in her step and the helmet tucked under her arm any indication of what had gone down only hours previously.

June smiled privately to herself. India was wearing off on her.

taglist (scream to be added or removed!): @cannivalisms @sunshineomeara @thepixiediaries @muddshadow

#wip: tmotl #writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #creative writing #writing excerpts #wip: the metamorphosis of the lost #sorry this is so long but i just couldn't cut them #act iv has like nothing i want to share so far i'll literally cry about it sigh #also: mika and emrys have a sibling relationship. before anyone asks #ik how their interactions could be taken out of context like here but they are in no way romantic #just to clear that up #i miss india and june...my girlies...#act iii was kind of good for something i wrote over like five months while studying for exams and starting work lol #and now it's just like ???#anyways thanks for taking the time to read #it has been way too long since i posted actual excerpts so i am out of practice

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abetteranglican · 1 month

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i feel really sleepy

whenever i used to go out into the woods, i would feel the overwhelming urge to die there. to crawl under some bush, some hidden place and wait, or to do it myself. i thought about people finding me a week later, curled up in the grass, or between the roots of a tree, fingers still splayed to touch the dusty earth.

i went again yesterday, and i felt that pull away from everything behind me. as if on a string i was reeled in, eyes wide, drinking in the forward direction of my feet. whenever i could see any distant hill, one where the houses grow sparse and trees take over i would stand and stare, wanting. as i walk, everything loses its humanity, cars on the motorway under the bridge are faceless and predatory and wrong, and so i keep going. the thing about my route through those woods is that i can never escape the rushing noise of the road. it just becomes the wilderness, and the forest my lonely civilisation.

i go further and further, i follow streams and i giggle, i run, trying not to sink into mud. i greet everything, ravens and crows and robins, singing like them and reaching down to press my hands into springy grass. i touch leaves, i pass all the familiar places, babbling and murmuring forest things to myself, near the end of my journey i squat by a pond and peer into the dark reddish, glassy water. i hold my hands just above the surface to see if the air is any colder, which i dont think it is. its still quite sunny, though half past seven. eventually i get to the last clearing before the forest comes to a top. the light is becoming a little golden, and i watch a few billowy clouds light up pink as they cross the deep blue sky. i throw myself down on the softest tussocks i can find and look at the familiar branches heaving before the big open above.

the trees are very big, naked and black in the evening. the grass feels wonderful. i lie with my arms splayed out beside me, feeling the blades. i grin and i sing little lines from songs, drawn out, notes flying away on the wind

'i wanna be adored,

you adore me,

you adore me'

I wonder whether i should be feeling god here, in nature. but i dont, i just feel the massiveness of the trees, and how they let me lie here. after a while i grow a little cold, and i should probably get up and start on my way home so im out of the forest before its dark. the branches are massive, rocking in great clusters above me like swarms of birds. the clouds arent pink anymore, a dark and almost purple grey. i sit up, and immediately the road nearby feels very loud, very rushy, but not like the rush and hiss of the branches in the air. i lie back down to test whether it sounds louder because ive become aware of the sound again, no, i just cant hear it as much when im pressed into the earth.

i jump up and notice the twilight, it must be eight o'clock now and im a nice few miles from home. i feel nervous. the woods are waving me out now, if i stayed past this time i would never leave. i say goodbye to everything again as i pass by, but in the silvery shades of encroaching night nothing seems to be as pleased with me as they were before. but i always knew that the wood look different on the way out. as i tripped home, though home didnt seem so great, i imagined things i never had before, a hunched witch between the trees, monsters.

i took a quicker way to my house, leaving the forest earlier, also to avoid the treacherous mud i had encountered on my way in. just before i passed back into the city i sat in long grass, and then layed down again. it was spongey, and i couldve slept there if no one was waiting for me. i stayed there a bit, knowing that once among the houses i would feel a different, worse sort of fear.

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justauthoring · 3 years

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You’re Stuck With Me Now

Prompt: He’d never leave you again.

A/N: is my return to writing (after a short break) oikawa? yes it is. honestly, i just love this boy so much and ive been rewatching haikyu and i can't... my heart.

ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY OIKAWA TOORU <3

Warnings: past implied abuse

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x F!Reader Please don’t plagiarize my work!

“Come on, Y/N-Chan, it’ll be fun.”

With a quirked brow and look of disbelief up at your boyfriend, you roll your eyes. “You know I don’t really like parties, Tooru,” you mumble, taking a bite out of your lunch just as Oikawa lets out a whine of disappointment.

He’d already spent a majority of your lunch break, which the two of you were lucky to have together, begging you to come out tonight with him to Mattsun’s party. He’d spent the entire weeks’ lunches trying to convince you to come with him, to no avail everyday, and now, the day of; he was even more desperate for a yes.

“But it won’t be any fun without you.”

And his pout is almost convincing enough, eyes droopy at the edges with a certain puppy-dog look. The corner of his lips are flipped downwards, but he looks positively adorable (as he usually does - his group of fangirls aren’t for nothing). But, you’ve held restraint all week to this point, and by now, this really isn’t anything new.

“You say that every time, babe,” you counter, pointing your chopsticks at him with a quirked brow. “And every time I come with you, you end up leaving me to mingle off with Hajime.”

His shoulders slump.

“Is Hajime coming tonight?”

“...Yes.”

“Then,” you nod, satisfied, “you won’t be alone.”

“Bu-But!” He all but whines, and before you know it he’s suddenly sidled up behind you, arms curling around your waist firmly to press you flush against his chest. You let out a squeak in response, whining yourself when your delicious lunch is suddenly before you and tauntingly not within arms reach.

Oikawa is fast to pull your attention on him.

“He won’t be there till later!”

“So I’m just entertainment until he gets there?”

“Of course not!”

Oikawa looks positively betrayed at your assumption, and the look on his face is enough to have you giggling. Shifting in his grasp, you move so you’re facing him, brushing back a few strands of his unruly hair that no matter how hard you try is never ever neat, before meeting his eyes with a soft smile. “Honestly, Tooru,” you whisper gently, “why do you want me to go so bad? You usually don’t care this much.”

“Because,” he shrugs, “I like having you with me.”

And that, unfortunately, is the zinger.

His words all but melt your heart and with a heavy sigh, you realize there’s no possible way that you can say no when he goes ahead saying something so sweet like that.

“I’ll go.”

The way his eyes practically glow is enough to make you smile though.

“Really? Yes!”

However, now that you’re here, cramped in a house of drunk, loud teenagers, you’re suddenly wishing you’d had a bit more self restraint when it came to your boyfriend. As per usual, an hour into the party, Iwaizumi arrived and now even further convinced your boyfriend is more in love with his best friend then you -- you’re completely alone.

“’I’ll be right back’ my ass,” you mutter to yourself, taking a drink from the cup in your hands, instantly regretting it at the bitter taste that goes down your throat.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have any friends, you just weren’t entirely comfortable in social situations. It’s a wonder how you got along with Oikawa so well, but the two of you seemed to just mesh really well together. And of course, he’d been there for you in a time no one else had, and had helped fix you from the person who made you so nervous and skittish around others in the first place. It’s because of him that you’re even able to stand in a room so crowded, even if you’re not really socializing.

It would’ve been nice to have him to talk with, though. Iwaizumi too.

Pulling out your phone, you send a quick text to Oikawa, hoping that he’ll see it and at least drag you along for whatever Iwaizumi and him got up to in parties like these. It’s because of this that you don’t notice the shadow that falls next to you, not until a hand swipes your phone right out of your own and a voice you’d hoped you’d never hear again speaks;

“Oikawa Tooru, huh?”

Your heart practically drops.

“Figures you’d find someone in volleyball again, you did always love it.”

“H-Haru...”

He smirks down at you, and your lips part when he pockets your phone without a care in the world, his grip moving to your wrist where he tugs you towards himself. “Never thought I’d be able to find you again, Y/N, after you so abruptly moved schools. In your third year no less.”

You pull back on the grip he has on you, trying, to no avail, to get away. “What are you even doing here?”

“I play volleyball, remember?” He quirks a brow, speaking to you like you’re a child. “I know some of the boys here.”

How unlucky can I get...

Digging the heels of your feet down, you use all your strength to fight back the pull Haru tugs on your wrist. It’s clear he’s trying to get you to go somewhere with him, maybe even leave and that's the absolute last thing you can let happen. Haru still has such a pull over you, as much as you hate to admit it, and if you’re alone with him, there’s no telling what would happen.

And you’re terrified to find out.

“Let me go,” you hiss, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“It seems you’ve forgotten your place, Y/N,” he growls down at you, grip turning bruising as you let out a cry in response, unable to stop yourself. “I’ll give you credit, it was brave of you to think you could get away from me, and finding you was hard. But now that I have you, I plan to remind you just exactly why you’re with me.”

Eyes widening, it suddenly feels like you can’t breathe.

“I mean, after all,” and his eyes gleam, turning dark, “you can’t live without me, remember?”

Your frozen state allows him to gain the control. Before you know it, you’re being dragged through the familiar halls of Mattsun’s house that feel like a blur and unfamiliar in your panic. You don’t even notice where you are, and barely hear when Haru suddenly announces “this’ll do” and then you’re being shoved into a room and the door is slammed behind you.

You fall to the ground with a loud cry, Haru shoving you.

When you turn to face him, staring up at him, he’s blocking the door, staring down at you expectedly.

“What are you waiting for?” He huffs, “take off your shirt.”

Hands shaking, you push yourself up into a sitting position with shaky muscles, not trusting yourself to stand in that moment as you stare up at him. Everything had moved so fast, and your heart feels as if it’ll break when you realize despite how much better you thought you’d been getting -- none of it meant a damn thing when faced with Haru himself.

You were scared, terrified, and it felt like back then all again. You had no control. You had no strength.

A harsh kick in the stomach has you doubling over, and clutching your sides, Haru crouches down before. “No one’s coming to save you, Y/N. Not even your boyfriend,” he taunts, smirking at you. “I’m pretty sure I saw the infamous Captain shoving his tongue down another girls throat.”

Eyes widening, you stare at your lap. “No,” you mumble, voice breathless, croaky. “Tooru wouldn’t--”

“It’s true. He’s not here, is he?”

Swallowing thickly, you meet Haru’s gaze.

“So, see, at the end of it all, all you have is me, right?”

And you hate the way his hand against your cheek feels like comfort compared to all the pain.

Shaky fingers reach for the hem of your shirt, just as the door slams open.

It’s Iwaizumi.

His eyes widen at the sight of you, flickering to Haru before focusing back on you. “Oikawa!” He calls, voice booming, tone dark, and it’s then you see how angry he looks. “I found her!”

In the next second, Oikawa is bursting pass Iwaizumi. He stills at the sight of you, tear-stricken, face pale, eyes wide with fear, and then Haru, crouched before you, look positively smug about the entire situation. And there’s a moment of pause where nothing happens, and Haru moves to stand, lips parting; “sorry, but it looks like Y/N--”

But he never gets to finish before Oikawa’s punching him straight across the cheek so hard he falls to the ground with a loud thud.

In the next second, he’s in front of you.

“Shit, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” and you don’t miss the way your name lacks ‘chan’, meaning Oikawa’s serious. “I didn’t mean to leave that long. Fuck. Are you okay? Where did he hurt you? Show me, and I’ll--”

But your hand is grabbing his own frantic ones and when Oikawa meets your gaze, he’s shocked at the soft smile on your lips.

“Y/N-Chan?”

“You came,” you whisper, voice soft with astonishment and adoration. “You came for me.”

And, shoulders easing, Oikawa nods.

“Of course I did.”

Squeezing his hand, to the point Oikawa is blinking in response, lips parting in worry. You stare into his eyes, imploring; “please don’t leave me like that again.”

And guilt settles deep within his chest, hating himself for what happened, blaming himself for it as well. But he knows that’s not what you mean, nor what you think; you just want a guarantee he’s there for you. And if there’s one thing Oikawa can promise, it’s that.

“You’re stuck with me now, yeah?”

He grins, trying to make you smile, make you laugh and everything ease when he succeeds, that giggle of yours he loves filling the silence of the room.

“I’m good with that.”

#Haikyuu #Haikyuu imagine #Haikyuu x reader #Haikyu #Haikyu imagine #Oikawa Tooru #Oikawa Tooru imagine #Oikawa Tooru x reader #Oikawa Tooru angst #Oikawa imagine #Oikawa x reader #imagine #imagines #my fics

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titan-fodder · 3 years

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Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao.

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings.

The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow.

The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway.

"Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!"

A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough.

"Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy."

"My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

"'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice.

Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you."

You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it.

"Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

"Didn't even notice," he reassures you.

Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen.

Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

"Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later.

"You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

"Uh, yeah. I could eat."

Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything.

"Sandwiches okay?"

Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth.

"Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich.

You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask.

He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days.

Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow.

After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer.

"It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free."

Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better.

You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie.

He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow.

"I can pick something else," he tells you quietly.

You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften.

"'S'fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be.

He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies.

"You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

"You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress.

Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep.

That's good. You could use a nap.

He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours.

But first.

As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf.

It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before.

The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses.

Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward.

They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother.

Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book.

Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole?

Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible.

It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on.

Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left.

The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album.

He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

"Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album."

Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"What's there to tell?"

Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth.

"It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books.

"Is it, though? Is it really?"

"I..."

Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language.

Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you.

It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

At least it makes sense now.

"I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it.

You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch.

Then, you flop back down on your pillows.

"So. Any questions, Zacharias?"

He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

"Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease.

"Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up.

"Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous.

"He left."

"Yeah."

And then he gets the full story.

Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

"Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom.

"He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick."

He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since.

"I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

"Were you ever close with him?"

You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him.

He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk.

"Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice.

Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him.

"I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies.

"Have you seen him since?"

You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction.

You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

"Anyway," he mimics.

"I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

"Is this why?"

"Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

"Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know.

Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months.

"So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

"For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

"Mm. I guess."

The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better.

Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster.

Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark.

When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest.

It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate.

You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth.

He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut.

Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer.

He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth.

Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you.

After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other.

He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now.

If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back.

He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself:

I love you. I love you, I love you.

You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day.

You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear.

Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it.

And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening.

The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail.

Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence.

Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can.

Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

“Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

“You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

“Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

“Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip.

“Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you.

“I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way.

You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done.

Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it.

Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock.

He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying.

Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger.

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books.

It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice.

Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town.

It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway.

Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder.

The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!"

Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles.

"It's fine. You can calm down."

You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused.

The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him.

"You're Zeke Jaeger."

He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players.

You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face.

"Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself.

"Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

Your stomach flips at the mention of him.

"We're not dating."

Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

"No. Just friends."

He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain.

"Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try.

He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

"I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

"Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

"I'll walk with you," he states more than offers.

Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.

But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does.

Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip.

Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

“You listening, sweetheart?”

Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

“No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

“That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

“It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor.

Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

“Yeah, okay.”

He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said.

What a fucking joke.

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside.

“You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

“Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

“Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

“Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.”

He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day.

And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece.

If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

What is happening to you?

“So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car.

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys.

“I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

“Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

“I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes.

“Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

“Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

“You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

“I—”

“It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him.

But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that.

“What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

“Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

“Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.”

God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

“Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

“Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem.

“I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

“For some reason I don’t believe that.”

You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his.

He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth.

You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more.

And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #aot fanfiction #mels prima vista

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ravysu · 3 years

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Sannin headcanons and thoughts

The last thing I would like to post for the sannin week. It is still 24.04 here! :D @sannin-central

This is long. Spoiler alert. Mostly Orochimaru, some Tsunade, a little of Jiraiya (because his story is pretty clear and spoken and idk what I can add). Also I recommend to read this meta about Orochimaru, it has influenced me a lot and has some good points. Sorry for any posible grammar mistakes. Also I really should put here a lot of references to the manga or anime but it was something that was piling up for a year and I'm soooooooo lazy. After all, those are just headcanons. Also: Im not excusing Oro's bad stuff here, Im trying to understand the reasons.

Ive already posted some hcs, here, here and here.

1. First if all, the chronology pic of sannin lifetime based on the info i found on naruto wiki and also some statements about wars from this post. It was tough considering what a mess naruto’s chronology is.

2. Sannin story shows what it cost to be a legend. They're like Team 7 but more realistic. Tsunade literally carried the war but left with nothing and developed a ptsd and have problems to just live on. Also anger control issues. I think she can be pretty bossy and stubborn which is not always nice. Jiraiya is the hero of the day but also very idealistic and can ignore some important details in the real word whether its the fight (he always injured during flashbacks maybe because each time he took too much to handle and on the one hand it's heroistic but on the other is a mistake that can lead your team to situations like in that Iwa cave) or your friends issues (I bet he saw what's going on but thought it's fine until Oro actually got red handed and left). He lives in his world and may have problems to get out to see it through someone else's shoes. As for Orochimaru, it seems like he was a normal guy for 20+ years (I mean, he didn't do crazy criminal shit and had something good in him and it was stated somewhere that it was his teammates influence. It is obvious they considered him as a friend, I don't thinks it was for nothing) but we mostly know his darkest side. Despite being a moster he is a human that have empathy and some ordinary human traits (man just decorates every bit of an environment he is in lol).

3. Tsunade was the leader of team Hiruzen.

4. Tsunade sometimes hit Jiraiya for some stupid things he did or said but never touches Orochimaru even if he did something same. Jiraiya complained about it once and almost got another hit.

5. Jiraiya had problematic parents that didn't care about him much and a lot of time he was wandering in the streets.

6. Judging by the look of Oro bangs and hair, he sometimes cut it off. A stress relief huh? And the fact that he doesn't do it now in Boruto..

7. It was shown that Tsunade and Orochimaru was acknowledged before they become a team. Maybe they did just before, or maybe some longer time before. I prefer the second option and hc that they met because both had no real friends - Orochimaru seemed weird and scary for everyone and Tsunade was Senju so everyone wanted to hang out with her but didn't really care. They weren't seen as what they were - people put the labels on them. But they didn't care about each other's labels and actually saw each other in true lights.

8. Tsunade knew it was an accident and it's not right but still she blamed Orochimaru for Nawaki's death for some time. It was something that seriously damaged their friendship and the team. Orochimaru was mad but also guilty, after all, he was responsible at least as a shinobi since Nawaki was under his watch. So he started to act cold and emotionless and was trying to distance himself from his teammates.

9. Jiraiya was in Ame while Dan died.

10. The whole his orphans mission was a bit irresponsible tbh. They already fought Hanzo and as he stated the conflict between Konoha and Ame is going to an end with Konoha's win. It's weird to stay here for three years in the middle of the war while there were other lands to fight. He left his teammates for some idea. Maybe that caused another crack in their team friendship.

11. If Tsunade would have find a way to live on with her trauma and follow the will of fire and stuff it would affect Orochimaru as well just as her grief affected him. It's like he would get an example that you can live on with this pain. So death isn't above human capability and we are not just the slaves of mortality (sounds stupid but i dont know how else to describe sorry). But as we know what he actually saw is that it broke her crucially to the point she couldnt be herself again. And so the death is above everything.

12. Oro wasn’t just acting as a cold pragmatic bitch in that cave but also tried to save Tsunade. Jiraiya knew it and that’s why he showed this sign to him like "I see what youre doing here" and that stunned Oro because he would prefer to look rather like a cold pragmatic bitch hehe

13. Just a thought. People in the village probably treated Oro as a foreigner or just wouldnt accept him because he looked so differently and had a weird attitude. That's why he sometimes didn't feel that Konoha is his home. After the wars where people were treated as means and tools, even the children, he himself developed this view on people - he dehumanized them and used as the means to his goals, just as his village did. Funny thing some people were straightly dehumanizing him too like Ibiki thought that he was a demon (tho he was a child). And he probably weren't the only one. Anyways the point is that it's logical that Orochimaru don't care about anybody but some few people, he's the product of his era. He's like Naruto that would chose the hatred way. But naruto had some good and understanding people around him and.. Orochimaru had them too, but match how Iruka treated Naruto and this Hiruzen's "I sAw tHe mAliCe in This cHiLd fRoM tHe BegGinNinG". And oro didn't even have a big ass evil fox in him. sry i hate hiruzen

ANYWAYS the moral of the story is not "go criminal if they hurt you" but always treat people like people. Waving my hand to Kant.

14. The reason why Orochimaru didn't pick some good morals to stick with through the hard times no matter what (like, idk, Jiraiya or Naruto) is because 1) I think he is/was pretty depending on people around him 2) the war fucked him and his friends up too much (Nawaki incident + Tsunade) 3) twisted addictions (though I don't think he's that sadistic, we never saw him torturing randoms just for fun, it was always some science experimental shit. He tends to get fun out of cruelty only when it's personal) that maybe developed as a way to sublimate anger and sadness caused by his parents loss (that's what they share with sasuke - unlicke naruto, they knew their parents and it's other kind of pain. Sasuke developed a revenge issue and Orochimaru - cruelty pleasure which... is kinda the same but less epic and more occasional lol).

15. Speaking of that, Orochimaru cared for Sasuke because he saw himself in him.

16. Oro hold grudges against Hiruzen for not choosing him to be Hokage not only because he was ambitious and/or egoistic, but also because Hiruzen was some kind of a father figure for him and his approval was important tho i doubt he was aware of that. He also probably could tell that Hiruzen was suspicios about him when he was a child and that led to many conflicts and was hurting as well.

17. Tsunade knew things weren't pretty with Orochimaru after the wars but she never expected them to be this bad. During the week that she was given in her arc she thought not only about how much she wants to see Nawaki and Dan again despite how wrong would it be but also was trying to bury all the good memories she had left of Orochimaru so it would be easier to kill him.

18. She poisoned Jiraiya exactly because she knew he would not let her do it. Jiraiya was always hesitant to kill and inclined to forgiveness, while Tsunade, as mentioned by Orochimaru, could be merciless (so much so that he was not surprised when Kabuto suggested that she wanted to use Jira for Edo Tensei).

19. That was one of her traits that scared Jiraiya and fascinated Orochimaru.

20. Remember how Oro grabbed Jiraiya's neck when the latter was trying to cover with hair jutsu? On the snake, in Tsnade's arc. Orochimaru could have easily kill Jiraiya by pulling the sword out of the mouth (arteries are right there) but he didn't. As well as he could kill Tsunade when she was still shaking - just aim for the neck or the heart. Instead, he just injured her lung and kicked her which is not a big deal for the kind of shinoby like her at all.. Also he helped Anko not accidentally kill herself but it would be way much profitable to let her do it. "Orochimaru has no feelings".

21. The reason he suddenly wanted to kill Tsunade instead of forcing her to heal his arms as it was planned (which is weird since it will not going to get him heals and he kinda said that he wouldn't want to kill her just minutes ago) is that not only she refused to help him (he thought he could work it out) but she also prefered the village over him (from his point of view). Out if everyone she was the closest to being able to understand him since the village caused her painful losses too but nevertheless she agreed to be on it's side.

22. He wasn't fighting her back in the end partly because he thought he deserved that. Somewhere deep inside hahah.

23. Tsunade got a fear to develop deep bonds so they probably weren't very close with Shizune (also the way she knocked her down in this hotel.. oh).

24. Orochimaru will be here when she'll die.

25. Orochimaru's eng dub to Tsunade: "I often wondered what it would be like to ring that pretty neck yours". No comments.

26. Orochimaru is either bi/pan or ace. Anything or nothing lmao

27. Hiruzen knew about at least some of the Oro’s illegal experiments and was okay just as he was okay with the Foundation all the time. Because it’s useful. Then he has discovered he went too far OR he knew everything and oro just became too inconvenient because of his methods. The way Orochimaru tells Sasuke about reasons they are well treated as the criminals is based on in his experience with Hiruzen.

28. As you may know the lyrics in Orochimaru’s music theme goes “don’t talk with the silence of the heart”. It was taken from one Indian song that also had lines like “don’t question life too much”, ”pain arose somewhere in the chest”, “don’t speak to the wounds of the heart”. Though I’m not sure 100% because I was translating it with some hindi dictionary with like zero knowledge of hindi

29. I like to think that this “silence of the heart” theme and the fact that he called his village a hidden sound village are somehow connected. The hidden sound is the possible explanation of all things waiting to be listened to but the truth is silent and you know it deep in your heart and it bothers you. The world is silent just like the life is meaningless but people can only hear. *Sigh* anyways

30. Orochimaru’s journey is the one about accepting death. When he saw Karin released her chains while was trying to get to Sasuke he understood that the death is a part of human’s strength.

Can’t wait to feel that everything I wrote is wrong or not enough or stupid and obvious lol. Anyways, it’s something that I wanted to share until I move to some other fandom.

#sannin week 2021 #orochimaru #tsunade #jiraiya #sannin #naruto #naruto headcanons

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nagisa-shiota-worthy-shit · 3 years

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Tinder Matches

Karmagisa Week 2021, day 1 prompt: Matching wordcount: 1600

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The fact that Nagisa had a tinder account wasn’t something he really shared with anyone. At the time, he’d created it as a joke, a way of amusing his friend’s stupid suggestion. According to Kayano, it truly could be the solution to his lack of experience in the love life department. Nagisa hadn’t been too sure about that. He was more than aware of the application’s status and, no, he wasn’t really interested in finding people to just have sex with.

Yet, somehow, he still found himself swiping through people on the app one night. He was alone in his room, a little bored, and perhaps even a little too tired after a day’s worth of teaching. None of the people he came across really interested him much, although he had to admit that he’d probably give them a shot if he saw them in real life, just because he wanted to believe in the best in people.

This app, however, gave little to no information on someone’s personality. Then again, some people were very clear about looking for someone rich to provide for them, which Nagisa guessed his teacher’s salary wasn’t exactly right for, and he supposed that also said something about their personality and what they were like in a relationship. Nothing Nagisa really wished to deal with.

After swiping left on complete strangers in fear of one secretly being a stalker, murderer, or just having horrible table manners, he suddenly stopped when a familiar face popped up on his screen. the red hair, the golden eyes, that all too familiar smirk. Nagisa recognized exactly who he was seeing, yet somehow couldn't exactly process the idea. it just didn't seem entirely right.

Someone like Karma wouldn't need to use tinder, right?

He found himself staring at the title picture for a while before he realized he could scroll through and see more. it wasn't like he didn't know what karma looked like... but... he sure was curious about what karma was putting out there.

It didn't appear to be all that special at first. A selfie in a casual outfit, a picture of him at a bar with people Nagisa didn't recognize, a traveling picture, but the last picture was something else. This picture appeared professionally taken, or at the very least it wasn't a selfie and the picture was set up. Karma was posing in it, after all. Posing in a suit, the jacket in his hand, thrown over his shoulder as he glanced at the camera with those devilish eyes. Nagisa was nothing but taken back by it.

He shouldn't be staring, should he? This was his close friend and fellow assassin graduate, the staring was just weird. Yet, somehow, he couldn't look away from the picture and thought back to when he’d first met Karma, so many years ago now. He’d felt the same sense of awe back then. Karma was just so perfect, how couldn’t he. This picture, him as an adult looking like a literal model, was like a visual representation of everything Nagisa used to feel Karma was.

The sudden noise of the train passing near his apartment woke him up from his state. suddenly turning very red, he frantically moved his hands and went to swipe left, except his phone nearly fell out of his hands in the process. He caught it, hands all over the screen and, through his own fingers, he could see Karma being swiped right.

no. no nonono. please go back

Nagisa fumbled with his phone, hoping to undo his actions, but before he could do anything, a message popped up on the screen. He was surprised by it to say the least.

‘you've got a match’

A match. He matched. but that meant... Karma had swiped right on him as well?! why would he- probably as a joke. he probably came across nagisa and thought it was funny, right? Nagisa had to assume that was the truth, although deep in his mind a thought echoed around saying the exact opposite. Maybe he wanted it to not be a joke.

After panicking for a hot minute, his phone made a ping sound, indicating he’d gotten a message. He was too scared to look. Somehow, before even opening the message, he could already sense who it was from. Sure enough, once he finally did gather the courage to check the notification, his fears were proven right. This was the worst situation.

Karma: well well well, didnt take you as the tinder type

He considered ignoring it. What was that called again? Ghosting? Yes, he could ghost Karma. If he didn’t respond to the message, perhaps nothing else unfavourable would be happening. Well, Karma would probably mention it to him the next time they spoke in real life. That would probably be even worse. It wasn’t like he could ignore Karma for the rest of his life. It wasn’t like he wanted to.

Nagisa: i'm not

Karma: yet here you are.

Karma: swiping right on me ;)

The cockiness almost oozed out of the message. Nagisa was left frowning at his phone. The main thought going through his mind was that Karma was probably enjoying this. He was a sadist like that. He was having fun while Nagisa wanted to bury himself as deep underground as possible.

Nagisa: you swiped right first!

Nagisa: mine was an accident

Nagisa: I was surprised to see you on here and my phone dropped

Karma: ah, so you wouldn't swipe right on me :( am I too ugly?

Nagisa felt his face grow hot. He probably shouldn't look at his reflection if he wanted to save himself from the image of his head being a tomato. He didn't think karma was ugly. quite the opposite, actually. Not that he could say that. That would be weird. So, he tried to find some middle ground answer, not calling karma ugly or the opposite of that.

Nagisa: I never said that, I just didn't intend to swipe right on someone i'm already friends with.

There, no way that could be taken wrong. He considered sending an additional message, clarifying just how dropping his phone led to the swiping right, but decided against it. It would sound just a little too defensive.

Karma: well,its nice this gives us a chance to talk again anyways. appears youve been too busy to answrr my texts.

An awkward laugh escaped Nagisa as he looked away from his phone, forgetting Karma couldn't actually see his reaction. There was no reason to avoid eye contact when there was no eye contact to begin with. Still, he shared the sentiment. He kind of had forgotten to keep contact with people lately.

He blamed the new workplace. After finishing his days as a trainee, the new school he worked at was surprisingly more demanding. He always knew being a full time teacher was a lot of work, especially now that there was no one to keep an eye on him and remind him of certain teaching specifics of the school he taught at. Of course, the work was rewarding enough for him to barely think about his loss of contacts. He had a habit of treating those too loosely anyways.

Nagisa: ive just been working

Karma: workaholic

Nagisa: you literally have more work hours than me

Karma: and somehow you still spend as much time working as me.

The conversation went on like that for a bit, them going back and forth at each other. Overall, it wasn't a bad time. Nagisa kind of forgot about the actual use of the app, and the fact that he could just DM Karma on line whenever he wanted to, until Karma managed to bring back the conversation to it.

Karma: you know, usually when people match, they try to meet up for a date

Of course Nagisa was aware that that's what the app was for, it was sort of the reason he’d gotten it as well. However, he didn't think anything would lead anywhere for him, let alone with karma. surely karma wasn't being serious. it would be weird to go on a date with your friend.

and still, Nagisa endulged him, being so stupid as to ask further.

Nagisa: where do people even go on tinder dates?

Karma: anywhere they want to, usually just for drinks, easy way to lead them home a little tipsy afterwards

Nagisa: okay that sounds creepy

Karma: if that's not your style I could always take you out for dinner.

Karma: There's this new sushi restaurant near my place, looks like something you'd love.

somehow, he actually considered it. On any other day, that would sound insane to nagisa. Since when would he consider dating karma? Wait, not dating, going on a date with Karma. There was a difference. Sushi did sound great, and so did Karma's company. He supposed he hadn't really been out like that in a while. date or not.

Karma: i can even pick you up, very romantic

The word hit Nagisa a little hard. Romantic. What would that entail? Would they sit opposite of each other, send cute glances, maybe even hold hands beside the table? He wanted his mind to hate the idea of that, doing those things with his friend, ruining the relationship they already had. But, he also wanted to give in, say yes, and see where things would lead. At the very least, he'd have a fun night with good food.

Nagisa: you have a day in mind?

Karma: how's Saturday?

Nagisa: Saturday's fine

Karma: it's a date!

#KarmagisaWeek21 #Karma Akabane #Nagisa Shiota #assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #KaruNagi #karmagisa #fanfiction #fanfic #shipweek #anime #manga

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ssplague · 3 years

Text

Chapter 0ne

“And so it begins”

Katsuki B. X Reader

Rated M

Warnings: Gaslighting, manipulation, power play, light degradation

The day before the two of you left for UA; Your best friend gave her word to your mother that she would always look after you. Now that the two of you are in your third year she’s officially FED UP with your attitude and childish antics. Mentioning her dilemma to your shared group of friends results in the most unlikely person offering to be her solution to the problem that is YOU.

A/N: The girl in the banner is NOT how the reader is “supposed” to look, it was just a drawing I did specifically for this. You look however you want to, I don’t really make any specific references to your appearance in this story.

🌅

Its Saturday morning; Ive been awake for about five minutes now, but I’m not ready to open my eyes and embrace the conscious world just yet. Hearing the door of my room unlock and open does the trick though. Only one person (other than myself of course) has a key to my dorm room.

“I made breakfast for the both of us, its your favorite” announces Euphie as she walks in, kicking the door shut behind her. I sit up, just as she’s pushing my black out curtains to the side I let out a hiss of disdain as sunlight immediately begins to permeate the room.

“Thank you Euphie” I say with a yawn.

She hands me a plate before settling down on my bed, acknowledging my thanks with a nod as we both tuck in.

“We have plans this afternoon, can you be ready by at least 12:30? No need to get super made up but at least out of your pajamas?” Euphies voice is gentle, but I catch the underlying “I’m not asking, but telling you” vibe she tries to hide.

“For sure”

She smiles at my seemingly agreeable mood so early in the morning and we easily segway into our standard start of the day discussions. “Are we um…Are we going to be busy all day? I….I kinda planned on going to hangout with-“ Euphie cuts me off as she picks up our plates: “No worries you’ll have plenty of time for that, I promise!” Giving me a wink before shutting my door.

She didn’t even know who I was referring to, or what I was going to say….

At 12:55 Euphie reappears to rush me out of my room.

“Hey I forgot my purse I-“

“Don’t need it”

“But my wallet is-“

“Not necessary”

Her tone is clipped, and she has a death grip on my wrist as she quite literally drags me down the hallway. Initially I was taken aback, not being used to receiving this type of treatment from her. My bearings have started returning along with growing frustration each time one of my questions are receiving one word answers, or met with a complete dismissal. Reaching my limit I fail to notice that she’d began to slow down, and I’m wrenching my wrist free of her grip at the exact same time she’d come to a stop.

“What in the fuck is your problem?! You told me that we had plans to go out this afternoon, and you’d treat me to whatever I want!

This-“ I’m interrupted again.

“I certainly wouldn’t do anything for a fuckin’ brat throwing a tantrum like this”

My eyes snap to the side where I see the irritated scowl of one Katsuki Bakugou, as he leans against his door frame glowering at me. Embarrassment further fuels my anger as I turn toward him, pointing an acusatory finger as I begin “No one fucking asked you, stay out of it Katsu-“.

Kirishima suddenly emerges from Bakugo’s room, giving Euphie an enthusastic greeting

“Hey there! You look nice, ready to head out?”. The red head is flashing his signature shark toothed grip at my best friend as he offers her his arm. “You know it” she giggles, taking hold of his muscular bicep. The two of them start to walk off, confused and furious I start to head after them, but a large hand grips my shoulder grounding me in place.

“Bakugo told me he wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on you while Kiri and I went out this afternoon, this way you’ll stay out of trouble and get to keep the plans you’d made with him, bye!” The closing elevator doors add a sudden finalization to her brief explanation.

“Plans?” Bakugo questions while uncermoniously yanking me backwards.

I stumble back, falling through the doorway and landing flat on my ass in front of the now closed door (Which he is standing in front of). Glaring up at him as he continues: “She must have me confused with the local brothel, because thats the only place I’d imagine wearing a skirt as short as that would be deemed appropriate”. His insult doesn’t deter his crimson eyes from roaming the length of my body, lingering on the aforementioned skirt. Getting to my feet, he walks around me and move towards his desk, taking a seat behind it.

“Oh fuck you Katsuki, you can be a real dick sometimes, I dunno what stupid Euphie told you about keeping and eye on me, but I dont need a fucking baby sitter! So ill be off now” with a huff you turn towards the door. “________, I’m not in the mood for bullshit today so just sit down and shut up” he growls, not turning to look at you. He always feels embarrassingly giddy when you adress him by his first name, thats why he insisted you call him by it. That in itself should be an indication of how he seems to favor you.

It makes him almost feel a bit guilty for using a harsh tone when he’d spoken to you. Despite how he treats others, Katsuki is hardly ever outright mean to you; He’s never even given you a derogatory nickname like he has for everyone else. Today’s an off day though…He’s just not used to running on little to no sleep. That paired with his already non existent level of patience makes for a blow up. Especially when YOU were the cause of his latest bout of insomnia….turning to look at you has his thoughts beginning to wander.

Those lips of yours flapping away as you berate him…

They sure would look a helluva lot better wrapped around his-

“-Not even fucking listening to me are you?!” You snarl, starting towards the door again. “I cant believe I woke up this morning wanting to hangout with YOU, guess I’ll change my plans and hangout with someone not so shitty to me…. Like Deku!” A loud crash comes from behind you. The now enraged man had stood up so abruptly, it sent his now vacated chair careening into the wall and toppling over.

“You really just cant help yourself can you?”

His voice is so eerily quiet as he turns to face you, something unidentifiable flashes in his rapidly darkening crimson orbs. You couldn’t exactly identify it, considering it disappeared as abruptly as it had originally came.

“Course you cant, I already know that”

A menacing smile appears on his face as he takes his first step toward you, immediately triggering your natural “Fight or flight” response.

“I know what you need”

He’s only an arms length away when you start to step back.

“You dont know shit”

You somehow summon the courage to speak, but are unable to summon any false bravado to keep you from betraying how unnerved he’s got you feeling as he takes another step.

“I know that your best friend cant stand what a spoiled fuckin’ brat you’ve become, I know she’s so fed up with your shit that she’s about to write you off completely”

The defiant expression you’d worn all this time finally starts to falter.

This marks the first time Katsuki has ever seen how you look when your confidence begins to ebb away, only to be replaced with a mixture of uncertainty and fear.

His sadistic side emerges with glee as your now saddened doe eyes meet his.

“You’re constantly disregarding everyone’s opinion of you unless it aligns with your own, but you dont even know what to think of yourself now that your faced with the possibility of being alone now…do you?

You remain silent, taking yet another step back as he continues speaking.

“You need someone who isn’t afraid to correct you, but they’ll have to of earned your respect….So when you inevitably step out of line, you wont put up a fight when you get put over their knee”

Your back hits the wall.

You swallow down the panic that slowly begun to rise from your chest up into your throat as you realize there is nowhere left for you to go.

“You desperately want to be a good girl, just dont know how to be one, huh princess?”

It’s so adorable the way your bottom lip juts out, but at the first quiver it quickly gets sucked between your teeth.

“That’s why you’re acting out right now isn’t it?

I bet you drench your cute little panties every time you get a rise out of me. Always hoping that its going to be the time I yank you the fuck up and put this brat in her goddamn place, hah?”

You shamelessly lean into the large hand thats now cupping your cheek, letting out a sigh as his thumb caresses your soft skin.

“Mhmmm”

It’s horrifying how easily you just admitted your most guarded secret! The triumphant smirk he sports makes it even harder to accept.

His tone is surprisingly gentle when he starts addressing you once again;

“I can do that for you baby….Let me be the one that finally brings the princess down on her knees”.

Your eyes are practically sparkling at the feel of a sudden pressure being applied to your throat. His calloused fingers squeezing the delicate skin of your neck, effectively making it harder and harder for you to breathe. The thrill of this foreign feeling is instantly addicting.

“Tell me if thats what you want: If its not then shake your head and we never speak of this again”

Bakugo has to at least give the illusion that you have a choice in the matter. Even though its more than obvious that you need want this just as much as he does.

“I want it, I want you” your words come out in a breathy whisper as he releases his hold on your throat.

“I wanna hear you say it princess, what do you want me to do with you”

“I want…no I NEED you to….t-to make me into your good girl please…”

He gestures for you to continue, his raised brow implying you must be forgetting something.

“Please make me into your good girl….Daddy”

The pleading expression and twinge of desperation in your voice stirs something deep inside Bakugo. It was something akin to the last vestiges of some ancient seal had disappeared: The monster that it had rendered dormant had finally roused from its slumber, intent on wreaking havoc.

“You do understand that you’re mine now right ________? Every part of your being belongs solely to me”

Gorgeous ruby eyes scrutinize your face carefully, searching for a single trace of fear, uncertainty, or possible apprehension. All they found was admiration and girlish excitement, and this earned you a genuine smile from the almost always scowling young man.

“Yes, every part of me belongs to you now Katsuki”

“Better get used to this then”

Before you could inquire what he was referring to, he was kissing you.

❤️‍🔥

A/N: So concludes chapter one

Oh god I hope this is well received.

Should I get a tag list together? Is it too soon? If anyone would be interested leave a comment. SMUT in the next chapter, we’re moving faster here because let’s be honest; Smut is what all of us want! 💦

#katsuki bakugo #bnha #daddy bakugou #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #husbando #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #tw daddy kink #tw gaslighting #bakuhoes #Plaguescorrection

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kudzushadow · 3 years

Text

There For You | Part 2 of 3 | A Harlivy Fanfiction

Summary: Woken in the middle of the night, Harley discovers Ivy's been hiding a big secret and is more than willing to help her through it. (More Harley comforting Ivy!)

Angst/Hurt/Comfort | TW: Anxiety/fear, trauma mentions. (Nothing seriously described, but heavily implied.)

As always, see bottom for more notes!

“...jus… just 5 more minutes… ok?...” Something had woken Harley, but she wasn’t sure what. When she spoke, her words were slurred together and unclear in her half asleep state.

Suddenly there was movement from beside her, and that’s when she realized what it was.

Once Harley heard Ivy cry out again, she was immediately upright, blinking rapidly to adjust her eyesight to the dark while trying to get a glance at the spot in bed beside her.

In it was a sight that made her heart leap into her throat…

Ivy was curled into a ball, shaking violently. Her hands gripped her chest tightly, as if feeling for an injury that wasn’t there. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she cried out softly again.

Harley leaned over Ivy, gently shaking her. “Ivy? Ive, wake up. Please wake up.”

Ivy immediately flinched away, sitting bolt upright, drenched in sweat. Her eyes were wide and her breath came in quick gasps. Her hands clawed desperately at her chest, and the trembling hadn’t eased. She didn’t seem to see Harley, her mind was somewhere far away.

“Ivy. Ivy, take a deep breath…” Harley’s heart pounded and she fought back panic, cautiously reaching out a hand towards Ivy.

“No… no…!” Ivy flinched away, instinctively raising an arm in self defense as if someone were about to hit her.

“Ivy!” Now tears were streaming down Harley’s cheeks too. She’d never seen Ivy act like this before, and it scared her. “Ivy, it’s me! Please…I'm not going to hurt you. You know that...” Desperately she reached forward again, this time managing to wrap her arms securely around Ivy before the redhead could flinch away again. “You’re alright… you’re alright. I promise… Ivy…” Harley choked back a sob as she felt Ivy stiffen, then relax into her, trembling.

Ivy hid her face in Harley’s shoulder, violently sobbing. Harley realized Ivy’s hands were still groping at her chest, and reached out, taking one of them in her own. “Ivy, it wasn’t real… it wasn’t real… I promise…” She whispered, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“H-Harley… Harley…” Ivy sobbed.

“I’m here. I’m right here, Ivy. You’re safe… you’re safe, you’re safe…” She fought to keep her voice steady as she pulled Ivy closer. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise. I won’t let it, alright? You’ve just… you’ve gotta calm down… please, Ive…”

“It… it was a-awful, Harley…” Ivy’s voice shook, and she shut her eyes tight. “...and… and I thought I lost you… I…” She shook her head, gasping for breath.

“I’m right here… you didn’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere…” She rubbed Ivy’s back. “It was just a bad dream. Just a… a bad dream.”

Harley saw Ivy reaching for her chest again, and took Ivy’s hand in her own once more, holding it against the redhead’s chest. Harley realized with a shiver it was the same spot that Joker had… the spot with the wound that had killed her. Realization dawned on her as she recalled the mornings since the incident… Ivy had never seemed quite herself when Harley saw her in the morning.

Oh, god… Ivy…

“Ivy, when was the last time you… you actually slept?”

Ivy wiped her eyes. “I… I don’t… don’t remember…?” She mumbled, quieting down a bit, though the trembling hadn’t eased.

“Ivy… you didn’t tell me- you didn’t tell me. I could’ve… I could’ve helped…” Harley’s heart was pounding in her chest. “You didn't have to suffer alone…”

“Didn’t… want to burden you…” She drew in a deep, shaky breath, squeezing Harley’s hand tightly to make sure she was still there.

“No… Ive, no! You could never be a burden… never… alright? I’m… I’m going to help you through this, ok?” She pressed a soft kiss to Ivy’s forehead, cupping her face with one hand. "Everything will be alright."

Ivy didn’t respond, she was somewhere else entirely, blank gaze fixed on the opposite wall.

“Why don’t we go for a walk? See the sunrise?” Harley rubbed her shoulder gently.

“A walk?...” Ivy tore her gaze away from the wall to look tiredly up at Harley. “Yeah, that sounds nice…”

“Alright… I’ll be right back, ok? I’ve just got to get…” As Harley tried to pull away Ivy’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm.

“Wait! ...sorry.” Ivy let go, eyes wide. “Just… don’t be long, alright?”

Harley leaned over, giving Ivy a quick peck on top of her head. “I’ll only be a moment. Love you.”

Ivy smiled softly, propping herself up as Harley momentarily left the room to fetch their clothes. Then, after a moment the darkness started closing in on her… suffocating her… trying to trap her, drag her down into its depths…

Ivy shut her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Immediately the images plaguing her mind for so long flashed behind her eyelids.

Pamela, where are all your friends?

Fine, you want to know what my biggest fear is? Finally allowing myself to count on someone, and then having them ditch me!

Harley… I… I can’t…

The first time my father hit me? That’s when I gave up on humans...

You know I love ya. Bye, Ive…

I’m… I’m saying I don’t want you to be here.

You’re right, Ivy. I deserve the best.

Her eyes shot open again, and she was hit with a wave of dizziness which she shook her head in an attempt to clear. “Shit…” After a couple moments she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself like she’d done so many times before. Honestly, it was amazing she was able to hide it this long… but that also hurt, that it had gone unnoticed for as long as it had. At least she wasn’t alone in this anymore… at least she had-

“Harley?” Ivy called out, slowly climbing out of bed with the sheets wrapped around her. What was taking the blonde so long?

Just then Harley skipped back into the room, bundles of clothes tucked under one arm. “Sorry! I was trying to hurry, then I ran into this huge mouse, and…” She was abruptly cut off as Ivy wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a kiss.

When they were done, Ivy pulled away with a grin. “You? Big bad villain, scared of such a cute little animal? Wait till the Injustice League hears about this…”

Harley’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!”

“Nah. Just wanted to see the look on your face… you’re adorable.” She planted another quick kiss on Harley’s cheek. “Now, let’s hurry up and get dressed. Maybe we can still catch the sunrise.”

It's PTSD by the way, if it was hard to tell. (Apologies, I didn't want to just put it outright) Ivy suffers from PTSD in this fic, which makes sense, because she's been through some shit.

I was trying to spell "trigger" as "twigger" for whatever reason so I gave up and just decided to keep it going with the letters... please help?

No idea when part 3 will be out, I'm about to go watch Suicide Squad so I'm not really writing tonight.

Comments mean the world, even if it's just a word or two! Creators don't know if you actually read it or if it's something you'd like to see more of if you don't comment...

Any interaction is appreciated though!

Thank you, have a good rest of your day!

#harlivy #harley quinn #poison ivy #harleen quinzel #pamela isley #harley quinn animated series #harlivy fanfiction

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fanfic-cave · 3 years

Text

Abandoned

Rating: SFW/PG-13 (although theres kissing and stuff if you dont want to read that in public)

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Hunter x Fem Jedi!OC

Warnings: Angst, fighting and arguing, talks about order 66/jedi being killed, making out it gets a little heated ya’ll

Summary: Hunter has discovered Sera's intentions to abandon the team and leave. The have an argument, amongst other things. Does she stay, or will she leave the bad batch for good?

Authors note: More OC stuff, I just get scenes in my head and I have to write them out. This is the furthest ahead ive gotten in the story I think. I have ideas of other things (which kinda get hinted at here), but im not sure how exactly I want to accomplish them.

Be sure to check out my post and put in your 2 cents on what I should write next!

Tags: @mangoberry99

You walked into the small, dark room, with Hunter right on your heels. He was definitely mad at you.

You tightened the mask on your face, and kept your hood up. Hunter switched the lights on and shut the door. “You were going to leave?” Hunters voice was raised, practically growling. He whipped around to look at you, his eyebrows arched and nostrils flaring. Yup. Pissed.

“I don’t expect you to understand.” You folded your arms defensively. “Just cause you’re a Jedi?” Hunter spoke loudly. “You owe us an explanation.” Somehow you thought Hunter really meant that you owed him an explanation.

You turned your face away, saying nothing. You didn’t feel obliged to share anything, you just wanted to retreat and hide like you always had. Hunters mouth turned down into a frown, and you could tell he was getting more upset. “I hate to break it to you, but being a Jedi doesn’t make you more special or different than the rest of us-"

“Hold on a damn minute-" you interjected, uncrossing your arms.

“And you don’t get to shut us out just because you are one.” He spat it out and you felt your face heat up with anger. “You were going to go without saying goodbye, Sera. You realized how messed up that is?” He was yelling now.

“I told you, you wouldn’t understand!” You yelled back. Your hands balled up into fists.

“No, I don’t! How could you befriend us, gain our trust, and just leave? Omega-"

“Don’t.” you interrupted before he could finish. Your voice had lowered in pitch, but it was loud and it echoed around the room. “Don’t bring her into this.” You were doing this to protect them, especially her. You didn’t want him to guilt trip you by using her.

“It would’ve destroyed her. You can’t face that? That you were going to abandon her?”

“You have no right-!” You turned to face him, pointing a finger at him and walking up to him.

“Take that damn thing off.” Hunter said. You froze. You knew he was referring to the mask. He stared at you with a hard look on his face, still fuming with anger. “I said take it off.” He ordered.

You yanked it off and threw it at his feet, hoping to hit his foot. He easily moved his left foot to avoid getting hit. “Happy?” You threw up your hands as you said it, venom laced in your tone. Your mask felt like your defense, a protection. You felt safe with it, and you had worn it since abandoning the clone wars and the Jedi order. You felt too vulnerable and exposed without it right now.

“Don’t lecture me, I know what I was doing, and I-" your voice cracked. You took a step back and took a breath. “I thought it was better than the alternative.” Your voice was quieter now. You looked down, then you turned around, your back to him. You didn’t want to see him, to face him. You placed your hands on the table in front of you, leaning forward and taking slow deep breaths.

“How would that be better?” Hunter's voice was lower in volume, matching yours. He seemed upset, but not angry anymore. He sounded hurt, or maybe sad.

You finished another deep breath. “The Jedi are being hunted down. I can only hide for so long.” Your voice was much quieter now, barely above a whisper. You felt weight on your chest as you said it. You crossed your arms and hugged yourself, trying to squeeze away the tight feeling in your chest. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. “I could feel it when the Jedi were killed, Hunter. Thousands of voices being silenced. And now, I can feel it.” Hunter waited for you to finish. “The Empire knows there are hidden Jedi across the galaxy, and they’re going to come and find us.”

You turned to face him, tears in your eyes. Hunter looked worried as he listened to you, watching your movements. “If you’re with me, you could all be killed.” You choked out the last part, the tears coming out. You covered your mouth with your hands, trying to hold in the cries that escaped your mouth.

You squeezed your eyes tight and couldn’t see, but you felt arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you in. You received the hug and wrapped your arms around Hunters torso, then buried your face into his chest. You couldn’t keep it in anymore, the sobbing escaping you, ripping through your chest.

“Shh,” Hunter quietly began comforting you. You felt his hand stroking your hair, the other arm squeezing you tight against him. You held onto him as you cried, like holding him would help you hold yourself together.

You stayed there for a minute, quietly sobbing while Hunter stroked your hair and quieted your cries. After a minute had passed, he spoke. “You remember what I told you when we found out you were a Jedi?” He paused and you waited quietly, tears still rolling down your cheeks. “I said we would protect you.” You had stopped sobbing, and you took shaky breaths in and out.

You felt him kiss the top of your head. You pulled away from his chest to look up at him. He wiped the tears out of your eyes with his thumb. “I promise, I won’t let the Empire kill you,” he had grabbed your chin, and looked into your eyes with intensity as he spoke. You smiled at his optimism. Normally you might argue that he couldn’t guarantee that, but he looked so set in his decision. You didn’t think you could persuade him otherwise.

He leaned in to press his forehead against yours, and you met him halfway, enjoying the moment of closeness. You felt like he was grounding you, keeping you here in the moment instead of fearing for the future. “Is this okay?” You felt his breath hit your face as he spoke. It was warm, and he smelled nice. You nodded. He squeezed you around the waist and pulled you in tighter, your hips now touching.

You felt your heart skip a beat. You two had never been quite this affectionate. You had an idea that Hunter might feel something more than friendship towards you. There had been moments, exchanged glances, lingering touches. Conversation where you both opened up, and had been vulnerable with each other. You already knew how you felt, but never were quite sure where exactly he stood.

You opened your eyes, and examined his face. You could see details that you couldn’t make out without being this close. The details in his tattoos, the shape of his eyes, of his face, his mouth. You felt yourself become more brave. You tilted your face to the right, your nose skimming past his. His lips were not even an inch away from yours now.

You saw Hunter's eyes open, and he was watching you. You waited, not wanting to advance more without permission. You held eye contact for a moment. He looked at you questioningly, processing what you were doing. You waited for him to pull away or come closer. You quietly froze there, the two of you only breathing and examining each other in your closeness, neither of you sure what would happen. You found yourself getting lost in his brown eyes for that short moment.

Suddenly Hunters lips were against yours, his hand at the back of your neck, fingers reaching into your hair. You breathed in through your nose, and your bodies began to move together. You felt yourself rise up to your toes to reach him, to get closer. Your arms were still wrapped around his torso, and you pulled yourself closer to him, just as his other hand gently pushed you in from the small of your back, trying to close every gap between your bodies.

After a minute, Hunter pulled away to allow yourselves a second to breath. He studied your face, like he was trying to memorize it. “It’s about damn time.” You said between breaths, and he laughed. His eyes seemed to light up with excitement. You reached up to his neck and brought him back in. You felt a burning in your chest as you continued kissing him. You wrapped your fingers around his biceps, and began to push him towards the nearest wall. He let you move him, his arms around your waist, making sure you came right along with him. You went back up on your toes, reaching to kiss him.

Hunters hands shifted away from you, then you felt them grab you underneath your thighs. You were suddenly lifted up, your legs reflexively wrapping around him. You gasped and broke from the kiss, holding onto him to keep yourself from falling.

“I’ve got you.” He spoke confidently, placing one hand on your shoulder as the other fully held you up. Then, he took a few steps and set you down on the table. Your face was now an even height with his. You made a face “You think I’m too short to kiss you?” You huffed out. Hunter smiled and said “You are kinda short-“

“Oh shut up.” You grabbed his shoulders and forcefully brought him back in. You tightened your legs on him, as if trying to lock him in place. He had one hand on your hip, the other touched the back of your shoulder where your bare skin was exposed. It felt like a fire was ignited where his fingertips met your skin. Hunter broke away and planted kisses on your cheek, then he moved to your jaw. You felt yourself reach at his shirt on his back, tempted to start pulling at it. You felt intoxicated by the moment, drinking in the bliss you felt as his kisses moved to your neck.

Wait. How did I get here again?

You released him and pulled away gently as the thought crossed your mind. Hunter stopped and took a step back from you, being sure to give you space if you wanted it. Your legs no longer were wrapped around him, you sat on the table and Hunter stood just a foot away from you. “Did I overstep?” Hunter asked. He watched you carefully, concern written all over his face.

“No, no I loved that Hunter,” you reached your hand out and grabbed his. You gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m just trying to process. Weren’t we just fighting?” You looked back up at him. He looked up, trying to recall the events. “Right, and then you were crying-“

“And now we’re kissing.” You laughed and shook your head. “That really escalated huh?” You looked back up to him as you spoke. Hunter was smiling, he looked genuinely happy.

You ran your hand through your hair, your braid now very much messed up. You began to undo it. Hunters smile faded and his eyebrows knitted together.

“What is it?” You asked.

“You won’t leave, right?” He asked, the brooding expression you were all too familiar with was set back onto his face.

“Oh.” Right, I was going to leave. You felt your heart squeeze. “No, I don’t think I will.” You said after thinking. Hunter sighed in relief. “Good.” He approached you again, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I wouldn’t let you anyways.” You raised your eyebrows at him. “Oh, you wouldn’t let me?” Like he could stop me. You kept that thought in your head.

“No.” He spoke firmly. His eyes locked with yours, and he looked determined. “I know the empire is hunting down the last of the Jedi, but we’re not exactly on good terms with them either.” You listened as he spoke.

“I don’t like the thought of you trying to survive on your own. I’ve always had my brothers, and having a squad, or a family, to rely on has gotten us all through it. I want you to rely on us, let us help you.” He put a hand on your cheek as he finished, and leaned in closer to you. He looked almost sad as he said it. You realized if he really cared about you, the thought of you leaving must hurt as much as leaving him would’ve hurt you.

You took a deep breath, then spoke. “Since I left the order, and the war, I’ve always been on my own. Having someone to rely on again has been a bit of an adjustment.” Hunter kept his eyes fixed on you, hand still on your cheek. You moved to put your hand on top of his. “I’m still learning how not to run, and I don’t want to run from you.” You squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes. “Honestly, I think I love you.”

Hunters eyes widened a bit as you said it. You smiled and you could feel yourself blushing. Now, though, you weren’t ashamed.

You saw Hunters eyes move to the door and back to you. Then you heard foot steps and Omega calling for Hunter. “I love you too.” He whispered it, and the door opened.

I know. You mouthed it, then slid off the table to stand next to him. You could practically hear him roll his eyes and you smiled.

I don’t think I could leave now. Not even if I wanted to.

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #tcw #clones #hunter #hunter x reader #hunter x jedi #jedi #order 66

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poptod · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can I have an enemies to lovers fic between Ahkmenrah and a Nubian Queen, where their territories are at war with each other (as in a war is literally taking place) 😇😇

notes: man, ive been integrating nubia/kush into my ancient egyptian stories for How long now and i havent thought of doing this? damn. anyway i sort of changed the prompt a little cause i didnt want to get too much into the politics between ancient egypt and nubia cause holy fuck was that a hyperobsession of mine for a bit WC: 1.8k

This was... unconventional, to put it lightly. You and a Pharaoh inherited a war from your parents – a longlasting conflict between Nubia and Egypt, and having it end up this way was something no one could have prepared for.

You had directed armies yourself; put yourself in battle, ridden hordes of bulls through encampments and foreign soldiers. It was a purposeful tactic to incite fear in those who opposed you, a lesson in the dramatics handed down to you by your father. He always had an eye for showmanship.

Ahkmenrah conducted undercover operations and covert raids and, at times, led his armies into battle. He was renowned for his work with swords and daggers, often using fire to get his way. By lighting your cities aflame, he weakened the power of Nubia, and destroyed precious resources and lives.

Both of you had earned your share of scars, up and down your arms, puncturing your chest and slashing your skin. You personally fought one another on several occasions – the month-long conflict in Semna, the burning of Buhen, the advance on Aswan. Your officers attested to your hatred of the man, and the people of Egypt were well in the know of the Pharaonic family's distaste for Nubians.

"That bastard cut two of my fingers off," you often recounted, and often (and coincidentally) on the same days the Pharaoh would say, "that little shit ruined my perfect skin."

What he meant by this remained, for a good while, unknown to those who heard it. His officers and advisors had asked him several times, but he never gave a straight answer. He kept it a nice secret till it was inevitably discovered to be long, numerous scars ranging all up his back. From his shoulder blades to the small of his back, scars had ruined the once smooth skin, a gift from you to him.

How you gave him these scars was also unknown, and continued to be so forever. He never answered how it happened and you never spoke about it.

However, the answer became clear, though not officially confirmed.

You looked off the side of the bed, listless eyes drifting between the different paintings lining the bedroom's walls. Unlike the grandeur of the court room and dining room, the images were not of the Pharaoh, instead displaying the wealth of a happy garden. It was art you had somehow come to miss in your time away from Egypt.

Kisses landed on the back of your neck before hands travelled to your waist, squeezing the supple skin as the kisses grew lower. You attempted to shake the touch off but he was persistent.

"No," you said, squirming in place but not bothering to leave your spot on the bed. "I came here to settle my debt and I should return to that."

"Lie here with me and your debt is settled," he murmured, lips moving against your skin as he spoke.

"That is not even close to –"

"Shhh," he said softly, and his movements continued without pause, searching the body he had gotten to know uncomfortably well.

Unbeknownst to the populace and to many of your officials, the two of you exchanged letters. Nothing of fantastic importance nor hatred, but instead a communication between two people who had no one else to relate to besides each other. Where else would you find a King or Queen embroiled in conflict?

So you related to one another, and the information you relayed in your letters was always thrice-checked, a tactic to keep Ahkmenrah from using anything against you. He did the same with his own letters, which you expected him to.

Your worst enemy and closest friend continued to kiss you as you lay in his bed, his hand wandering lower till he tugged at the hem of your skirt.

"I'm going to kill you one of these days," you said as you rolled over, facing him head-on. As usual, your words were curt, to the point, and spoken in a nearly monotone voice with complete seriousness. As usual, his eyes were glittering with the excitement you often sparked in him, the most bittersweet of smiles always tainting his lips.

"You've tried six times and you've been unsuccessful thus far," he said in a teasing manner, his grin spreading.

"Well then," you said as he moved to hold himself above you, one hand planted on either side of your head as he sat between your legs, "one more try won't hurt."

"Please don't try to kill me while I'm having sex with you," he groaned.

"I don't want undead dick in me, so I thought I'd do it before or after," you said, something he apparently found amusement in.

"If you weren't the one that destroyed my alliance with Punt, I would marry you so hard," he admitted before diving in to kiss you, aligning perfectly with your lips. You tried two times to reply, but you were entirely muted, and eventually you gave in.

You hated him from the moment you met him. Was that still true, though? Did you still hate him, the man who had taken so much from you, gifting it back in the form of a physical love. His actions in the throes of passion did not suffice as an apology, so you assumed yes––you still hated him.

After all was said and done, you didn't dare to linger. Being absent more than a day from your country never boded well, though the journey back would take up the rest of the day, as the sun had risen a short time ago. You dressed yourself and bid a hasty good-bye to the Pharaoh, who asked you to stay longer.

"If I stay any longer I'm going to suffocate you," you said as you adjusted your belt.

"Have you ever stopped to think maybe I want that?" He asked, and in pure confusion you turned to him, your expression contorted. He explained further, "I've heard choking can be very good during sex."

"Shut the fuck up," you sighed, rolling your eyes as you turned back to your reflection. He just chuckled, flopping back down on the bed.

You paused for a moment––stopped dressing yourself, and instead unwillingly turned your attention to Ahkmenrah's reflection in the mirror, his curls a mess as he stared up at the ceiling. The slow rise and fall of his chest did not match the heavy blush on his cheeks. As he turned to lay on his side, you caught sight of his back, and the numerous scratch marks lining up and down it.

"Do they hurt?" You asked softly, and though you didn't realize it at the time, they were the first soft-spoken words you had shared with him.

"Do what hurt?" He asked in return, rolling back over to face you with a curious smile.

"Those marks on your back," you said, though you didn't turn to face him, instead locking eyes with him in the mirror. "I never mean to give you them."

"You don't?" He asked, quirking one of his brows. "I've always thought of them as a memento. I mean they hurt, but... most things you do hurt me."

For as right as he was, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment for your actions. You had done many things to him and around him, and by both of your accounts, none of the things you'd done had helped him in any way. Except the sex, but neither of you thought of that as your own actions. But he was handsome, and he was kind to his people. Despite the mutual hatred between you he always ensured you were alright with what he was doing in bed. It was two different versions of yourselves––the battlefield, and the home. He was a perfect lover and a ruthless King, and you never bothered to be anything but a spiteful ruler on and off the battlefield.

"Put some lavender oil on it," you said, fixing your collar. "It helps get rid of scars.

"We don't have any lavender oil ever since you cut off our trade network," he said flatly.

"Oh," you paused, "right."

You took one more moment to watch him through his reflection before you took a deep breath.

"I have to leave now. Try not to get into any trouble, or start any, before I get home," you said.

"When will I see you next?" He asked, his cheek squished into the mattress.

"Probably when you wake up at midnight with a knife above your head."

He laughed, but before he could properly respond, you left out the door with your veil concealing your identity. So instead he sighed, turning back to the ceiling as the image of you imprinted itself behind his eyelids. He would miss you no matter how hard he tried not to, and he knew this because every time you left him in his bedroom, emptiness replaced the warmth in his chest. Your warmth.

The moment he passed the threshold of his room, however, he fell back into his natural state––the one he held around his palace officials and citizens. The man who burnt down cities. Very rarely did he ever let this facade fall, and in the following weeks he kept up with it, only breaking it for a split second on a humid evening.

Mail had come into his study, full of letters, plans, and maps all addressed to him. Usually he went through them with his advisors and vizier, but tonight was a holy night, and many of them had asked for the day off, which he of course granted.

The last piece of mail wasn't a scroll or a letter, but instead a small package with a note inside. He frowned as he tore open the sealing, curious to see its' contents. Out fell a sturdy glass bottle, followed by a slip of paper, and the bud of a dried flower.

Get a pretty girl and have her use this on you.

Signed, your friend

He twisted the cork off the bottle. The scent inside was strong enough to reach him without him having to bring it to his nose, and instantly he recognized the source.

Lavender.

He grinned, a grin that only grew larger as he thought of what to say in return. In a flash he grabbed his own papyrus and pen, scribbling down a neat response.

Use it on me yourself, coward.

Signed, your love.

A week later the mail came into your home, and for a good while you sorted through it, though what first caught your attention was the insignia Ahkmenrah planted on each of his covert letters. A lotus. You set that aside––it was not as important as other matters, and it could wait until a little later.

When you did open it, however, you went into such a fluster that a blush coated your face for a good three days.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek

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anntoldst0ries · 3 years

Text

Everything else is just the weather

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count: ~5.3k (I sinned!) Summary: Ethan takes Elle out on their “first” date. Category: Fluff Warnings: None

A/N: It has literally taken me ages to finish this fic. To the point that I couldn’t look at it anymore, but here it is. I had it in mind for a really long time and now that OH is back, I feel like I’m ready to show it to the world. As always thank you for your support and I hope you like it!

This fic is part 2 of birthday present for my friend, part 1 is the fan art which you can see here. Once you read the fic, the fan art makes more sense :)

This is my submission for CFWC Silly Love Stories, Day 12: Date night.

Loud knocks resonated throughout the room.

"Come in!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Peterson.”

“Good morning, Dr Valentine. I think you are the only doctor in this hospital with some sort of manners, everyone else just waltzes in here as if it was a damn barn!”

“Hospital or no hospital, everyone has their right to privacy.”

“Thank you, child. Once again, please call me Faye."

"Alright Faye, but only if you call me Elle.” She smiled sweetly, and the whole room seemed to be suddenly lit by a thousand suns.

“How are you feeling? Are the meds making a difference?"

"They are. I am ready to be discharged today.”

"Not so fast. I am not ready to say goodbye to you yet."

“Why would you possibly like to be lumbered with an old nuisance like me for even a second longer than necessary?”

Elle just laughed and shook her head. The ‘nuisance’, as the elderly lady so lovingly put it, was exactly what she loved about her job. She loved spending time with her patients, she loved their stories and their worldly wisdom. It made her sad to see how many of them thought they didn’t matter or considered themselves and their lives boring. To her, they were anything but.

Many of Edenbrook’s staff members kept asking themselves: what is it about her? She was a great doctor, no two ways about it, and she was a genuinely nice person. But what was the source of power she had over people? If she woke up one day and decided to start a rebellion, patients would have most certainly followed her, even if it meant they’d be leaving the premises of the hospital with naked butts or trailing their IVs behind them. Doctors, nurses, administration, cleaners and security would follow shortly. She only had to say a word.

And how on Earth was she capable of turning Dr Ramsey, the grizzly bear of Edenbrook, into a benign teddy bear with as little as one look? It was beyond everyone’s apprehension.

Had they spent more time actually observing her, rather than gossiping in the corners, the answer would have unveiled in front of them within minutes.

It was very simple.

Noelle was truly curious about people. She genuinely liked them and was determined to get to know their story, for it helped her diagnose them faster and also satiated the young doctor’s hunger for knowledge.

Patients never felt like “curious cases” or “numbers” in her presence. They were… themselves - people with hopes, dreams, fears, pet peeves and odd habits. They were human.

So little and yet so much.

Those never touched by serious illnesses often failed to understand that sickness strips you of your dignity and becomes your identity. Your true self becomes covered by this weird, annoying sticker that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard you tried to remove it.

But this young woman, despite the nature of her profession, somehow managed to notice what was hiding beneath this misleading layer.

Had all these gossipers spoken to her patients, that’s exactly what they would have heard.

"What's happening today?" The older lady asked with a flick of curiosity in her wrinkle-haloed eyes.

"What do you mean, Faye?" The young doctor sounded genuinely baffled by the out-of-the-blue question.

"Well, I am no diagnostician, but I believe I am rather observant and you radiate with happiness. Something special is happening today, am I right?"

"Yeah, you are right." Elle blushed like a teenager caught in a lie. "My boyfriend is taking me on a surprise date today, but he won’t say a word about it, so I'm super excited to find out what he planned for us. He usually isn't one for romantic gestures, so the secrecy is killing me."

"Do you think he's gonna pop the big question?" Faye’s eyes lit up with excitement.

"No, we're not there...yet." Elle faked a smile, but a tone of doubt and sadness coloured her voice. They probably never will be, those things weren’t in the cards for Ethan, as he already stressed once.

But once was enough and she didn’t dare mention the subject again.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he's got some big guns in store, I would if I had a lady like you." - a male patient lying in the bed adjacent to Elle’s patient added smiling flirtatiously.

"Jerry, you were supposed to focus on getting better, not stealing my girlfriend." They all jumped when a deep baritone echoed throughout the room, hitting present company like a wrecking ball. She must have left the door ajar or Ethan could penetrate the walls soundlessly, because no one heard him coming.

Exactly how long has he been standing there for and how much did he hear?

"Dr. Ramsey, flirting makes your blood flow faster. Isn't it the very definition of life itself?” Jerry’s tone was brisk and lively.

"Well, it definitely isn't the definition of recovery after a heart attack." Ethan used his authoritative doctor’s voice but knew this wasn't a battle he was going to win. Jerry had something he didn't: a couple more decades of life experience under his belt and even the best medical school in the country couldn’t compete with this.

"Besides, Dr. Ramsey, I don't think that the beautiful Dr. Valentine here fancies old farts like me."

"That's where you are wrong, Jerry, looks like this is exactly the type I fancy." The two women laughed, however Ethan was far from amused. "Dr. Ramsey is 10 years older than me."

"10 years? What is 10 years in these times? Nothing. When I was getting married 40 years ago, it was something. But today? Look at all them playboys with girls younger than my granddaughter. 10 years is actually a very healthy difference. Men are immature and slower with growing up emotionally. So I'd say you've caught up, Dr. Ramsey, and the two of you are emotional peers now.”

“Thank you for the fascinating lesson in human psychology, Jerry. To think I’ve wasted all this time and money on medical school and no one taught me this.”

“Dr. Ramsey, it’s because schools and useful knowledge are mutually exclusive.”

Elle and Faye were on the verge of bursting out in laughter, but managed to keep their composure and used the non-verbal communication of exchanging glances instead.

Once they made sure their patients had everything they need, Ethan and Elle wished them a good day and promised to stop by in 2 days, as the following day was their day off.

The moment the door closed behind them, Ethan crossed his arms on his chest.

"I lose you from my sight for one second and this happens. 5 more minutes with Jerry and I'd be single again."

"At least no one wants to poke your eyes out for being with me."

"And someone wants to poke yours?"

"Where do I start... nurses, who had a crush on you long before I even set foot in Edenbrook? Female interns? Anyone, who has a pair of functioning eyes and ever looked at you?"

She was adorable when she was doing this, her whole body overtaken by excitement and her hands waving. When she was talking about something really important to her she wasn't just conversing with her mouth, she was doing it with her whole body.

Suddenly, his pager painfully reminded Ethan that this was neither the place nor the time to lose himself in adoration.

"I need to go, I'm completely swamped today and I have my favourite cherry-on-top board meeting. In case I don't see you for the rest of your shift - I’ll pick you up at 7."

He was gone before she was able to form a response. Was it just her or was Dr Ramsey weirdly… nervous?

* * * * * * * *

At 7pm sharp, Ethan Ramsey curled his palm in a fist and gently knocked. The door opened in an instant, as if someone knew he'd been standing there for the past few minutes.

"Ethan! I mean Dr. Ramsey...please come in!" Sienna squeaked with nervous excitement as she let him in.

"Outside of Edenbrook Ethan is just fine, Sienna. If you don't mind me calling you by your first name, of course."

"Mm..mme? No, yes, I mean... Elle is on the balcony." She tried to hide her embarrassment and motioned towards the tall windows surrounding the living room. Some time ago, he would have been oddly proud to have such an intimidating effect on people - nowadays, more than anything, he was amused. Has he really changed so much?

The answer to his question was leaning against the railing, glass of wine in her hand. Gauzy, flowery dress enveloped her frame and tanned skin.

For Ethan, it was as clear as crystal: summer had the face and scent of Noelle Valentine.

Long before she started leaving her toothbrush in his apartment and sleeping in his old JH t-shirts, Ethan noticed that whenever he laid eyes on her, his whole body started acting in a very irrational way. His doctor’s instincts prompted him to think of all types of biological causes and chemical reactions in the brain. Then, when he sort of admitted to himself it’s not just pure science, Ethan leaned towards the forbidden fruit theory - the more he couldn’t have his drug, the more he was craving it.

But the feeling never disappeared. Whenever he wouldn’t see her for a while - be that an hour, a day, or just when she went to take a shower or make a coffee - the very moment her face came into his view again, he felt his stomach somersaulting.

Every. Single. Time.

It wasn’t any different now.

"Drinking without me?"

She almost dropped the glass when his voice stopped the train of thought in her head. But then she saw his face, the way too seldom relaxed muscles and a barely-there smile.

A perfectly tailored shirt clung to his torso marvellously. If not in medicine, he surely would have made a name for himself in the fashion industry. Fortunately for her, the idea never crossed his mind.

The warm wind blew in her face, carrying the scent of expensive cologne which overwhelmed her nostrils. She didn’t know this one, so it must have been new. But she did know that smelling it for the whole evening while staring at his handsome face will be a pure torture.

Simply put, she was a goner.

"I don't know why, but I was quite nervous. Had to summon the courage somehow.”

“As you should be. After all, it's not every day that one goes on their first date."

She looked at him as if she’d just been told that a UFO landed on the roof.

“On a what?”

"Well, I was thinking a lot lately about how we never had a first date. Nothing was ever...typical with us. I promised myself I will do my best to fix things that caused you pain or deprived you of the things you deserved. Maybe I cannot fix some immediately, but this one I can, so I will."

Her eyes, overbrimming with affection struck him like thousand lightnings. Thank god a comfortable silence fell between them - had she asked him a question, it would have been clear that right now he is nothing but a simpering moron.

With this in mind, he took his hands from behind his back, holding a small bouquet of pink gerberas.

"These are my favourites." Her face instantly illuminated at the well known sight and smell. "How did you know?”

"I had some amazing helpers."

Elle instantly turned her head left and looked inside, where grinning, Sienna was showing her the thumbs up.

"Wow, now I actually wish I'd downed the whole bottle."

"I'm glad you didn't. I want to go on a date with a woman, not her lifeless body, even though the body itself is very appealing. Shall we?”

“King of compliments…”

* * * * * * * *

"You actually look like you are having a good time, Dr Ramsey.”

"Why wouldn't I? There is alcohol, sitting under the sky definitely has its charm and the company is acceptable." She playfully swatted his arm, the gesture a quick reminder of how comfortable they felt with each other, something he constantly remembered to never take for granted.

“Although I love this, I still don’t understand why you dragged me all the way outside Boston, I’m pretty sure the rooftop bars are pretty acceptable there, too. A bit more crowded though, that’s for sure.”

“Are you complaining about the fact that we have this entire place to ourselves? I know the owner and he was indebted to me.”

“Of course he was.” Looks like the whole town is indebted to Ethan freakin’ Ramsey.

“With regards to why I brought you here… you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Gosh. She couldn’t decide whether the mysterious side of Ethan Ramsey was hot as hell or annoying as hell. But she didn’t really have time to contemplate, because her companion asked her a question.

“Why did you become a doctor?” The ocean eyes pierced her to the core and she had a feeling that even if she was the best actress in the world, there was no way she’d be able to hide something from this man.

“That’s a terrible change of subject. Also, I must have told you like a million times already.”

“No, you never told me.”

When she looked at him and really, really thought about it… she suddenly realised Ethan was right. Elle told the story so many times she sort of… assumed she told Ethan, too.

“Are you sure you want to hear it today? It’s a pretty sad story, a mood killer I’d say.”

“It’s what makes you you, so yes, I want to hear all about it - the good, the bad and the indifferent.”

“I’ll tell you, but I need to ask something first. Why now? We’ve known each other for a while and you just… I just sort of assumed this isn’t the type of conversation you’d like to hold.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head.” Ethan’s expression was gentle, not a hint of irony in his voice. “I’ve known you for a while now, but there are still so many things about you that I don’t know. At first, I didn’t want to ask, because asking these questions meant admitting that there is something more between us. What a fail would that be, after I’ve mastered the art of denial.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a bitter or a nervous laugh, it was a genuine banter between them, as the British half of her soul liked to call it. “But you made me want to dig deeper.”

Was it the heat that made her catch her breath, or did it have nothing to do with the temperature?

“Plus, this is sort of what first dates are for, right? I’m sorry for skipping right to the more complex questions. It’s not that I don’t want to know what you were afraid of as a child, I want to know all the details… but it feels like the atmosphere calls for something…bigger.”

So she told him all about her friend, how she fell ill, how she couldn’t be saved and how the experience wreaked havoc on her whole life, tears glistening in her eyes at the mere memory of the events that shaped who she was today.

Ethan listened, his whole body tense and eyes transfixed. She was giving him one of the most fragile parts of her and he had to make sure his hands were there to catch, carry and care for this treasure.

“And that’s when I realised that if I focused on becoming the best doctor I could be, then maybe one day, I’d be that person who has an answer, who can solve a mystery and save a relationship that means the world to someone. Sometimes, people don’t realise that when a person dies, it’s not only them that’s gone. The part of someone who stays, who has to deal with the whole ‘me after you’ - that part is gone, too. So for me, in a way, this meant saving more than one life.”

For a couple of seconds he didn’t move. Then, without saying a single word and with an unreadable expression he got up and offered her a hand, which she silently accepted. He led her to the railing, where the sun was slowly sinking into the boundless waters of Quincy Bay.

His lips found the all too well known way to her forehead, placing a loving kiss on her delicate skin.

“I am so proud of you.” There was something so mesmerising in his whisper, sending a shiver down her spine.

“As a mentor or as a boyfriend?”

“Both. I want you to know that your dedication to people who rely on you is astounding and hardly present in doctors your age. Or any age, for that matter.”

“Wow, Dr Ramsey, smooth. Trying to hit on me with a recycled pick-up line used on a national TV? No wonder you didn’t have too many girlfriends.”

“No, I didn’t. But I believe everyone has a limit of luck they can get per life. And looking at you, I got a couple of lifetimes worth of luck.”

This was enough to render her speechless. She smiled and at this very moment he knew he would do anything to make her smile like this. She wrapped him around her pinky finger and suddenly his whole existence revolved around finding ways of seeing her curve these breathtaking lips as often as possible and making sure he is the reason she smiles… not crying her eyes out.

Although the other didn’t know, because none of them said it out loud, they both thought the same thing.

This feels so right.

There isn’t a hint of awkwardness in the fact that they can go from being serious or emotionally vulnerable to funny and teasing in seconds.

In one effortless movement, Ethan spun her and pressed her back against his chest. Then, he started placing a series of tender kisses along her jawline and the crook of her neck, slowly moving towards her shoulder.

Come on, just say it Ramsey. It doesn’t get any better than this.

He wrapped her palm in his and pointed them towards the sky.

“There they are - the Little Dipper and the Big Dipper.” Their intertwined fingers were jumping from one tiny flashing point to the other, as if they were playing connect the dots. “And that’s Orion’s Belt.”

“I really don’t get why at this point I’m still surprised that you’re good at everything.”

Elle was drunk on his every word, as this annoying trait of Ethan Ramsey being the know-it-all was actually one of her favourite things about him.

As for Ethan, he couldn’t help but think that life wasn’t perfect and was never going to be. But this - this moment - it was in fact perfect. Why take chances of ruining it, when so many things can go wrong?

What if she doesn't say it back?

What if she's just gonna laugh at him or tell him he had it all wrong.

What if he misinterpreted everything and she never thought about him this way?

He was terrified of being this exposed. The last person he loved so much left him without batting an eyelid and disappeared for 25 fucking years.

Maybe it was better to live in a perfect illusion than a reality in which there was even a 0.01% chance she doesn't love him back.

So they both drowned in the moment, drifted in the sea of rapture, lost in the illusion that it can all last forever.

It was her who broke the silence.

“I’m getting a bit cold, is it ok if we call it a night?”

“Right, of course.”

“Thank you for the first date, I loved it.”

Handing her his jacket (her favourite, the dark green leather one) Ethan was furious at himself.

Maybe he was broken. Maybe he will remain broken forever. Maybe that’s the way it must be.

“Do you want to spend the night at mine?” The question slipped his tongue before he was able to fully reflect on it.

“At yours? Unless you have some secret place I don’t know about, just a quick reminder - I live there too.”

“Since this was our first date, I thought it was a gentlemanly thing to ask.”

“In that case… I am afraid I have the ‘after the 3rd date’ sleepover rule, Dr Ramsey.”

* * * * * * * *

The morning came all too soon and the hot, ruthless rays of the rising sun announced that Ethan is now way past his regular wake up and get up time. He barely slept, tossing and turning, replaying every second of the evening in his head.

His hand mindlessly reached for what he hoped to be the familiar curves and softness of the body he adored so much.

But his palm hit the mattress with a loud thud. The bed was empty.

The all-too-well known feeling of hopelessness slipped into the doctor's mind with ease. What did he expect? He was acting weird the previous day. First date, what a stupid idea. She must have realised something is wrong with him and finally left.

But before he was able to fully wallow in the mud of pity, the feeling was soon replaced by an old friend Ethan haven’t heard from for a long time.

Panic.

Where was she? Is she ok? What if something happened to her and he was just sleeping like a log instead of being there to protect her. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her… again. Something grabbed his chest in a tight grip and wouldn’t let go.

Scenes flashed before his eyes, vivid and bright. Their hands touching through the glass wall. Her hand cupping his cheek through the layer of hazmat suit.

He got out of bed at the speed of sound and started running around the apartment, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, he noticed.

The balcony door was opened wide.

Shit.

Heart in his mouth, Ethan crossed the distance between his kitchen island and the balcony door in the blink of an eye.

Elle was just serving pancakes outside. The goddamn pancakes. The only thing he couldn’t cook. The one thing she kept teasing him about and he rolled his eyes every time she did.

God, he promised himself he will never learn how to make them, if it meant she would just tease him forever.

She was smiling as widely as ever, putting the sun and everything else in the world to shame. Ethan was still a bit shaken and his uneven breathing gave him away. Elle finally noticed his presence.

“Good morning, I was just about to—“

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They both froze.

The tension in the silence that had just set in was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

But the silence didn’t last long. As one man, with eyes full of disbelief, they both murmured simultaneously:

“What did you just say?”

This time, he felt obliged to break the silence.

"I...I...I mean, I…"

Damn it, get it together, idiot.

"I didn't mean to…”

Great, Ramsey, keep digging an even deeper hole for yourself, then crawl in and stay there forever.

"You didn't mean to say it?”

"Yes. No. I mean, damn it, I am making things worse, aren't I?”

She didn’t set him straight.

"The thing is, I wanted to say it yesterday. I had it all planned, I took you for a first date and I wanted to say it for the first time yesterday.”

"Why did it have to be yesterday?”

“Give me a minute.”

She just rolled her eyes, but Ethan didn’t have a chance to notice before disappearing inside. A few moments later he re-emerged, his face and torso covered by a neatly wrapped, rectangle-shaped object.

"What's this?"

"Something you should have unpacked yesterday, but then... life happened."

Elle sat down on cold tiles, her hands trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. And just like he did months ago, he took her hand in his, only this time he cupped his own cheek with her palm and placed the most tender kiss on the inside of her hand.

It was her favourite medicine, a remedy for all things wrong.

He sat beside her and nodded at the mysterious package. With impatience growing inside of her, Elle has torn the paper up.

Inside was a dark blue, framed print - the colour of it an instant reminder of her favourite set of irises.

She studied everything with intent. A circle must have been representing the earth and the irregular dots and lines must have been the stars and constellations.

"A map of the sky? That's beautiful, Ethan."

He knew immediately that although her delight was sincere, she had absolutely no clue what she was looking at and why she was looking at it.

“It's not just any map of the sky.” Ethan explained gently, hints of pride colouring his voice. “It's a map of the Boston sky from exactly a year ago. Well, a year and a day.” He smiled faintly, now a shade of sorrow in his enchanting voice.

Silence. Was she supposed to know what that meant?

“Aren’t you full of mysteries today? Ok, you need to throw me a lifebelt here. What's so special about the sky from a year and a day ago?”

“For the world? Probably not too much. For me? Everything.”

At this stage of their relationship, she knew a lot about Ethan’s behaviours, triggers, his body language. And not just a relationship as a couple, but also everything that came before Ethan became someone she was running through life with (the life of two doctors in one of the busiest and most prestigious hospitals was certainly not a walk in the park).

But it still fascinated her how his demeanour changed whenever the subject was serious, whenever he was talking about something that truly mattered to him. It was as if he’d stripped down of all the layers and let her look into his bare soul. These rare moments of vulnerable intimacy meant more to her than any night of passion they ever shared.

Her eyes turned to him in pledge, because as much as she wanted to, Dr Valentine still couldn’t fully comprehend the scene unraveling in front of her.

“Read the description below the map.”

Dear God, did she actually hear shyness in his voice?

She skimmed through the image again, and there it was, right at the bottom. Elle was so focused on trying to decipher the meaning of the image that she didn’t notice the words below.

The words which explained everything.

I WILL NEVER FORGET THE DAY

THAT MADE ME REALISE

YOU ARE THE SKY

EVERYTHING ELSE IS JUST THE WEATHER

Her emerald eyes brimmed with hot tears as the meaning dawned upon her. Words were very unnecessary, but now that he summoned the courage to speak, there was still a lot he wanted to put into words. He gently took the frame from her hands and leaned it securely against the wall.

Taking her palms into his, he placed delicate kisses on her knuckles, his lips tracing the shape of these two tiny hands, which held all of him. Everything he had, everything he was and was going to be, he placed in those two fragile palms, with an unspoken hope that they will hold him and catch him if he falls.

“Look at me.” The words were pulsing with care and affection, even though his voice coloured them in serious and desperate shades.

“One year ago… and a day from today…” He smiled and she felt the warmth spilling inside of her. The power he had over her was beyond the limits of understanding.

Little did she know that the object of her affection was lost in the same thought.

“I was standing exactly where we stand right now. It was dark and the view wasn’t that spectacular.” He freed one of his hands, but only to make contact with her cheek to caress it slowly. In this moment, he had to touch her any way that he could. With his hands. With his eyes. With his soul.

“But I always found comfort in staring at the sky. When I was at med school, I had countless moments of doubt, I wanted to quit more times than I can count. So I used to go to a secluded place at night and stare at the sky. It made me realise how, in one respect, I am just a grain of sand in the universe and how little my problems are. Funnily enough, this thought actually brought me a sense of comfort. If I am as little as I think I am, then what is the harm in being brave and taking chances? A wise man once said… There are some things that are worth any risk.”

She giggled through the tears, the sweet sound soothing his shattered nerves.

“I was standing right here and I never felt more miserable in my life. And I couldn’t understand why, for God’s sake. I was thriving at work. I had everything figured out and planned. I was pushing you to be the best you could be and I watched you turn into someone who would one day be far greater than me. But you looked so sad, so… broken. You already know I can’t just gloss over you feeling down. The sadder you were, the more miserable I felt. One evening, I was having a glass of scotch and I remembered some tiny exchange we’ve had earlier in the day, literally a chit chat. No idea what it was about. But I remembered your smile and your laugh. Every tiniest move of your muscles, your eyes, how your hair set around your face. It made me happy. Even if it was just for 5 minutes, knowing that you are happy in that very moment filled my chest with lightness. That’s when I realised I want to be the person who makes you feel this way.”

She blinked the first time in a while, as if she was afraid to make the tiniest movement, afraid it will all disappear and turn out to be a dream. Giant teardrops rolled down her angelic face, trailing the path of joy.

“Noelle Sky Valentine, I love you. I have loved you for a long time but I was too stubborn to let myself give in. And that, as you already know, will always be one of my biggest regrets.”

“Ethan, I don’t… I’m so sorry, I just don’t know what to say.” Her voice was saturated with emotions.

“I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.“

“I love you too, Ethan Jonah Ramsey. You are by far the most complicated and stubborn person I have ever met. You are… everything I never knew I looked for in another human being.”

Once he heard her say it back, he couldn't get enough of it and a lifetime didn't feel like enough to tell her he loves her, as many times as he wished to.

“But I do have to mention this, Dr Ramsey… from the first date to a love confession in less than 24 hours? I’m sorry, I think this is moving too fast.”

“I’ll show you too fast…but I’m afraid we need to get inside, I don’t want the whole world and its wife to see how I teach you a thing or two.”

Ethan scooped her in his arms and carried her inside, despite her mock protests. He smiled and corrected himself.

He wanted for the whole world to see.

Because the whole world was right there.

In his arms.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If you’ve gotten this far, I need you to know you are absolutely amazing 💗

Tag 🏷 list: @jamespotterthefirst @romewritingshop @romereadingshop @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @terrm9 @mrs-ramsey @maurine07 @gryffindordaughterofathena @mercury84choices @lovingramsey @qrkowna @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations @lisha1valecha @oldminniemcg @iemcpbchoices @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @levinsdowneyy @brooks-eden @poudredevie @queencarb @caseyvalentineramsey @lucy-268 @tenaciousdeputydreamfriend @alwaysmychoices-sideblog @whippedforethanfreakingramsey @schnitzelbutterfingers @the-pale-goddess @lem-20 @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @liaromancewriter @ohchoices @archxxronrookie

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #dr ethan ramsey #play choices #open heart #open heart fic #cfwc silly love stories #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #ethan ramsey

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rreeaahh · 3 years

Text

Arms Tonite | draco malfoy

Arms Tonite - for @vogueweasley ‘s writing challenge (inspired by the song)

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader (ravenclaw)

words count: 10k - lyrics in italic

summary; your relationship with draco went from strangers, to lovers, to strangers again - but it broke the barrier between life and death.

warnings: the word “mudblood”; swearing; death eaters; voldemort; death of a character; some fluff; angst; kinda sad; slow burn; blood mention; (that’s all i could think of, please let me know if there are more!)

a/n: im so so so sorry if thats too long, my loves! i got carried away by this idea - i had it in my mind for so so long i used @vogueweasley 's writing challenge as motivation. again, congratulations mere! You're one of the first writers ive followed here, and I'm happy to see your blog growing❤️

“Can I sit there?” you asked softly, embracing the pile of books to your chest. They were all for your Potions’ essay, where you really wanted to excel, only to prove Professor Snape what you were capable of.

Since the first year, Snape turned out to be a walking nightmare for all the students in the entire castle, especially for the ones who hadn’t a green tie around their neck. Being a Ravenclaw, the desire to know more was a normal thing for you: always asking questions and making assumptions only to gain more information made Snape grow a feeling of hatred towards you. He’d externalize that hate by giving you extra work, asking you questions you had no idea to answer, criticizing your skills in front of the class – basically, everything he could do to embarrass yourself and to show your classmates that you weren’t as smart as you wanted to introduce yourself.

“What?” the boy asked in confusion, his fingers squeezing the silver quill he was using to take notes from a booked that seemed to be about Transfiguration – a subject where you were at the top of the class, as Professor McGonagall told you proudly.

“I asked if I could stay here,” you repeated in a quiet voice, not wanting to disturb the rest of the people who were struggling with their work. “All the tables are taken and that’s my spot, usually,” you added when he frowned his brows, scanning the room.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said careless, going back to his piece of parchment. “That’s my spot usually, too, but I haven’t seen you here,” he whispered as you sat down, in front of him.

“I don’t think we share classes, so I think we don’t go to the library at the same time. But maybe it could be our spot from now on.” Your explanation made the blonde boy look away, his cheeks running paler while the skin of his neck, revealed by the crack of his unbottoned shirt, seemed to burn.

The silence fell on you two, the room being filled only with whispers and quills running their ink on the papers. You really had to impress Snape with that essay, you had enough of his comments and ugly looks – he was a great teacher, a very skilled person, but he had a horrible way to be human – that if he could be considered a human being. Deep down you feared Snape – his cold eyes, his fluttering cloak and his loud steps: all of that gave you goosebumps all over your body. Thinking of those you felt your breath tangling up in your throat, and the letters started to dance in front of your eyes. At first, you looked around the room, searching for the Weasley twins, but it wasn’t a prank: it was the stress which took control over your mind, playing tricks and messing with you. Your throat was dry, and every time you tried to swallow your saliva it felt like you had sand in your mouth. Your tablemate seemed to notice your discomfort, because he looked at you under his eyelashes, his right brow raising in confusion or annoyance.

“What are you doing?” he asked, now looking at you without any reservation.

“Hm?” you buzzed, making eye contact with him. You couldn’t figure out if he was surprised by your daring glare, or intimidated or amused – he only kept on looking into your eyes, not revealing any true emotion.

“You keep on swallowing and it looks like you’re drowning or something.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled politely, which made him go back to his work. But when you kept on acting like you couldn’t breathe, he dropped his quill on the table and look like you with frustration. “What?”

“You’re distracting me, obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “Some of us are trying to focus, so keep quiet or leave.”

It was very rude of him – in your opinion – to talk to you, a complete stranger, like he could give you orders; especially when you did nothing wrong.

“Me too,” you sighed, “It’s only that…” But you stopped in the middle of the sentence, reminding that you didn’t know who you were talking to, and he probably didn’t care.

“Only what?” he asked, making you look at him again. His face was blank – relaxed, like he was an emotionless metal can.

“I’m not that good with Potions, so I’m struggling a little bit,” you smiled with shame, not knowing exactly why you felt that way admitting you weren’t good at something.

“We all are struggling,” he said like it wasn’t a big deal, pointing to his Transfiguration book. “Some of us on simple things, I see,” he commented after he took a sight at the books you chose and the big title you wrote on the parchment.

“Then maybe we could help each other,” you proposed, smiling at him in a friendly nature. He didn’t seem to understand your idea, given the frowned brows and half eyes that were starring at you. “I’m good at Transfiguration, the best if we’re to follow McGonagall’s words, so I could help you if you help me with my Potions essay.”

He took a moment to think, looking back and forward to your books and his, to your parchments and his – yours were filled with paragraphs and his were decorated with meaningless drawings. “I only need some notes, it’s not fair to do your whole essay in exchange of some stupid phrases,” he said like you were trying to fool him.

You chuckled and leaned back on your chair. “Yeah, nothing’s free,” you smiled, “Ok, then I’ll write your notes and you’ll write me the main ideas – after that I’ll write it on my own.” He stayed thoughtful and quiet, looking at your face; you tried hard not to run your fingers to your cheek, searching for dirt or anything that had him starring. “Deal?” you asked.

He held out his hand in your direction. “Deal,” was his only response, waiting for you to conclude the pact. And you did – you gently shook his hand, the skin of his palm feeling smooth against your own, like he was using lots of lotion every night before going to bed. But it was a nice feeling, which led a wave of warmth all over your body along with a good premonition about how he’d do your homework and him, in general.

The two of you switched your belongings, the only item that wasn’t switch being the quills – he was holding his like it was the biggest treasure he ever had; and maybe it was, you thought. Maybe it had an emotional story and he wanted to keep the quill only because of the memories it hold, but maybe he was only careful with what belonged to him. You never really had anyone to help you with your work – when you were a child your parents encouraged you to keep on trying by yourself in order to succeed, and you grew up avoiding other’s help, only to prove them that you could do it alone. After a while, in your third year of Hogwarts, you wanted to be helped, but it seemed like your older housemates were too busy and the ones your age were looking for you to help them. So, to be in the library on a Friday afternoon, helped by a boy you never crossed paths with before seemed like a new – and somehow exciting – experience. It was nice to write on the parchments which had their edges and corners filled with something that seemed to be flowers or some kind of plant with curled leaves. You often asked him questions about what you should or shouldn’t write, and depending on his answer you’d write down more explicit notes, as he kept on commenting how many useless things you’ve wrote in your essay by far – but he was funny, telling you that you should give Snape the essay the way it is so maybe you all could be lucky and get rid of the sulky teacher sooner than expected.

After some time, they boy looked at the silver watch on his left wrist and put down the quill. “My study time’s over,” he announced and you also put down the writing instrument, handing him the papers you tried to write as eligible as you could. “That’s all?” he asked and scoffed.

“Actually, I have more things to add, but…” You tried to say, but he already began to gather his things, closing the Transfiguration book and folding the parchments. “We could meet tomorrow, or Sunday,” you proposed and also got up when he did. You tried to make eye contact with him one more time, not paying that much attention to the height difference between you two.

“Again?” he spoke, fulfilling your wish. His eyes were mesmerizing – such a light blue, reminding you of a sunny sky.

“Yeah, I mean, if you want – it would be beneficial for both of us to finish what we started.”

And he thought that way too, because the next day he was already in the same spot of the library, all by himself, trying to decipher the entangled letter you wrote the other day. “Maybe Snape doesn’t like you because of your handwriting,” he said when you sat down, making you smile and chuckle – an action that caused him to have a little smile in the corner of his lips, too. And those smiles continued to grow on your faces, because besides the theoretical information you two changed, there were also a little funny comment slipped through the conversation.

“See you tomorrow?” you asked while gathering your things, because that time you were the one who needed to leave earlier.

“I can’t,” he simply said. “I have to study.”

“Isn’t that the reason we met here today?” you laughed, “To study together?”

“No, we met today to finish our deal – which is pretty much done,” he explained in a plain voice, pointing to the pages in your hand. The structure of the essay was done; you only needed to put it all together and his Transfiguration notes were enough for him to understand better the subject.

“Oh,” you said in a whisper. “Yeah, right, thank you…” you smiled to him, whishing that he’d realize that you two never introduced each other properly, but he only returned the smile in a polite way.

“You’re welcome,” was all he said and went back to his book, trying to put head to head the theory you made and the information from the book.

That Saturday you left the library with a strange feeling of loneliness – he was a stranger, but he helped you concentrate and also helped you with something that – maybe – was the most important opportunity for you to shut Snape’s mouth. That day flew by without you even realizing, but at night you found yourself thinking about the boy who tapped his fingers on the wooden surface anytime he’d search for the right words but couldn’t stand a strange breathing near him, and a pair of iced eyes was present in your dreams, doing nothing more than watching you with all the possible emotions mirroring in them.

“How was your weekend by far, Hermione?” you asked the girl only to break the strange silence between you two. She was looking for a specific book, and it happened to bump into her when you came to the library to continue your work.

It was a few hours after lunch, on a sunny Sunday when most of the students preferred to study or to simply hang out in the courtyards, lying on the grass. It wasn’t very weird that you had to deal with all those stares when you went to the library on such a beautiful day. You weren’t a bookworm or a nerd, but it was a special thing and you really wanted to have it all done by the end of Monday at least, so you wouldn’t be loaded with other things.

“It was… acceptable,” she responded and shrugged, going back to look for that book on the selves. “As acceptable as it could be a weekend spend in the company of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley,” she continued and you laughed. She was the brain of that trio, and it might be stressful to be their friend – but you were pretty sure it wasn’t that horrible since she stayed by their side for so long. “What about you?” she returned the question, giving up on her searching as she couldn’t find the right book.

Hermione followed you to your usual table, situated in a corner of the room, where the rays of sun came through the wide window and lighted all the pages. You sat down, leaving aside the parchments for some moments of chatting with your friend. “It was… fun,” you smiled, “I was here two days in a row doing homework.”

Hermione laughed while flipping the pages gently. “And Ronald says I’m the one who needs to sort out her priorities.”

“No,” you rolled your eyes, “It was fun because I had a study buddy. It was really nice,” the explanation made the girl leave her book and watch you with sudden interest. You knew Hermione wasn’t the type who gossip, so her attention was pure curiosity.

“Who?”

“I don’t really know,” you sighed, a little disappointment in your voice as you looked at your fingers, which were unconsciously tapping on the table. “We never made a proper introduction.”

The Gryffindor girl played with the zipper of her hoodie, looking like he was trying to remember all the persons who ever entered that room. “How was he looking?”

Handsome was the first word you wanted to say, as a joke, but a discarded book landed on your table, right on top of your papers and made you looks at the person whose shadow was covering your face.

“What is she doing at our spot?”

“Malfoy,” Hermione growled with hatred, “I don’t think your father bought the tables in the entire library, too,” she said and made the boy look at her with as much venom as a snake could carry.

So he was Malfoy – the mean boy Hermione would mention from time to time, the one who’d always have a harsh word to tell Ron and the one who despised The Chosen One so much. Your timetable never interfered with their, and you’d usually spend your weekends and breaks with some classmates you were friends with, so you never really crossed path with that Malfoy boy. You knew about him, but you didn’t know him – not until then.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Mudblood; learn to speak only when spoken to,” he said in a mockery tone, his eyes going back to you.

You looked at him, and then at Hermione, who seemed to search in you something you couldn’t actually find. “Well?” he repeated, but there was no response from you.

“What does he mean, Y/N? Your spot?” she asked, her voice cracking at the end.

“He’s… my study buddy,” you spoke and Malfoy raised his brow at the appellative, while Hermione froze.

“I’ll leave you with your study buddy, then,” she whispered to you and left, not before taking the book that was thrown on the table by the Slytherin boy.

Your hand was shaking when you grabbed the quill, going back to finish the essay that you started to properly write last night in your dormitory. “Yeah, take my scrap, you filthy Mudblood,” he commented and watched Hermione leave. He then sat down, in front of you, slightly pushing away from him the chair were your friend sat some seconds ago. “Don’t tell me she’s following you around like a little puppy,” he laughed and you looked at him in confusion.

“She’s my friend,” you simply said.

The confusion was now on Malfoy’s face. “Friend?” he scoffed.

“Don’t you have friends?”

“Plenty,” he responded quickly. “But my friends have my back when I’m in an argument.”

You shrugged and looked down again to your essay. “I’m a neutral person, I’m not picking sides,” you explained. He watched you write without any other interruption, but you were feeling weird to be aware of his presence in your perimeter and being as talkative as a fish. “What are you doing here?” you asked as you wrote your name at the bottom of the last paper. He quickly grabbed them all, smiling at your expression.

“I made some free time to come and read our final product.” He went back to be silent, his blue eyes running from left to right in order to read all the things you wrote more calligraphic, only thinking about his comment and about the nice letters he used to make the summary yesterday. “It’s good,” he said proudly, like it was his own.

“Really?” you asked shyly, not ready to have a criticism on that yet.

“Yes, I see you kept some of my phraseology,” he smiled in a kind way, returning the parchments to you.

“It was really well structured,” you laughed and ran a hand through your hair, blushing when you saw him starring intensely at your face – you really wanted to ask him if there was something on your face.

“It’s perfect, Y/N,” he repeated, “Snape can’t say otherwise. It’s nearly as good as mine are,” he assured you. His response made you laugh loudly, gaining some hissing from Madam Pince; your hands went to your mouth, covering it, and the boy looked at you with amusement.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” you whispered, scared to talk even in a quiet way. You knew how much the librarian hated the loud students, and you really didn’t want to be one of them. To be on her blacklist was something no one really wanted.

“Call me Draco,” he asked and got up. “I have to go, but I’m sure your work will be appreciated tomorrow.”

“It’s for Friday, actually.”

“So you had a week to do it, but you did it right away?” he laughed this time, but he seemed careless at Madam’s Pince hiss.

“What?” you pouted, already annoyed by his laugh. You knew what he was going to say, and it made you somehow ashamed.

“Nothing,” he said to your surprise, “It’s just that… I’ve never seen somebody to be that ambitious when it comes about school.”

“So you don’t make fun of me,” you thought out loud, making him chuckle again.

“Why would I make fun of you for being a determined person?” he asked and you returned his smile, more shyly, and waved him goodbye as you saw him walking away.

It was the last moment when you saw Draco Malfoy – Monday morning you looked for him in the Great Hall at breakfast, lunch, dinner and even after classes – but due to the large amount of students, he was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t put a foot in the library, because you stayed there awhile, doing your homework or reading – more like pretending to do any of those – but he never came. It was like he was swallowed by a big black hole and forgotten by all the people in Hogwarts. Nobody near you mentioned his name, and you didn’t dare to ask Hermione about him after the ‘study buddy’ situation. She said it was all fine between you two, because she knew about your neutral personality. It was simple: you never got into fights yourself or got involved when other people would argue – it was simple that way. You asked her if she was alright after Draco said all those things to her, of course, but when she told you it was alright you didn’t insisted more.

Friday came faster than you had thought and you were quite nervous to hand Snape your essay. All your classmates wished you good luck, even if they were in the exact same situation as you were – not quite the same, actually, because you were the only one asked to stay over class so the Potions Master could have a word with you.

“You wanted to talk to me, Professor?” you asked when the rest of the students left you all alone with Snape, who sat in the front of the class, hands crossed over his chest and a frowned look on his face.

“Obvious,” he spoke in his monotone voice, coming closer to your desk. “What is this, Miss L/N?” he asked, throwing in front of you the essay, all the pages spreading on the table.

“My essay, Sir,” you told him confident, already preparing your speech about how hard you worked on it and how he couldn’t say it was a piece of trash.

“Your essay?” he asked serious, and then he faked a laugh. “I think you mean Mister’s Malfoy essay,” he then handed you another parchment, with Draco’s name on it, neatly written.

You read a few phrases from his work, but there was nothing alike between them aside some expressions – the ones Draco observed you kept from his notes. “I didn’t steal his work, Sir,” you said in a quiet voice, not daring to look him in the eyes. You didn’t need to do that to know how mad he was.

“You didn’t steal it, you copied it.”

“No, I…” but he already made up his mind. He asked you to leave, informing you that you’d get more work to do, along with a week of detention.

Your blood was boiling and you only wanted to scream how much you hated everything: how much you hated Snape, for being a prick, how much you hated yourself, for not being able to do your own homework alone and how much you hated Draco, for ‘helping’ you and then disappearing – but he didn’t disappear, because he was in the end of the corridor, all by himself, his hands on his trousers’ pockets, standing in an elegant posture leaning on the wall. The dark always present on the Dungeons made him look paler that he seemed in the library’s sunrays, but the blue of his eyes was still remembering you of the clear sky in the moment he heard your steps.

“Y/N,” he greeted you from afar, a little smile growing on the corner of his lips. “How was…” but you didn’t give him the occasion to finish his sentence, leaving the dark corridor in a hurry.

It was odd that after a week of thinking only about him, about the blue of his eyes, about the way his voice would seem lighter when he was holding back his laugh, about the cute way he’d smile only a half of joy, you ran away from his presence like he was your worst nightmare when, in fact, he was present in your sweetest dreams.

It was your desire to be alone the one which made you isolate yourself in your room for some good hours, crying and hitting the pillows, throwing them in the walls and then gathering them, only to throw them again. You felt the way Snape’d describe your skills, work or everything you did: trash – you felt like trash. You thought about going to dinner with your housemates when you heard them leaving the Common Room, but you realized that Snape’s face, eating at the teachers’ table would’ve turned your stomach upside down. So you stayed there for another hour, thinking about everything and nothing in particular; you just knew that you were sick of it, sick of everything and you just needed a break.

And that’s what you did: you took a break. You left the dormitory only undressing yourself from the blue robes and went running on the empty corridors. When you left, you weren’t sure where you’d go – but you found yourself in the Astronomy Tower, watching the entire yard and the environs of the castle. The sky was painted in pastel colors, the sun bathing in the red color of the lake. It was beautiful and you wanted nothing than to be the same with all of it.

“I hate it all!” you screamed looking up to the sky, closing your eyes. “I hate Severus Snape!” you screamed again, opening your eyes and looking down. It was a long, long way to the bottom, where the cobbled paths would wait. “I hate that he managed to make me feel so useless,” now you whispered, tightening the metal balustrade between your palm until they became white. You shook the metal as hard as you could, but it stood still; the effort left you breathless, but you still managed to scream from the bottom of your lungs: “I hate myself!”

You had no idea where that came from – it was the first time you thought that way about you, but it felt very honest. You hated how much pressure you’ve put on your shoulders and now that you were too weak to carry it all, you felt worthless. The only thing you knew was that you were crying, so hard that your sobs didn’t let you hear the steps approaching you in such a hurry. The force of the hand that grabbed your elbow was unexpected, making you stumble on your own legs. The warm feeling immediately invaded your whole body as soon as you fell in a pair of arms, which were holding you hard enough not to fall to the ground.

“What the hell were you doing, Y/N?!” he screamed, the image of his face being blurred because of the tears in your eyes. You blinked a few times and there he was: Draco Malfoy, with a worried look on his face but with the same beautiful blue eyes.

“Draco…” you whispered and grabbed the material of his white shirt, “What are you doing here?” you managed to ask without your voice cracking.

“You didn’t come to dinner, and after the way you walk away from earlier…” he said and became paler, “But what were you doing? Don’t tell me you tried to…”

But you shook your head in negation faster than the words he said. “No, of course not,” you said trying to convince yourself more than him. “I was just… having a moment,” you explained and withdrew from his arms, hugging yourself to calm down.

“What happened, Y/N?” he asked again and touched your shoulders, his hands burning the skin under your uniform shirt.

“Snape said I copied your essay,” you succeed to whisper after a long silence, the tears coming back into your eyes.

His brows went lower, his mouth in a line. “Have you told him that I helped you?”

“No,” you said, now crying again. He wiped away a tear that rolled on your cheek. “He told me to leave before I could say anything, and now I have detention a whole week.”

“Sh, sh, sh,” he hummed as he pulled you back into his arms, one of his hands laying on your back as the other one was caressing your hair. “You don’t need to cry,” he spoke gently and his movements became clumsy as you cried even harder. “I’ll take care of it, Y/N,” he assured you and suddenly, your tears dried up.

“What?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“I… I’ll talk to Snape about it,” he repeated, “It’s not fair to act that way towards you when your essay was so good.”

All the parts of your body were screaming to kiss him only because he was that near to you. But you were too puzzled up to even hear those screams in your head. “You’ll get in trouble too, Draco.”

“No,” he smiled. “Let’s say that Snape owns my father one,” he smiled devilish, and contrary his expectations you smiled like you haven’t been crying until then.

“But why are you doing that?” you laughed and tried not to freak out because he was still holding you.

“So you could own me one later,” he continued to smile even after you hit them slightly in chest. “What? Nothing’s free, remember?”

You bit your cheek, trying to hold back a smile. “Yeah, sure.”

“So we have a deal?”

“No,” you said and raised a brow. “We have a deal only if you don’t get yourself in trouble by talking to Snape or, even worst, getting me into a bigger mess. You need to succeed in order to have a deal.”

“That sounds like a deal to me,” he smirked and ran a hand through his blonde hair, which seemed more like gray in the light given by the moon.

“We have a deal, then,” you laughed and tighten up a bit the grip on his shirt.

“Don’t ever stay that close to the edge again,” he asked you and you could see the same feeling of anxiety on his face. You nodded your head in agreement and he hugged you again. “You scared the shit out of me,” he confessed.

It was the first time in your life when you felt that somebody was truly worried about you. Your parents would’ve just watch you break down and then get up and try again, telling you that it’s the normal way to educate yourself. But that night, in his arms, you felt that you weren’t the same lonely child. It was a warm feeling, a feeling of a new burning in your heart. And it was a nice feeling.

I fell in your arms tonight / I fell hard in your arms tonight / It was nice

You agreed to meet Draco the next day in the Astronomy Tower half an hour before the dinner would finish and you were surprised to see him already there, welcoming you with the same somehow evil smirk he had the other day.

“You own me one,” he said without even waiting for you to say something. “Snape told me he’ll forget about the detention, but you need to make some rephrasing on your essay.” He was proud of his manipulative skills and you could see it in his eyes – there was a little sparkle as you approached him.

“Good job, Draco,” you said smiling from an ear to the other. “I guess I own you one.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

You look over the skyline and went closer to the balustrade, Draco following you closely even after you sat down on the stone floor, your legs hanging on the outside. You seemed to be secure enough, so Draco sat down and looked at the sunset as well.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did,” he puffed and you punched his shoulder, smiling.

“You’re an idiot, you know what I mean.”

“Why am I an idiot?” he asked and turned to face you with an ugly look.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” you told him quickly. “I call my friends that way when they say something dumb but they’re funny at the same time,” you explained, ashamed that you offended him.

He was silent for a moment and looked at the lake again. “My father uses that term to talk about incompetent people,” he said and you looked away from his face.

“I guess it’s a way to use it, too,” you spoke shy.

“Why do you want to ask me?” he changed the subject, removing the awkward tension between you two.

“Why did you called Hermione Granger that word?” you asked cautious not to upset him with your curiosity.

“That’s what she is,” he said nonchalantly, “She’s a Mudblood, and she is inferior to us.”

“Only because of her blood?” you laughed. “And how do you know I’m not inferior to you too?”

“I made my research on you before talking to you again,” he shrugged.

“She’s superior to both of us in many ways, Draco,” you told him and looked at him in the moment he did the same. “She lives in another world at the same time she lives in this one,” you explained, “We were born surrounded by magic and that’s our only way of living.”

He lour. “Why do you say that?”

“I take the Muggle Studies class,” you smiled proudly.

“Why would you do that?” he scoffed. If you ignored his mentality on that subject, you could say he was really cute.

“It’s interesting,” you started. “They have many objects we have no idea about and they have fairy tales about anything – they’re kind of superstitious.”

“Superstitious?” he asked like he was curious and not like he wanted to mock you.

“Yeah,” you said and got up. “Maybe I’ll tell you about some superstitions one day.”

“Tomorrow night,” he asked you and got up as well.

“You want to know more about Muggles?” you laughed.

He shrugged. “It’s your chance to prove me they’re not inferior to us.”

“Ok,” you smiled and took the challenge.

You left the Tower walking by his side, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized that he walked you to your Common Room door, wishing you a goodnight. The next day Professor Snape wanted to talk to you again after class, this time apologizing for the way he managed the situation, but you could tell he wasn’t very pleased with what he was saying. When the dinner was nearly finished, you could see Draco leaving the Great Hall without looking in your direction and you knew it was the signal to get up and do the same thing after some minutes. You thought it’d be better if nobody would know where you were going and with who.

“Ready to learn about Muggles?” you asked him with joy as soon as you got in the highest place in Hogwarts.

“Whatever,” he laughed and rolled his eyes.

You brought a book you got last year on your birthday from Hermione, a book about a lot of things the Muggles believe in. You read out loud some pages and Draco only sat next to you, listening. It was somehow therapeutic to read in front of him because he didn’t disturb you, he even looked like he was enjoying it.

“So they even have a specific flower for when somebody dies?” he asked out of a sudden. He was really paying attention.

“Yeah, in some countries,” you smiled. “In Italy, France or Belgium – where it’s made the best chocolate – the white chrysanthemum is well known to be brought at somebody’s funeral. But they also represent loyalty and devoted love, so I think it makes it even more beautiful. They’re my favorites,” you smiled.

“A flower that represents the death is your favorite?” he laughed, making you roll your eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I’ve never seen a chrysanthemum, and that’s something, considering the fact that my mother has a gigantic garden.”

He was often talking about his mother and you deducted that he’s a mummy boy – it was cute to know that he loved his mother dearly.

“I would love to see it,” you smiled politely.

“Maybe you will,” he said and caught you by surprise. “I mean, maybe you’ll see a garden as big as my mother’s,” he clarified when he observed those big eyes of yours.

“Yeah,” you said in a quiet voice, looking back into your book.

“What?” he asked and you didn’t respond him.

You were… sad? Disappointed? It was a strange and groundless feeling given by the idea that you’ll never see the garden of his house, and that also meant that you’ll never meet his mother, who was already painted in your mind like an elegant and kind woman.

“Are you upset?” he asked again and grabbed your jaw carefully, making you form eye contact.

“No,” you said simply, and the honesty in your voice surprised you. It was like all the hard feelings were erased by his eyes, by their calming color.

“Good,” he smiled, “Because you shouldn’t be upset.”

“Why?” you asked.

“I’ll bring you all the flowers from my mother’s garden if you’re not upset,” he traced his fingers up to your cheek, placing a strand of hair behind your red ear – all your emotions ran to your head, making the skin he touched burn.

“Why?” you asked again like a curious kid.

He rolled his eyes in a playful way, trying to pretend he was tired of your whys. “Because a pretty face like yours shouldn’t frown. You’ll get wrinkles,” he laughed and pinched your nose.

“Auch,” you hissed, massaging the end of your nose. “You say I’m pretty?”

“I say it’s time to get you back to your Common Room,” he nodded his head and got up, offering you his hand to help you get up.

The walk to the Ravenclaw’s door was silent, and when you got there it was an even more annoying silence. He only watched you like he was waiting for your next move.

“Uh, I can’t come tomorrow night,” you informed him. “I have to help my roommate study for Transfiguration.”

“So she’s stealing my study buddy,” he joked.

“I’ll see you around, though?”

“Yeah, of course,” he smiled and you just wanted to kiss that little dimple of his.

So you did – you got up to your toes and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Draco,” you smiled and entered the empty room, all your housemates already being off to their dormitories, probably. Your heart was pouting hard, like it was trying to escape the little cage of your ribs, but your soul was feeling warm and sweet, like honey.

The next day you tried to focus in all your classes, you tried to pay attention to your friends but all you could think of was Draco Malfoy, with his blue eyes and sweet dimple. It was a boring night the one you spent in your room, listening and explaining to your roommate simple things about your Transfiguration class, the same ones that Draco found difficult – even that made you think about him. It was a great relief to walk again on the stairs that led you to the Astronomy Tower, the excitement making your heart jump with joy. It dropped to the bottom of your soul when you didn’t find him there, and it broke when he didn’t come at all.

Maybe you scared him – maybe he didn’t want you to kiss his cheek, maybe he didn’t want you so close to him. Maybe you screwed it up. And you really believed that when he didn’t come two nights in a row, making you to skip dinner on the third night. You didn’t have the power to cry again, but you really wanted to – you nearly managed to get a tear out of you if it wouldn’t be eagle owl which entered your room through the open window.

“What’s up with you, stupid bird?” you asked in anger, making the owl give you a response in the same tonality. “Easy,” you spoke as you took the little parchment from its claw.

‘You didn’t come to dinner, are you sick? If you are, take a good sleep and get better. — D.M'

You crumbled the little letter and thrown it away telling the bird to leave you alone. You walked from left to right, biting your nails out of anxiety and anger – who was he to ignore you three days and then ask to meet you? You grabbed the letter from the floor and read it again, and the curiosity won against your anger. You grabbed a blue sweater and ran to the Astronomy Tower, but walked the steps so he wouldn’t know the speed with which you came. You were furious at him – you couldn’t wait to scream at him and tell him to fuck off with his unhealthy behaviors, but when you saw him leaning on the stone wall in front of you with a bouquet of white flowers in his hand and a small box on the other one, you just froze on the last step.

“Hello, Y/N,” he greeted you with a smile on the corner of his lips. You approached him slowly; your eyes going from his face go his hands and back to his hands. “I see you’re not sick,” he said when you were in front of him. “Why haven’t you come to dinner?”

“Why didn’t you give me a sign of living?” you asked straight, searching for his eyes.

“I was… busy,” he said and cleared his throat. “But I asked my mother to get me those,” he smiled and handed you the bouquet of chrysanthemums and the little box. “Open it,” he asked impatient.

You undone the little bow and opened it with one hand, the other holding carefully the flowers. Your hands were shaking. “Chocolate,” you laughed nervous.

“From Belgium, just like the flowers,” he said proud, smiling. “Don’t you like them?” he asked a little panicked when you didn’t say a thing, only watching the flowers in such an examining way.

“I love them!” you said, “I love them, Draco,” you assured them, holding them to your chest like you were scared he’d get them back.

“Good, I hoped you’d say that.”

You smelt them, and your whole soul was dancing – the sweet smell reminded you of the late autumn’s rains, of the lazy sunrays and all the nice skies in the world.

“I love them Draco, but what’s the occasion?”

He massaged the back of his head, avoiding your eyes. “You don’t need a reason to get flowers, Y/N. You deserve them anytime,” he said and your heart exploded at his cuteness. “My mother told me it’d be nice if I would give them to you before anything else,” he said and bite his lower lip immediately after, like he said something he didn’t mean to.

“Before what, Draco?” you asked curious. He was so good at making you all set on fire, unfocused and yet so, so concentrated on him.

“You’re a nice girl, Y/N, really nice,” he said in a quiet voice. His tonality made you thought about a break-up – like he wanted to break the bond that began to form between you two.

“What are you trying to tell me, Draco?” you asked in a harsh tone. “Just say it, ok? You don’t need to bring me flowers and chocolate if you want to say goodbye, it’s not like I’m dying,” you said pointing to the chrysanthemums.

“No, no, Y/N,” he interrupted you. “The white chrysanthemums represent loyalty and devoted love,” he whispered.

“Oh,” was all you could say. “Oh,” you repeated when you figured out what he really meant.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, and you laughed along with him. The sound of his laugh made your heart put itself back together. “So…” he started and came closer to you.

“So?” you said, biting your lips and blinking slowly.

“So may I kiss you, Y/N?” he asked in such a kind voice, all your body going soft at his words. His mother must’ve taught him how to talk to a girl – and she did such a good job.

You nodded shyly and let yourself carried by his hands, which dragged your body closer to his. He gently pressed his lips on your, letting them stay together for a couple of seconds and then retiring. His blue eyes were looking into yours, burning with desire and impatience. Your hands tightened the flowers and the little box harder, and you put them around his neck, getting him even closer to you and smashing your lips back together. His hands were on your waist, grabbing the material of your sweater between his fingers. Your eyes were closed and your body was filled with warmth – you saw nothing and yet, somehow, you were aware of everything in the Universe through a white light.

White light in your arms tonight / I lost sight in your arms tonight / It was nice

The next months were full of love and laughs for you – Draco was the most careful boy you’ve ever been with. He still wanted you two to have secret little dates in the Astronomy Tower, where you’d read to him about Muggles and poetry written by them.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cute that I listen to you reading about that non-sense?” he asked once.

“It’s poetry, Draco,” you scoffed, “It’s about love!”

Besides the secret dates, he really wanted to go public. He was the type to show you off in front of everyone, only to make sure that every other boys knew that you were off their league but in a kind way – he’d kiss your forehead on the hallways, walk you to classes even if that meant he’d be late to his and gave you endless gifts. You received a lot of chrysanthemums, love letters and sweets anytime his mother would send him a package. Your roommates were jealous of you even if they told you directly that they didn’t like Draco and there was nothing to do about it. Hermione wasn’t so happy either and somehow distanced herself from you when she found out about your relationship, but Draco made you to forget all those things – he was the bad guy in everyone’s story, and even if some time ago he wasn’t even a side-character in yours, he became the climax of your story. You didn’t love Draco for his gift, you loved him truly – you loved him for the kind words, the warm glares, the sweet kisses and the tight hugs. And you knew he loved you too, because he made you feel safe in the whole madness with the Dark Lord and the war everyone was talking about.

“Do you think there’ll be a war, Draco?” you asked one night when you two where curled up into each other’s arms.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he said absent.

“I heard that Harry’s forming an army,” you said and looked up to him, only to see him rolling his eyes.

“Potter isn’t capable to tie his own laces, my love, and you think he’s able to lead an army?” he laughed and that made you roll your eyes. “You’re funny.”

“But you’re the only one taking it as a joke, you’re the one who’s laughing,” you said and he frowned.

“Then I think I have to change that,” he said and his fingers came to your ribs, tickling you.

You started to laugh hard, to fight so you could escape his torture, begging him to stop. “Draco, that’s enough!” you screamed as you felt tears in your eyes, so you grabbed his arm and tried to scratch him playfully to make him stop.

Hissing, he let you go and pulled away from you, his hand over the left arm.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked worried that you hurt him.

“Nothing,” he said in an annoyed voice, getting up on his feet and looking down to you. “I’m fine,” he said and something in your mind clicked. For more than two weeks he’d say that stupid phrase whenever you asked him what happened – he seemed tired and anxious, but whenever you’d ask about him he’d become fine.

“Don’t try to fool me, Draco,” you said annoyed as well and, already on your feet, you’d try to grab his hand and reveal the possible wound.

“I said I’m fine, Y/N,” he repeated and avoided your hands like they’d burn him.

“And I said to stop fooling me!” you shouted and sneaked close enough to him to get his hand away from his arm, but he pushed you harder than he thought – you fell on the ground, a piece of material in your hand; his sleeve – ripped, revealing red lines, scratches – who were older, but reopened by your nails – which were covering the worst thing you could think of: the Dark Mark. The air left your lungs and your head started to spin, the vision becoming blurred.

“Y/N…” he tried to say, coming closer to you but you crawled away.

“What the fuck, Draco?!” you screamed and got up by yourself. “Stay away!” you said when he tried to approach you.

“I can explain, Y/N,” he said, his voice shaking.

“How on earth you could explain the Dark Mark on your arm?” you shouted again, your hands running in your hair and pulling it.

“Sh,” he said loud, asking you to be quiet. “It’s not what it looks like, my love, I swear.”

You laughed – loud, nervous. “Then what it is?”

“They made me do it, Y/N!”

“They made you get the Dark Mark, become a fucking Death Eater and join Voldemort?” you screamed again and step back when he tried to come closer.

“My father, he… I didn’t want to, Y/N,” he said quietly, his eyes starting to get wet.

“You lied to me, Draco,” you whispered. “You said everything will be fine, you said you’ll protect me!”

“And I will!” he also screamed. “I will,” he repeated breathing heavily.

“How? Making me join the Death Eaters so they wouldn’t kill me later?” you mocked him, and you could say it hurt him to see you that way – but you didn’t care.

“Nobody will kill you, Y/N,” he said, trying to calm you. “You’ll be fine, we’ll be fine.”

“A war is coming, Draco,” you said harshly, “The Dark Lord is alive and back and anyone who’s against him is in danger.”

“You’re not in danger, Y/N,” he repeated. “We’re in this together, please, love,” he begged you, tears running down his face.

“We’re not on the same side, Draco,” you whispered.

“I thought you didn’t like to pick sides,” he said like he was trying to make you change your mind.

“We’re talking about a war, Draco, not a fucking fight in the courtyard,” you said and shook your head. “Just… leave me alone, please,” you asked him and started to walk away.

“Y/N, please!” he grabbed your wrist but you pulled away immediately.

“Don’t touch me ever again, Draco Malfoy,” you said in hatred, giving him a disgusted look before leaving him alone in the Astronomy Tower – alone, hurt and crying. He saw the disgust in your eyes, the hate and the fear.

Hard times came for you – you decided to act like nothing was happening, like you had no idea what Draco was and a part of you felt miserable for doing so, but other part was believing him, the other part was still loving him and it was hurting to see him and not run in his arms. You decided to let the time pass and decide what would happen with everything – but the time was cruel, because nothing good happened since that night. Dumbledore’s death, the Death Eaters, the continuing agony. You became scared to stay alone, thinking that a Death Eater or even Voldemort would show up and kill you – and Draco wouldn’t be there to protect you.

But when the real battle began, you felt all the adrenaline rushing through your body – Professor McGonagall seemed worried but she gave you the power to fight back, to fight for Hogwarts, for your friends, for Harry, for life. You never tried to spell hexes because it wasn’t necessary, but in the battles you had with some Death Eaters you remembered them all – and you casted them loud, pointing your wand in their direction with hatred. You were running on the same old stairs that led you to the Astronomy Tower, a loud and crazy laugh following you along with a curly hair and dark, mad eyes, thirsty for blood.

“Stop running, little doll!” she screamed when you got up, waiting for her with your wand ready, something that made her laugh. “Stubborn one, aren’t you?” she asked and walked closer to you with tangled steps.

“Crazy one, aren’t you?” you managed to gather your nerve to ask her. She didn’t seem too happy with your comment, because she lifted her wand – before she’d say anything, you screamed the Disarming Charm as loud as you could, making her wand fly from her hand and fall to the ground.

“Well, well,” she laughed, running her tongue over her bloody lips. “You won, now kill me!” she laughed, the sound driving you crazy.

“Shut up! Just shut up!”

“Kill me!”

“Crucio!” you screamed and the green light flashed from the tip of your wand, hitting Bellatrix Lestrange in the middle of her chest. She fell to the ground, laughing – it was hurting, but Bellatrix have been insane for a long, long time.

“Y/N!”

“Draco?” you said to yourself, watching the boy you loved running to you. He grabbed your shoulders, looking at you from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you alright? Did she hurt you?”

You looked at Bellatrix who was still to the ground, and you tighten your fingers around the wand.

“No,” you said and looked back to Draco. He seemed fine and a part of you wanted to scream that he was fine because he was one of them, they wouldn’t hurt him like that crazy woman tried to do to you, but the other part won that battle. You hugged him tight, wanting to make all the things disappear and be just you and him. “I’m scared, Draco,” you whispered.

“You’ll be fine, love,” he said and kissed your temple.

“So she’s the little doll that got you all soft, Draco?”

The fear ran through your body again and you pulled away from Draco, still holding his hands.

“Please,” he said and looked at the crazy woman who got her wand back. He let go of your hand and grabbed his wand, pointing it to her.

“Aw, Draco darling,” she laughed, “Does Cissy know that you’re pointing your want to your family?”Family?

“Aunt Bella, please, don’t hurt her,” Draco breathed heavily, not taking his eyes off of her.

“But she hurt me, Draco,” Bellatrix laughed, got her wand in your direction and casted an unspoken spell, only saying your name.

Draco tried to protect you, getting in front of you, but the purple light went through him and entered your body. The pain was indescribable, like all your internal organs were stabbed with hundred of knives. “No!” he screamed at his aunt, who only laughed louder and waved him goodbye before disappearing into a black cloud of smoke.

You’d feel your members go numb, dropping your wand and falling to the ground, making Draco to scream again like he could physically feel your agony. “Y/N!” he screamed.

Some balls of light were thrown in the tower’s direction, by the people outside, and they made the windows in the roof break, falling upon you along with pieces of tiles. Your sight went blurry, seeing Draco through red spots. “What’s happening, Draco?” you managed to ask him.

“You’re fine, my love,” he cried, tightening your shoulders, trying to hug you without hurting you.

“I can’t see you, hear you,” you cried and coughed; he started to sob even harder, watching the blood drop from your eyes and mouth as you tried to breathe. “I don’t feel very good,” you told him as it weren’t obvious.

“You’ll be alright, my love, stay with me,” he begged you.

His tears were falling on your face, mixing with the blood that was leaving your body – Bellatrix Lestrange chose a curse that gave you a slow and painful death.

“Hey, you,” you said, trying to make him pay attention to you. You looked him in the eyes, trying hard to see them clear. “Don’t you think it’s kinda cute?”

“What?” he whispered.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cute,” you repeated, “That I died right inside your arms tonight?”

“No! No! No!” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t you dare to do this to me, Y/N! Do you hear me? Stay with me!”

But you were gone – you left that world with a little smile on your lips, with bloody tears on your face and with the memory of his eyes watching you, of his arms holding you. And that made death a less painful thing for you.

That I'm fine even after I have died / Because it was in your arms I died

“No, Y/N!” he screamed, realizing you were gone. “Come back! Come back, Y/N, you own me one!”

“I’m sorry, Draco,” you whispered while watching him from behind – you could also see your lifeless body, laying on the ground with glass pieces, rocks and blood all over it and it made you cry. You floated over your body and tried the stupidest thing you could think of: going back inside. But it was impossible – it felt like it was locked. Bloody tears were falling from your eyes, and you damned Bellatrix Lestrange for giving you such an ugly death: you’ll cry blood for eternity on the Hogwarts’ halls as a ghost. “I want to come back, Draco!” you screamed at the same time when he asked you to come back.

I cry in the afterlife / I cry hard because I have died / And you're alive / I try to escape the afterlife / I try hard to get back inside / Your arms tonight

The battle was over: Lord Voldemort was now dead, Bellatrix Lestrange was dead along with other Death Eaters, but so were a lot of innocent people: now, some students would stay forever in the castle because they chose to remain behind; they, just like you, were too scared of death and chose an imitation of life. As a ghost, you didn’t really felt like showing to everyone; it hurt you enough to know they missed you, and to see their broken souls when they’d realize you’re trapped in this world as a ghost would be more painful than your death. You knew nothing about Draco for a long time – you stayed in the tower all the time, and you already knew that after some years, when the school would be rebuilt, the little kids would call you the ghost of the Astronomy Tower – that thought made you smile; maybe they’d call you Bloody Y/N, or Bloody Crybaby Y/N, or… whatever name would fit a blood-crying ghost. That’s how you spent many months – thinking, crying, whishing you’d have chose the death.

A loud cry woke you up one day – you looked over to the balustrade, where a tall figure was shaking while looking down, down all the way to the ground. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said and you recognized him easily. “I’m so fucking sorry, my love,” he cried again and you approached him. On the ground, at his feet, was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums – they made your eyes tear up immediately.

“I promised you I’d protect you and I failed,” he whispered. “I hate myself since that day, my love,” he confessed.

To let him know about your presence was a bad idea – he’d be devastated to see you that way.

“I’ll see you soon, love,” he spoke to himself, or so he thought because he jumped in surprise when you screamed.

“Wait!”

“Y/N…” he cried, now facing you and crying harder. “You’re… alive?”

“Draco…” you sighed, “What are you doing here?”

He came closer and tried to hug you, but his arms went through you with ease. “You’re… a ghost.”

“Please don’t jump,” you said crying harder than him. It was a horrible image, indeed, to see a blood-crying ghost – but he was in love with you.

“I miss you, Y/N, I want to be with you,” he told you like he asked for permission.

But you shook your head in disapproval. “You won’t like it here, darling,” you smiled. “Please, stay – be happy and live.”

“I love you, Y/N, how could I live without you?” he cried like a little child, helpless.

You pointed to the flowers. “If your love is devoted, you’d spend the rest of your life fulfilling my wish, Draco.”

“Y/N…”

“Stay alive, Draco. I’ll be here, always,” you promised and cried.

He ran his hands through his hair, his blue eyes crying you a river. When he calmed down, he bent over and grabbed the flowers, handing them to you. You cried in pain, but still tried to get them – and you where surprised when you could.

“Come back to me, Y/N,” he said and you tried your best to make his wish come true. You tried to hug him, to kiss his forehead – he could swear he felt your cold skin on his.

“I wish I could, my love,” you said and stayed in front of him, with the sign of his devoted love in your hand.

And hey (hey), you (you), don't you think it's kinda cute / That I (I) try (try) to escape the afterlife / That I (I) try (try) to get back in your arms alive / That I died in your arms

#vogueweasley3k #draco malfoy x reader #ravenclaw reader #draco x y/n #slowburn #angst #arms tonite #draco x you #hogwarts #astronomy tower #tw death #tw blood #tw mature languge

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missmonsters2 · 4 years

Text

Between the Lines || IX

PAIRING: Steve Rogers & Fem!Reader (Platonic) / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader / Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader / Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Vampire AU. Life has changed drastically since the 1600s. Things are always on the move, and you’ve been very careful to not get on SHIELDs radar. Living on the down-low owning a café, you’re content to live out a quiet existence. That is until the Avengers enter your life.

[Set after the New York Invasion, in CAWS, and goes up to AoU. Canon divergent after.]

Warnings: This series will contain smut(**), poly-relationship, and dark themes.

Note: Everyone last chapter: “I’m ready for Wanda to fucking ruin me.” LMAO SAME.

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII

PART IX of XX

Count: 4782

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Antique.

That was the best way Natasha could describe your place. You had more warm colors for your walls and older styled furniture that made her feel like she was transcending time.

They had just gotten back from visiting Allison, who was beyond ecstatic to see you and Natasha. Her mother seemed to be all better now, and no longer needed the extra care for Allison. The babysitter you had recommended last time seemed to be working just fine for them when her mother needed to pull extra shifts, but you still promised to visit Allison when you could.

"Your place is nice," Natasha smiles softly, and you turn your head around to smile back at her as you grab a cup from the cupboard.

"Really? David says I have the taste of an old person. To my defense, I am old," you snort.

Natasha chuckles, "I like it."

She feels a little excited because it looks like you're making coffee for her, and it feels like it's been such a long time since Natasha has had your coffee.

"Even though I've lived so long and have adapted, this style makes me feel more at home," you softly explain, and Natasha's eyes turn tender.

You finish brewing Natasha her coffee and bring it over to her. She takes a sip, sighing with bliss.

Grinning at her, you're about to say something else when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Pulling it out, you check to see that it's from David.

"We've got to head out," You tell the redhead. "David's got a lead for us."

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Your search didn't yield much more than what David could find, which was annoying. Luckily, you didn't end up having to use your gift and instead used compulsion to find information.

Natasha trailed along, watching you work but also making herself useful when she could.

Within two hours, you felt like you already found out what you could before heading back to shower and head off to the Stark tower again.

When you get there, you already see David talking with Steve and Maria.

"Fatalities?" You could hear Steve ask.

"Only when engaged," David says as he catches your eye when you enter the room. "Mostly guys left in a fugue state going on about old memories, worst fears, and something too fast to see."

"Maximoffs," Maria mutters, and you're curious about Wanda's powers. They seemed similar to Tatyana's, but you want to confirm if Wanda's powers had only come from the scepter.

"That makes sense that he would seek them out. They have something in common," Steve said as he saw you approaching. "Find anything?"

"No more than you did, apparently," you shrugged.

"Well," David says as he's looking at his tablet. "Nothing in common anymore." He flips the tablet and a picture of Strucker's dead body and the word 'PEACE' written in blood on the wall next to him.

"Lovely," Maria huffs.

You see Clint on the phone just a couple feet from you, and Steve notices him too.

"So, you're not coming home tonight even though you explicitly said you would," you here a feminine voice on the phone.

"That's a negative," Clint says.

"This better be your last one for a while, I don't care what your boss says," you hear the woman respond. In the background, you could also hear two kids screaming, 'Is that dad? Can I talk to dad! Dad!'

"I answer to you," Clint responds almost dutifully.

"...If you miss the birth of our child...I'll kill you..."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Barton," Steve interrupts, "We might have something."

"Gotta go," Clint says quickly before he hangs up and turns to face you all.

"Who was that?" Steve asks.

"Girlfriend," Clint's eyes travel to you and David because it was obvious he knew you had heard him.

Steve doesn't pay it any mind as he leads everyone back into the room. You and David lag behind because Clint is walking beside the two of you.

"Listen--"

"It's none of our business, Clint," you cut him off with a wave. "We didn't hear a thing."

Clint sighs and gives you a smile of thanks.

"Although, you should be more careful if you're trying to keep them a secret," David says as he tapped away on his tablet.

He then holds up his tablet to you and Clint, a photo dated two years ago of Clint and his family on a ride at Disneyland.

"This you?"

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You've known as a vampire, it's impossible to get headaches, but it doesn't stop you from feeling like you have one.

Everyone is getting ready to get out onto the Quinjet to take off to the next location to find Ulysses Klaue as you'll be likely to find Ultron and the twins there.

There isn't much for you to ever prepare for, so you laze around in the kitchen before Natasha strolls in, the first to finish.

"Hey, you," she smiles, and you walk over to her.

"Hey, yourself," you smile as you inspect her suit. "Got everything?"

"Hopefully," Natasha shrugs.

You know you'll most likely meet Wanda soon, and something inside you tells you it'll bring chaos.

Nothing ever truly feels like it's over, but you have Natasha.

You look at her with slow eyes.

Sometimes it feels wrong to be this happy with Natasha, to allow yourself that kind of privilege. But there are no words you could use to describe what Natasha is to you and how you crave her.

Natasha peers through her lashes, catching the look in your eyes. She walks backward, pulling you with her until she hits the counter before she hops herself up onto it. Pulling you closer by the collar of your shirt, you end up between her legs, your hands automatically around her waist while hers are around your neck.

"When you have that look on your face, it makes me want to just...eat you," Natasha licks her lip, and you can't help but laugh lightly as she traces her thumb over your bottom lip.

"You know how funny that sounds, right?" You smile.

Natasha merely smirks as she lowers her head to press her lips against yours in a soft kiss.

She tastes like remnants of peach candy, and you hum into her mouth. Licking her bottom lip, you hold her hips tighter.

Good.

She smells good.

Like vanilla and dry leaves.

You bite her bottom lip gently, appreciating the way she moans lightly. It seems to excite her more as her heart pounds in her chest. You pull away, lowering your head as the tip of your nose drags against her side of her neck.

You inhale as Natasha holds your neck a little tighter.

You could hear it, smell, the blood rushing through Natasha's veins.

It would be so easy.

Natasha would be delicious, you just know it. Her blood hits every part of your sensories, and she would feel so good.

Your teeth drag lightly where your tongue had been.

'You can't.'

The voice and words ring in your head loud and clear.

Immediately, you pull away, almost panting as you do.

Natasha calls your name, but you shake your head.

"I just need a moment," you tell her, taking in a deep breath.

You haven't felt this way in so long, you felt like a child experiencing bloodlust again.

It had been so easy throughout the years to control it, knowing the consequences if you did it.

Yet, having Natasha tested every limit you had again.

You never thought you would ever experiencing wanting to drink from someone again.

"I'm sorry," Natasha says hesitantly. She had been so caught up in the moment, and you felt so good.

For a moment...she...she wanted you to bite her.

You clear your throat as your head clears again.

"Don't apologize," you give her a tight smile, "I should have better control."

Natasha is about to say something else when you help her down from the counter.

"C'mon," you say as you pull her along, "we should head to the Quinjet."

And Natasha's words die on her tongue.

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"Don't compare me with Stark! He's a sickness!"

You all come in time just as Ultron has sliced off Klaue's arm as he rants about Tony.

"Ahh, junior," Tony appears with Thor and Steve behind him. "You're gonna break your old man's heart."

"If I have to," Ultron tilts his head.

"Daddy issues, am I right?" You lean over to David to say, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

"He's not a villain without one," David says back.

You hear a laugh disguised as a cough from Pietro. He smirks at you, and you give him a slight quirk of your lip back.

But then your eyes travel next to him.

It hits you in the gut.

A million flashbacks happen to you, and you feel like someone just knocked all the air out of your body, and you're breathless. It's like you're going through a spiral of vertigo until you look her in the eyes.

She looks like her.

You were prepared to see the similarities, but this was more than you had expected.

But you knew it was not Tatyana.

You blinked, eyes focusing on Wanda.

She was staring at you too, but she didn't seem sure of what to make of it.

"You two can still walk away from this," Steve's voice interrupts the two of you.

"Oh, we will," Wanda rips her gaze from you, tilting her head as she smirks sardonically at Steve.

"I know you've suffered," Steve acknowledges, and for a second, you see rage flash through Wanda's eyes because while Steve knows, he doesn't truly know what they've been through.

Ultron lets out a groan of disgust. "Captain America," he says with a certain tone to his voice. "God's righteous man, pretending you could live without a war."

"I can't physically throw up in my mouth, but..." Ultron tilts his head, looking at Steve.

Thor tries to urge Ultron to keep the peace, but Ultron obviously declines.

"What's the vibranium for?" Tony asks.

Ultron looks as giddy as he can. "I'm glad you asked since I wanted to take this time to reveal my evil plan!"

Suddenly, Iron Legion Bots break through the glass and start attacking.

You and David have split up, he's taken off after Pietro and you to find Wanda.

Taking out Klaue's men along the way, you keep walking in the direction you could hear her in.

Her footsteps were rather light, and she had a distinct smell of cinnamon and orange blossoms.

"Thor! Status!" Steve yelled into the earpiece.

"The girl tried to warp my mind. Take special care, I doubt a human could keep her at bay. Fortunately, I am mighty," Thor trailed off.

You knew immediately what was happening.

"Nat," you called worriedly.

"I'm fine," she reassures you.

"David?" You called next.

"Still good," he grumbles. "Fast little bastard."

"Wait," David calls. "She's got Natasha and Steve in a hallucination."

You're about to turn around immediately to go back to Natasha, but David stops you.

"Don't," he warns. "Nat's still okay, just caught up in whatever she's seeing. If you want to put an end to it, catch the girl."

You grit your teeth but huff in agreement.

You stand along the empty hallway, breaking the wrist of a man who tries to charge at you. Flinging him over the railing, he lands on sacks of dirt and groans.

It seems you don't have to go to Wanda because you hear those light footsteps behind you, creeping up.

She stands behind you, unknowing you can hear her heart beating as she raises her hand, tendrils forming at her fingers.

You turn around abruptly, grabbing her wrist. Faced with Wanda's shock widened eyes, you quirk your lip at her.

"Cute," you tell her, "but it won't work on me."

"And why is that?" Wanda asks accent heavy in her voice that sounds so familiar to you.

"To control--compel, me to what you want, your will has to be stronger than mine," you tell her, pulling her closer by her wrist to show that even as close as she was, she couldn't use her mind control on you. "So? Do you still think you can play your little mind games on me?"

Maybe you had tugged too hard, but now Wanda was too close. Her eyes staring into yours as if she was searching for something. Lips slightly parted, you could feel her breath on you.

"Why?" Wanda murmurs as she tilts her head slightly at you.

"Why what?" You return.

"Why do you stare at me like that?" Wanda gets closer.

You should pull away. Disarm her, and go secure Pietro to finish the mission.

But it feels like there's an electric pulse in the air that seems to keep you rooted.

"Stare at you like what?" You husk.

Wanda licks her lips, drawings your eyes. "Stare at me like you want to save me."

"You're helping a homicidal robotic manic who wants to destroy the world," you quirk your brow at her. "I think that warrants needing to be saved or at least some sense beaten into you."

"He will save the world by putting an end of the Avengers," Wanda hisses. She draws forth the red wisps again in her other hand, holding it close to you. "Perhaps I can't 'play my little mind games' with you. But power is power."

Immediately, you feel Wanda's power surround your body before she uses it to force you through the window. You find yourself staring at the sky, blinking as you fall.

You swiftly turn around, positioning yourself upright as you land on the ground, creating a good-sized crater. There's a momentary crack in your ankles from the pressure and height you fell from, but as quick as it happens, it heals.

You look up, shards of glass falling around you, and you sigh.

It seems your suspicions were correct, that Wanda's powers were genuine. The feel of it was too raw and similar to Tatyana's.

And that made things complicated.

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"Hey, hey, look at me," you coo as you hold Natasha's face in your hands, turning her to look at you. Her eyes are unfocused, and honestly, it's a little challenging to get her to actually look at you.

You had arrived shortly back into the facility after hearing Clint saying they needed to move. Clint had been trying to shake Natasha out of it, but it wasn't working, and so you stepped in.

"I have no place in the world," Natasha mutters.

You had a pretty good guess about what she was seeing, and so did Clint.

"How do we get her out? Do we just have to wait?" Clint asked you.

"No," you say, stroking Natasha's cheek, tilting her face up as you look down into her eyes. "We overpower it."

Your pupils explode into liquid pools, swirling as you forced Natasha's to do the same. It would take a little longer, with Natasha not even being lucid.

"Look at me," you tell her softly. Natasha blinks. "Wherever you are, it's not real."

You start to see flickers of speckles in Natasha's eyes and lick your lips.

"Come back to me," you compel her softly but with a slight bite in your tone. "You have a place in the world. Here, as an Avengers, with Clint and everyone else." The fog is clearing from Natasha's mind, your eyes responding more to yours and your words.

"With me," you faintly say.

"Come back."

Life comes back to Natasha, her eyes no longer dull as she comes face to face with you. She's got a massive headache and slight nausea.

Natasha swallows as you still hold her face in your hands. She wants to say something, but Tony interrupts.

"Guys, I could really use some help. Maybe try the lullaby again?"

You look at Natasha, but she's in no shape to try to go against the Hulk.

"The rest of the team is down," Clint responds.

You look around to see David trying to get Steve out of his hallucination.

"David will handle things here. Get everyone back onto the jet. The twins and Ultron are probably long gone by now. I'm going to help Tony."

You look once more at Natasha, who lifts the corner of her mouth.

"Be careful," she tells you.

"Aren't I always?" Giving her a wink, you take off in a blur.

"Coordinates, Stark," you say into your earpiece.

"Getting my ass beat right now!" Tony groans.

"Coordinates, Stark, not status. I already know you're getting your ass beat," you smirk.

"Don't be a dick," he mutters, but you're unsure if that was to you or Banner. He tells you where to meet him, but it gets easier to figure out as you get closer, and you can hear glass and building being shattered, and Banner's roars along with civilian screams.

You pick up speed, reaching there as you stand a few feet away, and Tony spots you.

"What's the plan?" Tony asks.

"Get him away from the city. Damage's been done, but we should try to stop him from doing any more," you see Tony struggling to hold him down. His suit is bulked up, and you're sure he prepared this specifically for Banner.

"Where do we bring him?" Tony's punching Banner in the face, trying to get him to 'go to sleep.'

"Few miles from the Quinjet. There should be some open space."

"Alright," Tony says, having no other choice but to trust you.

He gets VERONICA to send in a new Hulkbuster arm, using it to suction in the Hulk's arm as they take to the skies. You start to run in the same direction they're going.

"Alright, what do we do after we get him in the area?" Tony's overworking the jets in his feet while the Hulk struggles to get the upper hand in the air.

"Can you trap him in his spot?"

"I have one extra set electric bars, but he dug a hole in the ground to escape it."

"Just set them in the ground, wide berth and electrodes on."

You enter into a clearing, and Tony drops Banner, breaking the ground as he lands.

Immediately, giant plates dig into the earth, surrounding Banner as he gets electrified. He screams, arching his back before he turns and snarls at you.

"You gonna try this compulsion thing?" Tony asks through his mask.

"Try being a keyword," you mutter, "I have a feeling he's not going to be receptive towards it."

"Is anyone receptive towards compulsion, really?" Tony grumbles.

"Yeah," you smirk, "humans."

You walk around the perimeter of the plates, and the Hulk turns his body as his eyes follow you.

"You're angry," you acknowledge. "She made you angry."

The Hulk only roars and glares at you, the surrounding area of his eyes were red.

You lock eyes, pupils expanding as you try to reel him in.

"But look around you, think if there's anything right now to be angry about," you say to him. His head moves side to side, but you can tell the Hulk is fighting it. "Are you really angry, or did she just tell you you're angry? Who are you outraged at? The civilians who've done nothing to you? Tony? Me?"

You kept circling, keeping your eyes locked on his.

"Yourself?" You asked, and when the Hulk lets out an enraged yowl, you know you've hit the spot.

"You need to calm down," you lick your lips. "Before you do something that will really make you angry with yourself."

The Hulk is huffing and puffing as he continues to stare at you, and you try to expand the compulsion stronger.

For a second, you think it's working. The Hulk is shaking his head, stumbling backward.

But as quick as that happens, suddenly he punches himself in the face, knocking himself out of your control before he lets out another bellowing scream.

He starts running even as the plates send out electric shocks, bombarding through one of them as it breaks.

"He's too ravaged for me to even try to influence him to calm down," you tell Tony quickly as you take off towards the Hulk.

"I think I got that," Tony has to move out of the way before the Hulk steamrolls him.

"New plan," you say, running towards Tony.

"What are you--" he starts to say, but you cut him off.

"Throw me onto his back!" You leap, forcing Tony to catch you as he spins around once before whipping you in the direction the Hulk took off in.

The speed propelled you straight towards him, he didn't even see it coming as he was approaching the Quinjet. Everyone had come outside, hearing his thundering footsteps as he ran in their direction.

You latched onto his back, wrapping your tiny arms the best you could around his neck with crushing force, almost enough to snap his windpipe.

He chokes, feet digging into the ground as he abruptly stopped. His hand comes up to your arm, and you only have a second before he forces you to release him via breaking your arm.

You open your mouth, teeth sharp as venom pooled to them before you dug it into his neck.

He was grumbling at you before, but he was definitely screaming at you now.

The sound of agonizing wails leaves his mouth as he falls to his knees. You let go of his neck.

Falling forward, the Hulk writhes in pain, and you could see the venom traveling in his veins as they turned a dark green on his skin. He was crawling as he groaned.

Soon, the venom overtook his system to the point Banner began to change back to a man. He lay there, moaning in pain as Tony came forward along with Clint, who threw a blanket over him.

"What did you do?" Tony asked, and David came out, blurring over to carry Bruce into the Quinjet.

"Forced him to change back," you mutter as you also got onto the Quinjet.

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David put Banner on a makeshift bed while Clint flew the Quinjet out of the area.

Bruce was thrusting off the table as he still writhed in pain while everyone else stood around.

"What's happening to him?" Steve asked. He was covered in dirt and grime, and he looked a little defeated.

"The venom is breaking his cells down," you say, eyes drifting to David, who nods, restraining Bruce down.

You could hear more questions being fired, but you didn't answer. You threw the blanket off of Bruce, and everyone could see his veins, dark and poisoned-looking.

Leaning over, you began to bite him various places until the discoloration in his veins began to disappear. The seizing slowed down in Bruce as he came to a restful stop, but beads of sweat ran down his forehead. He was still breathing heavily, and his eyes remained closed.

"He's going to have to sleep that off," you spitting out blood into a nearby bucket, and wiping your mouth. David hands you a bottle of water, which you use to rinse your mouth, spitting it out until your mouth was clear.

Natasha comes up to check on you, putting her hand on your back softly as you try to give her a smile that ends up being more of a grimace.

"What was that?" Tony asked as he inspected his friend.

"I told you," you say as Natasha gives you some gum. "Venom can be used in three ways. That was one of them."

"But what does it do," Tony emphasized.

The mint flavor spread throughout your mouth, and you were thankful for a change in taste. Lately, it's been getting harder to control your thirst.

"When venom is used to harm, it attacks the cells in your body. Specifically, it makes them explode. It's painful as it travels through your veins because it's basically shredding everything in its path as it moves. The more venom you inject, the faster the deterioration goes," you say.

"Why did you bite him again?" Steve asks.

"There's only one way to reverse it," you peer over to Bruce's sleeping form. "Only the venom of the vampire who inflicted it can undo it. I injected the healing venom to counteract it. He'll be fine, maybe just a couple scars, and feeling sore for a few days."

"We need to lay low while we can," David interrupts as he looks at his tablet.

"That's a great idea," you hear Maria chime in through the intercoms. "The new is loving you guys. No one else is. There's no official arrest warrant for Banner, but it's up in the air."

"Stark Relief Foundation?" Tony asks.

"Already on scene. How's everyone?" She replies.

"We took a hit, they're shaking it off right now," you mutter.

"Well, stay in stealth mode for now, and don't come back here," Maria warned, knowing it would be ugly.

"So, run and hide?" Tony seems displeased.

"Until we find Ultron, there are not many options on the table," Maria sighed, disconnecting after that.

Tony goes over to Clint, slapping his hand on Clint's shoulder. "Need to switch out?"

Clint shakes his head, "Nah, I'm good. If you wanna get some kip, now would be the time, we're still a couple hours out."

You look over to Clint, noticing the dark bags under his eyes, and for the first time, you see how tired he must be.

"A couple hours from where?" Tony asks.

"A safe house," Clint answers, looking at you and David, and you know immediately where he's taking you.

You turn to Natasha, and it seems she knows as well.

Taking the time to sit near the back, you hold your girlfriend in your arms, stroking the side of her arms. Natasha's worn, you can tell by the paleness in her skin, and she's upset.

You sit in silence for a good chunk of the time. As much as you hate it, the image of Wanda doesn't leave your mind. There was something that brewed deep within you, and you felt haunted.

It isn't until Natasha decides to speak and breaks your thoughts.

"I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't gotten me out of that hallucination," Natasha says quietly to avoid drawing the attention of the others, but now used with David unintentionally being able to listen.

"I wish I could've been there sooner," you say at the same level of quietness, but Natasha shakes her head.

"Sometimes," she starts, licking her dry lips, "it's so easy to live every day like that part of my life didn't happen. Even though it's my sole reason to do the things I do. I want to clear my ledger, but it's..."

"It's complicated," you finish for her when she drags.

It's silent for a few minutes as the two of you rest, you lean your head on top of Natasha's, breathing slowly as you try to comfort her.

"I had never thought about wanting kids," Natasha starts quietly again, and you hum softly in the back of your throat to tell her you're listening.

"I'm not even really sure that I do or not, but then I get reminded that I can't either way."

You hold her bicep tighter, turning your head to press a kiss to her head.

"It's okay to mourn the loss of the choice," you murmur.

Natasha nudges herself closer to you, inhaling your scent as it eases her. The images don't quite go away. They linger in her mind, a wretched memory of everything she's endured.

"I suppose it's easier," Natasha mumbles. "It's one less thing to worry about, one less thing that would matter more than a mission. It makes everything easier, even killing."

"Don't do that," you admonish her gently. "While those things can be true, don't make yourself out to be a monster."

Natasha remains quiet, not the kind where she doesn't believe you, but the kind where she doesn't quite have the right words to say for once.

"You act like you don't already have things that would matter more than a mission, things that you don't worry about," you lift your other hand up, using your fingers to tilt her chin until she's facing you.

Your lips are so close, the warmth vibrating between the two of you.

"Because you already do, don't you?" You murmur. "Everyone on this ship is your family--I'm your family, just as you are mine."

PART X

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