#He was front and centre originally (as he should be) but it distracted too much and ruined the flow

[grandmagremlin]

The hidden forest!!

[tealeafgrimm]

New Life

Draco Malfoy x Pregnant!Reader Words: 1.3k Summary: Becoming a father is not difficult, but being a father is. Even though Draco has changed himself and his life, his past sometimes catches up with him. The fear of disappointing you and your child is sometimes difficult to suppress. But you are there to help him.

It was a quiet day in Diagon Alley, just after lunchtime. The new school year had recently started and so it was mostly mothers with smaller children who roamed the streets of magical London. Draco had taken the day off to accompany you into town. You were six months pregnant and you wanted to choose and buy some things for the future nursery. Originally you had suggested to Draco that you could go alone, as you knew he had a lot to do at work, but he had vehemently insisted on coming with you. When you found out that you were expecting a child, you never thought how much it would mean to Draco. But from the second he found out your baby was all that mattered to him.

His hand entwined with yours, Draco walked beside you down the street. Every now and then you stopped in front of a shop window and pointed out a few things you liked, before Draco smiled and reminded you that you were in town for children's furniture. As you made your way down the street, Draco realised why he was reluctant to come to the centre of magical London. Most of the people you passed gave him sceptical or even evil looks and no sooner had you walked past them, he could hear the whispering behind him. His deeds were long in the past, but for many they were still fresh in their minds. He had often wished to be invisible, but his light blond hair made it almost impossible not to be noticed and identified as a Malfoy.

Unlike Draco, you hardly noticed the stares and the talk. At the beginning of your relationship, it had bothered you a lot, but over time you had learned to block it out. So you didn't notice it today either. You were in too good of a mood, full of anticipation of finally being able to tackle the nursery. You reached a furniture shop and looked around together for the right cot and a matching chest of drawers. "What do you think of these?", you asked Draco as you stopped at a dark wood dresser. "Don't you think that might be a bit dark for a nursery? I would have thought more of something light. Not necessarily white, but maybe a lighter wood?" He looked at you questioningly and you agreed. You decided to look separately and call each other should either of you find something you liked.

Draco strode along the aisles and looked at the individual pieces of furniture. In the row behind him, he could hear several women talking to each other. Only when his name came up did he stop and listen to the conversation. "Did you see? Draco Malfoy is here with his wife!" "Yes and she's pregnant! How can you even be with someone, let alone have a child by someone who once worked for You Know Who! There's something wrong with her!", a second voice replied. Draco formed his hands into fists, anger rising in him. He was used to people whispering about him and excluding him for his past, but he didn't want you to be burdened with it. You were one of the few people who could look past his history and his wrongdoings and he would protect you with everything he could. "I always thought she was strange. Maybe she was one of them!" "I just feel sorry for the kid. What must it be like someday to find out what your father once did!" "Probably the child will be the same!" He could hear the women giggling. He had to get out of here before he said or did something he regretted.

Fortunately for him, you seemed to have found something, because he saw you waving at him. Grateful for the distraction, he came over to you. Thrilled and completely unaware of the conversation he had just overheard, you showed him the chest of drawers and the cot you had found. Half an hour later, you set off for home. As you had some packages to take with you, you decided to use the shop's fireplace to use the Floo Network to bring the pile into your living room. You arrived home first and waited for Draco and the parcels before helping him to float them into the nursery.

Full of anticipation, you began to open the packages and pull out the pieces of the cot. "It's going to look so great once we're done with it Draco! I can't wait!", you laughed as you set to work.

Draco did not answer you, but only gave you a silent nod. It was not unusual for him to be the quieter part, so you didn't mind his silence at first. But the longer you worked, the quieter he became and you got the impression that his mind was elsewhere. "Is everything okay, darling?" you asked after a while of secretly watching him. "Yes, why?", came his short reply. "You're unusually quiet and I get the impression that you're not really enjoying the fact that we're just setting up our baby's room. And I actually thought you were the one who couldn't wait." With a sigh, Draco stopped what he was doing and looked at you. Was he supposed to tell you what he'd heard at the shop? He didn't want to burden you with his problems. Especially not now that you were pregnant. But he also didn't want you to get the impression that it had something to do with you or the baby.

"No, it's nothing. I just overheard some people talking in the shop today and... oh it's not that important", he waved it off, but you didn't let up. "If it's on your mind like that, it can't have been nothing." You put a hand on his shoulder and he turned his head so he could plant a kiss on it. "I have no idea who it was. A couple of women. But apparently, they were at school with us because they knew who we were. They talked about why you would want to be with me, let alone have a child with me. They said that our child will probably be ashamed to have me as a father and that it probably won't be any better than I was then." He tried to tell it as off-handedly as possible, but you knew him too well. You realised how much he was affected by it. Even years later, his past was a touchy subject for Draco. In your eyes, he had more than proven that he had changed, but many of your former classmates had seen his remorse as an act and still didn't believe a word he said.

"Draco, let them talk. They don't have a clue. You're not sixteen anymore, you're not the same person you might have been back then. You're a wonderful husband and you're going to be a fantastic father", you tried to cheer him up. A small smile played around his lips. "I'm so sorry to drag you into this. And what SHOULD our child think of me one day? Someday, someone will tell what I did." "First of all, I chose you. I said yes willingly and I don't care what people say about me. And secondly, when our child is old enough, we will talk openly about the past. You made mistakes, but everyone makes mistakes and the important thing is to recognise them, own up to them and mend your ways. And that's what you've done, Draco. Our child will grow up differently than you did. You grew up with a world view that was distorted. Our child will grow up with love and harmony and will have a wonderful father as a role model." Draco let the words sink in. How could you be so good at suppressing his dark thoughts? Finally, he nodded, took you in his arms and kissed you. "What would I do without you," he murmured into your hair. "Probably not know how to put this bed together properly. Come on, you want to be able to tell our child that YOU put together its first bed!"

[fizzycherrycola]

America & Canada, 1910s

Brotherly bonding, airplanes, and a future full of possibilities. Originally this fanfic was intended for a fanzine, however, I changed my mind at the last minute. Please enjoy!

Wingman

Ohio, USA; 26 July 1911

It’s warm, but not too much so. A wind glides over the Ohio farmland, caressing wheatfields, picking up bits of grass and straw, slipping between a wide crack in the barn doors and rustling Canada’s hair. He tucks a stray curl behind his ear, reminding himself for the third time this month that he should see a barber, or at least give it a quick trim himself.

That can wait, though. For now, he flips open the folded newspaper and spreads it over his lap.

‘Laurier Stumbles as Federal Election Looms Ahead’ 

The headline dominates the front page of the Toronto Star, bold letters weighing heavy with stamped ink across the flimsy newsprint. Canada sighs, thumbing the page corners of the three-day-old paper that he still hasn’t finished reading because his last attempt on yesterday’s train left him with a bout of motion sickness. He flips past the editorial fistfights over Reciprocity and glances briefly at America, who is too focused on tweaking his latest flying machine, bolts squeaking with every turn and tools clanking as they hit the floor, to notice his brother’s staring. And then he catches his fingers on what resembles a bicycle chain.

“Ow, fucking thing,” America hisses, shoving the injured digits in his mouth 

“Are you okay?” Canada asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” America grumbles, dismissively waving his greasy hand. “The chain drive can be a real pain sometimes. That’s not the first time it’s nicked me.”

“Need any help?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?”

Without answering, America wipes his fingers on his oil-smudged overalls and dives back in, climbing between the massive canvas wings to reach an exposed motor near the centre of the craft.

Canada crosses his legs, leaning back in America’s creaky chair, the only one in this rickety barn-turned-workshop. A few years before, when news broke of the Wright Flyer’s success, America dropped all other hobbies to pursue machine-powered flight. And since then, he regularly insists that Canada should come witness his newest attempts at conquering the skies.

Currently, his feet are dangling over the edge of a wing. He’s likely going to be distracted for a while longer. Opening the newspaper to the international section, Canada resumes his reading.

‘Crisis in Agadir Intensifies; British PM Threatens Military Action’

Heart sinking, he groans. “Ah, geez....” Reluctantly, Canada scans the news story, each sentence laying a brick on his shoulders.

With fiery commentary, the article recants the crisis across the Atlantic, the most recent in a string of disputes between France and Germany. And Canada finds himself wondering, not for the first time, why England chose now to forge an alliance with his self-described ‘bitter rival’. Not that it’s Canada’s business, or that he’s unhappy about whatever accord they’ve reached. On the contrary, it’s quite nice to visit his guardian in London, find France there, and not have the scene devolve into a screeching maelstrom, but did it have to be now? With everything happening in the world, it feels almost like exchanging one type of chaos for another. Then again, as Scotland once mentioned, that’s par for geopolitics.

Eyes dragging down the grey column of text, Canada gnaws his lip, and there it is. ‘Britian to likely double demands for shipbuilding materials from across the empire as super-dreadnought class warships continue to dominate the naval arms-race.’ Groaning, Canada allows his face to fall into the paper, scratchy pulp crinkling against his glasses. “I don’t want to build any more boats,” he whines. “Can’t I just worry about an election instead of... twelve other things?”

Anxiety isn’t good for his health, but it’s difficult to relax when one’s days are spent making warships for a war that hasn’t come. There won’t be a war, though, will there? No, of course not. This is just how things are in Europe at the moment. Tense. Very much so. But, then again.... What if--

“Boo!”

Canada jumps. “Shit!” Legs shooting out, he topples over. Cobblestone meets his hip and elbow. The flimsy chair clatters in his wake.

“Woah!” America peers down at him, a goofy smirk stretching his features.  

“What-- Why did you...?”

“Hah! Sorry. You okay there? It’s not often that I hear you curse.”

“Well, you startled me, assho--…. Jerk.” Righting himself, Canada brushes the sawdust off his left side, giving one stubborn smudge a good smack.

“You looked so tense; I couldn’t help it! You were hunched over like a stone gargoyle.” America imitates the said statues by curving his back and making little claws with his fingers. “What’re you reading, anyway?”

“Oh,” Canada says as he gathers the scattered newspaper sheets. “Well, it’s... You see, it’s about the crisis in Agadir and I’m worried that-”

“The what in where?”

Canada blinks. “In Agadir. Haven’t you heard of it?”

“...Is Agadir one of Monaco’s cities?”

“What? No! It’s one of Morocco's.”

“Oh, okay” America chuckles. “Guess I got them mixed up.”

“And Monaco is a city-state, she doesn’t have any other cities.”

“Huh.” America glances up at the rafters, bottom lip firmly under his teeth. “That makes sense.”

Canada sighs, a long-suffering sound. “You should really pay more attention to what’s going on in Europe....”

“I do! Sort of. If it’s important.” Canada doesn’t glare, but he does wait patiently while staring pointedly at his brother. America shrugs. “All right, maybe I do get distracted sometimes, but can you blame me? Business is booming. I’ve got an economy to run and the inventions people are coming up with this century are way more fascinating than whatever’s happening in... where was it?”

“Agadir.”

“Right! You know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I do, but... Things aren’t exactly peaceful these days. I’m not sure that’s the right sort of attitude we should have, at the moment.”

‘We’, as in nations, of course. However, also as in brothers. As in two with everlasting ties across the Atlantic. But that part, Canada doesn’t say.

Wiping his messy hands with a towel, America turns away. “Listen... We’re flanked by oceans on both our east and west coasts. To your north, you have solid ice and to my south I’ve got Mexico, the entire Caribbean, and just... Europe is a world away.” Before Canada can internalise his sentiment, America changes tune. “Anyway, that’s not why we’re here in the first place. We’re here for flying machines and a good time, remember? Not politics.”

Fidgeting, a familiar tension in his shoulders, Canada nods. “I guess so. Yeah... Yeah, you’re right.”

His acceptance must have sounded more believable than it felt, because Alfred shoots him a smile. “Great. If you want, we can talk seriously later, but for now, the fixes are all done. Can you help me get this machine outside?” He jogs to the barn doors and drags their handles.

Pushing aside disappointment and adjusting expectations with a practised ease, Canada watches the doors open with a yawning creak.

Sunlight streams through the doors and loft windows, turning wooden walls to mustard, highlighting raw patches of damage caused by their owner’s contraptions. A scrape from a propeller blade, a dark stain from a splatter of engine grease; and against them are piled a plethora of building materials. Aluminium sheets, timber, and spools of cord replacing the livestock that once slept there.

Weaving between the mess of scraps, Canada reaches the left wing, grabs its canvas surface and when America arrives on the right side of the machine, they start pushing. It’s shockingly light, for being so large. A double-winged craft with two propellers, some type of tail, and a set of smaller wings on the front that stick out.

“Do you think this one will work?” Canada asks, partially to distract his anxieties, but also genuinely curious; wholly lost as to how this machine is meant to work.

“Definitely,” America responds. “It’s based on everything I’ve read about the Wright brothers’ flyer. Those two really know what they’re doing.” 

“You copied them?” 

“Of course not! I just took a bit of inspiration from their design. There wasn’t much to copy, anyway. They’ve been very secretive about their new machine. It’s a little annoying.” 

The corners of Canada’s lips tug upwards. “So, you tried to copy them, but couldn’t find enough information to do it.” 

“Shh!” 

America previously attempted flight with a few of his own unique contraptions. Most ended without major consequence, dying in the early testing stages when the odd machines simply broke apart when travelling faster than a brisk walk. Others, however, were disastrous, like when he tried launching his small glider off the top of a moving automobile and spent a week in hospital with a shattered spine. 

“I liked the one you built that had propellers stacked on top of each other, and instead of flying, it just bounced around the field.” 

America pouts. “Hey! That one was based on a design by Da Vinci, so it’s his fault that it didn’t work, not mine.” 

“It was the funniest one you made.” 

“Buddy, I am working on scientific miracles out here. They aren't always going to be graceful works of art.” America catches his gaze between the wire bracing. “And by the way, if you keep pulling my leg, I’m gonna launch you instead of this flyer.” 

Canada’s smile broadens. He shoves the machine and relishes the dust its wheels kick up – glad that he left his good clothes at home, the fancy suits and shoes that come courtesy of England’s pocketbook. Throwing his back into it as the sharp aroma of fertile farmland slams his nostrils on a long, sun-swept day; there are few things as satisfying as this.  

The flyer exits the barn, barely. Its wide wings graze the doorframe, but when it’s out, it greets an open field. Wind glides in from the West, swinging the weathervane atop America’s farmhouse and tugging insistently on the canvas wings. The two brothers take it a bit further, several metres before a gentle dip in the terrain.

“Okay, stand back!” America calls.

Canada does and his brother hops into the hip cradle, lying flat. In short seconds, he has the propellers spinning, the engine sputtering. Sluggish at first, then faster. And faster. Canada squints against the machine’s gust and watches it roll forward, accelerating towards the hill, a big craft carrying bigger dreams. Could this be the one that finally flies? Maybe... maybe?

He holds his breath, eyes wide. Great, white wings reach the edge of the slope, tilt up. So slightly, and then. It sinks, disappearing behind the hill. Canada’s heart drops.

He swears and dashes after his brother. God forbid he has to drag America to the hospital a second time. The machine swerves, skidding down the incline, but to its credit, doesn’t tip over or combust. Instead, it settles to a jerky stop in a patch of tall grass.

Canada jogs over, making it in time to see the propellers slow, engine going quiet.

“Fuck,” America bursts as he stumbles out of the cradle.

“What happened?” Canada asks, noting that America is uninjured.

“It’s the damn wind,” America gripes. “That ridge is North facing, but the wind is pushing West, so I had to fight it with the controls, and I couldn’t generate enough lift.”

“At least, you can be glad you didn’t crash.”

“Yeah, that’s great,” America sighs, sarcastically. “At least it wasn’t a total catastrophe, right?”

Canada frowns. “America.”

“Sorry. I just... it’s frustrating. That’s all.”

Pausing, Canada studies his brother, how America’s shoulders droop and his sky-blue eyes fixate on the ground. “You care about this a lot, don’t you?”

Rather than answer, America shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks a stone, looking 200 years younger. An expressive boy, always running faster than England could catch him, faster than Canada could challenge him, and faster than his own legs could carry him. Canada chews his lip. “If you had a North wind, would that be better?”

“That would be fantastic. It’d help me speed up, but I can’t control the weather.”

“Well, if you just need to go faster before um....”

“...Before lifting off the ground?”

“Yeah.” Canada points at the flying machine. “If it’s just that, then maybe I could push this tail part here-”

“The rudder.”

“-while you’re working the controls, and then, maybe you’d have enough speed?”

America hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I appreciate the offer, but... I kind of want to do this myself.” Canada’s frown deepens. “Dragging it out of the barn,” America continues, “is one thing. The flight test though, that’s, y’know... that’s the real deal! If I can’t do it myself, then....” 

The tension in Canada’s shoulders returns. “I may not know much about flying machines, but I do know that there are two Wright brothers. They didn’t work alone.”

“But I’ve been trying to get these machines working for years, this is like a milestone for me! It’s important.”

“I know it’s important to you! That’s why I want to help!”

America blinks. His mouth hangs open, trying to form words, but failing, whereas Canada’s jaw snaps shut. Impatience fizzling to shame, because shouting is awful and he’s never liked doing it, never liked hearing it from others, but sometimes with America, it’s the only way to get him to listen.  

Sighing, America glances away, looking everywhere except at his brother. His gaze lands on the flying machine, sitting silent in the grass. 

“...All right, let’s do it.” 

“Really?” 

“Yup!” America shrugs, already marching toward the machine. “We’ll give it a try.” 

They manoeuvre the craft out of the thicket and cart it up the slope in uneasy silence. Once back to its starting position, America begrudgingly points to where Canada can grab and push, an area of the rig that won’t interfere with the complex turning system. Then, he hops in the hip cradle and again brings the motor to life. 

This close to the propellers, they feel like storm winds, whirring with energy.  

Canada’s eyes water, dust hitting his glasses and spraying his front. He braces and thrusts, fingers wrapped tight around the wooden poles, putting one foot in front of the other, striving for momentum. He’s jogging, then he’s sprinting. Shoes slamming the earth, the tail starts to drift away from him, faster than he can run. With a grunt, he gives one final push from his core, throwing his strength through his shoulders and into his hands. 

The weight of the machine vanishes. He trips, fists and elbows hitting dry soil. Head snapping up to watch America go, but there’s only a blur of ivory against the cerulean sky, and Canada furiously wipes his dusty glasses. Then, he sees it.

America’s machine is soaring. It drifts through the air, straight and true, hovering about three metres off of the ground. Canada watches, stunned silent, as it glides into the distance, its little motor humming, stalwart and solid, without faltering and without breaking. The craft banks gently, turning with the smooth grace of an eagle, floating above shrubs and fencing, circling the field to pass over a dirt trail to the main roadway. And it's shocking, how easily it seems to fly, when so many inventors and visionaries could only do so in their dreams. 

Eventually, the white canvas wings land a good distance away, in the centre of the pasture.

Canada scrambles to his feet, barely registering that his limbs are shaking. Heart as light as a feather, bursting with all the energy in the world, he runs to meet his brother.

America tumbles out of the plane, jumps up, and booms with a voice loud enough to cross the Atlantic. “Did you see that?!”

“You did it!” Canada cheers, barrelling towards him.

A few more steps and America sweeps Canada into a big, bone-crushing hug. “Thank you so much, buddy!” He’s bouncing and spinning around like a carnival carousel, making Canada’s head swim. “I’m sorry I made a fuss. You were right, I just needed an extra push! That’s all it was, and I was flying!”

In a minute, Canada may be sick from the spinning, but for now, his smile is hurting his cheeks. The robust pressure from America’s arms and the sunshine warmth of his giddy laughter takes him back, centuries ago, when they were children playing in the wilderness. Sneaking out without their guardians’ permission to sing and laugh with a kindred spirit. A brother. A twin.

When America finally puts him down, Canada stumbles. “Hang on, I’m dizzy,” he murmurs, spreading his arms to regain balance.

“Are you all right, there?” America chuckles.

“Yeah, just give me a second.”

“Wow, you’ve got, uh....”

“Huh?”

Reaching out, America wipes Canada’s forehead. A cloud of dust falls into Canada’s face and he squints, almost sneezing. Then, America presents his palm and fingers, coated with rusty soil.

“You’re covered in dirt!” he howls. Canada looks himself over, seeing that his soft-collar shirt and cottonade pants are hidden beneath a layer of Ohio dust. “England didn’t buy you these clothes, did he?”

“Nah, not these.”

“Okay, because I was gonna say, he’d be fuming if you did this to something he bought you.”

Canada grins. “I’d just say it was your fault.”

Snickering, America helps him dust off, patting his back and shaking most of the dirt off his clothing. When Canada is moderately clean, he suggests they get food; it’s past lunchtime. Never one to turn down a meal, America pats his stomach and heartily agrees. They store the precious, genius, and fantastic machine in the barn for safekeeping. All the while, America sings its praises, going on and on about how wonderful it felt to pilot, how he’s never felt freer in his whole life. He also brags a little, mentioning his desires to show it off to everyone they know, including ‘those geezers’ in Europe.

On their way to the farmhouse, Canada remembers the headlines he read in his newspaper, probably because America mentioned Europe, but also, because his concerns rarely leave him for long. Worriment needles at his happy thoughts like a splinter under his skin and a question builds in his lungs.

“Hey, America?” Canada asks. 

“Yeah?” 

“If I was in trouble, would you come to help?”

America stumbles, before balking. “What? What kind of trouble?”

Thinking carefully, Canada knits his brows. There may be a war, but also, there may not. All of Europe’s intricate alliances could end in a trade dispute, a blockade, or an embargo. The future is nigh impossible to predict, and sadly, no breed of immortality comes packaged with the gift of prophecy.

“Just... any kind of trouble.”

America studies Canada, eyes flicking over his face, searching. “Are you okay? Is there something bad happening right now?”

“Not right now, but in the future, maybe.” Canada shies away, feeling silly under the scrutiny. “I don’t know.”

“What are you worried about?”

Canada shrugs.

Quiet settles in, snatching America’s boisterous laughter and Canada’s happy mood, and in the contrast, Canada suddenly realises how amicable they’ve been today. Things haven’t been this nice between them in a long while, not since America left during his Revolution.

“I would,” America murmurs. Then, louder, a declaration. “Of course, I would!”

Canada jumps. His brother’s gaze is firm, his lips, curved with worry. America steps closer and surges on. “Why do you even need to ask? We share the longest border in the whole world and you’re the only person I call my brother; there’s no one else, just you. And I feel comfortable doing that because we grew up together and because I like you. I like wasting time with you. I like showing you my inventions because you’ll listen to me ramble and then you’ll take me to the hospital when I crash. You joke around with me, you make me feel relaxed, and I can open up with you, in a way that I never can when I’m with someone else. Canada, you’re my best friend! So, whenever you’re in trouble, no matter what it is, you can tell me! Tell me and I’ll help however I can.” 

America rests a hand on Canada’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, and the determination, the dedication in his voice makes Canada’s chest hurt. “Okay?” 

Eyes stinging, Canada swallows around the knot in his throat. “Okay.”

America beams, banishing the gloom and darkness with effortless ease.

They amble their way to the idyllic farmhouse and Canada allows his heart to rest. It's amazing how far they’ve come from where and who they were a hundred years ago. Somehow, from opposing sides in a war, they drifted closer. In a slow pattern of chance encounters that turned to visits, to friendly invitations, to weeks spent munching on apple pies, to early morning pancakes, and to daydreaming of flying machines.

Canada watches his brother’s broad frame leap up the porch steps two at a time, wind tousling his hair, and hopes that this harmony may endure for centuries to come.

End / Fin 

~~~

Author’s Notes

Laurier, as in Wilfred Laurier, was Canada’s Prime Minister from 1896 – 1911. He lost his re-election a couple months after our story takes place.

The Agadir Crisis was one of several events that occurred in the lead up to WW1. It resulted in stronger ties between France and the UK, and further damaged the already strained relationship between the UK and Germany.

The naval arms race was between Germany and the UK. Each side tried to build bigger and better warships at a faster rate than the other. The super-dreadnought class of ships were some of the most advanced navy vessels at the time.

Early flying machines were wild, dangerous, and unregulated. Many inventors lost their lives during flight tests. It was sort of the “wild west” of engineering.

Leonardo Da Vinci designed his own flying machines way back in the 15th and 16th centuries. He designed ornithopters, gliders, and parachutes, but the one our characters talk about is the Aerial Screw, which, along with the Chinese bamboo-copter toy, acted as a precursor to modern helicopters.

[missymurphy1985]

The Lesson

After breaking up with your long-term boyfriend, you finally found the courage to enrol at university, studying Modern Theatre. Your life now taking an unexpected detour to its original plan of marriage, babies, settling down. This is going to be an interesting year.

Tag List (message me to be added): @queenshelby @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @margoo0 @cloudofdisney

Warnings - smut / teacher.student relationship

Main Characters - Cillian Murphy (he's 35 and single for the purpose of this fic, no children)

"Hey!!! Over here!!" You heard Sarah, your best friend, shouting from the other side of the hall and made your way over.

"Thank god, I was starting to think I'd gone to the wrong place! This place is huge!!" You laughed as you hugged each other. Your bag slung over your shoulder, you linked arms with Sarah with your other arm as you made your way down to the Lecture Theatre.

"So how are you feeling?" Sarah asked.

"Nervous! I never, in a million years, thought I'd be doing this! I feel so old!" You laughed. At 26, you were easily the oldest student here, but Sarah laughed your worries away.

"Trust me, you're not. Once they revealed who the teacher was going to be this semester, a fair few extra people signed up to do that course y/n!" You looked at her confused.

"What, Mr Allen?? He's about 75 isn't he?" Sarah laughed again and left you at the door to your classroom, making her way to her own Design Studio at the bottom of the corridor to teach her own class.

"You'll see when you get inside!" She called behind her, smiling.

You took your seats near the front of the room, looking behind you you could see a gaggle of ladies in the back corner, all of them easily over the age of 40 with no clear interest at all in the subject at hand. They were all giggling like children.. this was going to be fun, you thought, rolling your eyes. Turning back round, you caught a glimpse of a dark haired man making his way through the door at the back of the room. As he made his way to the desk in the centre of the stage area in front of the students, you couldn't help but gasp a little. Jesus he was cute....

The ladies at the back squealed in delight and the man rolled his eyes.

"Right then, let's make a few things clear from the off shall we folks?" He spoke, his Irish accent booming through the auditorium. Everyone fell silent.

"I have a passion for the arts - I've been involved with them since I was 19. I'm here to teach you all I've learned over the last 16years and I plan on teaching it to like minded, dedicated people. People who want to make a career out of the beauty that is theatre. Those of you here simply to catch a glimpse of anything OTHER than a teacher doing his job, the doors at the back of the room." He stood still, leaning against the desk. The gasp at the back of the room was so loud, you couldn't help but giggle a little. Busted ladies. They all whispered to each other, a few of them glaring in the man's direction as they made their way to the back of the room. Slowly but surely, a few others also left sheepishly, men included, and you couldn't help but notice the man smiling a little underneath his floppy brown hair and round glasses. Who was this man??

"Now that's taken care of, I'm hoping I'm left with students that are here to learn the theatre and nothing else..." He paused, looking round the room. His eyes met yours and he paused for a second, raising his eyebrow slightly. You were now the oldest in the room, and you felt even more out of place. You kept a straight face, and maintained the eye contact with him. He wasn't bullying YOU out of here, you didn't care who he THOUGHT he was.

"Right... Well we'd better get going then!" His demeanour changed, he smiled broadly clapping his hands together. "My name's Cillian Murphy - please for the love of God call me Cillian... Mr Murphy is my Dad and I'm not quite ready for that level of old yet." A few chuckles in the room - that tension was gone. "This isn't the first time I've done a class like this, and I've had to evict people part way through for.. ah.. shall we say inappropriate behaviour. Wanted to nip that in the bud from the offset, so I apologise to you all now for the way the class started. Now, do you all have the textbooks the school sent out last month? Let's start on page 35 shall we?" The class, including you, opened the books in unison to find the chapter on Lighting and Sound. Cillian glanced back over at you, a look of uncertainty on his face. You could feel him staring, but refused to look up at him.

"So how are your classes going y/n?" Your mum walked into your apartment to find you studying, book one side, laptop the other and you making notes in the middle of your desk in the corner of the room. You'd given her a key a month prior so she could let your dog, Juno, out during the day while you were at uni.

"It's hard work! I had no idea there was so much to learn about the theatre, they make it look so easy!!"

Your mum laughed and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on for you both. Kicking back, you allowed yourself a break after 3 hours studying and met your mum at the small breakfast bar.

"I hear you have a new teacher too? Cillian Murphy?"

"Yeah, he's amazing! He's been there and done it all mum, the stories he tells are fascinating!"

"You know who he is, right?" You did know. You'd googled him when you got home after that first lesson. Pretty big hot shot actor, but you weren't bothered. He seemed pretty down to earth and normal to you.

"Yep I know - you'd never think it though, he's so... Normal I guess?"

"Cute too."

"Mother! Behave!" You both giggled. You couldn't deny he was very attractive though - but you could tell he was a professional. No way had he even looked at you that way - in fact you were convinced he thought you were there purely for him, rather than the course, so you were even more determined to pass this semester with flying colours to prove a point.

The following weeks were filled with more information than you could get your head around. You hated to admit it, but you were struggling to keep up. You hated admitting defeat, but you were really starting to wonder if you could carry on at this pace. Your work was starting to slip, and Cillian had noticed it too, much to your dismay. He'd called a 1-2-1 with you this afternoon, and you were convinced he was going to pull you from the course. You knocked on the door of his office, the defeat written all over your face.

"Come in y/n.."

"Hi.." you tried to smile as you sat across from him. He had your latest piece of coursework in front of him on the desk and he was leaning back in the chair, eyeing you through the rims of his round glasses. Standing up, he made his was over to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room and pulled out a bottle of Irish Whiskey. You watched him, silently, as he put two glasses on the desk.

"Shouldn't be drinking this during the day, but felt the need. Want one?" You smiled, nodding your head.

"Conversation is clearly not going to be a fun one, no?"

"What makes you say that? I'm just lightening the mood y/n, you walked in here looking like you were going to either cry or knock me out!" He laughed, and offered you the glass. You took it, and sat it in your hands. Your fingers connected and you forced down a gasp at the contact. You'd refused to show him any kind of attraction but it was difficult while he was sat so close to you.

"Listen, I know I'm falling behind Cillian, I'll make it up I promise -"

"Stop. It's okay. Yes, your marks are dropping slightly, but not by much, okay? I'm seeing real potential in you. I invited you here to talk to you about some extra classes to help bump you back to where you need to be. What do you say?" He took a sip of the whiskey and so did you. Relief washing through you as the warm liquid fell down your throat. Hopefully it hid the blush in your cheeks.

"Um.. wow... Okay.. yeah! That'd be great, thank you!" He smiled again. God that smile... Stop it y/n.. he's your teacher, stop.. he sat back down at his desk and handed you a book.

"Great! I've put my phone number on the inside cover. Have a read of this, and call me when you're done. I think you'll like it." You took the book and smiled. A history of Modern Theatre. You agreed, definitely an interesting read.

"Is it classed as 'appropriate' for a teacher to give a student his phone number, Cillian?" You smirked, referring to his opening outburst on that first day. He chuckled.

"Maybe not, but I'm not a teacher, I'm an actor helping out the local university for a semester while the actual teacher takes a leave of absence." You'd heard Mr Allen had fallen ill, Cillian was just a temporary stand in for three months. Nothing permanent. "I have a new job starting in January, I'll be done here by Christmas." You couldn't help but feel a bit sad at the thought of him not being around anymore. Without admitting it, you'd looked forward to seeing him every day in class. He stood again, and raised his glass in a toast. You raised yours.

"What are we drinking to?"

"You. We're drinking to you y/n. I'm telling you, I'm seeing some real potential with you - you're going far, just need to focus more on the content, that's all." You blushed again.. was that the reason you were distracted? Him? Maybe. "Meet me back here tonight, around 4:30? Should be done with marking by then, we can make a start?" You agreed, a nervous knot forming in your stomach.

**************************************

You'd been having your 1-2-1 meetings with Cillian for more than a month now, and your marks were certainly improving. You had finished the book he gave you, but you hadn't plucked up the courage to text him yet. Watching TV alone in your apartment one evening, you downed your third glass of wine and picked up your phone. He wouldn't have given you the number if he didn't expect you to use it, come on y/n...

"Hey Cillian? Just letting you know I finished the book. Really good read, thank you! I'll have it back with you in the morning. And thank you for spending time with me helping to improve my marks too, it's really helped. Y/n x" pressing send, you cursed yourself, why the hell did you put a X at the end!!! You cursed again when it was delivered... Then again when its status changed to 'read'... Oh crap... A reply.

"Glad you liked it! It's been a pleasure, you're doing a great job! Cx." He put one on his text too... Come on y/n, you're not a teenager anymore, get a grip of yourself!!! Your phone pinged again.

"Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow xx" 2 kisses? Ping.. "Maybe we can finish more than your coursework.x" What did that mean? Was he flirting with you?

"What did you have in mind? X"

"There's still half a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard, shame to let it go to waste X"

"I don't think you'd be able to keep up with me Cillian 😉" you typed, feeling a bit braver.

"Challenge accepted y/n. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon X" you knew his stint at the university was coming to a close, was he flirting with you?

****************************************

You knocked Cillian's office door at 4:30 sharp, knowing how much of a stickler he was for punctuality. You felt nervous, after your texts last night you didn't know what to expect - was he flirting or were you just overthinking it? The door opened, and he stood aside to welcome you in, a smile on his face as he greeted you.

"Good to see you y/n, come on in!" He walked to the cabinet in the corner. "I never turn down a challenge, you in?" You smiled, nodding, as he poured two glasses.

"Good job I left the car at home this morning," you chuckled as he brought his glass to meet yours. Both of you sinking it down in one, you grimaced as the liquid slipped down your throat and he took the glass from you to pour another.

"We'll take this one a bit slower y/n, what do you say?" His eyes darkened slightly, the alcohol clearly having an effect. You couldn't help the warm feeling running through your groin as he licked his lips to clear them of the whiskey remnants that sat on them.

"Whatever you say sir.." he glanced up at you as you said 'sir', and leaned against the desk.

"Sir? Since when did you call me sir?" He tilted his head back slightly, glass swirling in his hand. You sipped your drink and stood to face him, confidence growing. You could see his attraction towards you, and you decided to go with it.

"Since you decided to try and seduce your student... Sir." He swallowed hard, the game clearly up, watching you take a step towards him. Your bodies inches apart, he brought his hand up to rest on your hip, pulling you that little bit closer.

"Probably shouldn't have put kisses on a text to your teacher, then, should you.."

"Probably shouldn't have given me your phone number then, should you.." the air was hot now, your bodies touching gently, your breathing becoming deeper. You brought your hands to his chest, over his shoulders, and he quickly spun you round so you were now sat on his desk. His lips found yours and he ground his hips against your core, your legs parted allowing him access, skirt hitched up to your waist.

"I've wanted you since that first day... Fuck y/n you're beautiful... Sexy... Smart..." He kissed your neck between each word, breathing becoming hot and heavy. Suddenly stopping, he kissed your lips before making his way to the door, turning the key in the lock, before coming back to finish what you started. Unbuttoning your blouse and opening it, his hand snaked around your breasts, underneath the black lace bra. Groaning slightly, he moved his hands lower, down your abdomen.

"Leave as much on as possible... I'm taking you on this desk, right now.. you okay with that?"

"Like I said sir, I don't know if you'll be able to keep up with me.." your leg pushed him away slightly as you stood up, pushing him against the wall. You sank to your knees, taking his trousers and boxer shorts down with them, his cock springing up, twitching, begging for attention. Gasping, he watched you lick a circle around the swollen head, down the shaft, before taking one of his balls into your mouth and sucking lightly. His hand in your hair now, pulling it gently as he groaned. You continued teasing him with your tongue, before taking the tip of his cock into your mouth, giving it a hard suck, releasing it with a pop, sending his head back against the wall.

"Fuck... Take it y/n.. take it down..." You smiled, before sinking your mouth over his cock, all the way down the back of your throat, groaning into it sending shockwaves through him.

"Lets see how much you can take..." You sucked harder, not giving him time to react. Moving your head quickly up and down his shaft, you felt your core begin to leak, you'd never felt as turned on in your life as you did right now. You felt his legs start to shake...

"Yes.. fuck yes... Feels so good baby... Suck it... Harder.. god fuck yes..." His balls tightened, you could feel him trying to pull back but you held him firm with your hands on his hips, willing him to empty into you. "I'm gonna... You might... Jesus.... Fuck...." He came hard, gripping your hair for support as he came hard, you felt his cum shoot in the back of your throat and swallowed as much as you could, some of it spilling down your chin. You pulled your mouth away, holding your mouth slightly open so he could see his cum on your tongue before swallowing it back down.

"That was... My god... Fuck y/n..."

"Oh you will sir, you definitely will. I'm not done with you yet.." you stood up and sat back on the desk, legs parted again to reveal your core to him, completely bare. He didn't see you remove your underwear while you were sucking him, but he wasn't complaining. Gathering himself, he moved to stand between your legs and pulled your lips to his, kissing you passionately, tasting a little of himself in the process and feeling surprisingly aroused from it. He moved his mouth down to your core, running his tongue along your open slot painfully slowly.

"Cillian... Please... Need to cum...."

"You will, baby, oh you will..." You moved your hands to his soft, floppy hair and pulled his face where you needed it. He loved you taking control and took your clit with his tongue, pressing it, rolling it around his tongue as he felt you begin to shake. You lifted a leg onto the desk to give him better access, and he inserted two fingers inside you, tipping them up to meet your g spot deep inside, emitting a sharp cry from you as you three your head back.

"Yes!!! Oh god yes... Right there... Fuck!!" Your hips were involuntarily rolling against his face now, riding his tongue as he brought you more pleasure than you thought was possible. Within minutes, your orgasm was building, and sensing it, he pumped his fingers harder against that one spot that was making you see stars. Three pumps and you came hard against his face, liquid flowing from you like a waterfall, hitting the floor underneath you as you screamed Cillians name. He leaned back on his ankles, watching you coming undone, smiling. Once you'd caught your breath, your eyes fell onto his his.

"Feeling proud of yourself there Mr Murphy?" You smiled. He stood between your thighs again.

"Extremely. But I'm not done with you yet. Turn around y/n." His blue eyes darker now. Your core throbbed, knowing what was coming. Standing up, turning round, you bent over his desk, his hands parting your legs. Taking a condom from his bag behind him, you heard the packet rip open and you rotated your hips, teasing him. He groaned deeply as he started to push his length into you, inch by inch.

"Ohh... Oh god..." You weren't ready for his size, you legs parting as much as possible. Inch by inch he pushed, allowing you to adjust, before bottoming out, his balls resting near your still throbbing clit.

"I'm gonna fuck you hard against this desk, y/n... You're gonna take every thrust like the good girl you are..." You bucked your hips up and he responded by pulling his cock nearly out, and thrusting back in powerfully enough to make you scream his name. Picking up the pace, he leaned over to grab your hair in his hand, giving it a sharp tug as he thrust into you from behind over and over, relentlessly.

"Harder... Cillian harder!!! Fucking... Oh god yes!!!" Loving the sound of your cries and the feel of your pussy contracting around his cock, he knew you were close to another orgasm.

"Rub yourself... Rub your clit baby, make yourself cum for me..." You reached a hand round to your core and found that bundle of nerves. Circling it hard, your orgasm built up again and you swore you saw stars.

"Good girl.... That's it baby... Let it go, I've got you... Let it go...." That was all you needed to hear. You came hard, and he couldn't hold back once he felt your walls contracting round him. "I'm... Oh y/n yes... Yes!" He stilled, you felt his cock pulsate, filling the condom. Both of you breathless, he fell forwards resting against your back.

He pulled out gently, pulling the condom off and disposing of it in the bin, he chuckled slightly.

"Remind me to empty the bin before we leave... I don't think the cleaner will expect to see that in there in the morning!" You laughed too, standing up to face him.

"That was incredible... Just amazing..." You rested your head against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your hair gently.

"I enjoyed that too y/n.. and I'd really like to see you again, if you'll let me?"

"I'd like that..." You smiled. You'd convinced yourself if anything happened it would probably be a one time thing, I mean he was a famous actor, what would he want with you? You had no illusions going into this.

"My teaching finishes here in 2 weeks - what do you say I take you out for dinner when it's done?"

"Sounds like a plan Cillian. But am I supposed to stay away until then?"

"Definitely not, y/n, we've still got a few 1-2-1 sessions to squeeze in before I leave..." He leaned down to kiss you, pushing you back against the desk again. His erection pressing against your core again. "It would appear I'm able to keep up after all y/n..."

[frostironfudge]

Rush - Tom Hiddleston (Chapter 19)

Summary: Chapter 19 of Rush - Tom Hiddleston (check warnings please)

here is my main masterlist , my ao3

< Chapter 18

Chapter 20 >

Pairings: Tom Hiddleston x fem!reader, a few original characters.

Warnings: 18+ chapter contains smut, fluff, angst, torture.

Words: 4246

fanfic masterlist

------

3 weeks since leaving the facility

The sun was cascading over their skin, mimicking the warmth in their hearts. Waves crashed upon the shore in a lazy might, retreating back into their vast expanse.

The feeling of being minuscule, hidden away, but finally able to breathe was rare and deeply cherished none the less.

It had been all but three weeks, Pierce adjusted her sunglasses, watching Lee sprawl across from her too engrossed in their book, a tiny frown on their face as they did not like what was ongoing in the murder mystery between their hands.

She looked away, those hands could distract her very well. The sun was tinged blue, she looked at the tablet in her hand.

“They are still in the country.” She looked at Lee, they put in a bookmark before returning her gaze.

“Still probably at the haven with his haven.” They grinned, happiness for Tom and Y/N only adding to their warmth.

“They should have left, Lee.” Pierce wondered what was holding their two friends back.

It wasn’t trouble, they would know in the event it was, and they would return to help.

Also their cloud drive was safe enough to give updates upon. Yet, Pierce could not shake the feeling of things going wrong.

“You need to stop bringing that feeling front and centre.” Lee chastised her, in a soft voice, they moved their hand to her cheek, stroking away her wind whipped hair into place.

“I’m not.” She defended, holding their hand in place, leaning into the touch.

“You are, we’re safe, they are safe, we will remain safe.” Lee reminded.

“I know, but, you know how it feels…” Pierce trailed off, her eyes moved away from Lee’s to the sand.

“I know, but if we constantly bring forth the fear then we won’t be able to learn to live where we are.” Lee reached over cupping her cheek, Pierce looked back into their eyes.

“I still worry.” Pierce mumbled,

“I worry too, every minute, but I know if we don’t celebrate our freedom, we will still be chained down.” Lee kissed her nose.

“Alright… race you to the water.” Pierce laughs as she breaks away towards the water.

“Oh you’re not winning.” They chased after her.

—————————————————————————————————

3 months since leaving the facility

The winters here were magical, streets lit up even the gloomiest of faces. Children running around their laughter adding to the mirth.

“Here is your hot chocolate.”

Lee was pulled out of their reverie by the waitress placing their mug.

“Thank you.” They smiled up as the waitress retreated back.

Lee continued looking out of the window at the people outside.

Had anyone been on the run as they had?

Had anyone had their friends not reach out?

Lee unlocked their phone, the yellow dot indicating their presence on the drive showed up, it had been a long time since either Y/N or Tom had checked in, three months to be precise.

They logged off, keeping the phone facedown on the creaky table.

“Still worried?” Pierce commented, taking a sip of her iced coffee.

“You know, someone would this you’re weird.” Lee chuckled, as she took another sip of the iced drink during winter’s brink.

“Sources say Fox is still hunting. He hasn’t stopped.” Pierce ignored the quip at her coffee preference by her partner.

“So we keep moving forward.” Lee decided.

“We keep moving forward.”

—————————————————————————————————

5 months more since leaving the facility

“Lee, Pierce, it feels so good to see you both.” Tom says sitting next to Y/N, both having small smiles on their faces.

“Truly, we’ve missed you both and Taillight very much.” Y/N smiled fondly.

“I hope all has been well these past eight months.” Tom smiled, “We can’t say for sure it has been the same for us.” His shoulders slouch.

“Which is why we come bearing some bad news.” Y/N’s expression turned grim.

Both took a deep breath, taking a few moments to contemplate how to say the next words without difficulty.

“This unfortunately is not a live feed, we’ve recorded this three weeks in, at safe house Ivy.” Tom explained, hands intertwined with Y/N’s, she glances down at them, then looks back at Pierce and Lee who are baffled staring at the screen.

“If you received this today it means that we weren’t able to disable the automated upload.” Y/N looked at Pierce and Lee through the screen, almost sadly.

“I wish it would be a case of losing the password but this means we unfortunately we are compromised, things have gone awry.” Tom continued.

“We are sorry, this was the only way.” Tom says after a pause the words ring in the room, echoing in the deafening silence.

“Pierce I’ve used blockers and the upload location has been bounced off.” Y/N says as she rubs circles with her thumb onto Tom’s hand.

“Do not come after us, do not try to find us. Please. We want you both safe.” Tom says and sincerity drips from his words and eyes.

Four sets of eyes were glassy, brimming with tears.

“If we—, When we,” Y/N corrects herself, “When we get out of the mess we will find you, or reach out here.”

Taillight whines, pushing her nose over Tom’s form on the screen.

“I miss you guys, I miss you more Taillight, such a good puppy.” Tom coos and Taillight wags her tail halfheartedly.

“We’re sorry it had to be this way, please, do not reach out or return.” Tom says again, they both look apologetic.

Tom and Y/N look at each other, she cups his cheek. “I’m sorry.” Y/N whispers shaking in his arms as her tears take over. Tom gives one final teary eyed glance as the video ends.

“The fuck do they think we won’t search.” Lee mutters angrily, reaching for their phone.

“Lee,” Pierce grabs their forearm, “Just, could we try to process this before, before break hell loose for them?”

Lee and Pierce have their gaze meet, she pulls them close, salt mixing with the familiar sweetness of each other’s lips.

—————————————————————————————————

3 months since leaving the facility

Y/N watched Tom driving, he had a smile on his face, their hands intertwined on the console. Tom looked at her winking, making her blush. The streetlight illuminating the car, so they could check up on each other.

He had grown his hair out along with his beard, but the glasses always got to you the most.

He knows how they make her take a deeper breath, when he fixes them and his tongue swipes over his bottom lip.

One day she just went upto him and kisses him, albeit that day the movement wasn’t purposeful, he enjoyed her reaction none the less.

Today they were driving to the Haven, Tom kept it as a surprise, telling her it was another safe house. They mostly drove at night, it was easier to understand if they were being tailed, the darkness a cover, ending only once they were in the confines of a house that wasn’t a home.

The past three months were blurry as they were long.

Some days they never ventured out the others they would stay out as long as possible. Finding every piece of non rationed air to fill their lungs.

Some days they drove each other to the brink, other days were filled with loving touches trying to ease living with old wounds.

Y/N looked at him once again, as the road disappeared under the car, the words were on her tongue. She just wanted to say them, as the streetlight reflected Tom’s eyes, she almost said the words.

Tom wondered how many times they would remain in the car, they met in one, escaped in one, planned their revenge plot. Maybe Tom would say he loves her on one of these drives, he knew about the glances Y/N stole, her warm hand in his, the scent of the leather seats mixed with the vanilla perfume that she wore.

Y/N groaned as she stretched in her seat, still not letting go of Tom’s hand,

“Just a while more, love.” Tom smiled as he made the final turn to the gated community.

“You would think three coffees would sustain me,” She yawned again, Tom laughed, checking the surroundings before he lowered the window, to enter the code at the gate.

“I think you have built up a tolerance, given the journeys we have taken.” He suggests, as she shrugs, the gates clang as the automated system opens them inwards, the driveway lined with shrubbery dividing the entry and exit lanes, they entered as the road

“I think it is because I drink the coffee, but somebody does not let me drive.” Y/N gives him a mock glare.

“Well, see you driving is an emergency skill.” Tom knew one day he would hear a telling off from her,

“I can’t stay fully awake on coffee anymore.” She whined.

“I think the rush should suffice.” Tom shrugged.

“You just think I’ll damage the Jaguar.” “No…”

“You answered a little too quickly, Mr. Hiddleston, the jury is looking at you suspiciously.” Y/N narrowed her eyes.

“Will the jury give me another chance? I will let the jury drive, I promise.”

The car stopped in front of another gate, Y/N looked out as the house came into view, the bottom half obscured by the wall covered in vines. Tom lowered his window again, entering yet another numeric code into a keypad.

The smell of rain soaked soil surrounded them, Y/N smiled at the familiar comfort.

The gate slid open, the house was two floors, solar powered lights around the cobbled pathway casted a sleepy yellow shadow along the white walls.

When the garage opened, Y/N was surprised to find another car there, protected under a cover. All the safe houses previously had the bare minimum and definitely not another car.

“Is this a safe house?” She turned back to Tom, he nodded, parking the car with familiarity.

“Come on, there is something you should see.” He gave a smile that sent butterflies through her insides.

Y/N gathered her, bag as she stepped out of the car, Tom joined her, hand on the small of her back.

He led her through the kitchen entryway, she glanced around as Tom switched on dim lights, each room they went through, warm toned interiors and a sprawling L shaped dark couch graced the living area.

“I want to show you something, but if you wan to rest it can wait for tomorrow.” He was standing on the second step of the small flight of stairs, his hand intertwined with hers, she looked up at him, offering a small smile.

“I don’t want to wait.”

Tom grinned, bounding up the stairs making her laugh at the speed with which he took her to the corner most door on the second floor.

He checked his watch, nodding to himself as he opened the door.

Tom led Y/N out onto the vast area of the terrace, which gave them a view of the cloud covered hills, the sky was brightening as dawn crept over them, the area was as big as the entire expanse of the house.

“Okay, now” Tom turned them, Y/N set her bag down next to their feet, his arms encircled her waist, turning her towards the right, he rests his chin on her shoulder, his beard tickling her skin as she giggles.

“Tom, what,—,” Y/N’s words are cut short, as the sun breaks through the cloud cover, the sky lightens in an ombre from deep navy to purple hues to a yellow orange glow. The clouds descend, a soft fog encircling the home.

The sight takes the breath out of her, as Tom’s arms tighten, he’s smiling at her awed expression, Y/N brings one hand up to cup his cheek as she watches, giving him an awed smile as she returns to looking at the breath taking sunrise taking place.

“It’s breathtaking.” She mumbles, as Tom’s soft lips press against her cheek.

“Welcome to the haven, my haven.” He whispers as she turns in his arms.

“Wait you, we—, Tom!” Y/N’s at a loss of words, then it hits her, she is at a lost of words apart from three.

She cups his face in between her palms, “I love you.”

Tom’s lips part his blue eyes searching for some sense of reality because this seems very dreamlike, “What did you say?” He asks, wanting to hear her again.

“You don’t have to say them back, I just, I wanted to say the words, I love you, Tom.” Y/N pales a little when he still is taken aback, her worries are put to rest as he kisses her, pulling her closer.

Tom breaks the kiss, resting their foreheads together, their breaths in soft pants.

“I love you, Y/N.” He says, voice breaking slightly, at the emotion that has overcome him, the birds chirp around them, as the world begins awakening.

Y/N presses her lips against his once again, smiling widely as she pulled away.

“Who needs coffee?” She mutters, Tom laughs.

They slowly retreat back into the home, lips meeting every few minutes and shared laughter if they miss a step, Tom leads her to the room on the first floor. It resembles his room back home but the feeling is more homey.

Tom stands behind Y/N as he watches her take in the room, worried if she doesn’t like the way it is set or the random desk in the corner or the small ottoman.

“It feels warm, warmer than your room back there.” Y/N holds out he hand, turning to him, a smile on her face.

“I’m glad you like it.” He says smiling, he walks towards the edge of the bed sitting down, having her stand between his legs.

“I love you.” He tells her again, pulling her so she’s straddling him with her knees on either side of his legs.

“I love you.” She tells him.

Their lips find each other’s again, as their hands begin exploring with a new found affection, warmth surrounding them.

Tom’s hands find their way, under her shirt, thumbs brushing along the skin of her back, he can taste the remnants of her lip balm on his tongue, she moans into the kiss her fingers tugging on his hair, wanting more.

Y/N tugs on his shirt, they pull away to help discard the clothing, her fingers trail softly over Tom’s chest, she’d almost memorised every dip, every little indent, she left open mouth kisses from his temple to his jaw, over his neck, leaving the remnants of her affection over his collarbones.

Tom’s fingers kept trailing along her waist, sides over her abdomen, warm trails of fire blooming across the expanse of her skin. His lips left lingering kisses and love-bites over her sternum, making Y/N arch into him.

“Tom,” She spoke, a moan following, whimpering as she felt his knuckles dig into her flesh to take off her leggings,

“Need to stand up for me love,” He whispered, helping her up, and standing before her.

“You are so fucking beautiful, every single inch, every bit of skin,” He kisses her again, his hands gripping the waist band of her leggings pushing them down along with her knickers.

Tom places kisses over her inner thighs, his beard tickling the sensitive skin, Y/N looks as him, meeting his dark and hungry gaze, her hands on his shoulders for support. Tom’s fingers brush along her entrance, collecting the slick onto two fingers, sucking on them and humming.

“Sit.” He orders, making her spread her legs and blows upon her clit, it pulses in anticipation,

“Tom, please,” Her voice gravelly needy with anticipation.

Tom circles his tongue around her clit, as his fingers tease her entrance, he sucks on her clit as a finger eases into her, Y/N arches, gripping onto the sheets her breathing unsteady as the pleasure sends shockwaves through her.

Tom laps at her entrance, adding another finger, “Look at you so gorgeous, so wet for me, you taste so good.” He moans as she gets wetter as his words, her moans grow louder as her body shudders, his fingers move faster, curving to find the spot to driver her to the edge. His pace is relentless, Y/N can feel the curling heat gaining momentum as Tom brings her closer to it, her hips buck upwards, making his fingers curve over the spot,

“Fuck, To-Tom right, right there pleas—,” Her please are cut off by her moans as Tom continues circling his fingers over the spot, his tongue circles over her clit, the soft bedsheets are further crumpled as Y/N finds release over Tom’s lips and fingers, with a chorus of his name.

Tom hovers over her body, as Y/N comes down from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

“Good?” He enquires, licking his fingers clean of her; a movement he had done only months ago.

“Needy for more if I’m being honest.” She breathes in deeply, cheeks red, she can see the sheen of sweat on his chest, and by the lust in his eyes, he isn’t done with her yet. He strips himself of the remaining layers, cock in need of feeling her around him.

“Perfect, because I believe we have a much overdue rain-check.” Tom lowers himself, their chests touching as he kisses her again, one hand holding him up as the other makes her wrap her leg around his bare waist.

Y/N pulls away, “Do you have protection?” She cups his cheek, stroking it with the bad of her thumb, he leans into the soft touch.

“Yes,” Tom reaches over to the dark wood side table, retrieving the packet carefully opening it.

“Let me?” Y/N asks, sitting up slightly, hand held out and Tom can’t deny any request she makes, with her hair messed up, eyes so innocent, lips bruised by his kisses, fuck.

He hands her the condom, her hands reach for his length, thumb circling his tip spreading the pre-cum,

Tom watches her eyes darken, licking her lips as she pumps him, he groans at the contact, unable to help thrusting slightly at the contact.

“I want—,” She tries telling him she wants to taste him,

“Darling, my patience to feel you is thinning, I need you, I need to feel you. Stretch you so good, have you feel me for days. I will fuck your mouth just not right now, please.”

Y/N rolls the condom onto him, whimpering at the promise of his words, leaning back, Tom slowly teases her folds with his length, he brings one palm to her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger, having her arch up, he slowly eases into her.

Both moan simultaneously as he bottoms out inside her, her leg wrapped around his waist, he groans as she clenches around him.

“Tom, please, move.” Y/N’s voice is breathless, Tom nods, as he moves his hips, slowly, inching out of her he then thrusting into her, her nails dig into his biceps and back as he adapts a faster rhythm.

“You feel so good baby, fuc-fuck could be inside you all day.” Tom’s voice is at a low baritone reverberating through Y/N’s being as she feels a familiar coil tightening. Tom stops his movements, leaning against the headboard and having Y/N hover above him, his hands guide her hips and she moans as his tip brushes against her g-spot.

Tom’s mouth latches onto her nipple, his free hand tugging on the other hardened nub, Y/N rolls her hips, as his pubic bone, presses against her clit.

She begins moving the pace set by Tom’s hand on her hip, and she feels him everywhere, filling her up to the brim, Tom’s mouth, tongue, fingers, words all making her head clouded, the only motive is for them to feel the white hot blaze of their orgasms, her speed increases, Tom groans into her skin as he feels him self come close, the hand on her breast comes to her clit, rubbing circles.

Y/N throws her head back as the waves of her orgasm wash over her, “Tom, Tom, Tom, please—,”

He makes her continue her stuttered movements, before shifting them again, as he thrusts into her, chasing his own release and fucking her through hers. Tom comes with a cry of her name, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” His head buried in her neck, leaving hot kisses.

Tom lays at her side, still inside her, limbs entangled, breaths slowing down.

Tom, pulls out from her, hissing as she clenches around him,

“Sorry…” Y/N blushes, he kisses her cheek,

“I told you I’d stay inside you all day if I could, you agree.” Tom chuckles, discarding the soiled piece.

He pulls her close against him, her finger slowly trace patterns on his chest.

“I should tell you I love you more often.” Tom teases her.

“So should I,” She chuckled.

“I love you.” “I love you.”

Tom and Y/N laugh, unfading grins on their faces, and it feels as though the haven and home have finally come together.

——— ——— ——— ——— ——— ——— ———

“If you cooperate, I might spare your life.” Bones crack as he tilts his head to the side.

The blonde in front of him whimpers in her seat, nothing has happened but crocodile tears flow out of her eyes.

“Aw, sweetheart, are you scared? Of me?” Fox wonders as he takes a seat in the chair placed opposite to the bound female.

Cassandra only wails in response, Fox winces at the sound, irritated.

“I’ll let you live, should be something to consider.” Fox assures, smiling when she raises her head to look at him.

“What, what would you like to know?” Cassandra offers, sniffling.

“Do you have any safe houses?” Fox enquired,

“We’ve already checked those.” Valarie pipped up from the side, standing amongst his minions, she would roll her eyes if it never implicated her for disrespect.

Fox closed his eyes, fists clenched, “And it has been three months out of your actual allowed time limit, you’ve come up with nothing worthwhile.” He spits out, his eyes ablaze with anger, words still cold.

“We already—,” Valarie is cut off by Fox, “Miranda would like her daughter alive, I have no issues with you gone.”

Valarie stays quiet, Fox turns back to Cassandra.

“There are about six scattered all over, I can get you the addresses, all in my phone.”

“See now this is efficient work.” Fox glares at Valarie, as Cassandra’s phone is handed to him.

He turns it to Cassandra, “Password, darling?”

“3468.” She mutters then guides him to the hidden notes folder where the locations are Fox dictates the addresses to his employees who then exit.

⁃ T.H. Safe Haven

The line catches Fox’s eye.

“And what might this be?” He turns the phone to Cassandra, she gulps,

“Tom had a property, he bought it without anyone at the facility knowing.”

Fox raised an eyebrow.

“I was snooping on his computer once… I saw the emails so I noted the address.” Cassandra dropped her head, sighing he hadn’t seen the messages about Raconteuse being turned over to MM by her.

“Hmm, you are quite intriguing Cassandra.” Fox comments as he opens up the messages application, a drug deal here, a job being set up there, he stops when he finds the thread where she turned over his Raconteuse to MM.

“Oh, Cassandra you have been bad. Whatever did Raconteuse do to you?” Fox throws the phone to the side having no more usage for it.

The blonde’s head shot up, she glared at Fox, “She tried taking Tom from me!”

Fox laughs, “She tried taking Tom?”

“Yes, he’s so, so, so, in love with her ever since MM hired him to bring her then keep tabs on her.” Cassandra explains as bile fills her mouth.

“Did you not drug the man? Trying to assault him?” Fox stands, a person bringing a water bottle on a tray.

“I did, because he doesn’t realise he loves me and wants me, Raconteuse is just a fucking nobody, a slut using him. Should have taken her out when I had the—,” Cassandra cuts her angry rant off when his hand collides with her cheek.

“You know, I thought you would be an asset, but you are a just really horrible human being. I don’t tolerate assaulters.” Fox brings the water bottle in his hand, and signals one bound to be undone.

“Drink.”

Cassandra drinks the water, parched and finding relief in the cool liquid. She hands back the empty bottle.

Fox’s man takes it.

“I hope you find yourself in the worst of hell’s punishments, Cassandra.”

“Wha—,” Her mouth begins frothing as her body convulses, Valarie once would have cried, or wailed for her but not after the truth was revealed.

Fox offers Valarie a handkerchief,

“Some memories even make us weep a single tear for horrible people. Remember this moment and let it scar your heart to not weep again.” He tells her, then leaves the room.

"I'm getting closer, Raconteuse." He whispers to the picture of her.

-----

AN: so they finally did it, tom and y/n finally said the three words, only took like 55k+ words lol

tagging these beautiful people, a big thank you for always giving my work love: @arcticclouds @confused-clary @fire-in-her-veinz @fa-me@littlemissslytherinprincess @stevesmewmew @anemois-hiraeth@thegoldenhood @severuslovebot

P.S. taglist is open! send me a message! also requests are open as well!

thank you for reading!

love, frostironfudge

note: Please understand no part of my work should be reproduced, plagiarised, distributed, translated without my informed consent.

[mona-stay]

Prompt - Sweetpea splits up with Josie but he's in love with y/n his long time FRIEND

Pairing Sweetpea x reader (riverdale)

Warning - none really, some angst and maybe worthless feelings

Story

 

Sweetpea had spent most of the night drinking as his relationship with Josie McCoy had ended; he knew it was just a summer fling, but it still hurt in a small way.

For a while Josie had been a distraction for Sweetpea, well every girl he'd dated was. Although he'd never admit it out loud, he was in love with someone else: someone who, in his eyes, was too good for him. She was beautiful, funny, smart, and knew Sweetpea better than anyone. Fangs included. So instead of showing his feelings, he hid them; having strings of one-night stands to block her out of his head and heart. Not one ever worked.

Now he found himself drunk, and once again, on the steps of y/n’s home not knowing what he was gonna say when she opened the door. 

"Looking for me?", her voice behind made him jump.

Turning to face her, he smiled seeing her lifting up a full bottle of vodka. 

"Wanna be my drinking partner?" he shouts; mentally kicking himself for sounding dumb. Why did he always look like a goof around her? He cursed to himself.

You smile back: "Sure", before finding your keys and opening the door. 

This wasn't unusual Sweets. often turned up drunk, looking for his favourite drinking partner. This never bothered you before. In fact, you loved being around Sweetpea, loved being the key word. However, it had been clear for years that he saw you as a friend; a good and close friend, but a friend all the same. There had been numerous times when Sweetpea would put an arm around your shoulders calling you his best friend.

You'd learnt to live with him calling you a best friend, to compartmentalise your feelings. For a while it worked. That was until his fling with Josie started. It hurt seeing them together, maybe because it was more than a one-night stand. Maybe he liked her more than he said.

Mid-way through the summer break you found yourself distancing yourself from Sweetpea and others in the group, taking on more shifts at the Wyrm.

"I thought you'd be home by now?" he asked, while getting glasses out of the cupboard. His pouring out two extra-large drinks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"I've been working the night shift this week. I took Hogeye for 100 in pool tonight". You laughed showing off your winnings, before putting them away.

Pea shook his head. "We really should team up in doubles", he joked, while taking a big swig from his glass.

"You know there would no one to give you a challenge if we did", you teased back. 

That was the thing: no matter your feelings, you both fell into friends mode, in spite of what was going on in your head.

"I'm a bit surprised to see you. I thought you and the Northside lot were camping?" you asked, sensing something was up, as he had drunk more than half of his glass before you had even started.

He rolled his eyes with a snarl across his lips. "Nar... Josie and I were over, so there's no point being there. Who cares? She was just a bit of fun". To anyone else, this would have sounded convincing, jerky even. Others would have bought the Playboy line, but you could see the hurt in his eyes; most likely the same look from which you spent years hiding.

"She's a fool. You deserve someone real, not some fake Northside diva!" you say, trying to sound supportive, yet not too happy with the news.

He finished the rest of his drink, one last massive mouthful. Squinting his eyes as the alcohol burnt his chest on its way down, he said: "couldn't agree more, but who cares? I'm over her".

He wasn't lying. He was over Josie in a way; annoyed at how she blew him off for sure. The emotional connection was gone.

The topic of Josie was dropped pretty much then. For the next few hours, the pair of you listened to music, having your usual debate over which bands were better. You told him about things at the Wyrm: how you'd started taking on the late shifts, helping Hogeye kick out the drunks who wouldn't leave really could be your new calling in life.

"I would have loved to have seen you chucking out Danny. 'Bet he was fuming... " he said, chuckling, while imagining you push a six feet long Serpent out the bar. "What else 'been happening?" he asked.

"Well, two new girls did their Serpent dance. I'm surprised you missed it", you said, knowing Pea never missed a dance, "Showing support", he'd say in defence. Heck, for your dance he was front row and centre. His intense stare kept you focused, staring back at him while you moved and danced.

He laughed, asking if any were fit, earning an eye-roll from you. He was more drunk than normal, possibly giving him both courage and an excuse for his next comment: "never mind newbies. When are you getting back on that pole?" he asked, with a cheeky wink.

You raised your brows at him but couldn't hide the shade of pink your cheeks started turning. "Coz' I work the bar", you answer, not sure from where his comment came.

He stood up, changing the music to a different song. "Well, you're wasted behind a bar. You're one of the best dancers I know" he said, seductively holding out his hand to you. Again, this was something Sweetpea wouldn't dare do prior, even when drunk. But right now he was using it to fuel his actions he'd denied himself for so long.

You took his hand, unsure what was going on his head. He clumsily tugged you, trying to dance. You almost fall over his giant feet, but he caught you in his arms. For the next hour or so the pair of you danced, laughed, and finished Sweet pea’s bottle of vodka, as well as almost one of your own. You were happy; it was just like old times, minus Fangs and Toni.

Sweetpea had spent the past hour building up the courage to make his move even though he didn't exactly know what that was yet. He poured the last of the alcohol into glasses, watching y/n shake her hips, arms over her head. He watched intently as she turned, showing him a full view of her ass. He bit his lips, watching her move as sway. He was holding on to what little restraint he had to not go over and grab it. He smiled as she turned to face him, her eyes were glassy and bright with a smile to match. The song changed, and to his delight it was a slower, sexier one.

He came over close, putting his hands on your hips, moving with your rhythm. Although he'd done this before, something this time felt different. Maybe it was the way he was staring in to your eyes, or the wolfish smirk, which looked  like he was planning something. Or maybe the way it all made you feel. Your heart pound against your chest, your breathing had quickened. Just like putty in his hands.

Sweetpea thought it was now or never. He lifted his hand to your chin, tilting it up as he bent down to capture your lips with his. They were soft, as you always imagined they would be. For a second, you kissed him back, enjoying the thing you had craved for years. His hand, still on your hip, tightened, pulling you closer to him. His kiss deepened when you grabbed his shirt.

You both pulled away. Your mind was hazy with a mix of thoughts running through it at the same time. A few seconds on your head felt like eternity. All your wants here in your hands, yet some rational voice in your head reminded you of his recent break up.

Was this all it was, Sweetpea getting over Josie? Were you his rebound? If so, how will it affect your friendship afterwards? You'd rather not destroy the connection you had, for one night of everything you ever dreamed.

Sweetpea smiled, happy, until he studied your shell-shocked face. He was unable to read whether you liked it or not. A bit worried he moved in for a second kiss, the moment his lips touched he could feel you pushing him away. He took a step, looking confused. "We shouldn't do this", you said, in a low voice.

You saw him tense up, his jaw clenched, as well as his fists. It was only the look in his eyes that showed the sadness he was feeling. "Why?" he asked, through gritted teeth. His tone wasn't angry like he looked.

You swallow hard, partly for not believing what you were saying, wanting to just run back and kiss him again. "You've just split with Josie. I don't want to be your rebound girl. There are enough Southside sluts you can use for that", you say, trying to sound kind in hopes that he'd see your point. "I care about you enough to not let us wreck our friendship like this", you add.

The F-word was like a knife to his chest. You said it, proving his original thoughts, You'd never love him like he loves you. He nodded, not sure what to say, nor trusting his voice not to crack. Turning to finish his drink, he mumbled a weak apology before getting his jacket to leave.

You told him not to leave as he opened the door, but he just gave you a half-smile before walking out. When the door shut, you collapse on the couch, silent tears run down your face as you cradle a cushion. Your heart was screaming, "what have you done?"; your head still trying to think if it was the right thing to do. You went to bed thinking out of all the times you imagined kissing Sweetpea, you'd never imagined it ending with you crying alone.

Sweetpea wasn't feeling much better. He walked out the trailer park, your words running in his head. "Why did I have to kiss her?", he asked himself aloud before punching a beat-up street sign. The first punch felt good, so he hit it again and again until his stamina started to wear. His knuckles were grazed and cut. He opened and closed his fingers, the pain now noticeable. Sinking to the floor, his head in his knees, he finally broke down.

You didn't leave your trailer all of Sunday, not wanting to face the world after the kiss went wrong. However, on Monday, you had to work. Working meant the possibility of running in to Sweetpea. You wanted to see him, but didn't know what to say after pushing him away. The thought of it made you cringe, still regretting your actions.

Outside you can hear the buzz coming from within the bar. Maybe work was a good idea. If it's busy, you won't have time to think. You walked though the door, the first person you saw was him. It didn't help Sweetpea being one of the tallest in there, standing at six-feet three inches. 

He saw you walk inside. Turning back to the pool table, he hit his ball with more force than necessary. He looked up seeing you head to the hatch near to bar, dumping your bag. The sounds of Toni's protest made him look back. "I don't know what's wrong with you today, but if you keep hitting balls like that, you're gonna crack one", she moaned.

He didn't answer her, just took his next shot; it was softer than the last, but the sound of the hit was anything but calm. To add more annoyance to his mood, Cheryl had to open her mouth: "Why's he throwing a fit after my girl, Josie, dumped his ass?", in a sassy remark.

Annoyed, he growled:  "I'm not throwing anything. It was a summer fling. Summer is over now. I couldn't care that it is over", he yells, unconvincingly. Right now he wasn't bothered what they all thought, as long as they didn't know the truth.

Fangs asked what happened but Sweetpea ignored the question, focusing on the game which he was in the middle of. When he didn't answer, Cheryl took delight in spilling the gossip to Fangs. He tried ignoring them but Cheryl's voice was hard to block out, especially when she said things like: "Josie was slumming it with him. A last bit of fun before New York", and "becoming a star, she had to drop the dead weight". With each comment his knuckles got tighter and tighter around his cue.

You walked over with a tray of drinks Toni had ordered. You asked Hogeye to take it, but he wouldn't. The closer you got, the more you heard Cheryl’s comments, basically saying that he wasn't good enough.

On the best of days you didn't like Cheryl; she's loud, obnoxious, and full of herself. You only tolerated her because of Toni's and Jughead's relationships with her, but right now you were struggling to keep your cool.

You could tell Sweetpea was struggling too, his face was like thunder, his knuckles as white as rocks. You wanted to go and tell him that it's okay, to ignore her, but the way he looked at you made you decide against it. You placed the tray down giving Pea a small smile, but he didn't return it. You wished it were because of Cheryl, but knew deep down it was a knock to your friendship.

"Well I have been telling her all summer that she's better off without him", you heard Cheryl say. That was it, you couldn't take any more of her slating him. You span around to face the venomous redhead. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" you snap.

She looked at you with her faux shook, "excuse moi?" she asked in her fake and bitchy way.

You stepped closer so she couldn't mistake you this time. "You heard me. How dare you come here making out he's not good enough." Your arm shot up, pointing at Sweetpea. "He's the nicest, funniest guy going. Your diva-slut mate wasn't slumming it, he's the realest guy that fake bitch will ever have. If you think she was, what does that say about you and MY girl?" This time you gesture towards Toni who was now walking back from the bathroom, unaware as to why her mate and girlfriend looked like they were about to come to blows.

Sweetpea watched you go off at Cheryl, a mix of happy and hurt, listening to you defend him. The argument in front of him faded as he was lost in his own trail of thoughts, only broken when he saw Cheryl slap y/n. That was after you had shoved her back, hard. He dropped his cue, but before it had even touched the floor, she punched Cheryl back.

Both girls attacked each other. Toni dragged Cheryl away, while Sweetpea took you out back to cool off, mainly because he was the only one strong enough to drag you out the bar and handle the kicks or hits that landed his way; something neither of you were a stranger to, what with the past bar fights and scraps.

 

You paced outside, a string of insults at Cheryl coming from your mouth. Sweetpea just watched you in silence, not knowing if he should walk back inside or not. He also wanted to know why you went off like that too. Yes, you'd had fights before, never having started one like that though. When you finally finished ranting, he asked "what was all that about?"

"What? She's vile, and after hearing her talk shit about you... like you're nothing, made my blood boil. Plus, it's about time someone gave her a nose job", you shout back, still angry from the small fight. "The bigger question is: why did you just stand there, and let her talk trash about you in your own place?", you ask, folding your arms.

He shrugged his shoulders in reply, "why bother? It's Blossom, she talks trash about everything; not something to get worked up over. Ignoring her hurts her more", he said, hoping you'd buy his excuse.

You didn't. You knew him better: the sly look to the side, the way he slid his hand down the back of his head. His signals. You took a step forward.

"Yeah that might be true, but there is something you're not saying", you point out.

He doesn't look at you, keeping his eyes to the ground he mumbles, "nothing". He goes to turn away back inside, when you grab his arm. He stopped, his body tense, still not turning back to look at you. So instead, you walked in front of him.

When he finally looked at you, the hurt was visible in his eyes; the same look he gave you when he left that night, the same eyes he had when you entered the bar, and when you first brought the drinks over.

"I've known you for as long as I can remember. I know something's wrong, and you'd normally tell me what's on your mind. Now please stop looking at me like I killed your dog", you plead.

"She's right", he says, whispering. Your brows crossed; you couldn't believe your ears. Was he really saying that he believed those things? "what do you mean?", you asked confused.

"Cheryl, that bitch. She's right about me: I'm not good enough! Tell me something that wasn't a lie! I am trailer trash, a worthless gang member; no real money or goals", he shouted back, releasing his pent-up anger he'd held in all night.

You pushed him hard. "Look. Josie thinks she's the next Beyoncé. You don't need a girl like that. You're more than ten times good enough for girls like Josie and Cheryl, for that matter. You deserve someone who see how incredible you are Pea, someone who will love you the way you are", you say, hoping he'd listen and believe you. You meant every word and wanted to show him.

He snorted and rolled his eyes at you. "I couldn't care about Josie; I never had any real feeling for her. She was something to take my mind off someone else. I wasn't good enough for too, so there's no point trying to make me feel better", he stated with a raised voice. By the time he said the first something his tone lowered and wavered.

You wanted to tell him you weren't lying. What you said was how you felt, how you wish you hadn't denied his kiss, and most importantly who the girl was. But none of that came out. The most your brain mustered was: "she's an idiot".

Sweetpea passed you. "Yes you are", he whispered to himself, not realising you'd heard it. You turned around so fast it could have given you whiplash.

"What did you say?", you asked.

Sweetpea froze. He didn't know what to say. He didn't think it could hurt anymore than being rejected, so he decided to tell you, and suffer now rather than let it drag on as it had.

"You! You rejected me. The one person I loved more than anyone. I could deal with being friends for so long, but no matter what, you would be on my mind. I knew you were too good for me, so I tried sleeping with other girls. I started a fling with Josie but none of them made me feel the way you do. I thought, well nothing else worked, so maybe just coming to tell you... but I couldn't see how, so I just kissed you. I was right, I you didn’t want me too.”

He didn't mean to say as much as he did, but once he started, it all just came out. He looked at you, when you didn't speak, seeing a smirk on your face, almost like you were holding in a laugh. "Oh, now you're gonna laugh at me. Reject then laugh"

You put a hand on his chest, shaking your head. "I'd never laugh at you and I'd never reject you because you're not good enough. I did it to protect my own feelings. I couldn't be a rebound. I love you too much for it to be a one-time thing", you say with a smile.

It took a second or two for your words to sink in. His eyes widened "did you just say...?" but never finished.

"I love you, yes" you say for him. "I always have, Pea, but never thought you liked me. Let's face it, I'm no Josie, nor the type you normally go for", you say, hearing how weird it came out.

He brought his face in close to yours, cupping your cheek in his hand. "No, you're better", he said before kissing you. When it ended, Sweetpea smiled. You looked up at him, seeing the joy. "If I do it again, you're not gonna say no this time", he joked.

You shook your head, leaning in for a second kiss, proving to him you would never reject or push him away again. This one was more passionate than the first. He held you close, one hand on your back, the other in your hair. You wrap yours around his neck, tugging on the hair your fingers reach.

When he felt the small pull, he deepened the kiss, his lips moved in sync faster and harder, but with a tenderness too. When he pulled away, you felt a little breathless. "Wanna get out of here?" you say, biting your lip to remember the feel of his.

"Thought you were working?" he asked; giving you a devilish smirk, knowing perfectly well neither of you were going back inside.

"Nar, we can feed Hogeye some line like I needed to calm down after that Blossom bitch. Hooking up with a sexy Serpent was just an added bonus", you giggle. You walked off towards his bike. He slipped his arm around your waist. He couldn't believe his dreams had come true. His only regret? That he'd not said anything sooner.

[firebendersimp]

life changing field trip

summary: Zuko really does take people on the most interesting adventures

word count: 1320

a/n: so this was a request but i kinda added onto it so it was originally a ‘there was only bed fic’ but now it’s a fake dating spy fic and a ‘there was only one bed fic.’ 

“It’d be really helpful if we had someone on the inside to help us break through the borders,” Sokka said as he looked over a map of the earth kingdom city you were trying to free from the fire nation.

“Like a spy?” You questioned and his eyes lit up with excitement.

“Yeah, exactly! We need a spy! Thank you so much for volunteering for this mission, Y/n!”

“Wait no I didn’t-” However your protests went unheard as Sokka laid out a plan for this spy mission. “But Sokka we can’t just send Y/N into the city by herself. It’s too dangerous.” Katara glanced over at you with a look of concern.

“I know, that’s why Zuko’s going with her.” 

“I- I am?” He looked as bewildered as you felt as he leaned over you to try and get a better look at Sokka’s ‘plan’. You knew why Sokka had chosen Zuko, a couple weeks ago you had made the misguided decision to tell him about your crush on the fire nation prince.

“This is so unfair. Why does everyone but me get to go on a life changing field trip with Zuko?” Toph complained from where she was sprawled out on the ground.

You crossed your arms, shooting a glare at Sokka, grumbling “It better not be ‘life changing.’”

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it-”

“I can choose not to go?”

“NO, Y/n you’re taking all the fun out of this! I’ve never gotten to plan a spy mission before.” You shared a look with Zuko as Sokka whined, he was enjoying this mission far too much.

Sokka straightened up, clearing his throat, “Anyway as I was saying before I was RUDELY interrupted,” He paused, shooting a glare at you, “You and Zuko will be impersonating a high ranking fire nation husband and wife.”

Your eyes widened, “Husband and wife as in a couple? Like dating?” 

“As in married actually, but yeah you can pretend to be in a relationship for a couple of days, right?”

Zuko answered before you could finish processing your thoughts, “Of course. I mean it shouldn’t be too hard.”

You were painfully aware of Zuko’s hand on your lower back as he handed the forged invitations over to the guard, who didn’t even glance at them, before stepping aside and letting you in. 

Zuko leaned down, his breath hitting the back of your ear as he whispered,“They’re not expecting trouble, we can use that to our advantage.”

“Or maybe that guy’s just really bad at his job.”

He nudged you with his shoulder, “That’s the commander over there, the information we need is most likely in his office. We just need a distraction so we can search for it.”

Your response died in your throat as the commander spotted you and began marching over to you. Zuko must have sensed your nerves as he grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and reassuring rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

 “Ah you must be General Sorak.” He paused, his gaze shifting over to you, “And who is your guest?”

Zuko smiled at the commander, introducing you as his wife with the fake name Sokka had come up with. The commander smiled brightly at you before addressing Zuko again, “You’re visiting us during a very joyous time, in fact we’re throwing a masquerade ball tomorrow night to celebrate our victory. A maid will be over soon to show you to your room.” And with that he left, disappearing down a dark corridor. You glanced at Zuko out of the corner of your eye, “We’re staying for the ball, aren’t we?”

He shot you a playful grin, “Why the long face? Surely dancing with me can’t be that terrible of a fate, Love?” You turned to look at him only to immediately forget what you were going to say when you realised exactly how close he was. You felt light headed as he moved closer, his lips ghosting over yours only for him to abruptly pull away to speak to the maid you hadn’t noticed. His arm slipped around your waist as you followed the maid down the dark hallway to your room. Sending her a thankful smile over your shoulder as Zuko all but dragged you into the room. You felt your heart drop to your stomach as you took in the room, specifically the lone bed that stood in the centre of the room. Oh Sokka was going to be a dead man for forcing you to go through this.

It was nightfall before you knew it and now you were standing in front of the door to your room trying to convince yourself to go in. It had gotten to the point where you had seriously started considering if anyone would notice if you just slept outside when the door swung open revealing Zuko’s form leaning against the doorframe, “How long have you been out here?” You grimaced, shrugging at him, slipping under his arm and into the room. He closed the door, leaning against it, “What were you doing out there?”

“Oh you know, just thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at his lips, “About what?”

“Nothing.” You could feel the heat rushing to your face under his intense stare.

“So you stood out there for at least an hour just thinking about nothing?”

“Yes?” He pushed himself off the door, flopping down on the bed as his gaze followed you around the room.

You walked around to the other end of the bed, reluctantly lying down next to him.

Somehow you didn’t even notice your body subconsciously shifting closer to him until you were practically on top of him. His arm slipped around your waist, tugging you closer as you rested your head on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“You took all the pillows so I’m using you as one.” Absentmindedly tracing shapes on his chest as you answered him.

“Dance with me.” You tore your eyes away from the crowded ballroom to meet his gaze.

“Hate to disappoint but I can’t dance.” You gave him a tight lipped smile before returning to surveying the room. However you discovered that he wasn’t about to give in that easily as he stepped in front of you, taking your hands in his. “Then just let me lead.”

“An interesting thing to be stubborn about.”

He released your hands as his hands found your waist, gently tugging you closer to him, “I just want to dance with my wife, is that so much to ask?”

He took your silence as an answer, pulling you onto the dance floor with him, intertwining your left hand with his as his other hand settled on your lower back. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as he pulled you closer, “Rumour has it… I make you nervous.”

“W-who told you that?” He was almost uncomfortably close and you prayed that he couldn’t feel your heart racing.

“That’s not really the point, is it Sweetheart?” He leaned down slightly, his lips ghosting over yours for a brief moment before he pulled back.

You’d ended up on the other side of the room somehow and then he was lacing your fingers together and pulling you down the dark hallway and into an empty room.

“Where are we?”

“Commander’s office.”

You found the files detailing the city’s weak points pretty quickly, Zuko had been right, they weren’t expecting trouble.

“Zuko, come on, let’s go.”

“Wait I just need to do something first.”

“Wh-,” Whatever retort you had went unheard as his lips were suddenly on yours, kissing you passionately, your hands wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer.

Sokka had a smug grin plastered on his face as Zuko helped you up onto Appa’s saddle, “Soooo how was the mission?”

“It was.... Life changing.”

Taglist: @fromthewatertribe​ @akiris​

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff. 

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

#

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

[procrastinatorimagines]

Familiar

Fandom: Chicago Med / One Chicago

Character/s: Will Halstead x Reader

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 1,481

Request:  Hi there, can I get a Will Halstead x reader imagine, please? Where the reader is a childhood friend and he used to only see her as his little brother's friend, nothing more despite the reader having a crush on him. When he transfers to Med, he bumps into this gorgeous doctor who looks familiar but he doesn't know who she is as she refuses to tell him her name and he keeps flirting with her. Until one night at Molly's when Jay finally tells his brother who she really is. Ending up to you. TQ x

Moving away from Chicago had been one of the most difficult decisions of your life, but it’d been worth it. You loved your home, but forging a path for your self in a new city had been rewarding, and it’d turned you into the person you were today.

Even so, stepping through the doors of Chicago Med, now an attending physician, you felt a sense of pride and... relief. You may have come a long way, but there was no place like home. 

You spotted a doctor on the other side of the room, red hair making him stand out as he mulled over something on a tablet. It’d been years since you’d seen Will Halstead,; you and Jay had been close friends in school and you’d had a not so subtle crush on his older brother, not that he’d ever recipricated those feelings of course. Still, it was good to see him again, and he had no idea that you were even a doctor now, let alone that you were back in Chicago. 

You’d drifted from the Halstead’s when you moved away, something you’d always regretted, and you’d reached out to Jay when you knew you were coming home to try and reconnect, but you’d wanted to surprise Will your first day at Med.

“Everybody listen up!” A woman’s voice yelled, bringing you back to reality as she got everyone’s attention, “there’s been a bus crash on the freeway, ambulances will be arriving any minute, it’s going to be a busy day,” she explained and you saw everyone rush around as you quickly threw your stuff in the doctor’s lounge and gloved up.

So much for any introductions on your first day, straight in the deep end it was. “Newby, sorry I can’t remember you name,” that same nurse who’d just spoken, her name tag told you she was Maggie Lockwood, came over to you quickly, “I want you to take cases with Doctor Halstead today, he’ll show you the ropes,” she gestured to Will, who was on his way over just as the first paramedics burst through the doors. “Treatment one!” Maggie told you both as you made your way to the first victim.

“I’m Doctor Will Halstead-” he began to introduce himself, did he not know who you were? You were just about to respond when your patient began coding, you had more important things to worry about. 

And so began one of the longest days of your life. 

-

You and Will had spoken a lot through out the day, but it had all been medical, you’d been far too busy for proper introductions or breaks of any kind, and by the time you made your way into the doctor’s lounge you took a seat on the sofa and had a long drink of water, wiggling your toes and rolling your ankles as your feet throbbed.

“Hell of a day, but you handled it like a pro,” Will commented, wandering in and going to his locker, “welcome to Chicago,” he laughed and you smiled, realising that he really did have no idea who you were.

“I’m actually from Chicago originally,” you told him, standing up and putting your things away as he looked back at you.

“Oh yeah, where abouts?” He asked curiously.

“Canaryville,” you replied, having way too much fun teasing him about this. Did he seriously not remember you at all? 

“Me too!” He said excitedly, “what a coincidence,” you could barely contain yourself at this point but you held it together, letting him finish up at his locker. “Oh, sorry, I actually never got your name,” he continued, looking back at you apologetically as you laughed.

“You know what? That one I’m going to let you figure out,” you told him, finding his puzzled expression amusing.

“So you’re not going to just tell me?” He asked and you shook your head, he mulled it over for a second before grinning, “would you tell me if I took you out for a drink?” You blinked, taken back by his response, your old crush on his flaring up at the way he was regarding you.

“You don’t even know my name and you’re asking me out?” You definitely hadn’t expected this, but you were curious to see where it was going.

“Kind of feels like I already know you,” he answered honestly, looking you over again like he just couldn’t quite place you. Good, you thought, deciding to keep messing with him.

“Uh huh, you use that line on all the girls?” You teased, grabbing your coat as he kept staring at you.

“Molly’s, it’s a bar we all go to, great atmosphere and good drinks if you’re interested,” he suggested. 

Were you really being asked out by Will Halstead? “...well I could a drink after the day we’ve had,” you decided, wanting to play this out as long as you could.

“Great, I’ll see you there,” Will grinned, another doctor coming in and requesting his help with something before he went home.

You waved him off and walked out the hospital smiling, unable to believe what had just happened. Maybe not telling him who you were was unfair, but he was the one who’d forgotten you, so you didn’t feel all that bad as you headed home to get ready.

-

You’d applied a little more make up than usual, and your top was a little lower than the kind you would have usually worn in this situation, but as you stepped into Molly’s and saw Will at the bar, and the way he was looking at you as he took in your outfit, you knew you’d made the right decision.

“Hey Will,” you greeted him as you took the seat he’d saved for you.

“Hey... I’ll greet you with your name but I still don’t know it,” he hinted and you laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, I get it, drink first,” he surrendered, letting you order whatever drink you wanted and you settled in to chat.

“You always ask out women you don’t know?” You inquired as you received your drink.

“Do I need to know a beautiful woman’s name to ask her out?” He flirted, continuing as you took a slow slip of your drink, trying not to get too flustered, “especially when I’ve spent the day watching her take care of patients left, right and centre, you were practically superwoman in there,” he finished, clearly enjoying the red that had crept into your cheeks. Damn your awkward teen self for still letting Will Halstead have this affect on you.

“Oh so your plan is to flatter me into telling you my name huh?” You challenged and he shrugged.

“Is it working?” He tried.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, looking away from his intense gaze and into your drink.

Will looked about to say more when he was distracted by someone coming in behind you, looking back a little to see Jay entering and walking over. Well, it was fun while it lasted, you thought, realising Jay was definitely going to blow your cover.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d be here tonight,” Will greeted his younger brother.

“Yeah well it was Y/N’s first day at Med and I heard it was a busy one so I thought I’d come see how she did,” he explained, and you couldn’t help but watch Will’s confused face as the gears in his head slowly started turning.

“Y/N?” Will repeated.

“Yeah, Y/N Y/L/N, remember?” Jay replied slower, clearly unsure why Will was confused at all.

“Oh, Y/N, of course,” Will clicked, at least remembering you as a child, “I didn’t realise she was back in Chicago.” Now Jay was definitely puzzled, looking between his brother and your very amused self before turning back to Will.

“...you do know she’s sat right in front of you, right?” He told him, laughing as the shock crossed his face as he looked at you again like it was the first time, actual recognition finally dawning.

“No way, Y/N... I didn’t recognise you,” he admitted as you burst out laughing.

“Oh yeah, I kind of noticed that,” you said as Jay clapped his brother on the back, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’ll be back in a bit then, looks like the two of you have more catching up to do,” Jay laughed, heading off in the other direction to a booth. You still couldn’t quite believe how long it had taken for Will to realise it was you.

“My bad,” he apologised, rubbing the back of his neck, “should we start again?” He offered and you nodded.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you agreed.

“Get you another?” He gestured to the drink you’d nearly finished, still looking at you in a way he certainly never used to.

“I’d like that.” If only your teenage self could see you now.

[amostimprobabledream]

And He Walks With Flames (Dabi x Reader) - Part One

They say humans, in a strange, ironic twist of fate, owe their magic to demons. A thousand years ago, they walked the earth, wreaking destruction and chaos wherever they tread. Humans were no more than meat for the slaughter, or glorified playthings for their amusement. The first generation of humans to fight back against their monstrous oppressors did so by a peculiar, ancient magic. A power that could repel demons and bring hope to all humanity. A terrible war raged for the fate of the world and the humans managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The demons were banished to their land of origin, sealed away in defeat. But seals don't last forever. While historians argue on how literal these legends may be, there is no denying that ancient creature have begun to stir, appearing in our world again with growing frequency. And soon there might- The last paragraph was torn away. "Oh, for god's sake," you tsk. Sunlight pours through the large, high window of your lecture room, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. Though you were engrossed in your book, once you look up, the spell is broken, and the clear sky outside once again has your eyes wandering to it. It seems that you are not the only one getting distracted, either - even the professor keeps tapering off at the promise of an afternoon outside in the gorgeous spring weather. "Well," the professor says, shuffling the papers in front of her. "That's all for today. Please revise over the material and we'll discuss it in further detail next time. You are all free to go." You're only too happy to comply, putting your things away and scrambling to your feet. Everyone else is hurrying to get outside, pouring down the stairs to the doors, chattering to one another as they go. Normally you love going to lectures, but it's just too nice outside to be cooped up indoors. You push open the doors and step outside, a muted sigh of pleasure leaving your mouth. Your university, the Royal Academy of Magic, has the reputation for being tough, but so far, you've been enjoying the work. Learning about the different faces of magic, its uses, and the history of it, it's all so very fascinating to you. You've been able to use magic since you were young, but it's studying it here that will really help you unlock your true potential, and hopefully give you a concrete idea of what to aim for with your career. So far there are so many options a magic-user might do that it's been a little overwhelming trying to decide. As you cross the lawns, grass crunching beneath your feet, you decide to swing by your dorm first to drop off your books - they may contain a lot of knowledge, but damn if they're not heavy - your mother pointed out that you've developed something of a slouch since you started studying here. "I'm back!" you call as you push open the door of your dormitory. "Huh?" Kendou looks up from her bed, where she has a couple of books sprawled out next to her head, notes scribbled in the margins of her notebook as she looks over her textbook. Her red hair spills down her shoulder, coming loose from its signature ponytail. "You're back early!" "Yeah, they let us out sooner than I expected," you reply with a shrug and a small laugh, dropping your bag on your own bed and stretching, wincing as a kink in your shoulder pops. "Oh, well, that's good timing, someone came by earlier with a message for you," Kendou says, pushing herself up into a sitting position, apparently deciding your arrival is a good a reason as any to take a break from studying. "Your mother wants you to go down to the Imperial Research Centre to get your father." "Did she come by here?" you ask in surprise. Normally your mother arranges to meet you after lectures or seminars if she wants to see you during the week, and she's a rather busy woman besides. "No, she left a message at the front desk and someone passed it along," Kendou shrugs. "But she also said you guys are doing something tonight, right?" "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten all about that!" you say, feeling silly that it could

possibly have slipped your mind - you love it when you get to go out for a meal with your parents and often it means one of them has some exciting news to share. "Thanks, Kendou, I'll head over there now." She grins and gives a little wave. “No problem!” You suppose it's fortunate that the Imperial Research Centre is only a short walk from the campus and that you're very familiar with the place, since your father's been working there for so long. Anyway, it's a pleasant walk, the way there is lined with rows of trees that are only a week or two away from growing from dark to light pink and shedding their blossoms. When the street is in full bloom, it's like there's been a wedding. You even find yourself humming as you walk, breathing in the subtle smell of flowers on the breeze, wondering to yourself if the blossom trees were planted before or after the buildings were founded, but either way, whoever was responsible for them made a good call. The Imperial Research Centre is a peculiar building, made of blue stone and with a roof that boasts four conical points, one in each corner, making it resemble a castle from bygone days just plopped in the middle of the city. There's an aura of mystery to it, too, hinting at the all-important, life-changing work that’s always going on inside. If ever cutting-edge technology is released to the public, odds were that the Centre had a hand in making it. The building is cooler on the inside than it is outdoors, powered by a system designed to spread cool or warm air throughout the entire building, depending on the system. You approach the front desk, wishing that you'd thought to bring a jacket, because it’s always cold in here during the warm seasons, and the receptionist glances up on you with a slightly dismissive expression on her face. It's probably because she thinks you're an overeager student or some hapless intern, it's very rare a researcher your age would be able to work here. "May I help you?" the receptionist asks in a cool, professional tone. "Yes, I'm here to see my father," you reply. "He's one of the vice executives here." You give his surname, and the woman pauses. Is that a trace of nervousness you can see? "He's downstairs in Containment Room 1A," she says, checking a sheet of paper on the desk, which is littered with various papers, random pieces of stationary and one of those magitech intercom systems that they use. They have something similar at the Academy too, though of course, the Centre get the most high-tech version of everything. "All right, thanks," you say, turning to head for the elevator. "Wait!" the woman cries out and you glance back, confused. "I'm sorry, but you can't just walk through here, especially to the lower levels! You don't have the clearance and it can be dangerous." You scoff in disbelief. You have visited your father here before, many times, and this has never been a problem for you before. You always just tell them who you are and then get a visitor's pass. You even know some of the codes to the doors, thanks to waiting around for your father to finish work so often. "Well, please can you have someone go fetch him for me?" you ask, going to reluctantly perching on one of the chairs in the waiting area. "Can't it wait?" the receptionist asks impatiently, and maybe it can, but her attitude is starting to piss you off, so you shoot her a frosty smile you've perfected after watching your mother pull a similar face at people who don't meet her standards. "No, it can't." The woman sighs but she dutifully presses a button on the intercom system and speaks quietly into it for a moment or two, while you idly pick at a loose thread on the chair you're sitting on. She then glances back at you, eyebrows raised. "A messenger has been sent down to speak to him. Hopefully he should be upstairs shortly." "Thank you so much." you reply sweetly, the last words with heavy emphasis. After that, the two of you sit in a mutually frosty silence, with the woman sorting through paperwork on her desk and occasionally

directing people who approach her desk to the correct floor (which seems redundant to you - why can't people just read the clearly printed sign on the wall next to her desk ?), while you flick through some glossy magazines without actually taking in a single word. But you're not leaving until you've spoken to your father. Minutes tick by and you start drumming your heel lightly on the floor, leg jiggling with impatience. You wonder if the woman just lied about sending a messenger down to the Containment Room in an effort to pacify you, in the hopes you'll just get bored and leave. You grit your jaw at the thought, ignoring how cold you're getting, sitting here doing nothing. After maybe ten minutes, a man in a lab coat approaches the front desk, leaning over to speak to the woman. "Kino, could you come with me a moment? Hannah can start her shift." "Oh, I'll be right there!" Kino says, flustered, getting out from behind the desk and following the man as he walks briskly down the corridor, without a backwards glance at you. No doubt her replacement will be along any moment - perhaps she's running late? But you don't plan on sticking around. As soon as the receptionist rounds the corner, out of sight, you spring up and walk briskly across the room to the elevators, stabbing the button and stepping through the doors. You don't bother to fight the smile that spreads across your face as the doors slide shut. ~ "Father?" There's always something slightly creepy about the lower floors. The orbs lining the walls that are designed to keep the machinery running in case of a power shortage cast an eerie glow in the corridors, washing everything with a pale blue light that makes it seem far colder than it actually is. It reminds you a bit of walking through a tunnel of ice. Your boots click on the stone floor as you follow the lights to Containment Room A1. Finally, you reach the double doors leading inside, flanked by two windows each side. You can see your father inside, his back to you, so you rap on the windows. Nothing. You try again with more force, hurting your knuckles, but he still doesn't turn around. Perhaps it's soundproofed, so whatever's out here can't disturb whatever's going on in there? You glance at the keypad next to the doors, but you've never been to this particular room before so the code for the doors on the upper level is unlikely to be the same one for down here. Then you see movement, shadows beneath the crack between door and floor, and the doors slide open with a mechanical swish and two scientists in lab coats come out, comparing notes and murmuring together excitedly. You slip inside before they can slam shut again, unwilling to stand outside in the chilly corridor for any longer than necessary. "Father!" you call out as you enter. But then you stop dead in your tracks. Ahead of you, trapped behind some kind of containment field...is a monster. "What-?!" you hear your father say in surprise at his daughter suddenly marching through the doors. "What are you doing in here?!" But you don't answer. You can't look away from what's in front of you, even if you wanted to. You know without being told that this is a demon, but it's certainly not what they looked like in any of your history books. A tall, humanoid being that is undoubtedly male and you can tell from where you’re standing that he’s tall. The demon's huge, black wings arch out from behind him, reminding you of a bat. Two horns jut out from a crown of spiky black hair, but aside from that, you're surprised by how… human he looks. Your cheeks warm up as you notice he is shirtless, peculiar burn marks covering over half of his body and seemingly crudely stitched together like a patchwork doll. Despite that, he's impressively sculpted, sinewy muscles on full display and you know that demons were said to be uncommonly strong. Your eyes drift further down, and you spot a whiplike tail wrapped around one leg, topped with a pointed barb at the end, like a club in a game of cards. His arms are in restraints and so are his

ankles, yet he doesn't seem stressed in any way, leaning against the back wall of his holding cell as though he's waiting for something. "What...is this?" you breathe out, finally turning to your father. "This is our latest research subject," your father replies beside you, also staring at the demon, though his expression is surprisingly somber, considering just how amazing it is that they have been able to capture and contain a demon. You've never seen a live demon before, and something tells you that the one before you certainly isn't any garden variety one. "Director Fuji is very excited about this. It's not every day you see a demon this high ranking." Slowly, the demon stirs, raising his head a little. You're perfectly safe outside the containment field, as well was the multiple other safety measures both inside the cell and out of it, yet the sensation of being watched makes your flesh break out in goosebumps. From beneath spiky fronds of hair, the demon's eyes - so blue they almost don't look real - stare right at you, his gaze alone rooting you to the spot, laying all your defenses bare and leaving you feeling bizarrely naked before that look. Watching you without once blinking or breaking his gaze, his lips part in a sneer to reveal two rows of teeth, the fangs sharp and white as an icicle. You find yourself holding your breath as your father speaks again. "Sweetheart, meet Dabi."

[slashingdisneypasta]

Peter Hayes x Reader || Oneshot

Title: The One and Only 

Notes: 

This is set after the Allegiant BOOK. So, SPOILER WARNING, Peter has used the memory serum. 

I love this boy. And his lack of fanfiction is a PROBLEM.

Plot: For whatever reason, you were in love with Peter, and he was with you. But... now he’s gone. And you have to try and forget. Which is hard to do when he’s still around. 

Finally, he wants to remember again. 

Warnings: There is SMUT. Its indicated where though, so you can skip it if you like ^^ But there is a bit of plot in the middle. Also, swearing. 

~~~

“Hey, Y/N!” Without my permission, my heart does a little jump, but it’s not for the person who said hey to me. Sighing, I take my hands from my laptop and straighten my back, turning to smile at Peter as he comes over to me and takes a seat on the bench right by me. I’m sitting sideways on it so my laptop can be set on it as well, so now I’m facing him without turning and trying to notice how differently he sits down, to how he used to. It’s like he completely started over, which he kind of did. His whole life, “Wiped away by chemistry,”. Including the way he walked, talked, and everyone who loved him. Well, person.

Me.

Which was a total dick move on his part, which was the last completely in-character thing that he did.

But, I can’t be mad at this boy in front of me, even if he looks miraculously similar to the dick in question. From his shiny hair to the tips of his greedy fingers. “Hi, Peter, what’s up?”

“Just finished another recall lesson. Still nothing,” He shrugs, uncaring. I already told him that this is what he wanted by taking the serum, to forget everything. So, he doesn’t really try in these lessons that he’s forced to attend, by government law. He believed me right away, weirdly. And has been acting so aloof about it since like somehow, he understands, which of course he can’t. Because he doesn’t know anything about himself or what he did to cause his old self to want to erase his memory! The whole thing, his whole response to this life changing event is aloof, and its infuriating. It’s the main thing that hasn’t changed at all about him, along with his appearance and his firm aversion to sprouts. He’s still really, really annoying.

“You know, I’m glad you’re respecting his wishes to not remember, but maybe you should try and remember some things. I mean, the techniques are working for some of the others, right? You said, uh… Katie, remembered something? Her choosing ceremony?” I watch, expression changing from thoughtful to deadpanned as he takes my can of coke and swigs from it like he spent 3 dollars on it. Once he’s done, I snatch it away from him and set him with a glare as I put it down on the other side of the bench, away from him. It causes a mischievous grin to pop onto his face and a laugh, and I try to forget the other times he’s made that face at me before he took the serum. Because that Peter’s dead, and I need to let him go like Four’s letting go of Tris. It’s not fair to this Peter.

In response to what I said, he just shrugs his shoulders again and look away to across the park- where Caleb is taking some photos. We drove here together, him and me. In fact, we’ve been doing a lot together. As two of the only ones from the original group who knows everything that happened, we have a connection. Peter’s next words rip my attention from Caleb though and makes me want to blurt out no, immediately. “Nah, I mean old me wanted this for a reason, right? I mean, I do kinda wanna know why he wanted this, but I figure he was some kind of depressed loser with self-esteem issues. That’s good enough for me, to keep going like this. Don’t wanna be that.”

Words have escaped me. I guess, I figured he thought something like that the whole time, but… hearing it out loud, in such a certain tone, hurts. My heart fights for me to tell him he’s wrong, at the very least, but my brain tells me to let him go on. Don’t interfere. He told you, before he took the serum, to let him go. Still be friends but let go.

He was being unfair, but that’s nothing new is it? The asshole.

I press my lips together after I get over the shock and horror and kiss my teeth. Deciding this has been enough ‘friendship’ for today, I quickly save my work and shut down my laptop, closing it. “Yeah, um, Peter. I gotta go. Caleb! Caleb, are you done? I’m having an Old Peter moment, so we have to go now.”  

It’s not exactly a code, but it is what he or I say when we’ve had enough of new Peter or we’re remembering too much and need to get away. We use it for Tris, too. Even though she really isn’t here anymore. Caleb immediately starts putting his camera in its bag and walking over, without a word.

Peter himself looks unruffled by it, having come to accept it easily that I won’t always be able to handle this. He isn’t exactly cold about it… in fact, he’s understanding. Nearly nice. It makes me feel even sicker. “Oh, by all means, go. I’m gonna stick around a while, see you guys later.”

Caleb nods to Peter, reaching us and turning to me. “See you, Peter. Y/N? Are you oka- Oh,”I pick up his wrist and start dragging him to the car. As soon as I’m in the front seat and I’m buckle din, I look back over to the bench Peter’s sitting at, and catch him watching me. Trying not to scowl at him, I turn back to the steering wheel and turn the ignition. “It’s never going to get easier, is it?” Caleb asks from the passenger seat after a while, looking up from his camera on which he was flicking through the pictures he took.

I shake my head, immediately, heart still clenched in annoyance and ageing heartache. I risk a glance at him, chewing the inside of my cheek. “Nope, don’t think so.”

With that, there isn’t else to say, so we just hold hands. Tightly.

~~~

At dinner later in the community dining hall, I sit with Four and listen to him talk about work for a while. It’s a little awkward, and a lot strange seeing as we don’t talk at all, most days. Not since Tris died, but we’ve never acknowledged that and it’s been months. We were never close in the first place, but once you’ve fought a revolution with someone, you become attached. He’s a staple in my life just as much as I am his, and that’s why our relationship is so strange.

Nodding in agreement to something he said about how ridiculous milk prices are at the moment and how frustrating that is as I skewer a piece of broccoli and place it in my mouth. I don’t foresee Four’s and my relationship ever changing, seeing as we’re so different and have very little common and I don’t particular want to be best friends with him -acquaintances with a non-personal past is nice. Comfortable, without any expectations but still the understanding that we’re here for each other. I like it, - so there isn’t much in thinking about how strange it feels, I just thought I would mention it once to myself. “Also, the toilet paper, you seen that??”

He groans, in response, causing a bubbling laugh to travel up my throat from my chest. “It’s killing me.”

“Killing you! I have a lower paying job then you, I’m gonna have to start using the cardboard rolls soon!” He shakes his head, the tiniest grin on his lips as he looks back down at his food. I feel triumphant. “It won’t be good!!”

“Oh, jeez… “

“Hey, we’re gonna have to rig Secret Santa so you can buy me some, okay?” I point my fork at him conspiratorially. “I’ll get you milk.” He chuckles this time, making me smile.  

For the rest of dinner, we continue like that. Talking about our shared financial issues and even switching over to Caleb at one point and how he’s sitting so pretty on his high paying job and his stockpiled toilet paper. God damn Brainiac’s…

It’s a good distraction from Peter, a few tables away.

~~~

When I finally get home, after hanging with some other friends after dinner just outside the community centre, goofing around I nearly suffer cardiac arrest as soon as I walk through the door.

Peter is not usually a menacing presence. But when he’s sitting in my dark apartment in the middle of the night and I had no idea he would be there, that fact changes! I don’t let myself scream, though. I hold my breath until the urge disappears.

After a moment, I let out the breath deeply and turn fully to him, dropping my scarf and keys on the hallway table before moving further into my home, past him. “Peter… “I growl, annoyed at him instantly. I don’t catch the mischievous smirk he sends my back, but I do feel it. “What the bleeding hell?!”

“Sorry if I scared you.”

“Oh, you are not.”

“True.” His cheeky tone puts my senses on high alert. Both because a cheeky Peter has always and will always be something to worry about, and because it used to turn me on. Still kinda doe, but that’s not something I’m about to admit to this version of him. We haven’t established that kind of relationship, nor will we ever. Sighing as my heartbeat slows down to its normal speed, I check the battery level on my pheon before putting it on charge. Then, finally, I sit down at the kitchen table across from Peter and settle into figuring out why the hell he’s here. And… also… how he got in??? The door was locked??? “Key was under the mat, Y/N. You should probably find a more secure hiding spot. Or at least more creative, jeez.”

“… okay… “I roll my eyes. He has a point. “So, Peter, uh… why are you here?”

“Well, I… “I watch while he suddenly droops in confidence and draws something on the table with his finger. These moments are really weird for me. Peter was always so confident before, even when he shouldn’t have been. Its cute, but so, so weird. He draws the thing, whatever it is, then looks around the room, making me remember that he’s never been in here before. An attempt made by me to keep him at a distance, which I guess now has been turned to shit. His shy moment ends, and one corner of his mouth perks up in a half smirk. “I like your place, could get used to it here. I wonder… why haven’t you ever brought me here before?”

“To keep you at a distance.” I say, bluntly. Theirs a slight shift behind his eyes at it, making his mouth turn down a bit in a tiny scowl and his green eyes look cold.

“Has Four been here?”

“Uh… yeah.” I don’t know why I should lie, or why he would look so serious about it. Before the serum, this was his murderous face, but I’m assuming it must be something different now. New Peter doesn’t have an evil bone in his body. “He has, but not for long. He just came to help me move in, hasn’t been back since though… why? Uh, you know what, I don’t care. Why are you here?”

His serious face intensifies. “I saw you with him tonight, and it brought back some feelings. So, I have a question.”

Making a confused, and slightly frustrated face, I shrug. “What kinda feelings?”

“Jealously.” Oh, he’s playing blunt too.

That does make me think, though. Whether this is unwanted memories coming back, or just a glimmer, a shadow of the old Peter coming back for a second. Because, yes, this is exactly something that he would feel before the serum. Any time I was with another guy, especially Four due to his particular dislike of the tattooed, ex Dauntless, he would get so jealous. Usually, it ended with that guy receiving some kind of punishment or dirty look, and me getting Peter attached to me for the rest of the day. Now, though, I should just tell him to ignore it.

But… “So, what’s your question?” I can’t pass up the chance he’ll become a little more the Peter I love. Even though I shouldn’t.

He looks dangerously focused into my eyes, which is also very Old Peter-like. “Were we a couple, before?”

Ahhhh, whoops. I don’t know what I thought he was going to ask, but for some reason this didn’t occur to me. If I tell him the truth, he might remember more then he should. Not to mention the fact that it’ll ruin whatever relationship we have now. And if I tell him a lie, he’ll know. “Umm, well… uh, yeah.”

I hold my breath, as soon as the last word escapes my lips. Have I ruined it? Will he remember, and hate me? He’s silent for just a moment, not giving me enough to time to think of a plan if he does remember, before he leans back in his chair, muscles relaxing.

“Well, that’s news.” Well, that’s not the reaction I expected or one I wanted! At least be sensitive to my situation, Peter! He looks away from me and to the side of the room, and I watch. How will he take this? Will he leave? “Thought I felt something. No wonder I wanted to be with you so bad.”

“Hm, and I thought the new you was just annoying.” I get up from the table and head for the door. “Well, you better go, before you remember anything else,”

“Well, I kinda want to now.”

Don’t be serious, don’t be serious, don’t be serious…

“No, you don’t.” You didn’t want to remember before, you’ll hate yourself even more if you miss out on your one chance to change yourself easily. You’re already doing so well! Don’t do this to yourself, please. “Just trust me, telling you that you don’t want that.”

He looks at me again, and his green eyes change again. He gets up from his seat and comes over to me, a little too close. Oh, no. he doesn’t think just because I was with the other him that he’ll get any action, does he? The jerk. I look up at his face, craning my neck since he’s so close, and feel my heart plunge to my feet. He’s made up his mind, he wants to know. I shake my head at him, he smirks. “Come on, Y/N. Haven’t you missed me?”

I groan, and push him away. “Nooo… I mean, yes. But you’re not him. And I won’t take away your chance, to- “He brings me back to him his familiar hands on my hips. It’s like trying a drug that I long gave up… but still feels so good. Stubbornly though, I pick his hands off of me. I have to try to avoid his eyes. “Peter, go home.”

“No.” The resolve and the determination in his voice shocks me and I look up quickly at his face. He would’ve never refused to leave me alone like that earlier today. Already, his old self is coming… oh no. Groaning again, I turn to open the door and force him out. This is not good. We were doing so well! We were nearing our 6-month mark! It was going to work! And now… now… well, it can still work! It will. I just need to get him out of her- His hands are on me again, oh no. That feels good.

“Y/N… “He tightens his grip on my waist nearly painfully, so familiar and demanding me to give in and enjoy it. You know, before the morning comes and he remembers everything and shuns me. But I wont give up, and I put my hands on his again to try and peel them off, before his breath hits the side of my neck and his voice, dark and with that ever-joking way about it, causing me to pause. The asshole tone. “I want to remember, now. And you’re my ticket. Plus… you’re mine, right? I have some punishment to implement for talking to Four. For some reason that really pissed me off.”

My body’s ahead of my mine, in this. Already leaning back and feeling the warmth of his chest against my back while my mouth still talks about him leaving. “You’ll regret this.”

“Hell I will, now come on.” I turn around to face him, causing him to flash me a bright, Peter smile before he much too soon since I wasn’t really expecting him to ever do this again, kisses me, and it feels so good my resolve melts away. Of course, its still hanging around back there in the back of my heart, but now all the time I wasn’t touching him, wasn’t thinking about him this way has taken over. Not to mention pure, dumb, human sex drive.

SMUT FROM HERE ON

Kissing is nice for a couple minutes, at least. Everywhere his body touches mine, from our chests to our lips and our tongues to my arms over his broad shoulders and his hands holding my hips against his feels solid and exciting. The way he kisses me can only be described as being carnal. Purely animalistic, wanting to taste, and the way I’m kissing back isn’t different at all. I can’t help sucking gently on his tongue when his lips part, causing a lascivious groan to come from him.

In fact, in response, one of his hands comes up to cup the back of my neck and hold my head in place so he take control of the kiss entirely, the other arm hooking around my lower back and compressing me against him. I don’t know if it was his goal, but now I can feel clearly the wicked, familiarly full way of his pants when he’s turned on. Which he is, right now. Truly.

It makes me think for how long he’s been waiting for this, if he’s gotten so stiff so quickly. I can’t say though that I’m in much a different situation. My keenness for him is so that my core is dripping in wait, wanting to be filled by him. Impatient, I break the kiss and nearly give in to it again when his lips nearly follow me but stay strong. “Peter… “Oh god, oxygen. Breath, need it. He’s so hot. His hair’s a mess of brown surrounding his head, scar on his neck is calling out to be sucked on, and his eyes are beautiful. Green, and mesmerising, and tempting as ever. Giving in feels a lot like freedom.

“Yeah?” The word comes out as a breath, quiet with just a hint of his voice peaking around.

I trace my hands down from his shoulders to the rest of him, enjoying the feel. “Sit down, I can’t ride you standing up.”

“Oh, right.” Once he’s sitting down, I can clearly see his erection straining defiantly against his pants before he takes them off, his underwear going to the same place on the floor. I want to sit on it so badly, my legs shaking uncontrollably with arousal as I get rid of my own lower garments. When he sees my shining, wet pussy, he embarrassingly zeroes right in on it, an unstable smirk on his lips. Good, then. I like it when he’s unstable. Never know what he’s going to do to me. “C’mere, baby.” Tentatively, hoping I don’t trip on the way because that would be embarrassing as hell, I do as he says. As soon as I get a foot from him, he gets off the chair and kneels in front of me. Oh, god, if he starts anything here my legs won’t keep me up. “Hmmm, I think I remember you wetter,” I struggle to breath for a moment when he, without warning or even looking up at me, swipes a finger up between the slit of my lips. My hands snatch his shoulders, so I can stay up and I open my legs more, ready. “I think I missed this. Can you tell? My fucking cock feels like its going to snap off if I don’t get to have you.” He glances up at me for a second, then does a double take and looks back at my face again, focusing on it. I wonder what’s going through his head. The old Peter would have told me right away, just to see me go red and squirm. He is becoming that one, slowly, but still this Peter just grins devilishly at me, hooks his hands around the back of my knees and nudges me towards him some more. My body moves on its own, reacting to his hands and shuffle forward.

Then, looking into my eyes, he does something that puts me in the palm of his hands. He licks a long stripe, as if I’m an icy pole, deeply through my lips. It makes me rigid, and moan out in bliss, my eyes falling shut. Not one to be dormant though I really want to, to just let him do whatever he wants to me, I take my right hand and entangle my fingers through his soft, hickory hair and grip his shoulder with the other, swinging my leg over his right shoulder before opening my eyes and peering down at him again. He looks surprised, in awe. I feel freaken powerful. “You… you just going to stare at me Peter, or finish what you started.”

Its not a question, it’s a demand. He needs to do that again.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He flashes me another Peter smile, then gets to work. And man, did my move make a difference. It felt good before, but now I really do think I might lose in my legs, especially since I’m only one! And, god, he looks good eating me out. Like he’s kissing me, taking generous gulps every time his tongue scoops some more of my essence, getting deeper with every plunge until I’m trying desperately to distract myself by playing with his hair. Simultaneously though I’m pressing my heat into his mouth.

In the end, it’s the sucking that pushes me over the edge. Just as I’m getting used to the pleasure, he abruptly puts his mouth over my cunt and sucks, causing shock to rush through me and my eyes to widen. ‘Peter!” I gasp, tightening my grip on his hair, as cum explodes from my core. He doesn’t drink it, just leans back on his heels and watches it drip down my thighs in satisfaction. After a moment, he looks like he’s in a trance as he watches, and I reel from the extreme pleasure.

“It’s going to feel so fucking good in there. I missed this.”

“How can you miss something you don’t remember.”

“I remember Capture the Flag,” He says it off-hand, before either of us can realise that he shouldn’t remember that. I remember. Eric had picked him second for his team and me last because it was either me, or Christina and they didn’t have a good track record with her. I found Peter shortly after he got ‘shot’ with those neuro stim guns, and we stuck around that old carnival after everyone else left. He created a really dumb one liner, entailing that it’d make him feel better if I kissed his wounds. We didn’t get back until the early hours of the morning, getting probably near 2 and half hours of sleep. But he shouldn’t remember that.

My eyes snap down to him and hop down on my knees with him, looking into his eyes. Of course, I can’t tell just by looking at his eyeballs if he’s back, but maybe if I stare hard enough, he’ll tell me. After a moment, he just shrugs a little a smiles, blankly back at me. Then leans across and gives me a deep kiss. He pulls back and grins. “You’re the ticket, sweetheart. I knew it.”

Sighing, having let my hopes raise just then that he would be back, and wrap my arms over his shoulders and play more, softly with his hair. Looking at his lips, then his eyes. “Then maybe you should hurry up and take it.” I lower my voice, my heart bleeding to tell the secret I haven’t dares to utter to anyone, since Peter disappeared. “I want you back. I miss you.”

“I want to be back.” He leans towards me, curling an arm around my back so he can carefully lay me back on the floor. “Hey, when he’s back. Tell him for me that he owes you something big, for putting you through this.”

“Peter, are you making a dirty joke to me right now?” I giggle, looking at the ceiling now as he ready’s himself. He laughs, too.

“No, I actually didn’t hear that until you mentioned it. Really.”

“Really,” I roll my eyes, disbelieving.  

“Absolutely Y/N! Now, let me concentrate.” That brings me back to the present. I realise I’m still dripping with cum from before, and when I look up at him above me ready to power into me fully, I realise I still fucking want him. He’s so tall, and strong, and I intend to give him a hickey on that neck scar if it is the last thing I do tonight.

Hooking my legs up and around his waist, I meet him in the middle for the first delicious thrust. I watch curiously, his face as it changes from mischievous to delighted, in an enticingly smutty way. That makes me grin, but then the pleasure hits me and a surprisingly, nearly embarrassingly amorous moan comes from me, as his cock powers through me, rubbing against my inner walls like static. In reaction the pleasure, I arch up into him, and pull him by the hair down to my mouth, pressing a slow, careful kiss to his lips first before moving on to that neck scar.

While he pounds into me, he also feels my ministrations on his neck. I lightly trace the tip of my tongue up the long line, then kiss the middle and start nibbling and sucking there to my liking, taking my time to enjoy it. And I know he does, too, because he mumbled a very sexy, guttural curse at one particular lick. It sent trickles of pleasure all the way down to my core.  

This ecstasy goes on for who knows how long, I certainly wasn’t watching the time, before he lets himself go and I watch through half lidded eyes as he comes apart inside me, the stuff leaking out from around his dick and dripping out of me in warm spurts. I gives one last, hard thrust and I come along with him, a sigh escaping me and a sentence of curses from him. Carefully, he disconnects himself from me, and I get up and help him to his feet, beyond sleepy now. “… okay. That was nice, now… sleep?” I giggle, at the understatement and at his cute weary look.

“Show the way,”

“Yes sir, come on.” I lead him by the hand to my bedroom. Quickly we clean ourselves up, and then we hop in and the bed is so, extremely comfy after the floor. “Can’t believe we did that on the floor when this was here… “I mumble, tiredly.

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest place.” He pulls me toward him and I entangle our legs, almost subconiously. I’m so tired I don't pick up on that hint. 

Snorting, I shake my head as I start to fall asleep. “No, guess not… “

~~~

In the morning, I wake up to peter already awake. He hasn’t moved much, just… you know, rested his head on his fist and is watching me sleep.

I squint and push my head back further into my pillow and away from him suspiciously. “… Goodmorning.”

He flashes a wicked grin. Wide smile and dull eyes, like he wants you to think he knows something you don’t. Or worse, he does. Very Peter-like. “Morning, beautiful.”

Even more suspiciously, I try to figure out first on my own what’s up, because something surely is. All I remember is what we did last night, and shame washes over me. Oh, lord… it’s too early for this. “What?”

“Told you, you were the ticket- “That makes me gasp, and sit up immediately, hitting my forehead on his and causing pain that I ignore. He rubs his forehead, but doesn’t seem mad. Just cheeky, and a little evil. “Christ, Y/N, I guess the honeymoons over, huh??”

I clench the sheets under my fists and chew on my bottom lip. “You’re… back?”

He just gives me a look, like ‘Well, obviously’.

No, no. I need a real answer. Does he realise what he’s put me through?? Probably. He is a jerk after all. “Peter?”

“The one and only.”

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Take Back The Future (part 3)

Summary: Vivi and Arthur travel back in time to the beginning of Hellbent. Neither of them are okay. 

(Part 1) (Part 2)

.

Mystery, instead of answering Vivi’s questions, leaps over the seat dividing the front and back areas of the van, exiting out the back doors.

“Wait, ” Vivi yells after Mystery, “get to back here and explain what happened to my memories.”

/It is not a tale that can be simply told. Not right now when we may be in danger/

Arthur thinks kitsune turned dog sounds slightly strained but it’s hard to really tell with Mystery’s weird telepathy. When the meaning of words are projected right into your brain some of the nuance is lost.

“Who is Shiromori? Why is she attacking us?” Vivi tries, following to glare at Mystery who circles the van, barely paying attention to the two of them. “Just answer one question!”

His mechanical arm twitches of its own accord and he eyes it nervously.  To hell with it. Arthur frees his hand and begins to feel about for the quick release lever hidden under a panel on his upper arm. After the van crash and almost getting thrown to his death, the arm had been too banged up to safely remove, jamming in place.  Best to be rid of it now, before everything when to shit all over again.

The sound of his heavy metal arm hitting the ashfelt draws Vivi’s attention and she turns to give him a quizzical expression.

“Better off then on,” He explains, “Wasn’t really working that well anyway. Hopefully, that’ll get rid of the curse as well.” Honestly, this cruse is the least of his worries.

Vivi exhales and Arthur can see the stress pinching her mouth, pulling it down into an uncharacteristic frown, “If the curse is specifically attached to your arm then removing it might work. On the other hand, if it’s anything like the one that got my memories then who the hell knows what will work. I certainly don’t. Apparently, I don’t know a lot of things.”

The last sentence is louder, directed at Mystery. There is no response from the dog who is staring off into the middle distance, head to one side like he is listening intently for something.  Arthur offers Vivj an uneasy shrug. He has his own questions for Mystery regarding Vivi’s memories, his arm, and the night they both went missing. However, his most recent run-in with dead-Lewis has him quickly reordering his priorities. None of the answers are going to mean much if he’s dead. Again…

Speaking of which… On the horizon, a purple light flares, glowing brightly against the dark backdrop. Arthur’s mouth goes suddenly dry and limbs feel very cold. Yeah, that seamed about right…

/You called this spirit Lewis?/ Mystery turns his head to examine him, expression troubled. /Are you sure?/  

He gives a short nod, eyes darting from Mystery then back to the road. It looks like Mystery is planning something based on how his fur is glowing red. He’d seen a similar red glow on the night of Lewis’s disappearance and during the confrontation outside his Uncle’s workshop. How much did Mystery know about Lewis? The question sticks in his mind, painfully heavy.

“Lewis? You mean the purple fire ghost? The one that caused the van crash?” Vivi steps up next to him, eyes locked onto the truck which grows quickly larger, “How are we going to stop it from running us all over?”

It’s too late to try a drive or run away now. Even if he decides to run there is a steep rocky slope on one side and a sharp climb on the other. If he did make it down by some miracle there was just flat desert and no cover for miles. Arthur doesn’t voice this observation instead commenting in a voice several octaves higher than normal, “I don’t think you need to worry about the ghost running you over. I’m pretty sure he’s only after me. So…ah…maybe don’t stand near me?”

Why? Why was Lewis trying to hurt him? In his mind’s eye, Lewis and Mystery meld together into a nightmare inferno of fire, teeth and death.

“I don’t want you to get run over either.” Vivi’s voice sounds faint, coming to him like it has travelled a great distance. Too much fear packed into too short a timeframe is making it harder and harder to concentrate. The ice at her feet thickens into long sheets, which creep out over the road, freezing it solid. He is probably lucky his remaining arm hasn’t frozen off with how tight Vivi had been holding it. Maybe if he turns into a giant Arthur icicle and he can sit this whole thing out. The hysterical thought momentarily breaks through his mounting panic.  

/Wait./

Arthur can almost hear the crackle of fire and the hum of the truck's engine.

/ You should not be drawing on so much of this power at once! You’ll damage the seal further!/

“I’m not letting Arthur die again. Anything comes near us and I’ll make whoever it is, regret it… that includes you.”

Vivi steps out so she is positioned in the centre of the road.

/I can handle this confrontation. There are still many aspects to the situation that you remain unaware of./

“And how am I supposed to fix that if you won’t tell me anything.”

/ I swear I will explain when there is more time. I only ever wanted to protect you./

“I don’t believe you.”

Vivi snaps the final sentence and punctuates it with a sharp hand gesture aimed at the oncoming truck. Several lines of ice stretch out and down the road, racing away from Vivi to meet the oncoming vehicle. Shining an ethereal blue, the frost coats the road’s surface, smoothing it over. Arthur catches the briefest glimpse of skeletal Lewis before the truck hits the ice sheets and the wheels suddenly lose traction.  The sound of metal crunching is deafening, accompanied by the hiss of water abruptly vaporising. Heat and cold collide in a cacophony cracking ice and explosion of steam.

A flash of bright purple fire. Mystery disappears, obscured by the thick columns of steam. He finds himself being yanked to the side by Vivi just in time to watch the purple truck careen past in a shower of sparks and groaning metal. At such high speeds, it rams straight into and through the guardrails separating the road from the rocky slope. Stunned, Arthur watches it disappear over the edge. If Lewis hadn’t already been dead then Arthur might have been worried. The sound of banging and crashing, as the truck presumably roles several times, has him physically wincing. Scratch that, he was worried. Very worried. Worried enough that it overtakes his mental panic and replaces it with deep concern. How durable were ghosts? He doesn’t know and that scares him. 

“Vivi! What the hell,” He finally manages to spit out, breaking his panic-induced stupor. He tries to rush past her, intent on checking for any signs of Lewis. He promptly slips. The combination of ice and his lack of a second arm throws off his balance and he ends up falling backward. He is saved from a collision with the ground by Vivi who seemed to now have supernatural levels of balance and was unaffected by the slippery surface.

“I …wow. That was… something.” Vivi breaths, examining the road still covered in planes of ice as if not quite believing it.

“Help me to the edge,” He interrupts, trying and failing to stand straight collapsing back on her, “I need to see if he’s okay,”

“Who’s okay? The ghost?"

“Yes.”

"You want to see if the ghost is okay? You said it was trying to hurt you?”

Arthur can practically see the concern and confusion now hanging over Vivi as she looks down from where she's holding him up by his one good arm.

“It’s just…a misunderstanding or something. I…we…might know this ghost.”

“What?”

“Just help me check.” He motions with his remaining arm. Visible through the plums of steam are thicker lines of darkened smoke coming from the space where the truck had disappeared.

....

Note: I’m Sorry to everyone who’s showed interest in this AU but i’m not sure if i’ll continue this since i’ve lost motivation.  Here are some of the more coherent plot notes if people are interested in this AU. Feel free to ask questions if u have any :) . 

...

-   Shiromori shows up directly after Lewis’s crash, distracting Mystery. With all the steam obscuring their vision Arthur and Vivi don’t realise that Shiromori has arrived immediately, and there is enough time to briefly look for Lewis. 

- Lewis makes it out of the truck crash only slightly worse for wear and tries to attack Arthur. Vivi moves to defend Arthur, then Arthur has to defend Lewis and it’s all very awkward for everyone. 

- Lewis sees how scared Arthur is a reconsiders his revenge plot, hesitating long enough to get some dialogue in. 

 - Arthur finally gives Vivi a brief Lewis overview (sans the whole ‘he almost threw me off a fake cliff thing’). Vivi is suspicious and somewhat unconvinced. Lewis is slightly confused when Vivi starts referring to the alternate time line. 

- Not time for further discussion because Mystery is fighting Shiromori and, since he had warning this time, he’s winning. 

(fight scene stuff. Vivi rushes in to do something idk this part is not planned.) 

Vivi overused ice abilities. 

Lewis and Arthur have a moment alone. 

Vivi, slightly untrusting of Mystery, ends up stepping to stop the two from fighting. (Vivi ends up saving  Shiromori maybe??? a parallel  to the original timeline). A dramatic moment where Vivi rushes in ( maybe takes a blow for Shiromori idk would depend on Shiromori’s backstory) and ends up injured. 

- ??? makes an appearance, takes over Vivi instead of Mystery. 

Some background world building stuff

- Vivi’s ice powers might become unsealed and she is vulnerable to ??? (spiritual energy is damaging to humans if too much is used at once or if is not used correctly)

- Yukino family are spiritual channels making them both more powerful and more vulnerable. Mystery holds a seal to the ability and it eats up a tails worth of power to maintain. Same deal with Shiromori, Mystery holds a seal to keep her fully realised abilities in check which also eats up a lot of power.

- The seal is damaged when Mystery is hurt

- Arthur is unaffected by the ice because he’s got some odd time based supernatural power which has bonded to vivi spiritual signtaure as well. This is the reason ??? want to possess Arthur. One possible resolution was for Arthur to figure out how to rewind time to the seconds before Vivi gets possessed, giving her a chance to defeat ???. It takes a lot of power which Lewis ends up giving to him. 

[nerd2614]

April's Fall - Part 5

Lost Memories

@write-it-motherfuckers original prompt

Part 1 // Part 4

“Run away with me!” The young teen exclaimed as he twirled away from my blade.

I laughed and parried his returning blow. He was joking about it more often these days.

“I can’t, Raph. You know we’re needed here.” A smirk crossed my face as he fell to the ground with a grunt.

“Oh my April, my Autumn moon! How could you wound me so?” Raph threw his head back with all the pompous royal arrogance he could muster. I rolled my eyes and held my hand out for him to grasp. Raphael’s hand in my own was warm.

“We’re only using wooden swords now because someone got scared.” I teased.

His grip tightened and I braced to help him to his feet. He winked and swept his legs under my own. With a thud, I fell on top of Raphael and was flipped to the ground. I felt the cold bite of his dagger at my throat.

“We’re using wooden swords because you spilled my blood.” He reminded me with a wicked grin.

“You are both using wooden swords because we can’t trust either of you not to lob each other’s heads off accidentally.” A firm voice reminded us.

“Hello Father, Mother.” I greeted them politely, brushing the dust off my training pants. Raphael inclined his head and murmured his acknowledgement.

“Are you training like you’re meant to, children?” Mother inquired with a teasing lilt.

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Yes mother.”

“Carry on then.” Father waved his hand to reset the match. Raphael and I turned to face the centre of the ring, swords poised at the ready.

“I’m getting better!” Raphael exclaimed as he knocked the gilded blade from my hand. Practising to fight in ceremonial garb was always a pain. The weapons were too heavy and the material too restrictive.

I huffed and crossed my arms. I would never tell him, but the last round hand jarred my wrist badly. “Only because I let you win!”

“Oh, come on, April -” Raphael boasted as he passed my sword back, “- it is I who lets you win!”

I growled and brought my blade to attention, ignoring the twinge of pain. “Wanna bet?” Instead of retorting, Raphael nodded to someone behind me. I turned to see one of the younger messengers from the court. We had all celebrated his centenary not two moons ago.

“Lady April, there’s been terrible news from The Twisted. They’ve captured your parents.”

Suddenly my wrist didn’t hurt so much.

I was informed to wear the gown of spider silk as we were meeting someone important today. Standing next to Raphael, I could not figure out what was so important about the toad in front of us. He had beady eyes that reeked of betrayal. His hair was weird too, more like matted fur.

“This is James,” Raphael’s mother introduced when it became clear that I would not inquire, “he will help protect the both of you. You can trust him.” The last sentence was directed to me. She then left us to get acquainted, as was the custom.

“Hi, James, I’m Raphael! It’s about time there’s another guy around!” My friend grinned and held his hand out. He nudged me to encourage me to introduce myself.

“I don’t like you.”

“April!”

James licked his lips. “Don’t worry, Raphael. April and I will be close before you know it.”

I was aiming the arrows with vicious accuracy. Raphael had requested James accompany him today so he could learn the ropes. So when a throat cleared behind me I launched into an attack.

“Your training is coming along nicely, April.” The guardian almost smiled as he halted the arrows with a flick of his wrist.

“Guardian Sebastian.” I bowed my head in deference. “I apologise.”

“There is no need to apologise, child. It is I who should extend my apologies. We found your parents bodies at sunrise.”

Walking around in the forest was never peaceful anymore.

"She's only young." The people whispered.

"Who would take care of her?" Those of the court gossiped.

Even the trees were not silent. "Evil witches." they hissed as I passed them.

“You’ve been feeding information to the witch.” Raphael's demeanor was calm, but his eyes were filled with contempt.

"No, I haven't! How could -" With a flick of my wrist, the ceremonial sword that had been dangling uselessly on the wall bit into James' fleshy neck. His tearful protests stopped almost immediately, replaced with a smug grin.

"I see you have progressed far more than you let on, April." He spat my name with a venom that only fueled my disdain.

"Answer the question." The only reason he was alive was because Raphael desperately wanted it to be untrue.

"How did you know, Elf?" I sighed at James' futile attempt at prolonging the inevitable.

"I may look young, but I’m much older than you, mutt." Raphael snarled. I smiled and forced the sword deeper into his neck, making James stumble backwards to avoid being beheaded.

"That may be." James mocked. "I just can't wait for the day you get what you deserve. The war is just beginning… and I'll take everything from you. Just wait." With that he stormed out of the room into the arms of the guardians. His yells echoed through the corridor as he was dragged to his new home.

"I never did like him." I pointed out smugly. Raphael rolled his eyes before sinking into a pensive state.

Only mere seconds had passed between you swallowing the potion and waking up. You were still trying to warn your not-so-stranger against fighting the hellhound that held you captive. “Run!” You croaked weakly. “Run, Raphael”

James cackled with his hand still gripping your throat. “How does it feel to have lost, Raph?” He taunted.

“Get your hands off her!” Raphael snarled dangerously, "I shall not tell you again."

"What will you do, lover boy? Once I discard you it won't take long for April to forget all about you again!"

"What have you done!?" The one you'd been calling Grandmother screeched as she stormed out of the front door. "All of my hard work! Wasted!"

In her anger, the witch sent James flying through the air towards herself. She flung his body into the ground and proceeded to send sharp pebbles to collide with his skin.

“Idiot!” She bellowed.

Before you could process what was happening, Raphael had hoisted you to your feet and the two of you stumbled into the woods. Your vision was still faulty. The trees started to blur together.

“April, my love, please hang on just a bit longer.” Raphael knelt next to you and stroked your cheek lovingly. Blood smeared across your cheek.

“It’s really you.” A happy sigh escaped you as you returned the gesture. His face was battered and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

“Yes.” Raphael took in a deep, laboured breath. His hands clasped both of yours, squeezed them gently and let them go. “Now run. Stay off the path. The others are coming. I will distract her.”

“But-”

“Go.” His voice was firm. “You will see me again.”

You glared at Raphael without malice. It was not a vow that you would see him again alive. He always had a way with words, manipulating the person to think the outcome would be in their favour if they followed his words. You were always more direct - sometimes forgoing words altogether.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Raphael’s lips. He knew you would escape and be safe. Only because it was he who asked you. You limped further into the trees. Away from James’ howls of pain.

Birds fluttered in the trees above you. Small game hopped, ran, and bounded around you, creating a path for you to follow. The leaves crunched under your feet. One foot in front of the other, you concentrated on moving forward as fast as you could. You stumbled and fell to your knees. Tears welled in your eyes but you blinked them away. A doe tip-toed out from behind the trees. She knelt beside you in order to nuzzle you up. Her nose was velvety soft as you stroked it.

It took all the strength you had, but you managed to drag yourself to your feet. The doe stood with you. Placing a hand on her back, you allowed yourself to be led through the thicket. The howls faded until there was nothing but the sounds of running water and the whispering of trees.

You made it to a river before you fell again. The cold water was refreshing against the bruises and cuts on your skin. You wept into the water. Nothing made sense. Memories were still whirling in your head. Disgust at James. Betrayal at your Grandmother - no, the witch. Your bruised ribs made it hard to breathe which exacerbated your rising panic.

Movement further up the river caught your attention.

“Lady April!” A voice called out. He was wearing light armour that changed colours with the trees. “You’re back!” The young elf grinned as he placed a hand on your shoulder. You flinched away instinctively. His grin dropped.

“Where’s the Prince?” He asked, voice curious and stern.

“The Prince…”

“Oh, my Prince!” I swooned into Raphael’s arms. He promptly dropped me onto the soft clovers we were practising on.

“That’s no way to win!” Raphael laughed, pinning me to the ground. His grip was cumbered by the poofy skirts that made up my dress. I used it to my advantage to flip him over.

“I say it is.” I giggled. “Use every element to my advantage, right?”

“That’s why you’re my knight, my protector.” Raphael breathed out.

“A great job I’m doing.” I rolled off him to lay beside him in the grass.

“You are.” The Prince of the Autumn court stroked my hand with his thumb. “You know, one day I’ll rescue you.”

"And, one day, I'll be a Princess." I snorted.

Raphael smiled softly. "One day."

You clamped onto the elf’s hand. “The Prince, you have to help him. He’s fighting with-”

“APRIL!” His scream echoed over the water.

“- her.”

The witch cackled as she levitated Raphael behind her.

Tags: @scuzmunkie, @wordsaremylife, @luarinne, @inuhuffclaw, @wayward-demigod

[mihidecet]

Sbi&CO d&d AU: The Dream Team

Aka: Tibi's MCYT WritingTober, day 29: "A normal day"

Listen the original prompt, from @the-only-gamer-gost 's list, was evidently mc related but I just had to write this. Whops ahah

It's time for you to meet another part of this AU's cast! I do hope you'll enjoy reading this ahahah

George takes a deep breath.

He is in his study: the smell surrounding him is gentle, of old wood and older books, of the flowers he's growing on the windowsill, of the almost empty cup of tea his tutor insisted he drank before practicing - "you can't do magic on an empty stomach, I will not have you pass out like a fresh-faced student with no experience!"

It is quite easy to fall back into his own mind, he's done it so many times ever since he started training, but it is never quite easy to-

A light thump, the sound of a small metallic bead hitting his window, prompts him to open his eyes.

George purses his lips in barely concealed irritation and shakes his head. He has to focus. This is precisely why he wanted to skip breakfast, so that he could start before they arrived to bother him.

He's been meaning to try out a new theory - a new spell - for a while, and it requires him to be at maximum concentration because time is a fickle bitch that does not like being toyed with.

So George closes his eyes again and focuses on the pattern of his breathing. He feels for a moment in complete awareness of every inch of his body, and then he opens his eyes.

In front of him, millions of millions of shimmering particles float, gently, into the air in front of him, as if somebody had decided to hang an infinite amount of pieces of iridescent glass with invisible strings. George could live a thousand years and never get tired of seeing the figments of reality and specks of possibilities that exist in the time dimension.

Raising his hand to touch one of them feels like moving through thick molasses after a day of exercise - his muscles protest, scream at him, and it is such a strenuous act.

But he knows to persist - what's coming is going to be even harder - so after what seems like an eternity, but in reality is no time at all, the tips of his fingers brush against the burning cold of a figment of reality.

A fraction of a second later, George stumbles forward, head ringing as he's thrown out of his own personal pocket in time. In his ears, the sound of another of those damned pebbles against his bloody window.

George lets out a loud curse and stomps to the window, opening it with a gesture of his hand and then immediately raising his arcane shield as another pebble flies right at him - as it had been aimed at his poor window once more.

Filled with a righteous fury, George slams his hands on the windowsill - mindful of his poor and completely innocent Forget-Me-Nots - and leans forward to look down at the recently acquired banes of his existence.

"See, I told you it would work- George! George wanna come train with us?" Calls out the fighter, waving a hand frantically as he elbows his shorter monk friend.

"No! Leave me alone!" George yells back, and instantly closes the window and goes back to his position in the centre of the room.

He closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing, and-

Another pebble. He is going to murder them.

"What do you want?! I told you I'm busy!"

The fighter spreads his arms open - almost hitting his friend in the face, if said friend hadn't ducked down instantly.

"Oh, come on George! It's gonna be fun!"

"I'm not interested! Now, leave before I start throwing spells your way!"

The monk scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin up in defiance.

"As if you could catch me! I bet you can't, and you're scared, and that's why-" a pale green hand is suddenly covering the human's mouth, its owner looking awkwardly up at George with a tentative smile - as if that douche's attempt at riling him up could have worked.

On a completely unrelated note, George has had enough of that conversation.

"You bother me again today and you will regret it." And with that, he closes the window again.

Definitely not hearing the monk's confused "does that mean we can come back tomorrow?". He is just going to ignore it.

The moment he turns back around, he almost has a heart attack.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a knowing smile on his face, is his mentor.

"Bloody hell, I didn't hear you arriving." George mumbles, moving to grab him a chair as the older wizard chuckles.

"I figured, you were having quite a spat." Scott comments, sitting down on the armchair and nodding towards the window, looking more pleased than he should be.

George gives a scoff, letting himself slump into his chair.

"They are relentless. I don't know what to do anymore." He mopes, but as he should have expected Scott has no pity to share and immediately tackles a new, equally pressing problem.

"Have you found your teammates for the tournament yet?" He asks, crossing one leg over the other and resting his chin in his hand. About two months ago, George had agreed, after ages of declining invitations and rejecting requests, to take part in the yearly tournament his mentor ideated - agreeing only on the terms that he would be able to choose his own teammates. Which is not that unusual, people can arrive with their friends and form a team. George's main problem? His sadly evident lack of friends - at least, friends that will take part in the tournament.

"Not yet. They're all so … various. And peculiar. I'm-" He halts, hands clasped together and squeezing one another, as if they were stress relievers. Noticing his discomfort, Scott seems to take immediately a step back from his usual flippant persona as his expression softens and his posture relaxes.

"You're free to speak your mind." He reminds him gently, so George takes a small breath and looks away, towards the door, ignoring the awkwardness of his admission.

"I'm worried my purely academic training will make me underperform."

"That is possible. It is also possible that you do well. Has the prospect of failure ever stopped you?" Scott challenges, one eyebrow raising in doubt because this is the thing: Scott chose him as his protégé, he knows what George is capable of. He knows him, how competitive he is, how his pride gets in the way despite how much his self esteem is rather low. But still.

"I never had to fail in front of a crowd."

"I understand. Still, I think it will do you good. You should find people to team with, not many get this opportunity."

"I know! It's just that nobody's stuck out! They all seem like incredibly talented people!" George protests, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping back into the chair - sliding down a little, so that his chin presses up against his chest. So now he looks and feels like a child throwing a tantrum. Splendid.

"Well. I think there are at lest two you know by name." Scott notes, smiling with a conspiratory look, and George feels incredibly stupid that he let himself be played like this - did Scott manage to bring the discussion back to the two dumbasses that have been bothering him nonstop for the past couple of weeks?!

Dream and Sapnap- he has no care for them. None at all.

"Shut up." George replies weakly and Scott simply laughs - ever so rude, laughing at his self inflicted misery - before standing up. He circles the desk between them and puts a hand on his head, messing up his hair with a chuckle.

"I have to go, I have matters that await me. But it was nice to see you doing well. I'll wait for the names tonight." Scott's sing-song voice calls as he leaves with a smirk, closing the door behind him.

George lets out a long sigh and resigns himself to morning of meditating and practice.

It was nice to see his mentor again - he's been worried lately, as if on edge. George figures it's the tournament's fault, but one may never be sure.

A couple of days later, Dream wakes to the feeling of a pillow hitting him square in the face. Followed by a ripping noise. Followed by the feeling of stuffing falling on his face.

"Oops-" Sapnap says above him: when Dream opens his eyes, he's holding his pillow, now with a tear in it and stuffing slowly falling on the ground.

"SAP! What the fuck did I tell you about the tusks?!"

After their morning workout routine - which definitely does not entail Dream chasing Sapnap around their room as the shorter man jumps around on the furniture to escape, and absolutely doesn't end with them rolling on the floor as the half orc holds his teammate in a headlock - they have a quick breakfast and then hurry to the Academy.

Today's the day: they will be announcing the teams for this year's tournament, and they both can't wait who they will be fighting with.

The announcement is a strictly participant-only event, and from that point on they will have about a month to train with their new teammates inside the Academy's facilities.

The Academy is a huge building that looks and feels like those castles they talk about in fairytales: sky high towers of iridescent colours, with strands of various shades of purple and orange connecting invisible points in space - and perhaps time too. There are stairs and bridges connecting different sections, and Dream knows, from stories told by Master Calvin, that it is as tall in the sky as it is deep inside the bowels of the Earth. A magnificent display of arcane power and architectural prowess. As one would expect from the creators of this tournament, but still.

The crowd that gathers around the entrance is one of the most varied assortment of adventurers Dream has ever seen, and he knows Sapnap is thinking the same thing because the human's head keeps whipping from side to side as he stares at the people walking by.

Dream shoots, from time to time, a look around. He's not particularly looking for somebody - he is - and he's not going to let the knowledge of who is competing distract him from trying to do his best - debatable.

But still.

All the participants are directed toward the entry, where after a quick scan - to avoid strangers from entering - they manage to get inside the main hall.

Now, Dream and Sapnap have been told, by their respective masters, about the Academy, but nothing can ever quite prepare you for something this grandiose and extravagant as what they are seeing.

One would expect a centennial arcane academy, built by two archmages and hosting the best of the magical world in terms of teachers, students and knowledge, to be a stuffy, old fashioned institution.

One would be quickly proven wrong, as just the entrance hall happens to be a stunning portrait of multiple colours, bright and radiant, with moving paintings of famous arcane masters casting spells side by side with rather sweet drawings of past winners of the tournament hugging each other and holding out their prizes.

When Master Calvin had first suggested he move for a while to the Academy, in order to fully develop his arcane abilities, he had been skeptical: how could he, when Calvin's house had been his home for so long? But now, seeing all this, he thinks that maybe he could come to like this place.

At the end of the hall, on an apparently clear glass panel, are displayed the names of each team member.

With all the chatter and cheers and noises of people looking for each other - some are already leaving, having found what and who they were looking for - it's hard to catch the sound of Sapnap's sudden gasp.

It is less hard to notice him gripping his wrist and vigorously point at the glass as he lets out an excited laugh.

Dream follows where he's pointing, and-

"George is with us?!" He exclaims, mostly out of pure disbelief, eyes wide open as he looks back and forth between his friend and the list of names on the board.

"We're so going to win this!" Sapnap answers with an elated smile before bursts out laughing, jumping up and wrapping him in a full body hug - Dream catches him, letting out a small "omf" that is mainly due to the unexpectedness of it all.

"I can't believe it, we got so lucky!" The half-orc comments, his eyes skimming through the names listed on the board - some he recognises, more or less unfortunately, and some he doesn't.

"I know, right?! -" Sapnap comments, leaning back and letting go in order to nod with his head towards the floating glass.

"Now we just have to find out who Eret is, I guess."

[wellamarke]

Alright. This is going to be shorter than I planned because I keep tying myself in knots over the very first shot, but I'm going to skip straight to my main point about the Dashing White Sergeant, which is this:

Nobody gets to dance with the person opposite them in the circle.

That is not how the dance works. In DWS, you dance with two people: the ones either side of you, in your row of 3. Yes, to be fair, you join hands and walk back and forth to meet your opposite person, but that person never gets your hand. So, how, pray, do we get this:

AND this:

Well, it's because, in what is arguably his boldest move since 'carrots', Gilbert breaks the set and spins Anne over to his side:

When what they're supposed to have done is this:

ie. Diana, Gilbert and Jane should have performed a straight swap with Caleb, Anne and Charlie. That twirl? Does not exist in the Dashing White Sergeant.

This absolute... opportunist, sees his moment and risks throwing the whole dance just to get to hold Anne's hand. I'm so proud.

The first time they come into the centre he's all smirky, because yes, being face-to-face is fun and an excellent twist on their usual head-to-head. But that's not enough, he wants to dance with her. He's going to get his hand-hold after 3 years of waiting for it, damn it all.

(I know, I know, I'm coming late even to the Netflix release and I've missed the intense week-long dissection of the scene by literal months, so obviously all this has been said. But it's NEW TO ME and I haven't seen the text posts so I'm going to still talk about it).

There is so much metaphorical resonance here.

The two positions (beside and opposite) are supposed to be irreconcilable in the dance. Anne and Gilbert are two people who so often oppose each other but, when it comes to things that really matter, they are on the same side. Likewise, the parts of the dance they spend opposite each other are fleeting, and for the main section, they are on the same side.

Both Anne and Gilbert are the center dancers of their row (the center is the only person who dances throughout - all 4 corner dancers wait out certain bars). This mirrors how both of them have their own storylines, concerns, goals etc in the show. But when Gilbert breaks the set, positioning Anne as to his choosing, he doesn't make her a corner dancer. Instead, she becomes the center dancer of his line. What an interesting fact about the axis on which Planet Gilbert spins.

Even when they're part of the same row, things aren't straightforward: there's a third person involved. In real life it's Winnie; in the dance it's Charlie. Gilbert watches Anne with Charlie and has to wait out the bar. Anne will have to do the same with Winnie.

At the end of the dance - literally in the last few bars - he returns Anne to her original position. In practical terms, this means Mrs Lynde doesn't have anything to complain about, as there's no evidence by the end that the set was ever broken. In sneaky terms, it means he gets to finish the dance face-to-face making eyes with Anne, and not Jane or Diana. In heartbreaking terms, it foreshadows how (at least for now) the discoveries made during the dance aren't going to change their relationship, as everything goes 'back to normal' on the outside. In romantic terms, it could be seen as Gilbert saying: "I want you by my side, but in the end, I'll put you before myself" (in the sense that 'before' can also mean 'in front of').

Breaking the set ought to have thrown everything off - if nobody else moves, Gilbert has put Anne next to Diana, so the boy-girl-boy-girl pattern is lost. The fact that the dance is able to continue means that others have moved to compensate. Crucially, one of them is Diana, who is best placed to perform damage control as it's her spot Anne's moved into -– foreshadowing her manoeuvring the situation on the train and saving the day! But it's not just Diana: everyone in the set will have noticed the shift – mirroring how the whole of Avonlea are basically aware of how these two feel about each other before they are.

Or, in more mathematical terms, the other 4 people in the set, shifting to make way for Shirbert, represent the 4 people with the most to say about Shirbert: Jane plays Winnie (telling Anne she isn't engaged to Gilbert; this parallel works weirdly well since Jane and Gilbert are seen dancing together, and Jane's traditional values mirror Winnie's 'expectations') Diana plays herself (being the person best placed to call Gilbert out the train journey, and being the person best placed to compensate in the dance itself, since Anne's in her spot. Damn, she even does the callout opposite him in a train carriage, a position usually held by Anne). Charlie plays Cole (telling Anne about Gilbert's crush; interesting, then, that Charlie's got a crush on Anne) and Caleb Lynde plays Bash (knowing about Shirbert before so much as meeting Anne; and would you LOOK at that, I was about to say I can't find a link between Caleb and Bash, but the link is MISS STACY!)

Most dancers look in the direction they are skipping in for the circle part of the dance: Gilbert and Anne look dead across at each other before the swap, and then after the swap:

...yeah, they're looking at each other the whole time, even for the direction change - which means that one of them is always skipping 'backwards' (sideways, but against the direction they're facing, led by the other). If that ain't a metaphor for trust, I don't know what is. Also, they will each be the backwards-facer for the same amount of steps, and if that ain't a metaphor for compromise... you get what I'm saying.

I will probably think of a few more resonances after posting this, and yes, I know that I'm reaching on some of it, but even without all that symbolism, you HAVE to hand it to Gilbert. As far as he knows this might be the only time he'll ever get to dance with Anne, so he's going to make the most of EVERY SECOND, and dance more with her in that one rehearsal than any other couple in the room have managed in two.

Something else I like, as well, is that he knows the format of the dance from watching the initial demonstration - so he COULD have tried the spin in the first run-through. But he doesn't do it until he gets the vibe from their first face-to-face that Anne, maybe... isn't opposed to dancing with him. (Also, he waits 'til he's invalided Moody out of the running, freeing his buddy up to give them some nice twinkly backing music... Gosh, Gilbert, how far back does your web of cunning go?!)

Just as a parting shot, I'll point out that Miss Stacy is the one who pushes Gilbert (nonsensically) to the other side of the room, where Anne ends up. I say nonsensically because at the beginning they're standing like this:

with Gilbert being the ONLY boy on the right hand side of the room, so no way should he be moving across. What actually needs to happen is that two boys from the left should go to join him. Gilbert should have stayed put. But no, Miss Stacy wants him over there:

She ships it, y'all.

Gilbert then stands for a bit in the middle of the room, foreshadowing his indecision/being torn between two options later on:

Look at him, stroking his chin, all confused! Thankfully, Mrs Lynde is there to park him firmly on the left side of the room, ensuring proximity to Anne. Thanks, Rachel. Thanks, Ms Stacy.

And most of all, thanks to whoever choreographed this scene! It took me so long to get a comprehensive look at Gilbert's actions because I kept getting distracted by everything else that's going on: Ruby, Tillie and Jane are all wonderful too, and let's not forget Moody and Charlie partnering each other just before Mrs Lynde yells 'stop'. Wonderful. Perfect scene is perfect.

[rosesatsunrise]

losing and feeling

(a/n: knsjdgskgja okay here’s my first public fic i guess, i wrote this at two in the morning because i was feeling sad so... this happened i guess. it’s originally self-indulgent so some of it might not fit your ideals and i’m sorry about that, lol! anyways hope you enjoy!)

KEY: (y/n): your name | (y/l/n): your last name

WORD COUNT: 3,269 words

PAIRINGS: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

SUMMARY: bakugou katsuki wanted to have a lifetime of memories with you, so how is he supposed to deal with it being cut short?

WARNINGS: angst, swearing obviously it’s bakugou 

___________________________________________________________

weak in the knees. i couldn’t see through the blur of tears, i couldn’t hear through the gut wrenching sobs of my friends. the screaming. the screaming wouldn’t stop.

“you have funny hair!” her eyes made me restrain myself from shouting at her. they were so beautiful, i got lost in them immediately.

“(y/n), sweetie, that’s not a nice thing to say! i’m sorry honey,” the girl’s mother sounds tired.

this couldn’t be happening. i think i was the one screaming, but i couldn’t tell. i couldn’t hear my own voice.

“you still have stupid hair.” (y/n)’s eyes are still so beautiful. i stared at her, feeling my glare soften without wanting it to. she just did that to me, softening me until i didn’t know what it felt like to be anything but happy when i was around her. 

i felt someone’s hands on my shoulders but i felt so numb that it didn’t register. everything was so loud. everything was so dark.

“i need to tell you something.” (y/n) was standing in front of me, her hands stuffed in her pockets. she was nervous, i could tell, but i wasn’t really aware of it as i tried to distract myself from the butterflies in my stomach. 

“oi, fucking say it then.” i grumbled in response.

“i really like you, bakugou. like, as more than a friend.”

“i - huh?”

“i really fucking like you!” she shouted. her voice cracked. “like i want to date you. i’m sorry if i’ve fucked up our friendship, i just thought -”

“i like you too,” i managed, saying it out loud for the first time. the words rang through my head as i realized how true they were. the feelings i had been trying to hide from all this time, defined by a few simple fucking words.

“oh! oh. wait, seriously?” 

“yes, idiot. jesus.” i flushed really hard as she slipped her arms around me and pulled me in close, kissing me softly for the first time.

------

“katsuki?” 

she was mostly asleep, wrapped in my arms. i had my face buried in her hair because i liked the smell of her shampoo. she was pressed against my chest and her voice came out muffled. i had one of my hands under her shirt to draw shapes on her bare back, because i liked to be touching her.

“yeah (y/n).”

“i lied. i really like your hair.”

i couldn’t control the smile that lit up across my face. i hated how incredibly soft this fucking girl had turned me. i probably looked like an idiot, grinning widely all because she said ‘i like your hair.’

“i love you.” i whispered, hugging her tighter. then i realized what i had just said. the first time i ever told my girlfriend i loved her, and it was this. all because of this domestic bliss that had overtaken my life.

“i love you more.” (y/n) sighed, and i felt her breathing even out as she fell asleep. fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck. i was so in love with her.

------

“tell me the truth!” her voice was cracked, strained from the screaming. her eyes were puffy from crying. it hurt me so much to look at her so upset, to know it was my fault. “tell me why you keep doing this shit, katsu!”

“we should break up.” i blurted, my voice loud. it cut through her panicked rambling. i watched all the emotion drop off her face. (y/n) just stared at me. hiding again. i could see all the pain in her eyes, and it cracked me open.

“fine.” she whispered. “fine. do whatever the fuck you want. goodbye, bakugou.” 

watching her leave, hearing the door close behind her made my heart break. the emotions, the walls she had broken down, started to put themselves back. i stumbled to my bed, numb and emotional. i had done it because i wasn’t good enough. i couldn’t support her. i wasn’t affectionate enough. she needed a certain level of affirmation and love from someone, and i couldn’t give it to her. 

i cried.

------

tension built up in my stomach, like stoking a fire, every time i saw her. she purposefully made me jealous, i knew it. when she would play with deku’s hair or flirt with todoroki or poke kirishima’s muscles i had to look away and try not to scream.

but this was it. this was the last straw. she hugged him, deku, the way she only hugged me, so i left, my hands shoved in my pockets, ignoring the tears running down my cheeks. 

“can i talk to you?”

i stopped, not needing to turn to know it was (y/n). she sounded upset, but then again when was she not upset?

“fuck off,” i grumbled.

“you’re the piece of shit who broke up with me, bakugou. i think you can listen to me for a few minutes.”

i wiped desperately at my face, trying to get rid of the tear tracks. i turned to look at her, meeting her eyes, and the fury written on her face was immediately replaced by panic. 

“hey, are you crying? you never cry. what’s wrong?” she cupped my cheeks, catching the tears that would not fucking stop falling. why the fuck would they not stop? 

“yes, i’m fucking fine.” i tried to sound as threatening or harsh as usual, but it was hard to do when she was holding me again for the first time in months and i was fucking crying.

“tell me what’s wrong.” (y/n) begged, swiping at the hot spots where my tears congregated with her thumbs. 

“this,” i breathed. “this is what’s fucking wrong. because i still fucking want you, more than i’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.”

“so why did you break up with me?” (y/n) asked, searching my eyes. 

“because i’m not good enough for you. i can’t give you the physical affection and emotional connection you need, because i’m just a self centred piece of shit who can barely deal with my own emotions! especially the fact that i’m terrifyingly in love with you. you are my only fucking weakness, (y/n). i can’t - i don’t fucking know.” i said it all very fast. the things i had bottled up for weeks when we were dating and after spilled out like a dam finally breaking.

“bakugou katsuki!” she cried. “why the shit would you not tell me these things? how long have you been keeping all of this in?” 

“months.” i sighed. 

“katsuki,” i heard the shake in her voice. she was about to start crying. “you can’t keep these things to yourself, it’s not healthy! i - i love you so much, no matter how much of an idiot you can be. and i - look, i know i need a lot of reassurance, and physical affection, but you just sitting next to me counts as both of those. little touches, your hand on my back, letting me lean on your shoulder, those are reassuring as well as touching. you gave me everything i wanted and needed. losing you was hard as fuck on me, so i was overly touchy with everyone i saw.”

“is that why you hugged deku like that?” i croaked. 

“yeah. yes. i’m sorry. i just missed feeling your chin on top of my head - it was so protective. made me feel safe.” she mumbled. 

i let my self-control tumble away. i had built it up all these months without her, because it felt like dangling off a cliff with my little finger everytime she was looking up at me, even with angry eyes. 

i wrapped my arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug, letting the smell of her perfume come back to me. she was shaking with tears as i held her. 

“i love you,” i grumbled. “i love you, i’m so fucking sorry, princess.”

“i love you more.”

“i love you most.”

black is a depressing colour. (y/n) had once said it made me look even paler, making my eyes and hair stand out more. but she also liked me in a suit. i felt the sad smile drift back across my face as i stared at the tux she had made me buy. 

the funeral was next week. (y/n) had passed away a full month ago. 

the days had passed like molasses. when the words were spoken, when i heard her shout how much she loved me at the top of her lungs, i knew she wouldn’t be coming back. two hours later i found her, and sobbed over her body. she was gone then, and i felt all the tears i had held in for most of my life come spilling out. i cried for so long and so much that i passed out from dehydration and lost my voice. i ended up in the hospital with an iv hooked up to me. i remember kirishima whispering that they couldn’t deal with losing me too.

at first, i spent my days wrapped up in my bed, wearing the hoodie she stole from me, the one she always washed with her laundry detergent. it still smelled like her, and i sobbed my heart out. 

eventually, i went completely numb. i sat on the couch, flipping through the television channels. i accidentally ended up on a memorial for her, showing an interview she had done once, after a huge rescue. i was standing next to her, and i was looking at her with an embarrassing amount of love. that was the night i proposed to her.

sometimes i wondered if her death was faked. it was a (y/n) thing to do, and she had been threatened by a high level villain. it would be a great way to get him off her back. 

i had dreams about her coming home, telling me it had all been a ruse to save her life and would’ve put me at risk if i’d known. then i would gather her in my arms and sob against her shoulder while she assured me she wasn’t going anywhere.

those dreams never came true.

“i don’t really want a big wedding,” she mumbled, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. 

“you okay, my love?” i asked, leaning over her shoulders.

“hmm? sorry, yeah. i just - it’s not about you or anything, i just still don’t know if i want to get married. i’ve seen so many examples of bad marriage. it’s just a piece of paper.” she sighed, tilting her head back so she was looking up at me. i snuck a kiss before she shoved me off her, laughing.

“well, fuck them.” i crossed my arms. “they clearly never loved anyone as much as i’m in love with you, idiot. you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“but no kids.” (y/n) held up a pointed finger at me.

“no kids,” i held my hands up in surrender.

“yes dog.”

“yes dog.”

“i love you,” she smiled, her big wide smile that always made my heart race.

“you know i love you, stupid.” i reminded her, pulling her to her feet, and hugging her tightly. 

someone gave me back the ring i’d given (y/n). it hadn’t been a big engagement ring or anything, just a pretty carved band that she always wore on a chain or on her finger. when they gave it back to me, i cried again. 

we never got married. 

“we just can’t agree on the fucking date!” she groaned. 

“i’m sorry. i just don’t know why you want to get married in august. it’s hot as shit and i don’t want to deal with that!”

“but december, katsuki? fucking december? that’s like, my least favourite month! plus, we’d have to compete with christmas and new years.”

“well what are we supposed to do?”

“may?”

“may?” i blinked.

“yeah. spring is pretty too. and it’s not super hot either.”

i sighed, pausing to think about it. “may it is.” i whispered, and a smile glowed on her face. 

“i love you!” she tackled me in a hug, covering my face in kisses.

“stop! personal space, shitty woman!” i shouted, laughing as she did it. i slipped my hands to her waist and pulled her against me, which stopped her. 

“i love you more.” i whispered. 

“i love you most,” she grinned.

i spoke at the funeral, of course. i kept it as short as i could so i wouldn’t cry in front of them. i listened to ashido and midoriya talk about (y/n), and to her mom speak about her best memories through tears. i felt numb.

about two months after her funeral, kirishima asked me why i never went to see her tombstone. i said it was because i didn’t fucking want to, but in reality it was because i was scared. i was scared to see her name on that stone and know she was gone. there was no coming back from that.

my therapist, who i was forced to see but i also went to because i needed someone to talk to, told me i should probably go, because i was living in this stupid place of hope, believing she might come back. 

i sat in my car in the parking lot of the cemetery. i knew where (y/n)’s headstone was, but i was scared to go look at it. i was listening to the music filter through the radio.

“i like this song, katsu.” (y/n) was leaning over me, her hair falling in front of my face like a waterfall.

“so? what’s it to me?” i scoffed.

“get up! we’re gonna dance.”

“we’re gonna what?” i asked, standing up and following her. she turned the volume up on the speakers, and reached for me.

“we’re gonna dance!” she exclaimed. i sighed, giving in easily. i could’ve held my ground, but she was so beautiful i couldn’t think straight.

i circled my arms around her waist, and she intertwined her fingers behind my neck. we swayed slowly, side to side. i admired every inch of her face.

“what?” she grinned. “see something you like?”

“obviously. that’s why i proposed, stupid.” i grumbled.

she blushed, and i smiled. i liked knowing i could still make her flustered sometimes. i pulled her closer, resting my chin on top of her head, and she leaned her head on my chest. 

we swayed some more, and i listened to the music and felt her breathe.

“thank you. for being my hero.” she breathed.

i closed my eyes, this time relishing in the grin that spread across my lips.

i locked the car doors as i walked towards the hill where the willow tree she always pointed out when we drove past was planted. i pushed my hands deeper in my pockets as i felt the nerves bubble in my stomach. 

i was looking at a piece of stone, and it shouldn’t have made me cry.

but it was my last name. not (y/l/n). bakugou was written on her tombstone. i felt my knees weaken and i dropped to the ground, heaving with sobs as i wrapped my arms around myself. 

“you’re so against tradition. are you going to take my name?” i asked.

“do you want me to?” (y/n) tilted her head to the side, searching my eyes.

“yes.” i said honestly.

“then of course i will. i’ll take your last name.” she smiled. “i’d love to be a bakugou, katsuki. because i love you.”

i reached out to touch her hand across the table. she intertwined our fingers, glancing back down at her mission briefing. 

it took a long time for me to clear my vision. when i did, i took a while to sit in silence, reading her tombstone over and over. 

“i miss you.” i said out loud. i almost flinched at the sound of my own voice, but once the words were out of my mouth, it all came out.

“these - months without you have felt empty. i miss falling asleep next to you, or having you beg me to make dinner because i’m the only one who can cook. i miss you forcing me to do shitty things that i was scared to do on my own.” i wiped aggressively at my eyes. 

“this is so fucking stupid. fucking - i wish it had been me, sometimes. but then i think that it would be you, sitting here alone. crying. it would’ve been worse. but i can’t fucking do this, princess. i can’t do this without you.” i glanced up at the sky. i had never felt more weak in my whole life. so empty. there was a physical piece of myself missing without her, and there was nothing that could replace it.

“i never got to see your dress.” i clenched my hands into tight fists. “your beautiful wedding dress… i remember the look on your face when you came home with it. ‘if we’re gonna do this, we’re doing it right’ you said. so that meant i didn’t get to see your dress until i watched you walk towards me.”

“i feel like this is my fault. if i had taken the patrol route that night, instead of you, you might still be here. i might be married to you by now.” i had to squeeze my eyes shut to try and suppress the tears again. “i fucking hate this. i fucking hate that i can’t fucking do anything! i promised i’d always protect you. i promised i would be your hero. i fucking love you! i’m so sorry i couldn’t save you, (y/n)… i’m so fucking sorry!” i choked on my sobs, covering my face with my hands.

“why do you always hide your face when you cry?” (y/n) asked softly. “you don’t need to pretend you don’t feel things, baby. you’re the love of my life. let yourself feel your emotions.”

“i have to be strong.” i told her, keeping my voice as angry as possible. “i have to.”

“why?” she asked bluntly. “what valid reason do you have to force yourself to be emotionless and strong all the time?”

i didn’t have a response for her. i stared into her eyes and just waited. for her to tell me why that was wrong, why i should be letting myself feel.

instead she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me against her the way i did to her when she cried. i let myself be comforted by her, just this once. her hands ran down my back in a calming motion. 

“i can’t really get mad at you for it.” (y/n) sighed. “i do it too.”

i glanced at her, holding her gaze as she wiped my tears away. “but you don’t have to hide from me, katsuki. i promise.” 

the nightmares varied after that. she was really gone, i guess, and once that settled in i managed to force myself back up in the morning to train. things fell back into place, as i trained harder, fought harder. i was determined to not let anyone die the same way (y/n) had. 

and she never came back. i never fell in love again, because i was so scared that i wouldn’t be able to protect them again. i let myself hide behind my emotional barriers again, the ones she had broken down, and i stayed there.