#I was told my Great Grandmother was Polish and made them all the time

[retrowaving1]

There's a very similar experience from the other point of view for the Polish people who used to live in the Western part of the modern Ukraine. As a Pole who was born there, having lived as a minority amongst people who knew very little about your culture (despite the fact that there were signs of this culture everywhere in the architecture, the food, the borrowed words in the local dialect of ukrainian) was really strange.

When I was in middle school one guy told me, just out of spite, to go back to "my Poland", and being still a young kid I was really confused. My family has lived here for centuries and now I have to go back? Back where??? I felt like I didn't belong in my own hometown.

And I know that it was generational, as my grandfather hid his actual roots and came out with a more Ukrainian-sounding surname to survive during the soviet times, my grandmother spent all her life thinking that she was worse than her peers because her father was Polish and was made to leave his home, and, as many others, was not allowed to take my pregnant great-grandmother with him. My grandmother from my mom's side, Polish to the bone, almost forgot how to speak her own language and only remembered it thanks to the prayers and the local Polish priests, who made a great deal of supporting the local Polish community after the declaration of independence in Ukraine.

But the Soviet times were the toughest. My great-grandmother lost her husband, who was repressed, her name, most of her Polish documents and books. God, communists took even her cookbooks in Polish, because they wanted her to abandon her culture completely and adjust to the new regime. Imagine you have two kids and one on the way, and one day your husband never comes back home and you learn that he was taken by communists, but you have no idea where and whether he would ever return. Then they come for you, and to protect your kids, you give away your whole identity, you suddenly are not Helena anymore, you are Olena, and you are a citizen of the Soviet Union, whether you like it or not.

And your grandkid (my mom) would no longer learn the language your family had been speaking for centuries, and she would only learn scraps and pieces of your tradition which you remembered from your own youth, but were not allowed to truly follow, and she would have no community to feel comfortable within, and as a child she would be blamed by the old Ukrainian neighbours for the so-called "sins of her Polish people" - people, she never knew until she grew up herself and started seeking for connection with them.

To this day, my parents feel like they are "worse" than the Polish people who were born in Poland, just because they aren't "Polish enough". I mean - how could they be, if most of their people were forcefully removed from the region which once was filled with a variety of languages and cultures. Poles, Ukrainians, Jews, Armenians and many other ethnicities literally lived as neighbours. And the War changed everything for all of them, making that part of the world exclusively Ukrainian - and even Ukrainian culture for the first 50 years was suppressed, as the country was treated as an inseparable part of the cancerous monster created by moscovites, the Soviet Union.

I apologise for such a big wall of text, but this topic is still truly painful for me. I've been trying to regain what's mine since the very childhood, learning the language and the culture previous generations were forcefully deprived of. I moved to "my Poland" a long time ago, where I feel accepted, but still treated as an immigrant, as a Ukrainian whom I never was, at best - only administratively, in the documents. And it's all because of this huge and painful past everyone in this part of the world shares. I truly believe there's nothing more degrading and immoral than striping a person of their identity and a forceful removal of them out of their own homes. It's a generational trauma that even my kids, hopefully born in Poland, will carry in them, knowing from childhood that their grandparents on their mom's side are Polish, but "different". I guess the worst thing is that we all speak of such things in the past tense, while it is still something that is happening - to Ukrainian people in the east of their country, on the territories occupied by russians. Many people from Donbas were forced to move - either to Ukraine or to Russia - in 2014, but many of the people remained and are forced to assimilate to russian culture, whether they like it or not.

Going back to my family's history, I feel like it's my duty to speak up on every opportunity to bring attention to the Polish minority of Ukraine, because it still exists. It's suppressed, it's misunderstood and it gets smaller and smaller with each year because many youngsters either move to Poland or reject their Polish identity completely to embrace the Ukrainian one, but it exists. Older people remember the pain in the eyes of their parents, who survived the war and whose close people were either forcefully relocated or repressed and sent to Syberia. I'm not saying that part of the world is utterly Polish (not anymore at least), but it used to have Polish culture and the Polish people of that region deserve to be remembered and mentioned at least once in a while. So that my mom wouldn't break into tears, moved, every time she's being treated as equal by other Polish people, so that my grandmother wouldn't be scared to speak polish, haunted by the painful memories of the past, so that the many kids born to people of Polish descent would be proud of their ancestry and wouldn't completely reject it because of the peer pressure. I think it is necessary to carry on the memory of the people who used to live there, but mostly no longer do.

i don't think it is a uniquely polish experience, but surely universal for every pole

when you go somewhere and you think about the people, who were there before, but they are not anymore and in a way you took their place, but you know, that you cannot t r u l y replace them and quite frankly, you dont even want to

visiting regions around muszyna and seeing all greek-catholic churches turned into roman-catholic ones, because lemka people are not here anymore, as they were deported. you see their road side chapels and graves 100 years old and you know they lived there for so long, but they don't anymore

almost every single polish city has at least a memorial tablet dedicated to jews, who lived there before the war and whose fate you don't want to think about, really, having been learning about it since you were like 10. watchful eyes can still see balconies, that look out of place, but which once were most probably sukkas, or sometimes even a hole in a doorframe, where a mezuzah used to be. and abandoned cemeteries. so so many of them

there is a karaite cementery in warsaw, but when you think about it, can you name one karaite person? or someone masurian, so to speak? boykos?

to, in a span of ~10 years, go from a country with almost 40% of ethnic minorities among its citizens to a country that is pretty much homogenous is so outlandish

everywhere you go, something, s o m e o n e is missing. and will never come back

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Under Your Spell

Vox x Reader

Since childhood, I have been told I look identical to my great-grandmother. Her husband, my great-grandfather, has looked at me like I was the last fragment of her to walk this earth. When he passed, it made me realize how some people lose their first loves and never get to see them again. I decided for this story that Vox should get to see his first love after he thought all was lost. However, it was you, his first lost love's great-granddaughter. You have the same looks and names, just younger. He thought after his first love's father chased him away, that was it, and any part of your life would never be in his hands again—until you were placed in Val's hands, and his protective side came out. Can you two learn to love each other? Will things grow or dissolve since he is close to that horrid Moth man? Tw: MDNI, 18+, Assult, Val being Val, Weird family-like relations, based off my HC Vox

Wow, this one is a long one. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think! I don't normally write long pieces like this, so if we like it, I will attempt to do it more! I wanted this posted yesterday but just kept writing and writing and writing. I had to make myself stop and cut off.

“No, Vox! You will never see my daughter again! Do you hear me?” The older man’s voice thundered, his face a deep crimson, veins bulging as fury twisted his features. Spit flew from his mouth with each vehement word, a grotesque display of his rage. “She is a good Christian woman, and she will not fall for your television antics! She deserves a good man—someone who can provide for her, not some reality star scum!”

Vox swallowed hard, the bitter taste of desperation rising in his throat. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he fought to keep them at bay, unwilling to give the man before him the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. “You can’t do this!” He surged forward, trying to push the door open again, the threshold of your home now a barrier between love and despair. Just moments ago, he had envisioned a simple marriage proposal—an intimate moment filled with promise. But the moment he uttered those words, it felt as if the heavens had opened up to unleash divine wrath upon him. Vox was never a good christian man and now only seemed to further prove that.

“I love her! I have loved her for so long! I will treat her right! You cannot take my Angel from me!” His voice cracked, desperation saturating each syllable as he pleaded with the man who wielded the power to shatter his dreams.

But the door slammed shut, the finality of it echoing in his heart. As Vox stumbled back, the world around him blurred, the vibrant colors of love fading into a monochrome nightmare. You were gone, just as quickly as you had entered his life, your father’s iron grip ripping you from his arms. Like a good Christian girl, you obeyed, never looking back.

You married a well-off businessman, someone who could provide in all the ways Vox was deemed incapable. Sundays found you in polished pews, while he languished in the bright glare of daytime TV. You bore children while Vox climbed the ranks to prime time, and as he basked in fleeting fame, you were left to wither under the weight of a dreaded illness. When he was ultimately taken down by his own deceitful schemes, it felt like a cruel twist of fate for you both.

When Vox woke in hell, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he felt a strange sense of contentment; he knew he had courted darkness throughout his life. A con man’s rise to fame was paved with the broken dreams of others, and he’d danced on that line with reckless abandon. Yet, the greatest cost was the loss of you—his little angel, the only light that could have guided him from the shadows. Perhaps, if he had kept you by his side, he might have found redemption instead of ruin.

Years in hell stretched on, dull and monotonous, much like his time as a TV host. He made acquaintances, and he made enemies. He learned from the notorious Radio Demon, their relationship evolving into a rivalry as fierce as it was complex. Valentino entered the picture, a partnership forged in the fires of self-interest, followed by Velvette, who added her own chaotic flair to their strange trio. Despite these new connections, Vox could never fully release you from his heart. How could he let go of his first love, the girl who had filled his world with color?

Vox kept tabs on you long ago when you two still walked among the living, an unyielding shadow lurking in the corners of your life. He was a shady man, after all, so it was no surprise that he employed someone to follow you and your family. He needed to know you were loved and cared for, even if it meant watching from the sidelines. Your life blossomed into something beautiful—a picture-perfect family, Sunday church outings, laughter echoing through the halls of your home. Each glimpse of your happiness twisted the knife in his heart, a reminder of what he had lost. He only wished now here in hell he could have a moment to see you once more.

Yet, you never looked back at him, not once. Even when he learned you were sick, he held onto the hope that your devoted husband would nurse you back to health. Instead, you spent your final years in a realm far brighter than hell, surrounded by family, while Vox remained trapped in the shadows.

Then, one fateful day, the story took an unforeseen turn. You, Y/N L/N, the great-granddaughter of the woman who once bore the same name and likeness, found yourself in a world steeped in piety and predictability. Your family’s life revolved around the church—Sunday services, Bible studies, and summer camps that felt more like shackles than blessings.

Yet you, the wild child among your siblings and the first daughter in generations, danced on the edge of rebellion. Your spirit, a fiery blend of your grandmother’s beauty and the reckless charm of a man she once sought to escape late into the night with, burned brightly. You lived humbly, taking only what you needed in the daylight, but at night that didn’t stop you from indulging in the vices that thrilled your heart—partying, drinking, and seeking freedom in every forbidden encounter.

As you stepped into adulthood, the veil of your misdeeds was ripped away, exposing the wild and reckless girl you had been. On your eighteenth birthday, the news broke like a thunderclap, echoing through your conservative town. Whispers turned to shouts as tales of your high school escapades spread like wildfire—parties, late nights, and indiscretions that painted you as the black sheep of your family.

In a desperate attempt to salvage your reputation, your parents enrolled you in a Christian college, hoping the structure would steer you back to the righteous path. But even there, with the pressure of expectations weighing heavily on you, you found ways to maintain your hedonistic lifestyle. You studied hard, yes, but the allure of nightlife was too intoxicating to resist. By the time you turned twenty-four, your antics had once again come to light, revealing just how unladylike and un-Christian your behavior had truly become.

Disowned by your family, you were cast out like a forgotten relic, but it hardly stung. You had siblings aplenty—golden children who fit the mold your parents desired. While they basked in their parents' approval, you reveled in your newfound freedom, embracing a life unshackled from the burdens of propriety. You danced through life with a wild abandon, each misstep a badge of honor in your quest for self-discovery.

But this exhilarating freedom came crashing down one fateful night. On the eve of your twenty-eighth birthday, you found yourself at a pulsating club, surrounded by friends who matched your energy. Laughter and music melded into a cacophony of joy, and for a moment, the weight of your past felt distant. But as the night wore on, everything blurred. A drink, laced with malice, slipped into your hand, and before you knew it, the world around you faded to black.

When you came to, the vibrant lights and music were replaced by an oppressive stillness. You blinked, disoriented, trying to piece together what had happened. Panic surged through you as you recognized your surroundings—a hellish landscape bathed in a sinister shade of red. The air was thick with a suffocating heat, and the ground beneath you felt like it was pulsating with a malevolent energy.

The reality of your situation crashed down like a wave, and you realized you were no longer in the world you had known. You had crossed an unforgiving threshold, one that led straight into this hellish landscape. Memories of your life flashed before your eyes—your family’s disappointment, your reckless choices, the fleeting moments of joy that now seemed tainted.

As you struggled to rise, the shadows began to shift and swirl around you, whispering secrets of despair and temptation. You knew you were exactly where you belonged, a place you practically through yourself at the minute you were old enough to disobey your family. You were killed and now resting here in the pits of hell.

In those fleeting moments, you understood that you weren’t just a victim of circumstance from one bad drink; you were a participant in your own chaotic narrative. The life you had led and the choices you had made brought you here, and now, in this twisted realm, you had the chance to confront the consequences of your actions. 

With a mixture of fear and defiance, you steeled yourself, ready to navigate this dark new world. You would face whatever challenges awaited you, determined to reclaim your story, even if it meant battling the demons of your past—both literally and figuratively.

You were in hell and you readily accepted this, dressed in a glitzy clubbing dress, your skin transformed to the vibrant hue of a fox’s rich orange, glinted with specks of white and black. Yet, amidst this twisted beauty, your features still bore the unsettling resemblance to your deceased great grandmother.

As the years dragged on, the brutal exterminations became increasingly difficult to evade. The once-familiar landscape of hell morphed into a relentless hunt, where survival was a cruel game of chance. Desperation gnawed at your insides, leading you to a place you had sworn to avoid—a notorious sex house owned by Valentino, a figure whose reputation sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened souls.

You stepped into that den of sexual sin with a singular purpose: the Vee’s worker bees somehow endured the purges, and you were desperate to escape the clutches of a second death. With a resolve, you signed up to be 'looked at' for a position among his girls, hoping to cling to life a little longer.

What you encountered inside was an atmosphere so charged with depravity it felt like a physical weight pressing down on you. The air was thick with the heady scent of desperation and lust, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and smoke. You had pushed boundaries in your past life, but this was another level entirely. As nausea rose in your throat, you instinctively turned to prayer—a futile gesture in this place of darkness.

But in that moment of vulnerability, your fate took a turn. Valentino’s gaze locked onto yours, and you became acutely aware of the power dynamics at play. You were stunning, a rare gem in a world where foxes were coveted for their allure, and you were an easy choice for Val, despite your lack of experience in the kind of intensity he demanded.

Fortune, it seemed, was on your side. Within hours, you found yourself promoted, thrust into the orbit of Angel Dust, a top star in this grim world, and whisked away to Vee's Tower, where the underbelly of the film industry thrived. At first, your work was relatively tame, as Angel had angered Val, bearing the brunt of the wrath while you breathed a sigh of relief. You grew to enjoy the role, finding unexpected camaraderie with Velvette, the costume designer whose creativity brought a splash of color to the otherwise bleak environment. She was a refreshing presence, a stark contrast to the calculating Val.

Yet, the shadows loomed ever closer. Angel’s absence, demanded by the princess of hell, left you standing alone in a spotlight that felt increasingly dangerous. Whispers of Val’s violent tendencies echoed in your mind, tales of how he had ruthlessly eliminated two of Velvette’s models and three of Vox’s interns. Fear coursed through your veins as you perched on a plum-red bed, clad in a navy blue lingerie set, feeling like prey waiting to be devoured.

And then, without warning, the door swung open. You braced yourself, only to find not Val, but a strikingly handsome man with a television for a head. It was Vox, the elusive figure you had only heard whispers about. You leaned forward, captivated by the confrontation unfolding before you, the tension crackling in the air like electricity.

But then Val’s eyes landed on you, and his smile widened, a predatory gleam igniting within them. “My dear Voxypoo,” Val purred, “how about we make a deal? I’ll apologize for my misdeeds towards your interns in exchange for Hermosa over here.” 

Your heart raced as Vox’s eyes widened in recognition, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. An unexpected jolt of electricity surged through you, mingling with fear and a spark of something dangerously close to desire. You were caught in a web of fate, and as the stakes rose higher, you realized that your story in this hell was only just beginning.

You had never met this man before a day in your life, yet an inexplicable pull drew you toward him, a magnetic static crackling in the air around him. “Oh Vox, if you don’t want her, that’s fine. I plan on her taking Angel’s role today. The damn spider is off playing games with the princessa bitch,” Valentino sneered, and your heart sank. Fear coursed through your veins like ice water; the realization hit you hard—he intended to use you in one of those scenes, to thrust you into the depths of humiliation and despair.

“She's a high commodity; I’m sure her soul would be mine after—” Val’s voice trailed off, but you couldn’t grasp what was happening next. One moment, you were trembling in fear, and the next, a whirlwind of chaos erupted. Valentino’s eyes swirled with ominous black and red spirals as the shoot was abruptly canceled, the tension snapping like a frayed wire.

A navy blue jacket was draped over your shoulders, and a firm hand helped you to your feet. “Come with me. You will be working in VoxTech from now on. Understood?” Vox’s voice was steady, but you could only nod, relief flooding through you at the thought of escaping Val’s clutches, at least for now.

You were still ensnared in the web of the Vee’s world, but perhaps you could choose the cranky TV man who seemed more enigmatic than predatory. Maybe you could carve out a semblance of a life, away from the chaos that had become your existence.

Following Vox, you traversed the unfamiliar corridors of Vee’s Tower, finally arriving in a room that felt distinctly different from the others. The walls were lined with large screens displaying chaotic scenes from around hell, and a solitary chair sat in the center, casting a shadow like a throne of power. “W-Where are we? Val never brought me here?” you stammered, confusion clouding your mind.

He hesitated, swallowing hard. Was this place a reflection of his past? Did you really resemble someone he had lost? The thought flickered through his mind, but Vox regained his composure and sat down, turning on the myriad of cameras that monitored the chaos outside. “This is my office. You will grow acquainted with it, as you will be my personal assistant.”

A wave of dread washed over you. So you weren’t free from the chains of servitude; you were merely swapping one form of obedience for another. His gaze flicked toward you, and he must have seen the pain etched in your features because he added, “You will do nothing more for me than paperwork, gather intel, and help set up schedules.” He motioned for you to leave, his tone dismissive yet oddly gentle.

“This floor has eight unused apartments. Choose one and message me; I will unlock it for you, and you can create your own secure pin to come and go.” His words felt like a lifeline, yet the way he avoided looking at you left a strange knot in your stomach.

Nodding, you stepped out, still wrapped in his jacket, a strange comfort amidst the chaos. You wandered the floor until you found a room that resonated with you—a sanctuary away from the dirt and grime of your past. After messaging Vox, you entered, marveling at the unexpected upgrade. How had you managed to elevate your circumstances so easily?

Lying back on the bed, you gazed up at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of your new life. You were seeking refuge, had become Val’s plaything, narrowly escaped abuse because of a cranky TV man who wouldn’t even look at you. What an absurd turn of events—what the hell was happening?

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you changed into comfortable clothes, the tension of the day beginning to ebb away. Just as sleep began to weave its way into your mind, a soft chime from your phone startled you awake. Vox had messaged you, detailing the new daily routine you would follow to assist him. 

Setting an alarm, you nestled into bed, uncertainty swirling in your thoughts like a restless storm. What would the next day bring? Would it be more of the same, or perhaps a glimmer of hope in this hellish landscape? As you drifted off, the questions lingered, weaving through your dreams like shadows, leaving you on the brink of something you couldn’t yet comprehend.

------------------------Time Skip-------------------------

Vox quickly grew to love your company over the last three years, though Vox knew deep down that you weren’t the woman he had loved in his youth. You were almost her replica—a haunting echo of the past—but with a wilder, more untamed spirit. As he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief, he found himself drawn to that wildness even more. It was as if fate had conspired to create you just for him, a masterpiece crafted by your great-grandmother’s whims.

Yet, he never dared to reveal this connection, fearing it might shatter the fragile friendship that had blossomed between you. Yes, friendship—nothing more or less. However, with each passing day, he found himself surrendering to the undeniable truth that he had fallen for you harder than he ever had for your great-grandmother. 

No matter how many times he insisted that he was merely helping an old friend, a beacon of support for someone who had been torn from him, he couldn’t deny the intoxicating pull you had on him. At first, it had been your striking looks that captivated him, but as time wore on, it was your vibrant personality that ensnared his heart. You were everything Vox craved and needed on a biblical level; an irony he chuckled at, considering he hadn’t picked up a Bible since your great-grandmother had left him.

His mind was spiraling, his hypnosis streams were intensifying, and his push for innovative Vox tech was reaching a fever pitch. He even managed to score a narrow victory against Alastor, all thanks to you. How could one person be so perfectly oblivious to the advances he so desperately tried to make?

No one had ever worn his watches, draped themselves in his jackets, or even held his cherished pocket squares—except for you. But a troubling realization swept over him: all the advances he made were rooted in his time period, not yours. Your great-grandmother may have swooned at his charm, but you probably saw him as nothing more than a friend. In that moment, he knew he was utterly doomed.

You genuinely enjoyed working for Vox, relishing the opportunity to utilize your strengths. With a degree in entertainment and public relations, you found it easy to navigate the world of hypnotic persuasion he wielded. You were a wizard at uncovering people’s weak spots, providing Vox with ample ammunition against his personal enemies.

Almost immediately, you had become Vox’s young, gorgeous vixen. You liked the title so much that you gradually stopped using your real name, opting instead for the playful 'V' theme. Yet, Vox never referred to you by that name—always your real name, accompanied by a distant look that gnawed at your insides.

It had taken a year for him to truly see you, another year for him to stop freezing like a computer caught in a loop, and now, in this last year, he finally spoke without those awkward buffering noises. 

You never understood why he had chosen you as his assistant if he struggled to be around you. But you were content, especially since you had escaped Valentino’s grasp. You felt lucky that the exterminations had ceased shortly after you joined Vox. You often reassured yourself that if they ever resumed, you would leave—but the truth was, you were too attached to the enigmatic, awkward TV man.

You couldn’t deny the chemistry crackling between the two of you. He sent sparks racing through your body, igniting your nervous system with a thrilling energy. He was handsome in a classic, old-school way, the type of man your father would approve of—if only they never got to know he was a con artist. 

Every fiber of your being screamed to be with him, to unravel the layers of his soul and understand him in a way that transcended mere friendship. He was smooth-talking, undeniably hot, and invading your dreams more each night, leaving you craving his presence even more. The tension hung thick in the air, a tantalizing promise of what could be, if only you dared to cross the line that separated friendship from something infinitely more profound.

It was utterly embarrassing—sneaking down to the old production studio, heart racing, just to rent out some toys that would let you indulge in your fantasies of being with Vox. He had never once hypnotized you, but you were undeniably under his spell, enchanted by his presence in every way.

“Vox, I got you the meeting with Carmilla about the angelic steel and its reproduction,” you announced, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your stomach. “I also secured a meeting with the health district to discuss the drug you want to utilize.” You had become extra vigilant lately, making a concerted effort to show him your interest. Your skirts grew shorter, your tops had fewer buttons, and your heels reached dizzying heights, showcasing your legs to their best advantage.

You were the death of him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his composure crumbled completely. You were tantalizingly close, yet he felt he couldn’t take advantage of your affections. The scars from his past ran deep; he didn’t want to go through that kind of heartache again. Even if your father couldn’t steal you away like your great-grandmother had been stolen from him, the odd connection to family made him reluctant to risk your bond.

But the way you presented yourself, dressed to entice, sent a tent of desire straining against the fabric of his pants. It felt as though he was being dragged through heaven, hell, and every place in between. He knew you were in hell in your own way, unlike your great-grandmother, but damn, did you have to be so deliciously tempting?

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll be getting off early today due to an issue with Val. If you could make sure the cleaners come in here and do their job properly, I’d appreciate it,” he said, his voice calm and cool, eyes never lifting from the screen. 

He was an enigma, nearly impossible to crack, seemingly showing no interest in you at all. Sighing, you nodded and began clearing his schedule; his fights with Val tended to stretch on longer than they should. You made sure to leave a dinner reminder for him and then headed out to retrieve the cleaning staff.

When you returned, you monitored the cleaning process closely. Vox usually preferred his tech to handle the cleaning, but today he insisted that his computers and TVs needed a “Sinners touch” to avoid any mishaps. You settled into his large chair, humming softly, legs crossed, watching as the young, fish-like boy worked diligently.

Out of the corner of your eye, a faint blue glow caught your attention. Vox was typically meticulous about shutting everything down before leaving, yet this one tab remained open. Half of you wanted to close it and move on with your life, but the other half—the curious, daring part—couldn’t resist the temptation. 

With a deep breath, you opened the screen. A Word document sprawled across the display, pages filled with dates and passages that traced the evolution of technology from its inception to the present. Your heart raced as you scrolled through the text, but then you froze, eyes fixated on the most recent passage. 

It was a detailed account of his current hyperfixation – You. As you read on, the implications began to sink in, filling you with a mix of excitement and dread. What had Vox been planning? And how deeply did it truly involve you? 

‘She was a vision of beauty, captivating in a way that made my heart race and my thoughts spiral into chaos. I found myself wanting to take her, to make her mine in every way possible—over my bed, on the couch, against the cool surface of the counter, or sprawled across my desk. It was a reckless desire, one that threatened to unravel my composure and resolve with each passing glance. I was trying to court her like a proper gentleman, even though every instinct screamed for me to act on the primal urge that surged within me.’

‘What would she think if I finally confessed the truth? The truth of the connection that shimmered between us, electric and undeniable. If I bared my soul, revealing the reason why every time I looked at her, I felt an insatiable longing to claim her and never let her go—would she recoil in fear, or would she lean in closer? Would she despise me for the dark secrets I harbored?’

‘It was a sin, a tangled web of emotions, that I saved her not just because I had to, but because I had once been in love with her great-grandmother. If only it were simple to tell Y/N that my heart had shifted over the years, that the ghost of the past no longer haunted me as I found myself enchanted by her. I needed to steady my racing heart, but the hope of seeing more of Y/N today filled me with both excitement and dread. She had left a dinner reservation for two—was it meant for us, or was it for Val and me? My heart leaped at the possibility that it was for her and I.’

You were in shock. A torrent of questions flooded your mind, each one more bewildering than the last. How did he know your great-grandmother? How had he concealed this attraction so skillfully? The cleaner’s approach broke your reverie, and the scream that escaped your lips echoed through the building, a cacophony of confusion and fear.

With a heavy sigh, you closed everything down, your thoughts still swirling like leaves caught in a wind tunnel. You gently patted the shorter fish boy’s head, his wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty mirroring your own. As you made your way back to your room, you collapsed onto your bed, the weight of the revelations pressing down on you.

He knew her? You squeezed your eyes shut, desperately rifling through the foggy memories of your childhood, the faded photographs that lined the walls of your mind. Your great-grandmother had passed away when your grandmother was still a child, but her belongings remained—a bittersweet reminder of a life once lived. Vaguely, you recalled a picture that had often sparked your great-grandfather's ire.

Vox was in that picture… Vox, her first love, the man who had been banished by her father, the one your great-grandfather had despised and vowed to protect his family from. He was the specter who haunted your past, a figure you were compared to when you were disowned from the family and stripped of your inheritance.

The realization hit you like a thunderclap, shattering your understanding of everything you thought you knew. How did you feel? The attraction was still there, a flicker of warmth igniting within you as you considered his little habits, the subtle ways he courted you, filling you with butterflies. But could you allow yourself to love him? Would it be wrong to care for him in that way?

You glanced at your tablet, your heart racing as you noticed the dinner reservation was in just forty-five minutes. Swallowing hard, you stood up, a newfound determination coursing through your veins. The only way to truly understand what he made you feel, to unravel this complex web of emotions, was to show up. Normally, these reservations were for Val and him, a ritual of reconciliation, but this time, you would be there for him. For you. 

You moved quickly, the anticipation coursing through your veins as you stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over you like a refreshing embrace. With each drop, you washed away the remnants of your uncertainties, emerging with a renewed sense of purpose. 

Dressing became an art form; you pulled out all the stops to impress Vox. The deep ruby red pumps clicked against the floor as you slipped them on, a bold statement that added height and confidence to your stature. Black frilled lace-topped stockings clung to your legs, accentuating every curve. The navy blue long-sleeved dress hugged your figure just right, revealing just enough to showcase your best assets without losing an air of elegance. You styled your hair to perfection, cascading waves framing your face, while your makeup highlighted your features, making your eyes sparkle like stars.

It had been ages since you had gone to such lengths, not since the days of trying to impress Val, desperate to avoid his inappropriate advances. With a sigh, you shot a quick message to Vox, sharing the restaurant's destination but omitting any mention of Val. Tonight was about you and Vox, and you were determined to make the most of it.

As you stepped out of your door, your Vox Tech security bot awaited you, its sleek design a reminder of the world you inhabited. Vox had insisted on the device escorting you, and as you arrived at the restaurant, your eyes locked with Vox’s as he just arrived as well. Time seemed to pause as you both stood there, taking each other in.

To him, you were radiant, every inch of you exuding beauty and allure. His desires surged within him, overwhelming as he imagined symphonies and angelic choirs serenading your presence in this chaotic world. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but admire his dashing figure. Though a hard day had worn on him, leaving traces of fatigue etched across his handsome features, he maintained an effortless charm. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, his cuffs slightly askew, and in that moment, you realized something profound: tonight, he would be yours, and you would be his, come what may.

A soft smile danced on your lips as you reached for his outstretched arm, feeling a rush of warmth as you entered the restaurant together. The high-end staff treated you like royalty, ushering you to a table draped in elegant linens. Once seated, you glanced up at Vox through your lashes, your expression teasing as you playfully toyed with the rim of your wine glass.

“I know about our family ties…” you said, watching as his eyes widened in surprise, a dark blush creeping across his cheeks. Was he embarrassed that you knew, or perhaps flustered by the undeniable attraction that pulsed between you? 

“I want you to know, connection or not, I feel it all too,” you added, punctuating your statement with a sly wink. His composure faltered, and you could see him short-circuiting, lost in the implications of your words.

Once he regained his composure, a soft smile broke across his face, his eyes flickering nervously as he tried to avoid the luxurious curves that had him entranced. “So this means I can finally stop dancing around and court you more publicly?” he asked, a hopeful glint in his gaze.

You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head with a smirk. “I think we’ve passed the stage of courting, Mr. Bed, Couch, Counter, and Desk.” Your cheeks warmed at your own boldness, while his face flamed with embarrassment at your teasing. A soft giggle escaped you as you flagged down the waiter, paying for the wine that would accompany your evening.

“Let’s head back to the tower, Vox… let me help you relax after today’s tiring events.” The confidence that surged within you was intoxicating, fueled by the way he looked at you and the undeniable chemistry crackling in the air. 

You had dreamed of this moment, of nights alone together, your hand tucked beneath you in hopes of relief, but it had never been enough. Each day spent near him only deepened your addiction to the awkward yet captivating man. But with the dark, calculating look in his eyes, you knew that from this moment forward, you would be more than satisfied. 

As the evening unfolded, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you—two souls entwined in a dance of desire, ready to explore the depths of your connection, past and present, together. 

A chill raced down your spine as you and he stepped into his work car, the evening air thick with anticipation. He wanted to wait until you were safely hidden away in his condo before his hands roamed your body, but the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. As the engine purred to life, his fingers found their way to your thigh, gently caressing the soft fabric of your stockings. You could feel his gaze on you, hungry and intense, as you breathed heavily, caught in the electrifying moment. He was eager to claim you as his own, to make you his in every sense.

The drive felt like an eternity, each passing second stretching out as his hand danced tantalizingly close to where you craved him most. You were ablaze with desire, the thrill of his touch igniting something deep within you that had lay dormant for far too long. No one had ever made you feel this way—caught between the living and the dead, lost in a whirlwind of longing and need. You were ready to surrender completely to the man beside you, to give him every part of yourself.

When the car finally came to a halt, all semblance of self-control shattered. In one swift motion, he pulled you over the center console and into his lap, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that stole your breath away. One hand tangled possessively in your hair while the other gripped your waist, asserting his dominance in a way that sent shivers of pleasure cascading through you.

You mirrored his urgency, your fingers gripping his shoulder and the nape of his neck, feeling the warmth radiating from him. Every kiss, every whisper of his breath against your skin, sent jolts of electricity sparking through your nerves, making you whimper into his mouth. You could feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against you, a reflection of the heated chemistry that crackled between you.

With his patience wearing thin, he pulled away, but only long enough to fling open the car door. He was acutely aware of your head as he stepped out, holding you firmly against him, making his way through the throng of Vee staff and personnel. There was no hesitation in his stride; he made it abundantly clear that you were his and his alone, a declaration that sent a thrill coursing through you.

As you rode the elevator, the air thickened with tension and need. He pressed you against the cool metal wall, his lips crashing against yours as he kissed you fervently, over and over again. His hands roamed your body with a glorious sensuality, and you could hear the soft moans and whimpers escaping him, reverberating in your chest like a sweet melody.

When the elevator doors finally opened, it was as if you were stepping into a dream. He swept you up in his arms, never breaking contact with your warmth or your mouth. With a careful grace, he navigated the threshold of his condo, ensuring you never brushed against anything sharp or hard, as if he wanted to preserve this fragile moment forever. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other, ready to explore the depths of your desire.

The sensations heightened once you two entered his bedroom as he gently set you on the bed. He was careful to lay you down, slotting himself between your legs. He hummed quietly in the kiss as he enjoyed the feeling and taste of you. You were, finally, his, and he could have you all he wanted here. You offered no protests.

You raked your hands over his arms and chest, slipping behind his back, scratching gently with your nails on any skin you could find. Vox's sounds, the same frequent heat, and need, were identical to yours. Everything begged you to take your clothes off and take him.

Vox pulled away, looking down at you for the first time since tonight's escapades began. A sloppy, lopsided grin was on his face as he moved the hair from your face. "Are you sure you want this doll?"

You gave him one soft nod, and all bets were off. Before you could utter another word, a moan was pulled from your lips as he kissed down your neck and pulled on the base of your hair. Soft pants left you, and you felt the tension pool in your core. How long have you two wanted this?

Sighing softly and pushing into Vox's clothed crotch, he growled low and kissed you roughly. Hands roamed your body, and your dress was slowly unclasped from your body. Your chest became exposed, and the most beautiful red bra he had ever seen was on display upon your delicate body. Even Val's porn stars had nothing on the sight of you half undressed before him.

As if dreams were becoming reality, he shivered as you slowly pushed his jacket off and tugged him down by his dress shirt. Kissing him, you worked on his buttons, running your hands along his torso once it was freed. Both of you shivered in delight and need as the other touched what was finally theirs.

Vox kissed back down your neck, leaving marks all across you, and landed on your breasts. Each one gets a solid mark right on the top where your cleavage sat. His lips teased the sensitive flesh. His arms snaked around you as he lifted you gently to unclasp the bra. Once it was off, he could feel the drool not only on his tongue but his cock head as well.

He hummed in delight as he bowed down and wrapped his blue tongue around one perky bud, the other gaining his talons' attention as he made you mewl for him. He was in heaven—here, right now, was his little heaven with his little angel. He switched between the two buds until they were too sensitive from his menstruation. "V-Vox, please, too much...need more...please..." You didn't mean to sound like a young virgin, but it was all too good to feel any other type of way. Soon, you felt the pressure above you leave as he stood up at the edge of the bed. Gently, he took your leg, resting your foot on his chest. He kissed your ankle and calf, taking your tights from the garter on your thigh. Slowly, he took the garments off and got a perfect sight right up your dress. Your pretty red underwear was stained wet from your need.

"Tell me, Y/N, where do you need me most? What do you need most? Tell me, and I will happily deliver it all to you, doll, whatever you need." He sounded so good saying that. His voice was an octave lower as he was already pussy drunk. You whimpered gently and sighed when he moved on to the next leg, removing the garments

"Need you between my legs Vox, so so many toys...none of them you," Your words sent a spark through him. He now understood today's argument with Val; some toys in the production studio had been missing, and his little Vixen took them. He smiled wide and fell to his knees at the edge of the bed.

"Your wish is my command, doll," He grabbed your waist, pulling you close to him. He shoved your dress up higher on your hips, having it bunch up on your stomach. Slowly, he ran a claw down your clothed heat. With each stroke of his claw, his mouth moved closer from your knee to your core. He always managed to miss where you wanted him most, though.

When you went to complain, however, you were interrupted by the cold sting to your cunt as he ripped the panties off completely. You gasped and cried out when Vox's long slender blue tongue licked a deep stripe up your soaking cunt. "Taste so good, doll, like my own apple pie, so fucking delicious," His menstruations didn't stop there, however, as Vox began to devour you like a man starved.

Your legs spread wider for him as he slotted himself against your cunt. His tongue was making circles on your puffy bud. Your head was thrown back as you grasped onto the bed for dear life. You needed him. Each tongue swirls and thrusts, sending you one step closer to your breaking point. At some point, your legs began to close, and all you could feel was a thread snapping. Vox didn't let up, though. If anything, he abused your clit and sucked you dry further.

When you began to cry and beg for relief, he stopped and pulled up, climbing back on top of you and kissing you hungrily. You could taste yourself on him as you felt his need press against your cunt. You needed more. "Please, Vox, take me, please, please; I need to be full and stuffed."

He thought he had heard angels earlier. He was dead wrong. What he heard then and was now hearing were two completely different planes of reality. He made quick work of his pants and boxers as you resituated on the bed. He slowly crawled back over you, kissing you deeply again. When he got between your legs and slotted himself right where you needed him, you moaned quietly.

Slowly, Vox entered you, both holding your breaths and breathing out together. He was so big, filling you to the brim while you were tight on him. He finally opened his eyes when he bottomed out and saw the most beautiful sight. Your tummy bulged out where his cock sat. Groaning in need, he pushed down on the bump and growled. "Oh, look at this baby, look at how deep I am, I will fill you up so full."

You cried, nodding, holding on to him for dear life. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He felt so thick and full as he abused your cunt with his deliberate speed. However, you knew he was coming to an end as well; he was pent up just as long as you were, and as his hips stuttered, you finally felt it, the whole feeling you had wished for since seeing the TV man.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back, keeping himself slotted in you. He held your hand close, playing with your hair. "Stay with me, Y/N, let me give you everything after life can offer."

You hummed softly and nodded, your eyes growing heavy. Life with Vox would be perfect, and you couldn't have been happier that you, Y/N L/N, got to live the carefree life your great-grandmama once wished for.

[totowlff]

extra — anger leaves a great void

➝ as a polish writer would say, “anger always leaves behind a great void, into which a flood of sadness immediately pours and flows like a great river, without beginning or end”.

➝ word count: 2,1k

➝ warnings: none

➝ author notes: happy holidays!

NOVEMBER, 2016

— Babcia, are you busy this Friday? Around seven?

— I don’t think so, Bene — Joanna asked, walking over to the wall calendar hanging in her kitchen. Her grandson called her just as she was finishing her dinner. She tucked her phone between her neck and her shoulder while she flipped the page over from October to November. It was about time, anyway. There was nothing scribbled in for Friday, the fourth. How was it November already? Where had the year gone? — It looks like I’m free. Why do you ask?

— Well, dad and Elisabeth are having a birthday dinner for me, because they’re both in Mexico right now. Dad didn’t want us to go out like we usually do because those reporters are still hanging around.

Joanna sighed. She hadn’t seen her son since the day after she’d had dinner with him and his girlfriend. She’d said some things to her that she had since come to regret. She was just trying to protect her son from having his heart broken, really. When he showed up with a girlfriend that she didn’t remember him ever having mentioned dating, she told the poor woman some very unkind things. 

Toto had come to Joanna’s apartment the next day and gave her an earful. She initially stood by what she said, but when Toto said he didn’t want to hear from her until he cooled off enough to talk to her again. She started thinking about it, ruminating on it, remembering the way that the anger crept up the back of her neck in little pinpricks as she spoke to the poor woman — Elisabeth was her name, Elisabeth Lauda. 

In retrospect, It made her feel awful. She knew next to nothing about the woman before writing her off wholesale, thinking she was just another in a long line of pretty, shallow women who were after the money and notoriety that being with her son would give them. It wasn’t as if he’d grown up wealthy. Far from it — his wealth was self-made, but that just meant that he didn’t grow up being able to judge the kind of intentions people had when forming relationships with him. 

That’s what Joanna thought. 

But Elisabeth didn’t need his money, or his notoriety. She had a successful career of her own, in addition to being the daughter of a national hero in Austria. She spent more time trying to avoid the spotlight than seeking it out, as it turned out.

What felt worse, though, was not hearing from her son in months, and knowing she deserved his silence. She had to find out about his comings and goings secondhand through her other child, Lili, or worse — through the tabloids. His relationship with Elisabeth had gone public, and according to Lili, it had not been easy on either of them. 

Every time Joanna looked at her phone, she had to fight the urge to call Toto, to see how he was doing, to apologize, to offer her support — after all, it seemed like Elisabeth was definitely serious about him. But, she learned her lesson, and respected Toto’s wishes. She would wait.

— I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Bene. I’d be happy to take you out for a birthday dinner this week if you’d like, just the two of…

— But — Benedict sounded equally hopeful and disappointed — I really wanted to do something with the entire family since we can’t go out together like usual. My mom is coming, too. Even Aunt Lili and Uncle Gerard are going to be there. Please, Babcia?

Joanna stared at the blank November 4th square on her calendar. She may not have always been the best mother to her children — she can admit that, now, but she always tried her damndest to make sure she was a good grandmother to her three grandchildren. It wouldn’t make up for her shortcomings as a mother, but she couldn’t change the past. Her relationship with her grandchildren was something she had control over.

— Okay. Yes. 7pm, correct? At your dad’s apartment?

The days between then and Friday flew by, in Joanna’s view. Time usually went faster before something one is nervous about, she found, and she certainly was nervous about Benedict’s party.

She wasn’t a woman who typically got nervous about things. She’d been through a lot of misfortune in the course of her lifetime — as such, it took a lot to rattle her, so she was surprised by how hesitant she felt about Benedict’s birthday party as she went about her week. She kept seeing Elisabeth’s face, kept hearing the ugly words she’d said to her, creeping in from the corners of her mind. She kept rehearsing the things she’d say to the woman, kept trying to figure out how she’d even begin to face her and apologize. 

Friday came. She got ready far too early. She’d already wrapped, unwrapped, and re-wrapped Benedict’s present, a Lego Technic set that, when assembled, would make a 48cm long model of a Porsche 911 GT3 RS. Lego sets had long been Joanna’s birthday gift of choice for Benedict, and thankfully, he hadn’t lost interest in them yet. The previous year’s Technic 24 Hours of LeMans car model was a hit.

Joanna’s anxiety was at a fever pitch when she pressed the button for Toto’s apartment. By the time she got to his door, she had almost turned around three times. 

“Where is the boldness I had when I had when I decided to talk to her like I did?”, she thought, when she finally was able to bring herself to press the button for the buzzer for Toto’s penthouse.

She waited for what felt like an eternity until the door buzzed and clicked, indicating that it was unlocked. Going up the elevator to the penthouse felt like yet another eternity. “Maybe this is what hell is like,” she thought. 

Toto answered the door a moment later.

— Mom… Hi — he said, like he didn’t believe that she would be standing in his doorway — Come in, come in.

Joanna walked in while Toto was telling her that dinner was almost ready. Her  eyes couldn’t help but lock onto Elisabeth’s as she was standing at the stove, looking at the contents of the pans over it, which made Joanna feel terrible near-immediately. Given the last conversation she’d had with Elisabeth, it probably made Joanna seem threatening. 

She followed her son into the living room. Lili and Gerard were there, along with Eloise, Joanna’s other granddaughter. 

— Babcia’s here! — Benedict called out, as all of her grandchildren ran up to Joanna to hug her. 

— Just a second — Joanna said. She handed over the gift that she’d wrapped for Benedict — Happy birthday, moj serce.

— Thank you, Babcia — the boy said, wrapping his grandmother into a hug. She wondered when he’d managed to get so tall, almost as tall as she was. “If he keeps growing like this, he’s going to be as tall as his father is,” she thought. 

Her memory flashed back to when Toto was still young, and how much Benedict looked like him. She shook her head as she sat on the sofa, sneaking a glance to the kitchen, where Elisabeth was talking to Toto. Toto had his hand settled onto the base of Elisabeth’s spine. 

“They do look nice together”, Joanna thought. She glanced around the penthouse for a few moments — it looked way different than the last time she’d been in here. It used to look like a serviced apartment, like it was used for long-term corporate housing, not like anyone actually lived there full-time. Or, even part-time, as was Toto’s situation since he’d taken over at Mercedes and bought a house in the UK. 

But now, there was color and life in the place — there were framed photos on the fireplace mantle, a vase full of fresh flowers on the coffee table, something that looked like Rosi had made in art class, books that looked like someone had actually read them, and a cheerful, colorful throw blanket hanging over the back of the sofa that Joanna was sitting on. It looked like a happy home instead of a cold temporary apartment. 

There was one photograph on the mantle that drew Joanna’s eye in particular — it was front-and-center, after all, as if it was meant to draw the eye. It was her son, next to Elisabeth. They were both drenched in champagne and had wide smiles on their faces. Her son was in the middle, looking so fondly at the dark-haired woman next to him, holding an enormous silver-toned trophy. Something about the way Toto was looking at her stung Joanna, but it wasn’t anger she’d felt. 

It was shame. 

Deeper shame than she felt the morning Toto surprised her with a trip to her apartment, and surprised her even more by shouting at her for how she’d acted. 

She defended herself, telling herself that she was acting in Toto’s best interests, and in the best interests of her grandchildren, trying to spare them the pain of having all of their hearts broken at their family torn apart again, but now, Joanna felt it so acutely. She thought she was trying to do what was best for her son, but she didn’t actually know what was, in fact, the best for him.

It didn't take long for Elisabeth to call everyone to the table, which was beautifully set with plates, cups and glasses, as well as a large platter of spaghetti alla bolognese. With a smile on her face, she insisted on serving Benedict, stating that the birthday boy deserved special treatment. Afterwards, she sat next to Toto, whispering something to him before serving the plate with some pasta.

Everyone ate quietly, praising Elisabeth's skills in the kitchen. She tried to downplay the merits, claiming that the recipe was Toto's, not hers, and that he had been a big contributor to dinner that night.

— Until I cut my finger, right, Liesl? — he chuckled, showing the bandage on his thumb.

— Why am I not surprised by this? — Stephanie said, making everyone at the table laugh. Toto's lack of skill in the kitchen was legendary, but even that Elisabeth had been able to work around. She made him bloom.

At the end of the meal, she got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a cake in her hands, decorated with white buttercream and topped with a few candles. Placing him in front of Benedict, she asked Toto to get the box of matches, while Rosi turned off the room lights. Then, with everything ready, the family sang happy birthday to the boy, who blew out the candles and smiled. In a corner, Elisabeth was smiling, taking pictures of Ben, who was surrounded by his sister and father.

“She really likes them”, Joanna thought, as she popped a last bite of the chocolate cake with Oreo cream into her mouth, completely lost in her thoughts as Elisabeth cleared away the dessert plates.

After handing her the plate with a smile, Joanna looked around the apartment. Lili, her daughter, was chatting happily with Stephanie, Toto’s ex-wife. Gerard and Toto were talking about something in rapid French. All of her grandchildren were playing happily together. Her family wasn’t torn apart, they were all here, celebrating Benedict’s birthday with all of the joy appropriate for the occasion, except for…

Joanna looked toward the kitchen, where Elisabeth was bent over the dishwasher, trying to figure out how to fit the pots and pans in. It was clear that she was the one who threw together such a nice dinner for Benedict — Toto was good at planning and good at detail, but not the kind you would need to host dinner parties. She’d done a wonderful job, and Joanna knew that it was because of Elisabeth that her family was all here, and gathered together. 

Almost without thinking, she rose from her spot on the couch and crept quietly toward the kitchen, trying not to make too much noise that would startle Elisabeth from being so focused on her task. 

— I think we’re going to have to buy a new dishwasher if we’re going to have dinner parties like this more often, my love — she said.

Joanna smiled a little. She must have heard her walking over and was expecting it to be Toto.

— Is there a problem, my love? — she said, as she stood up and locked eyes with Joanna. She startled a bit, not having expected her. 

Joanna swallowed before she responded, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt.

— Well, I’m not Toto, but, I do believe I have a problem. Actually, we have a problem — she struggled to keep her voice even, void of emotion — Can we talk?

[mblay-and-company]

Okay, look @leggerefiore

You created Yandere Submas

Your fans asked "What would happen if they swapped with your regular Submas Twins?"

And my Chaos Brain decided to wake up and choose violence

I was 100% inspired by a very special Spiderman Comic about Aunt May

AFAB Reader, mentions of the worst time of the month, implications that the Yandere Twins have done very horrible things in the past, like kidnapping and non-con. Drugging

---

There was a certain level of ability to see fine details that was needed to date both of the Subway Masters. Their subtle nuances made them difficult to read if you didn't know them; Especially what mood Ingo was truly in. The twins doubled down on your ability to read them by frequently testing you for fun, finding ways to obscure their faces so you couldn't just use Ingo's lack of facial expressions as an immediate calling card.

This made you very good at reading the Twins.

Which meant you could tell when something wasn't right.

---

You were paying your boys a surprise visit in the Subway when they received reports of strange lights and sounds coming from one of the tunnels. The duo had left to investigate, leaving you to chat with the various depot agents and commuters. When the two of them came back, you ran up to greet them, but you paused when you saw the confused looks on their faces.

But they didn't look like they didn't know who you were.

They looked like they were wondering why you were here.

"Did you two goobers forget that I decided to visit you, today? I know things have been a little hectic today with whatever that weird light was, but jeez, some boyfriends you are!" You joked, watching them look at each other. They were doing their weird twin thing, where they just look at each other and have a silent conversation. You watched carefully as their eyes flicked between you and each other, before fully looking at you.

"Our apologies, darling, investigating the source of the light was quite distracting…" Ingo responded

"We will make sure to pay extra attention to you! We will be verrrrrry sure!" Emmet added.

While their tones were genuine, there was an unmistakable darkness that swirled in their silvery eyes.

These were not your boyfriends.

---

Every second with these Twins made your realization more and more painfully obvious. Their mannerisms were a perfect match for being authentically Ingo and Emmet, but… They behaved so differently when it specifically came to you. At least one of them stayed virtually glued to your hip at all times. They got super passive aggressive if anyone tried to approach you in any way. One of your friends that happened to be a Depot Agent wanted to talk to you about some ideas for what to paint their living room, only to be intimidated off. You knew it was the way Emmet was looking at them, you didn't even have to look.

You've heard about some of the madness that happened in Alola, so you were assuming that there was some Ultra Wormhole down that tunnel. Which means that these Twins were probably still genuinely Ingo and Emmet - Just not the ones from this world. Judging by how they behaved towards you, you likely existed in their world as well. But judging by how clingy they acted towards you, as if the entire world was trying to take you away from them… And that unsettling darkness that hid deep in their eyes… You had a sneaking suspicion that the relationship they had was anything but healthy.

You needed a break in the office to take some painkillers, your cramps becoming absolutely unbearable, and Emmet followed you in there. You sat on the small loveseat in the room, waiting for the pills to kick in, as Emmet cuddled you just a little too tightly. You were trying your best to tolerate it, but his hands were starting to get very frisky.

"Emmet, not right now… I'm not in the mood…" You sighed, trying to shoo his hands away.

"Awww, darling, you're being so meaaaan!" He whined playfully, his hot breath dancing on your shoulder as he snuggled into you, continuing to grope at you. Before you could continue to argue, he started to kneed at your breasts; which were unfortunately extremely tender and instantly sent shockwaves of pain throughout your body. The sharp yelp of pain you let out caused him to flinch back in confusion.

"Emmet! I said not right now! I'm on my period right now, and everything hurts!" You snapped at him, gently trying to massage your side. There was a slight twitch to his eye, and you watched his emotions juggle between an annoyance and a concern. You let out a hard sigh before he could say anything. "I'm sorry, honey, I shouldn't have yelled… I'm just… Being touched is way too much right now, I need space for my body to stop being bullshit… It wasn't nearly this bad this morning…" You muttered, holding your head in your hands as you looked to the floor. Oh man, you're starting to feel nauseated now…

You could feel Emmet's hand start to massage your back, taking a much more caring and gentle motion compared to the hungrier explorations from earlier.

"I'm verrrrrry sorry… I should have paid better attention…" He admitted, his expression becoming softer as you started to hum in content from the gentleness. You needed to keep their guards lowered as much as possible if you were going to figure out what happened to your actual boyfriends. You had a feeling it wouldn't end well if these two thought their time with you would be threatened.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he let out a startled yelp. You looked to see one of the many baby Joltiks your silly Emmet had hatched giving this false Emmet an aggressive bite. You couldn't help but chuckle a little; Of course the babies would recognize that this wasn't their perceived dad. They probably knew him better than he knew himself. You gently scooped up the little arachnid, looking at its huffy little eyes.

"Be careful, darling, that one must be wild-!" Emmet started in concern, but you cut him off.

"The little one's just feeling spicy!" You giggled, pulling out a small battery to give as a treat. You weren't surprised that this false Emmet didn't recognize one of the babies. "Are you hungry, sassy pants? Do you need something to do? How about you go make a picture for Auntie Elesa? You look like you could use a bigger project, so how about try to see if you can fit an Amoonguss?" You offered, setting the Joltik down near one of the many holes that they used to safely traverse the city. It chittered with conviction, taking the battery you offered and scuttled away. You could hear the false Emmet cooing and squeeing over how cutely you handled the little Joltik.

Good, he didn't catch on to what you were doing.

---

Elesa had a lot of risks, being such a high profile celebrity. While the percentage of people who would do something dangerous was low, it was never 0. As a result; You, her, Emmet, and Ingo came up with a secret messaging system using the Joltiks, for the event that someone would need to call for help without arousing suspicion. You guys came up with a selection of Pokemon for the Joltiks to draw in their webs, and it would mean different things. There were quite genuinely thousands of the tiny arachnids, and several of them proved to be very artistic. Even the ones that weren't were very efficient at sending messages across each other, ensuring that they got to their destination on schedule.

Because you couldn't let go of the joke, you insisted that the four of you associated Foongus and Amoonguss with "I am dealing with an Imposter."

None of you expected to actually need this specific message, but it was a good thing that you had it.

Very shortly after you sent the Joltik off, the false Ingo had peaked his head into the office.

"Is everything alright in here? I heard both of you shout…" He stated with concern.

"A little Joltik was feeling feisty and bit Emmet, so I sent it on its way with a snack and an art project!" You chime without a beat, giving him a calm smile.

"I am Emmet. I was too rough on them while their body is going through their menstrual cycle… Their body is verrrrrry sensitive right now…" Emmet sheepishly explained, both brothers looking at you. You could see the concern in both of their eyes, mixing dangerously with that darkness, making their shoulders tense. You decided to speak up before they could act on any ideas.

"I honestly think I just wanna go back home… The electric blanket you got me is still there, and it'll feel so nice to bundle up in the chair…" You admitted, scratching the side of your face. You could see Ingo starting to take a Pokeball out.

"If you're in as much pain as you are, I shall have Chandelure-" He started, but you cut him off.

"Ingo, I appreciate the concern, but you know that my cramps get better if I take the walk home. If you're worried about me, one of you can escort me home." You offered, walking up to give him a gentle kiss on his cheek. They had such a clear obsession over you, you had to work with it to make sure your plan would still work. The kiss definitely worked, as you watched this false Ingo turn bright red, sheepishly chuckling.

"No fair! I want one too!" False Emmet whined, trying to push himself in between. You made a chuckle, giving him a peck on the opposite cheek from his brother, earning gleeful giggles from him. "Brother, I think you should be the one to escort them home! I'm in the mood to battle some verrrrry strong trainers!" He offered, practically bouncing up and down. False Ingo nodded in understanding, holding out his arm for you to hold. You took it without hesitating, and the two of you began the walk back to yours and your boyfriend's apartment. You had to ask him to slow down a little, since your legs were still a little sore.

He kept you suffocatingly close the whole way.

---

You unlocked the door and made your way straight to the arm chair you remembered where you left the electric blanket. It was still there, thank goodness. You settled yourself straight into the chair, wrapping the blanket around yourself and turning it on high. It quickly started to heat up, and you could only let out a happy sigh from the comfort. False Ingo meandered about the apartment seemingly without reason, and you heard him call out your name.

"Why did one of the Joltiks create what looks like a Watchog in their web?" He asked you. You craned your neck around to look at where he was standing, and sure enough, there was a clear Joltik web with a Watchog formed within the web.

Watchog - "I am alert - Are you okay?" Good, Elesa got your message.

"That's part of the art project I sent that one Joltik off to do! I suggested it make an Amoonguss for Elesa, so she must be in the mood to keep it going!" You cooed. You watched the false Ingo attempt to pick up the Joltik, but it scurried away from him out of fear, heading straight to you. You watched him blink a few times in confusion.

"Why an Amoonguss..?" He questioned, approaching you. He looked more inquisitive than suspicious.

"Since that one Joltik bit Emmet, I assumed it was riled up about something. I wanted to suggest something a little more complicated to put in the web, so that it would have to think more about it. I thought something a little bigger, like an Amoonguss would be something complex enough, but still fit in the confines of a reasonable web. I couldn't ask the little guy to make a Hydreigon or something crazy like that…" You admitted, giving the Joltik that curled into your shoulder a gentle skritch. It stretched into your touch, giving very soft trills. It was impossible to miss how soft the false Ingo's face became, watching you curled up safely with the baby Pokemon nuzzled into your shoulder. Of course, there was a hint of worry in there as well, as if he expected something to happen to you if he walked away…

"May I suggest a nice long nap? Will you need me to ask Chandelure to use Hypnosis for you?"

Oh sweet Arceus, he was playing that game…

"I don't think that'll be needed, hun, I just need to let this blanket warm me up for a little bit." You answered, keeping your voice light and thoughtful.

"I insist, darling, if you are not feeling well, then-"

"It's not like I caught the flu, Ingo. It's just monthly grossness. My relief meds kicked in on the way here, and I just need this blanket to relax my muscles a little." You stood firm. If you allowed him to freely use Hypnosis on you, it would throw all hope of fixing this mess out the window. You watched him start to get stiff, a clear frustration on his face because of your lack of cooperation.

"Darling…" His voice was extremely stern. He might not let you have a choice, unless you came up with something fast. You remembered your dinner plans for the night.

"I just really wanted to surprise you…" You muttered softly, looking disappointed. You watched him relax a bit, tilting his head in curiosity. "I finally found it… My great grandma's pierogi recipe… The one my dad grew up with… I wanted to make them for you two as a surprise for when you got home from work… You know how heavily I sleep, so I'm just worried I won't have time to make sure they're done…" Your face scrunched in disappointment, looking out the window next to the chair despondent. You felt him place a gentle hand on your arm.

"I'm so sorry, darling, I didn't realize you planned so hard for this…" The false Ingo's voice sounded deeply apologetic, and you looked up at him to confirm that he looked as sorry as he sounded. Even when he's not the right Ingo, his eyes were still very easy to read. He was carefully reconsidering his options. "Very well, I will trust your judgment… I just…" He trailed off for a moment, thinking deeply.

"May I have your phone and keys?"

Your eyes squinted slightly at the request. Your phone and keys. Without them, it ensures that you are completely cut off from the outside world… At least not including the Joltiks.

"Why..?" You questioned. It was very difficult to hide your suspicion of him at this specific point. You watched him bite his lower lip slightly, cogs turning in his head.

"I… Misplaced mine…"

He was definitely lying through his teeth.

You let out a hard sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. The more you fought against him, the more difficult he was going to make this for you… Fortunately, you already wrote the recipe down to put in your recipe box, but…

"Fine…" You sighed out, passing him the requested items. "But I'm going to want to have a long with you both about what's going on." You insisted, looking into his eyes strongly. He paused for a moment, before planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Of course, darling…" He agreed gently, before straightening out and heading out the door. "We will be sure to be home as scheduled."

"Yeah, alright…" You sighed, getting yourself comfy in the blanket. "Love you…"

You could see his eyes light up in an unnatural bliss. It didn't surprise you that such a phrase made him so happy.

"I love you too, darling! We will see you later tonight!" He exclaimed with a bubbly voice, before closing the door and locking it. You let out a sigh, looking back at the Joltik.

"Make a Crustle for Elesa…" You told the little one, putting them on the window sill. It chittered and scuttled off to deliver your message.

Crustle - "I am trapped at home."

You sighed again as you let yourself warm up in your blanket, before carefully planning out your course of action.

It was a good thing he clearly didn't know you as well as he thought he did.

Your great grandmother never wrote her pierogi recipe, and your boys knew that. You were just in the mood to try and make them because you knew you liked them.

Now to see if the Joltiks can do another favor for you…

---

You would be lying if you said you didn't feel bad for stealing someone's Zolpidem. If someone needed sedatives of this caliber, it meant they had pretty bad insomnia. But given the severity of the situation, you needed to act fast before you just disappeared entirely. The Joltiks were invaluable in this delicate operation, bringing you the bottle of medicine and returning what wasn't needed. You timed it all as carefully as you could, to ensure that the pierogi would be nice and hot for their return. You could hear the two of them approach the door, but they paused. You could faintly hear their whispers to each other.

"…-urn home as quickly as possible with them…"

"Yes, of course… We will h-… -utious… We don't have the same connect-… Most of everyone will attempt to…"

"-delure will be most invaluable… Be ready to use Hypnosis-…"

"-t believe we will have two of our darling… All to ourselves…"

You swallowed hard, carefully making your way back to the table to set sour cream in the center of it. They were planning on abducting you tonight… If things didn't work…

You took a deep breath. No, this will work. It had to. You put on a brave face, and looked towards the door as the lock clicked to the unlocked position

"Welcome home, you two!" You chimed with as welcoming of a smile as you could muster. The false Ingo's expression was warm and fulfilling as he saw you put the plate on the table. The false Emmet's eyes widened in wonder as he sniffed the air, looking at the plate.

"What is this, darling?" He asked excitedly, virtually bouncing in place. It was almost adorable, were it not for the truth…

"Awww, you didn't tell him? You're so sweet!" You sang happily at the false Ingo, who hid his face behind his hat sheepishly from the attention.

"Yes, well… You had clearly put so much thought into the surprise, it felt right to try and salvage as much of it as possible…" He admitted, his brother looking between the two of them with wide eyes filled with wonder. "I had… Accidentally forced them to reveal their surprise to me. They had found their great grandmother's recipe, and wanted to share it with us." The false Ingo explained.

"What kind of recipe?" The false Emmet asked with excitement, running toward the table, a line of drool clearly seen at the corner of his mouth.

"Pierogi!" You chimed happily, sitting down at your plate. "It's a kind of dumpling that's found in areas near the Galar Region." You explained as you started to eat one of them. You watched the false Emmet sit himself as quickly as he could in one of the empty chairs, immediately trying the first dumpling. The false Ingo was very shortly after, also taking a bite.

You couldn't help but let out a blissful sigh; They turned out really well.

"Bravo, darling! These are absolutely lovely!" The false Ingo cheered.

"Verrrrrrrry delicious!" The false Emmet confirmed, happily scarfing down a second and a third. There was a part of you that still felt very happy, knowing that someone enjoyed your cooking…

Even if there was a very real risk that they would hurt you.

As you expected from any Emmet, this false one ate his pierogi a lot faster than his brother, even stealing the last one of the false Ingo's plate and scarfing it down before either of you could stop him.

"Emmet, let your brother eat his. As terrifying as this situation is for me, I would still rather you not be overdosed…" You stated calmly.

You could feel the tension thicken in the air.

"…What do you mean, darling…" The false Ingo asked carefully, looking very tense. You stole a quick glance at the false Emmet - He was already starting to sway.

"I don't know how you expected me to not notice, really. You two don't belong in this world. You two are not my boyfriends; my Ingo and Emmet." You stared deep into the false Ingo's with a knowing conviction, standing up. He tried to move to let one of his Pokemon out, but thanks to the sedatives taking hold of him, you were faster. Separating his Pokemon from him and keeping him sat in his chair. A soft "thud" signaled that the false Emmet had passed out.

"How… Did you…" The false Ingo started to slur out, trying desperately to stay awake.

"It was right away, the moment you saw me. My boyfriends already knew I was there and were happy to see me visit. When you came by, you looked at me like I wasn't supposed to be there." You explained curtly, taking your phone back from his pocket, along with your keys. You quickly went to Emmet's room to grab some rope - You were sure he wouldn't mind if you used this for self defense. You came back and carefully tied both of the false Twins securely to their chairs, false Ingo attempting to resist.

"Of course, you both also didn't recognize the Emergency Pictographs that me and my boys came up with to use with Elesa in events that we could not message as normal. That was also a big tell. Or the fact that none of my sweet Emmet's Joltiks recognized you." You continued, snapping a picture of the bound twins to send to Elesa, gesturing to a hoard of Joltiks hiding in a corner. All of the tiny Pokemon glared at the pair of twins with a fearful disdain. "You don't even know that my great grandmother never wrote her pierogi recipe. My boys most certainly know that, but also know I just enjoy pierogis regardless."

"I'm safe now, I caught them." You sent, the picture connected. You looked back at the false Ingo; His eyes held a whole slew of emotions. One including betrayal.

"Why… Are you…" He tried to ask. You had to admit it, his resistance towards the sedative was impressive. It's a good thing his brother only ate one extra, he may have been able to still overwhelm you if he had less.

"You were pretty quiet out in the hall, but I still heard enough. About you being "ready to use Hypnosis" from your Chandelure. How excited you two were to have two of me…" The words were spat out like they were venom in your mouth, your eyes a steely glare upon the older twin. Your phone buzzed, and you checked it.

"Great job, sweetie! Guess who I found along the way!" Elesa shared a picture of Ingo and Emmet. The both of them looked overwhelmingly concerned, and had what looked like you piggybacking on Ingo's back. The way this other you clung to Ingo like a lifeline… You had a sneaking suspicion you knew what they had gone through… "Me and Emmet are coming by! Ingo is going to stay at my place for a little bit until things settle down ♥'' You couldn't help but smile warmly at the realization that your boys were back and safe. You sat back in the arm chair, wrapping the blanket around you, then looked at the hoard of babies in the corner.

"C'mere, babies! Daddy's gonna be home soon!" You sang sweetly, the hoard chittering with glee and swarming upon you. You couldn't help but steal a glance at the false Ingo; There was an unmistakable panic in his eyes as he realized that you were talking about your actual boyfriends; The Ingo and Emmet from this world. He likely didn't know what they would do to him for threatening you, but he was definitely getting ideas. You decided to just let him stew in his fear, quietly enjoying your time with the Joltiks.

---

A series of knocks snapped you out of your relaxed stupor, causing you to look up at the door. You heard Elesa's voice call your name on the other side of the door.

"Me and Emmet are making our grand entrance~ Are you okay in there?" Her voice sang.

"The door's open! Come on in!" You called, carefully digging your way out of the pile and standing up. You braced for the inevitable impact as the door clicked open, showing Elesa and Emmet; Your proper Emmet. He cried your name out as he came barreling in at full speed, virtually tackling you in his embrace.

"I've read verrrrrry horrible things! Horrible, nasty, awful things!!! You're not hurt, are you?!" He cried, checking you over meticulously. You couldn't help but laugh, giving him a comforting kiss on his forehead.

"I'm just fine, Emmet. There was no way I was gonna let them do anything to me." You told him, pressing your forehead against his. "I knew they weren't you or your brother right away, they weren't gonna catch me off guard. Especially since your Joltiks were very protective of me." The both of you looked at the small hoards of Joltik rush towards Emmet, chittering happily at their dad. He laughed happily, scooping up as many Joltiks as he could before embracing you again, spinning you in circles.

"You're so verrrrrrrry smart! All of you, so smart!" He chimed happily, before his eyes suddenly caught a glance of the alternate twins still tied to their chairs. The false Emmet started waking up, looking around in a confused daze until he saw the party that was staring back at him. He opened his mouth to say something, but upon seeing himself glaring daggers at him, he shut it. Emmet's body was shaking in fury as he looked at the two of them, barely being held back by your reassuring hand on his arm.

"They're not worth it, Em…" You told him calmly.

"Verrrrrrry cruel…" He spat in their direction, his mouth curled into a snarl. "They claimed it was for love. You don't force yourself on the one you love. You don't lock them away. Take them away from those who care about them. Keep them tied for months. Write logs on how they're breaking down like it's the greatest gift you could receive…"

"I don't expect you to understand." The false Emmet sneered in return, not even flinching when your Emmet focused all of his attention on his alternate.

"I am Emmet. I don't want to understand. I prefer knowing I can trust my darling. That they can go out with their friends without me, and can give unruly drunks a black eye for getting handsy. I prefer knowing that they trust me with all of their heart and aren't afraid of me should I get angry." The way his body shook and his voice cracked as he said that last line… Dear Arceus, what kinds of things did he read..?

"I have InterPol on their way, Em. I dunno how far their jurisdiction can go since these two are from an alternate world, but they'll at least make sure that they can't cause any more harm here." Elesa comments, going through her phone. Ever since she received word that the Twins weren't acting right, followed by the initial Joltik Message, she had been on top of Social Network Control. She needed to keep the situation as relaxed as possible, lest these two panic and lash out. She also needed to make sure that her friends' reputation didn't get tarnished

"If I may ask… Where is your brother..?" The false Ingo asked carefully, his eyes carefully looking around the room. Your Emmet's jaw clenched tightly for a moment, contemplating. Eventually…

"Ingo is taking a moment at Elesa's. He was more upset than me at what we learned, and does not want to act rash. I would rather him let loose, but I will let him calm down." He jumped ever so slightly when you took his hand, looking at you with a tense yet confused look.

"Do you want to sit on the couch..?" You offered, a little worried about him. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he simply nodded. You led him to the couch and pulled him close, scritching his head. He let out a second long sigh, melting into your touch. This was going to be a long night.

---

The International Police were surprisingly understanding of the situation, very quickly identifying the Wormhole Signature that clung to the false Emmet and Ingo and finding that said Wormhole was still open, sending them back home from whence they came. They admitted that as much as they would like to send the two to prison for their crimes, they were sadly outside of jurisdiction due to the Wormhole still being open. But they were sure to make sure that the InterPol on the other side was made aware of their actions. Shortly after everyone was certain that the two were gone, Ingo made his way back home, opening the door for someone hiding just around the corner.

"Are you certain you wish to enter? I do truly understand if you would rather be anywhere else…" His voice was gentle and soothing, yet still filled with pain. After a few moments, he nodded in understanding, and you watched your other self carefully peak inside. This other you was so different compared to you; Extremely skittish, checking each and every inch for potential danger. Angry bruises and scars from constraints clung to Not Quite You's wrists, and their legs were shaking under the weight. They looked to you, who looked so much more comfortable and healthy, as you gently continued to scritch Emmet's head, who had since fallen asleep. You gently shook him awake, asking him to let you up. He nodded in understanding, shifting to lay his head on the armrest of the couch. This whole adventure took a lot out of him, and he honestly just wanted to nap for the first time in a while.

"Hey, uh… Welcome to my world, I guess…" You muttered awkwardly, standing up to offer your hand to the other you. The other you hesitantly looked at your hand, and suddenly turned to look at Ingo, almost fearfully, as if to gauge his reaction. He looked at their expression sadly, trying his best to look non threatening.

"What you wish to do is your choice to make…" He explained calmly, punctuating the sentence by calling them by your name. He clearly wanted to be as gentle and polite with this other you as possible, probably to try and create some distance between himself and the horrifying monster that shared his face. Your other self nodded in understanding, taking your hands. You got a much better look at the scars that dotted their wrists.

"Let's take care of these and get you something to eat…" You sighed. "Ingo, can you go get the first aid?" You asked, watching him nod in understanding and make his way to where the first aid was stored. He made it a point to move carefully by the other you so as not to startle them, bringing you the first aid kit. You, meanwhile, pulled forward the plate of good pierogis that weren't laced with sedatives, offering one to the other you. They gratefully accepted the offer, humming happily from the food. You carefully put ointment on their wrists, wrapping them in bandages, and giving them gentle rubs. Ingo had since located himself to the couch.

"It's warm here… I like it…" Your other self commented, their shoulders relaxing.

"Thank you… The three of us worked hard to make it nice and comfortable…" You chuckled, stealing a glance at the Twins. They looked so exhausted from their sudden adventure. You didn't really blame them. "What do you… Plan on doing? Now that you're in this world..?" You ask, turning to look back at them. They fiddled their fingers awkwardly.

"I, uh… Was… Wondering if I could… Stay here… For a little bit at least…" The other you muttered. The boys lifted their heads and turned to look at the table.

"Are you certain..?" Ingo asked carefully, very concerned for their well being.

"I am Emmet. Myself and Ingo would feel much better if you go where you wish. You do not need to stay here, if you do not desire to." Emmet added. You watched your alternate bite their lower lip lightly in thought.

"It's… Kinda complicated… Part of it is… I dunno… It's… Smaller, I guess..?" The other you tried to explain. Fortunately, you had an idea what they were trying to say.

"You're more nervous about the openness of the rest of the world, compared to an apartment. The idea is overwhelming…" You explained, watching the other you nod as you explained their thoughts so well.

"The other, is just… While the layout is familiar… It… Feels different… They… They always tried to force me to consider their apartment as home, but… It always felt so distant… Cold… Here is warm… I… I actually feel… Kinda safe here… It's not my home, but… It feels like a home…" The other you admitted with a soft smile. You couldn't help but make a warm smile in return.

"It'll be a little crowded, but… We'll be more than happy to provide you the safe space you need." You offered, giving the other you a reassuring hand on their arm.

"Myself and Emmet will do our best to not overwhelm you." Ingo added. Your other self nodded slightly in understanding.

It was going to be a difficult healing process, but you had a feeling it was going to work.

[rebrandedbard]

Gifted Glances Stolen Smiles

wc - 2391

Ao3 link.

Jaskier is trying to get Geralt to smile, but he just can't seem to figure out what it takes, and he maybe gives Geralt a goodnight kiss while he sleeps. In the meantime, Geralt thinks they're already in a relationship that's moving at the speed of a glacier and he's sweet about it.

-

Did Geralt ever smile, Jaskier wondered? The man was stoic at the best of times, and at the worst, his face was warped with displeasure. It was a treat to see Geralt relaxed: the lines of his wrinkles would soften, his brow unfurrow, and—if Jaskier were very lucky—Geralt would close his eyes and rest awhile, looking nearly content.

Jaskier liked it best when Geralt slept. He was always the last one asleep, the first one awake. It was a rare thing to catch Geralt unconscious, and Jaskier was sure that was by design. But twice he’d woken in the middle of the night and found himself nose to nose with the sleeping witcher. The first time, it had been nearly impossible to see his face in the darkness, but the second, the moon had been almost full, so big and bright, and she’d cast her light upon his face. It was like the light which fell through the windows of a cathedral to embrace the masterworks of great artists upon the altars. And what better pedestal for Geralt than a soft pillow? If Jaskier had his way, he’d wrap Geralt in the finest linen sheets, lay him on a down mattress, all bathed in lavender for a restful night’s sleep. He wondered what his face would look like then. Beautiful, no doubt.

Geralt had almost seemed to be smiling, softened in sleep. Jaskier had not been able to help himself. He tipped his head forward and placed the gentlest kiss upon his brow; a silent good-night, and a blessing for pleasant dreams. If he tried, Jaskier could trick himself into believing Geralt really did smile after.

Alas, Jaskier lamented: Geralt wasn’t one for smiling. But then again, he’d never been one for talking much either, and the next day he was unusually chatty. Geralt had said, ‘Good morning’ and used up a few of his precious fifty words a day to complain about Jaskier’s breath before breakfast. When they’d sat down to eat, Geralt asked if Jaskier wanted to return to the room, have his sleep out while he went off to see the alderman. A very unusual offer. Geralt often had Jaskier tag along to collect payment, as Jaskier had a persuasive tongue. With Jaskier at his side, Geralt received most of his payment in full.

“Are you trying to trick me, witcher?” Jaskier asked. “Trying to give me the slip and make off while I’m asleep? Tell me, what have you put in my morning tea? Have you spread some sleeping draught on my bread instead of jam?”

He took a great bite, swallowed it down with a monstrous slurp, then pretended to gag. He threw a hand over his forehead and went limp over his plate.

Geralt rolled his eyes and nudged Jaskier’s foot under the table.

“I live!” Jaskier gasped theatrically.

“It’s a miracle,” Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier grinned and tucked back in, chewing at a more gentlemanly pace. “So. What is it? Have I got bags under my eyes or something? You’re being generous.”

“I just thought you might be tired.”

“Well, that was courteous of you. But rest assured, I am well rested.”

Geralt hummed. He returned to his breakfast without another word, and Jaskier regarded it as a fluke of the early morning.

Until it happened again in the market.

They were returning from their meeting with the alderman—only stiffed by one silver coin—when Jaskier wheedled his way into an extra hour of shopping. Geralt followed along at Jaskier’s side while he flitted from stall to stall, abusing this sudden burst of generosity to have a bit of fun.

“Look at this, Geralt!” Jaskier held up a little floral sachet embroidered with two stars. It was filled with lavender and chamomile, with just a hint of cinnamon.

“This,” he explained, “is a charm for good dreams. See these two stars here? They’re wishing stars. The first grants blessings for good dreams during your first sleep, the second for your second. You see, most charms try to lay a sort of blanket-blessing for the whole night, which is why they never work. My grandmother made one of these for me when I was little and she used both stars. I never had a poor night’s sleep with it under my pillow.”

“Hm.” Geralt picked up the sachet, examining it with an amused expression.

Jaskier liked when Geralt looked smug. It was not the smile he truly wanted, but anything like a smile was a blessing to see. He was always glad when Geralt enjoyed himself.

Geralt dangled the little sachet in front of Jaskier’s nose, swinging it slightly. “And how did you sleep last night? Are you in need of a sleeping charm?” he asked.

Jaskier stiffened. That made twice that Geralt had suggested sleeping poorly. Jaskier had been sure he’d been asleep, but now he had an inkling that he was being made the fool. He lightly tugged the sachet from his hand and returned it to the stall.

Geralt resumed his silence after they left the market.

That night, Jaskier slept with his back to Geralt. He thought he could feel Geralt’s eyes on the back of his head long after they snuffed the candle. He nearly jumped when he felt the arm wrap around his waist.

Geralt pulled him to his chest and spoke in his ear. “Calm down,” he murmured. “You’re thinking too loudly. I can’t sleep.”

Jaskier nodded, heart racing with nervous energy.

“This too,” Geralt said, placing a hand over the thrumming in his chest.

“I’m afraid that’s out of my hands.”

“It’s in mine. So relax. You have nothing to fear with me.”

That was … a strange sort of comment. Strange, and oddly calming. Jaskier played them over in his head, imagining them in a new context. He closed his eyes, taking in the feeling of Geralt wrapped around him, warm and steady. Geralt’s breath tickled his neck. And yes, Geralt had his hand over his heart. His heart was, in many ways, in Geralt’s hand.

Jaskier smiled, cracking an eyes to look up at the moon. “I’m not afraid of any werewolves sniffing about tonight if that’s what you were thinking.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Hm. So what do you think I’m afraid of?”

Geralt only hummed in reply.

Jaskier turned under Geralt’s arm. “Oh no, I said ‘hm’ first. You have to say something else. I already used it in this conversation.”

“Hm,” Geralt replied again, a funny little smirk on his face.

“I’ll smother you,” Jaskier threatened, putting a hand on Geralt’s pillow to make good.

But Geralt took the hand from under his head and wrapped it around Jaskier’s. “Wish you would,” he murmured.

“Come now, Geralt. The pay wasn’t that bad. And I don’t really mean to suffocate you; you don’t have to hold me back.”

“You need more sleep. You’re slow-witted today.”

Jaskier frowned. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

So he did, and things were relatively normal as the week progressed. Evidently, Jaskier looked rested enough, and Geralt no longer felt the need to make comments. Perhaps that had been all. Jaskier had to admit, he was tired. Or perhaps it was more convenient to pretend. He didn’t like thinking that Geralt had woken, and he didn’t believe Geralt would toy with him.

They were on the path again, and Jaskier returned to his musing. What, he wondered, would make Geralt smile? He told jokes at the tavern at the next town, hoping to steal one little grin. Now and then he cast a look over his shoulder to see if Geralt might laugh, but after the first few jokes he had to concede. He spent the rest of comedy hour focusing on his circle of patrons, laughing and drinking while he waited for Geralt to finish his lunch.

In the evening, he worked the same crowd, hopping round and round in a dance as he played his songs. He played a few songs Geralt had deemed not horrendously irredeemable in the past to see if that might do the trick, then tossed in a few cheeky verses of ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ for good measure. He bought Geralt an extra ale. A second plate.

Geralt never did smile, but at least he looked pleased.

When Jaskier had a moment spare, he brushed Roach and polished her tack. It would seem this quest of his was never-ending. All month long he’d been asking himself the question, and honestly, his efforts were uninspired. He wasn’t doing anything more or less than what he would normally do, sprinkling in little treats here and there which he thought Geralt might enjoy. There wasn’t  anything special in it. The lack of imagination bothered Jaskier and he knew that if he wanted Geralt to smile, he would have to think of something bigger, grander!

But Geralt was different. Geralt didn’t mull over these things. It was surprising, yes, when Geralt went out of his way to do things for him, but he didn’t agonize over doing them. As easily as Geralt set his bags down at the campfire, he might place an apple by Jaskier’s elbow. The day might be long, but Geralt would set up camp at midday to let them rest, just when Jaskier was aching for a good lie down.

Jaskier lay awake after his first sleep some nights, watching him, thinking it over. The more Jaskier thought about it, the more he became aware of the little things Geralt did. They were more frequent now. At least once a day, Geralt did something to make him smile. All Jaskier wanted was to do the same.

What, Jaskier asked himself. What would make him smile?

He stood in the tailor’s mirror, asking himself the question once more as he adjusted his new doublet. He turned this way and that, plucking at the sleeves. It would be autumn soon enough, and he needed to dress for the season. He thought a nice red would do.

Geralt sat on a stool to one side, a new cloak folded upon his lap. It was Jaskier’s treat for the day, and he had bullied Geralt into accepting it.

Jaskier’s eyes flicked to the side of the mirror. He hoped he might steal a glance of Geralt smiling at the new cloak. It was a black wool, lined with soft fleece. It was still a bit early to wear anything so heavy, but Geralt was always telling him to think ahead. This village was known for their particular breed of sheep, and the coin was good, so Jaskier thought it wise to invest in the warmest, softest wool in the east. Silently, Jaskier dared anyone to try and find a more thoughtful gift than that! It was a smart gift, he thought, and to his great shock, he saw it at last.

Geralt was smiling, a real, true smile. Not a smile born of politeness, nor a wry grimace, not a smirk, but a genuine smile. But Geralt was not looking at the cloak.

Geralt caught Jaskier’s eye in the mirror.

Jaskier turned and said, “You’re smiling.”

“I do that,” he replied.

“Not often. I hardly ever see it.”

Great shrugged. “You’re too busy most of the time.”

“I’ve been trying to catch you smiling all month long! I’ve been constantly vigilant. How could I be too busy?”

“You’re singing. You’re talking and dancing, writing. Having fun. I like to watch you do it,” Geralt answered. “Almost as much as you like to watch me sleep.”

Jaskier flushed. “You know about that?” he asked.

Geralt stood, setting the cloak aside, and crossed the room to stand beside him. “I don’t mind. It’s no different from my watching you.” As he spoke, he carefully slipped his hand into Jaskier’s. “I understand if you still want to move slowly, but some nights I wish that you would kiss me again. I thought you were trying to tell me you were ready for more.”

Jaskier’s heart stopped.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders, looking at their reflection in the mirror. “Even so,” he said, leaning his head against Jaskier’s cheek, “I’m happy where we are now. I’m all in, Jaskier. However long it takes, I don’t mind waiting.”

“Waiting?” Jaskier squawked. He did not currently have the capacity to process everything Geralt had said, and Geralt had said quite a lot—very plainly spoken—in less than a minute.

Geralt nodded. “As long as you need.”

“You’ve been waiting on me. Waiting for me to … I beg your pardon, but did you say you wanted me to kiss you?”

“I did.”

Jaskier’s limp hands remembered themselves. They rose to cover over Geralt’s arms. Jaskier simply gaped into the mirror. Slowly, a smile lit up his eyes.

“Hey, Geralt?” he said.

“Hm.”

“I bet you a gold coin I know a way, guaranteed, to make you smile again on command.”

Geralt chuckled. “You’re broke.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m guaranteed to win.”

“Given your tone, I have a funny idea I’m about to win something as well.”

Jaskier turned in Geralt’s arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Geralt hummed. “I love being right,” he said.

“And what else do you love, my dear?” Jaskier brought a hand up to curl a teasing finger around Geralt’s long white hair. He felt giddy and silly. He wanted to dance and sing and act a fool, then leap into Geralt’s arms. But never mind the leaping; at that very moment, he was right where he wanted to be.

Geralt shushed him. Slowly, he unwrapped himself from Jaskier and walked back to the stool. He picked up the cloak and wrapped it around himself, after which he bumped Jaskier out of the mirror to have a look.

“My new cloak,” he answered.

Jaskier laughed and bumped him back. “I have excellent taste.”

“You do.” And Geralt adjusted Jaskier’s ruffled tie.

They stood together, side by side in the mirror, stealing glances at one another. No, not stealing, Jaskier realized, for this was allowed. He would not steal glances this day forward. From now on, they would be a gift. So he gifted Geralt with another glance and winked.

And Geralt smiled.

[robinofinashiro]

“look, i know we don’t know each other that well, but i’m still worried about you. no one deserves to be alone.” 

characters: hoshiumi kourai x fem! reader / slight miya atsumu

request status: OPEN / please send any reqs you guys have! my inbox is currently empty and im lacking in any kind of writing inspiration...like seriously lacking lmao. there could be a part two if any of you are interested in one. 

you looked at your now ex boyfriend, trying to keep your tears at bay. the two of you were standing outside the bar, not knowing what you were planning on saying the man you loved as you saw him with a girl on his lap, laughing and giggling at whatever he was saying. 

“you could’ve just broken up with me, it would have saved me time and effort,” you told him with a stone cold face. you could tell Atsumu was in a straight panic, not knowing what to say or do, “honestly, I would have handled the break up a lot better than you would have assumed I would have.” 

Atsumu reached out to grab your hand but you quickly snatched it back, putting it behind your back, “no, you don’t get the right to hold any part of me anymore. whatever you were doing, do it with the girl you were just with,” you exclaimed, a laugh of bitterness leaving you, “but I don’t want that girl, I want you!” he yelled. 

you rolled your eyes, not believing a word he was saying, “no, you wanted a girl to fuck with on the side while I waited for you at home. you’re just angry you got caught, Miya, that’s all,” you stated. Atsumu felt stray tears falling down his face as you noticed a familiar face with snow white hair popping out of the front of the door. 

“as wrong as this is to say, I was always preparing myself for this. my grandmother always said to have a envelope of cash and money as runaway money in case I ever needed to get away...” you played with you finger nails before looking up to him for one final time, “I’ll be moved out in a few days. the apartment is under your name and I don’t mind getting a new place,” you added on. 

Atsumu saw you walking away, not believing that you were actually leaving him. he grabbed your ankle, practically putting on a scene for everyone who was hanging out in the front of the building, “Atsumu, this is embarrassing for you. quit it while you still have some dignity left, jesus christ,” you said not realizing the mantrum that he was throwing, “you really should’ve thought this all out before you decided to cheat. I always had one rule and you knew it. I could quickly replace you as fast as we got together and this was your one chance.”

you kicked yourself out of his grip, walking into the bar to have yourself a drink. you saw the girl who was on Atsumu’s lap not wanting to look you in the eye as she sat on her chair in shame, “enjoy him girlie because as you can tell, he’ll quickly replace you when he gets bored,” you tipped your glass of dark liquor to her in a ‘good luck’ type of way before finding an empty seat. 

that familiar snow white hair you saw earlier happened to be Hoshiumi who was walking towards you. you being the former Inarizaki manager made you know the names to the most popular players from each team they played so Hoshiumi was no stranger. 

“hey,” you heard his voice say over the music. you gave him a smile with a small wave, not wanting to say, “you okay? I accidentally overheard your situation with Atsumu earlier,” he asked, pulling the seat out from the other side of the table.

you shrugged knowing that all the raw emotions from the argument and what you just had saw hadn’t settled in yet, “I don’t know,” you said truthfully, “my boyfriend of three years was cheating on me and if I’m okay right now, I know I won’t be tomorrow,” you explained. 

Hoshiumi nodded understandingly, “do you mind if I sit with you for the rest of the night?” he asked quietly, in a sort of shy way, which was odd considering Hoshiumi was just as hyperactive as Hinata Shoyo from Karasuno way. “look, i know we don’t know each other that well, but i’m still worried about you. no one deserves to be alone.”  

you felt that pang in your heart as you saw the warmness on Hoshiumi’s smile. you tried to contain your tears as best as you could but Hoshiumi saw right through that. he tracked down the waitress and ordered the two of you another round of drinks, your choice of course as he tried to focus the conversation on anything that wasn’t Atsumu or your breakup. 

- 

from that night forward, Hoshiumi was by your side for the entirety of your breakup. he was of help when you needed an extra hand to move all your things out of your shared apartment with Atsumu. 

it didn’t sit right with Atsumu at the fact that Hoshiumi was seemingly close to you all of a sudden. he had saw him that night at the bar but he didn’t think he would take advantage of the situation and so quickly. never once in the entirety of your relationship with Atsumu did you ever mention befriending Hoshiumi and so closely but seeing the way he was helping you move out and making sure you were okay threw him way the hell off. 

once you were finished taking your things out of the apartment, you looked to Atsumu and wiggled the set of keys that were on your keychain out. you gave him one last look before handing them to him, “so I take it that you won’t accept the job with the Jackals?” he asked. 

“I think you know that answer, Miya.” 

you walked out of the apartment, leaving a teary eyed Atsumu at the door as Hoshiumi waited for you at the front of the building. your place a few minutes farther from Atsumu’s place. it wasn’t as nice of a place in comparison to how you used to live but it would do until you found a job.

“what are you plans now?” Hoshiumi asked as he helped you unpack things from the box. you shrugged again, “I really don’t know. Atsumu had gotten me a job with the Jackals and those were plans for quite a while but considering that relationship is long gone, I guess I really have to start looking for a job before I go broke.” 

Hoshiumi laughed, feeling his phone buzz multiple times. he looked down to see a few texts from Ushijima and Kageyama. to your luck, the Adlers had also gotten a job opening for a few positions with a team. Hoshiumi had mentioned to the team that he knew someone that could possibly take the position of the old manager and they had been grilling him about it since. 

the pre-season was about to start and they needed an experienced manager and quick. considering your qualifications with Inarizaki and the degree you got in college, he knew you would do well on the job and all you would need is a bit of polishing up in order to be great if not even better than their former manager. 

“listen, I don’t know how willing you will be to accept what I’m about to say but Schweiden has an opening for a positions and one of them is to be the team’s manager and assistant. I might’ve pushed your name because I know you’ve done the managerial position before and we need a manager as soon as possible.” 

your eyes doubled down in confusion as Hoshiumi showed you the hiring paper. you quickly skimmed it down seeing that you had the qualifications for the job. you saw that it was a text from Kageyama Tobio that read if you had accept the position yet before their coach killed them. 

“wait, how long would I be there?” you asked, gripping his phone. you looked at you, now slightly confused himself, “what do you mean? you’d be there as long as you want or until you quit. the position is permanent.” you read the application again and smiled, “I just got this place but tell them I’ll be available for an interview at any time.” 

Hoshiumi tackled you into a hug, his hyperactive attitude running rampant again, “THANK YOU! THANK YOU! the team is gonna be so happy, I know it!” he exclaimed, quickly dialing his coaches number as you sat there, taking in your all new reality. 

+ 

after a run through of a few interviews, the Adler’s ultimately gave you the position as their manager and assistant. they found you the most suitable as you had experience under your belt and got along with most of the team. well...as best as you could considering Kageyama and Ushijima weren’t really the talkative type to begin with. 

the move to Tokyo was a bit easier than expected. Hoshiumi quickly helping you into your new apartment as he showed you around the Adler’s gym and even the town when he wasn’t busy. you had your own office since you were assisting the team’s coach with a few office related things but most of your duties were strictly to the team. 

with your new job came new team photo’s for the year as well as your organizations employee id photo. your uniform consisted of black leggings or athletic shorts if Tokyo was particularly hot that day and a Schweiden sweater/t-shirt on game day. on non-game days where you had to be in your office, the general uniform was business casual unless it was Friday’s where you could wear your game day uniform. 

the team photo day was around the corner and the Adler’s even had a few professional makeup artist for anyone who wanted to have their makeup done for the photos. Hoshiumi and to your surprise, Kageyama, landed in the makeup chairs right next to you as they both wanted to be concealed so their under eye bags weren’t as prominent. 

“you ready for the pics?” Hoshiumi asked with an excited smile. you nodded just as excitedly, “working in volleyball again feels so weird but I can’t wait for the season to start!” you exclaimed as Hoshiumi gave you a high-five in agreement. 

unbeknownst to you but known to the entire team, Hoshiumi had fell entirely head over heels for you. his heart eyes weren’t a secret to anyone besides you and if everyone was being honest, they really wanted Hoshiumi to get a move on with asking you out so he could stop coming to practice with a lovesick puppy look on his face. 

after all of you were called to the gym to take the photos, they had all the players and coaching staff take their photos first before any managers and front office staff had their turns. while you waited for your turn, you were talking with the other manager so was an ex player of the team and had recently retired due to permanent injury to his arm. 

“so how do you know Hoshiumi?” he asked as he saw the wave Hoshiumi was giving you. you smiled and waved back, “he was a friend of mine through high school and we just kept in contact since. Kourai and I are basically best friends if I’m being honest,” you explained. 

he gave you a look before giving out a belly laugh, “just best friends? you have to got to be kidding. there’s more to your relationship with Hoshiumi than just best friends,” he admitted. you were a bit taken back by his answer as you asked him to explain, “come on, it’s not obvious? the decoy is in love with you. he follows you everywhere and has heart eyes for you and I can sense the feeling either is mutual or it’s starting to be on your end.” 

you sat in silence, debating whether or not what he was saying was true. you had never taken into account romantic feelings Hoshiumi could have for you and vice versa. you knew deep down, you did harbor feelings for Hoshiumi but up until this point, you had never put it to the forefront of your brain. 

“managers! it’s your turns now!” the photographer said. you nodded, going up to the small set up they had. 

they had you do a bunch of different poses. one photo of just you smiling, another of you holding a volleyball, and a few with the other manager on the team. they had informed you that this year, they would be displaying team player photos along with head manager photos in the front of building, right outside of the gym to show appreciation to the entire team. 

after the photo’s were finished, your head was still playing the conversation you had earlier. the idea of dating Hoshiumi did not sound so bad in the long run and you knew that it now wouldn’t come off as a surprise if you did in fact show feelings to him. 

“Kou, what are you doing tonight?” you asked as he helped you with your bag after practice. he shook his head, saying nothing, “wanna come over? I wanna pig out on food before the season officially starts,” you giggled seeing his excited face as he grabbed your wrist and practically dragged you over to his car, exclaiming you both could get food and snacks. 

the night came down to you watching a few movies from both of your childhood and basically talking/snacking the night away. it eventually got to the point where you moved closer to Hoshiumi, trying to find warmth as your AC was on full blast and you both were too lazy to get the blankets you had underneath your couch to actually get warm. 

“hey Kou,” you said, trying to get his attention. he looked down to you, a warm smile on his face, “would you ever...be interested in dating? I heard a few members of the team saying that you liked me and for a while, I didn’t want to believe that but I figured there was no harm in asking because I totally feel the same,” you finally confessed.

Hoshiumi sat there, mouth wide in surprise as your heart basically fell your ass. your thoughts were immediately plagued with the idea that you had ruined your entire relationship with him but that was quickly put to rest as grabbed your closer and held your face as softly as ever before placing a kiss on both your cheeks before reaching your lips. 

“honestly, I was about to ask you out tonight too. I’ve been having these feelings for a while now and I’m glad you finally confessed. I’ve truthfully liked you since the night I saw you with Atsumu but I didn’t want to make it seem as though I was being pushy.” 

you laughed, pushing yourself away from him a bit as he dipped you down once again and kissed you again. you ran your fingers through his hair as he kissed your neck a bit and parts of your upper chest. 

“you’re the best. I literally thought the best day of my life was the day I got the job for the Adler’s but this beats it by far!” he exclaimed, hugging you now. you laughed, shaking your head at his excitement, “I could say the same,” you giggled as you kissed him again. 

+ 

a few weeks finally passed as the season was in full swing now. you were working a few days a week and going out on the days you had off with Kourai. the only dreadful part in all of this was that the Adler’s were playing Msby soon and you knew that you would in fact be seeing Atsumu during, before, and after the game. 

Hoshiumi could see the slight nervousness and panic on your face the day of the game against the Black Jackals. you weren’t as excited as you were usually were and you were responding to the team in snippets and very short sentences. the team could sense your shift in attitude but didn’t bother to question it. 

“hey, you okay?” Hoshiumi asked, pulling you to the side a few minutes before warm ups. you gave him a questioning look, “I can see you’re nervous and I’m pretty sure it’s probably because of Atsumu being here,” he assumed as you reluctantly agreed. 

he sighed, bringing you in for a hug, “you don’t have to work today. I can make up an excuse that you got sick and say you’re in your office watching the game,” he said. you shook your head, “no, it would be immature of me to miss a game because of that fucking idiot. I’ll be okay, I promise,” you whispered, giving him a kiss of reassurance before letting him go. 

a few feet behind, Atsumu had saw the entire interaction happen. his heart was admittedly broken, seeing the way you were kissing and hugging Hoshiumi. he hadn’t known that you were working with Scheweiden nor did he know that you were even dating Hoshiumi. 

when the team had walked into the gym, he had saw your photo in the hallway entering the gym. your smile was one he missed and he felt himself get angry all over again. it had been months since the breakup but you had yet to unblock him from any social media so all of this news at once broke him. 

the game was a lot more intense than they assumed it would have been. Hoshiumi and Atsumu playing to 100% and even getting into small scuffles. you had saw the interactions and knew it was probably because of you but were arguing when it came down to plays so it didn’t look as immature on the court. 

ultimately, Schweiden won the game, beating the Jackal’s by a landslide in their last set. you were smiling at Hoshiumi as the game ended, bringing him a water and giving him a kiss before handing off the waters to Ushijima and Kageyama next. you had ran out of the gym for a few seconds to refill waters for a few players when you ran into the last person you expect. 

“if you can excuse me Miya, I need to refill these,” you said, not even looking at him in the eye. he moved out of the way, seeing thew way you refilled the bottles as quickly as possible. once you were done, you were about to head back into the gym when he stopped you, “how are you?” he asked shyly. 

you sighed, “fine Miya,” you said curtly. Atsumu growled in annoyance, “are you together with-,” “with me!” you heard Hoshiumi’s voice scream through the hall. you smiled at the sight of him as he pushed you behind him and sizing up the much taller Atsumu. 

“this had nothing to do with you, Hoshiumi.”

“oh but it does! she’s my girlfriend, our manager, and a member of the team so whatever you need to say to her, you can say to me!” you laughed at Hoshiumi’s confidence as Atsumu looked at him, rage filling his eyes, “what? what’re you gonna do? hit me? you’d get suspended and look like a complete idiot to the entire V-league!” 

“do we have an issue?” Ushijima asked, looking at Atsumu and Hoshiumi as Sakusa followed him, “no issue at all,” Atsumu gritted as Hoshiumi wore a proud grin on his face.

“that’s great to hear. come on ( your name ). Hoshiumi you better be in the gym in the next minute.” 

“lets go Atsumu, you don’t win anything out of creating a scene,” Sakusa said as he grabbed his friend and tried dragging him out of the hallway. Hoshiumi waved at Atsumu as cockily as possible, “remember Atsumu! not only did we win the game but I also won your girl!” he screamed. 

Atsumu went to jump but was pulled back by Sakusa and Bokuto as you walked out of the gym again to grab Hoshiumi. he grabbed you by the wrist and kissed you in front everyone that was in the hallway. Atsumu could hear Bokuto telling him to calm down but he wanted nothing more than to run over to Hoshiumi and kick his ass before reclaiming you as his again. 

[sillyrabbit81]

The Pull

Summary: Alternative Universe. Vampire Henry. Henry, Crown Prince of the Vampires is avoiding his responsibilities because of his mother's fate. When Henry finds his mate, the circumstances are eerily similar to his mother's. Rather than risking his mate's life, Henry chooses to run, but can he run from his fate?

Pairing: Henry x OFC

Word Count: approx 2.4k

Warnings: mention of death, mention of abortion (although it didn't happen), and swearing

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

Chapter Two

Rowena POV

"David, I can't wear this!" I complained on the phone. I held up the dress again. "It's just too much, too revealing."

It was a simple white silk floor-length skirt, but the top of the dress was two long vertical pieces of silk, barely wide enough to cover my breasts, which crossed at the back before wrapping around my waist and tied in a bow on my lower back. There was no way I could wear a bra. It would only take a slight wrong move, and there would be an embarrassing nipple slip.

"Yes, you can," my brother said. "Lawrence had it made for you to wear as a gift. He wants to meet you and make a good impression." Lawrence was David's partner, they had been together for over a year, but I was yet to met him. Lawrence and David seemed to travel together an awful lot, so it had been challenging to find time for us to get together.

"Have you seen it?" I asked.

"Of course," David replied. I was surprised. David was my older brother and had always been a little protective of me, especially since our parents died when I was 15 and he was 20. Maybe he had finally let that go considering I was now 26.

"You know I'd never wear something like that. It's gorgeous, but it's too revealing for me."

"Rowena, it's Halloween. It's an excuse for excess." I rolled my eyes. For David, being a day that ended in 'y' was an excuse for excess.

"Why does your boyfriend want to see me in this?" It just seemed over the top for a party. I gathered that Lawrence was wealthy, but still, it's just a Halloween party.

"Because he wants you to fit in. Honestly, you'll stick out less wearing that than anything else. Besides, no one knows you there, and you'll have a mask. Just pretend you're someone else."

I grumbled. "What time did Lawrence say the stylist was coming?"

Although I couldn't see him, I could hear David's victorious smile through the phone. "At six pm. The driver will be there at eight."

"That seems late, David," I said. "I won't arrive until nearly nine."

"I know, but that is Lawrence's style."

"Promise you won't leave me alone." I wasn't afraid of being alone at parties usually but by the sounds of this one, the dress and the fact that I was having my hair and makeup done professionally made it feel like a big deal.

"Lawrence and I will take good care of you," David promised.

I said my goodbyes and hung up the phone.

Feeling only a little more confident after the phone call, I jumped in the shower, washed my hair, and shaved my legs for the first time in weeks. I put on a robe and slippers and went up to the main house to see Charlie since I had half an hour to kill before the stylist arrived.

Charlie was staying there tonight with Alice while I went out. He had his own room and often slept there now that he was getting older and wanted space from me. Charlie and I mostly ate our meals up at the house and just kept basics in our two-bedroom flat above the old stables.

Charlie and Alice were sitting together at the dining table, playing with a random assortment of lego pieces. "Hey, Mum. I made this for you." Charlie handed me a flower made from the blocks. He was such a sweetheart of a boy.

"Awww, thanks, Babybear. I love it." I kissed the top of his head and sat with them.

"I thought you had to get ready for tonight," Alice asked.

"I have an hour," I replied.

"You're still going, aren't you?" Alice asked. She seemed more eager for me to go than I was. Alice was Charlie's paternal grandmother. Charlie's dad, Alex, had been my boyfriend when I was 17. Despite being on the pill, I fell pregnant, and Alex tried to pressure me into an abortion and refused to be a part of his life. Alice had been horrified by the way Alex had treated me. In an unexpected turn of events, she had stepped in to help raise Charlie. Charlie rarely saw Alex, but Alice saw that we both wanted nothing. The woman was a saint.

"Yeah," I said reluctantly.

"It'll be good for you," Alice said, squeezing my hand.

"I know." I sighed.

"Charlie, go get Nanny a glass of water, please. My throat is feeling dry," Alice said. She had something to say to me outside of Charlie's ears. Being a kind and helpful kid, Charlie immediately got up and went to get her one. He made me so proud.

As soon as he left the room, Alice said, "Rowena, don't feel guilty getting out there again."

"How can you say that?" I asked. I had tried dating a few times over the years. It always ended disastrously. Always my fault too. I had developed severe commitment issues.

"Charlie is my grandson, and I want his mother to be happy. Not lonely and depressed. It would be best if you had a life beyond Charlie. I've been telling you that for years."

Charlie came back with a book, and Alice read to him. As mothers often are, I was struck by how handsome my little boy was. His blonde sun-bleached hair and deep brown eyes were framed by a face that had lost nearly all of its childhood fat. At nine years old, he was almost as tall as me already, and he would probably take after his father in that regard. In fact, his eyes were the only thing that came from my side of the family as they were the same colour as David's and my Dad's. Charlie looked so much like his father, sometimes it hurts to look at him.

Kissing him again, on the cheek this time, I said goodbye to Charlie, told him to be a good boy for Nanny and went back to our flat above the garage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I arrived at Lawrence's house not long after the sun had set. House was probably too humble a word to describe it. It was a borderline castle. I had thought Alice's family was wealthy, but this was another level. It was like something out of the Great Gatsby.

The car drove around the circular driveway and pulled up near the front door. A valet opened the car door, and he escorted me into the house, where he told my name to a butler who asked me to follow him.

Looking around the room, I was grateful to David for insisting I wear the dress. Everybody was dressed like it was a Hollywood awards show, and I mean everybody. Not to mention they all looked like actors or models. I had never in my life been around so many beautiful people. And I don't mean just beautiful because they were thin. There were people of all shapes and sizes, but everyone moved with grace and ethereal ease. They seemed so other.

This was crazy. Who the hell was my brother mixed up with? This whole night must have cost a fortune. Beyond a fortune! All for a Halloween party?

I was led from room to room, the house full of beautiful creatures. More than that, the house was decorated in a way that would put Versailles to shame. The decadence of the furnishings was lush and rich. Every piece seemed to be a precious antique but shone like it was brand new. Gold leaf decorated the cornices, and priceless framed artworks, tapestries and mirrors filled every wall. Even the wooden floor was an intricate parquetry design that appears to have taken years to lay.

At first, I thought I imagined it, but I noticed that everybody stared at me as I moved through each room. I felt heat rush to my cheeks. Did I look so different from everyone else? I supposed I did, but the eyes following me made me thankful for the mask.

After what seemed like hours but couldn't have been, I was taken to a large hall and presented. Yes, presented. What the fuck?

My escort stopped outside the room and spoke to a man standing just inside the door. The man rapped his cane on the floor three times and thundered, "Rowena, sister of David, Inamorato of Duke Lawrence." An eerie silence fell as every face turned to me. Some even bowed their heads. What on earth was going on?

"Rowena!" David was at my side, clutching my hands to his chest. "I've missed you so." He leaned over and kissed both my cheeks. Everybody in the room seemed to return to normal, and sounds of chatter resumed. David was wearing a mask and wore an elegant dark grey suit. He looked so different. David has always been handsome, but he looked so unlike his usual self, and I couldn't pinpoint the difference. I didn't even have the words to describe the change. I know it had been months since we had seen each other, but it wasn't that he had lost weight or gained muscle. What I could see of his face was inconsistent with my memories of him. Then I saw his eyes.

"David, what the..." David cut me off and embraced me. His smell was mouth-watering, and I wondered what cologne he was wearing. He had never smelt like that before.

"Come, meet Lawrence!" David exclaimed, gripping my hand tightly. Maybe he had put on muscle because he was stronger than I remembered.

David lead me further into the room. I followed, but my head was spinning. Why did everything look so beautiful but feel so... unreal?

"Lawrence, my love, this is Rowena," David said.

The man who sat before me took my breath away. I had no word to describe him other than impressive. He wasn't tall or large, but he seemed to take up all the space in the room as if by looking at him, your eyes couldn't see anything else. His skin was like a midnight sky lit up by the moon, which seemed to reflect the light as it was so smooth, flawless and radiant. His hair bounced with large curls, and although it was dark too, it seemed to shine with its own light.

As Lawrence stood, his movements were so polished they almost had a serpentine grace. His white lace mask framed his eyes, black with a red rim around the pupil, just like David's. Lawrence came towards me, and I was captivated, struck immobile by the force of his presence. Then all of a sudden, the fear left me as though it was never there. I sucked in air, not realising I hadn't taken a breath since I laid eyes on him.

Lawrence grasped my hands to his chest, just like my brother had. "Oh David, she is lovely, isn't she?" He lifted my hands to his lips and kissed both of them before lifting my arms wide and inspecting me. "She does look luscious in this dress. I do have excellent taste, do I not?"

I looked to David, who was beaming proudly like he had passed a test by bringing me here and meeting Lawrence's approval. Stunned, I looked again at David's smile. Something was wrong with it.

Lawrence was still talking, "You were right that she would be a hard one to crack. She seems to see many things others don't. Including you, by the way." David laughed at Lawrence's observation.

I tried to speak, to ask again what was going on, but nothing came out. I kept trying to breathe but I felt suffocated. The more I tried, the less air seemed to come in.

David grabbed my shoulders and caught my gaze. His voice was solid and musical, and the force of his words almost made me fall. "Rowena, it's alright. You can breathe." And all at once, I could.

"This dress is too tight." I managed to say.

"Nonsense," Lawrence said dismissively, "it's perfect. He is going to love it."

"He?" I questioned.

Lawrence sighed and glanced at David. They looked at each other for a few moments, then David took me by the arm and led me to a cluster of sofas. "Come, sister, sit with me and let's catch up."

Even the way he spoke seemed to change. It can't have been that long since I'd seen him. I thought back and realised I hadn't seen him in about two years. We occasionally spoke on the phone, but years had passed since I had physically seen him.

Lawrence left us mingled around the room, which I saw now was a ballroom. Some people danced, some drank wine, and others socialised. Something was wrong with all of it, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

David started to talk to me, asked me about little Charlie. I went to get my phone to show him some pictures and realised I must have left my bag in the limo. Before I could tell David that, he said, "never mind, the driver works for Lawrence. He has it. You can get it before you leave."

How did he know where I had left my phone? This was too much. "David, what's going on? There's something wrong here. This place is... off."

I suddenly felt bewildered, like I couldn't concentrate on anything. I felt a curious pull towards the back of the hall. I stood and looked back and started to walk towards the doors. It was like I was trapped in a gravitational pull towards... something. Without warning, a spontaneous feeling of arousal hit me, and my body was on fire. I let out an audible moan. I felt a desperate call come from between my legs to ease the rapidly growing craving. And not just by anyone, by Him. Wait, who was Him?

David held my arm and tried to lead me back, but I wouldn't allow it. I struggled for him to let me go. David was about to say something when another announcement was made, "The Crown Prince, Henry, Son of Alfred, King of all Sanguisuge."

I looked first to David to question what on earth that meant when I caught sight of the Prince.

It's Him.

I felt like I was falling, plummeting to the ground. The floor rushed to meet me, and my vision went dark.

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

@henryobsessed

[kalimagik]

Moonlight Swim

Neville Longbottom x Reader

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: Soooo, I was at the beach working and only actually saw the beach at midnight because that’s when I could and that’s how this idea blossomed. This is my first time writing for Neville, so I’m feeling really unsure about it, but I love this awkward, smiley boy! Feedback always welcomed, so leave a comment, reblog, like, or send an ask! Happy reading, lovelies <3

Edit: @summer-writes made the gorgeous moodboard

The moon was high and bright in the sky, it reflected off the ocean like a pearl polished and reflecting off the glass in a jewelry store. The waves grew and crashed onto the sand sounding like a drum beating at a steady pace. The whole world was calm, relaxed, and at peace. Well the whole world, expect for the teenagers walking down the beach.

“Y/N! Wait up!” Neville called, still a few paces behind his best friend, despite his longer legs.

She wasn’t listening though, Y/N was focused on one thing, getting from the little cottage by the sea to the sea itself. Seeing as how Harry had never been on a REAL holiday before, courtesy of the Dursleys, Y/N and Hermione decided that it would be a good idea to rent a little cottage on the coast and spend some time by the sea. Hermione planned all the details, but Y/N got the group together. She, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Luna could all definitely use a trip away after how school had been going from them.

But, the others were in the house. That day had been spent entirely on the beach. Ron was redder than his hair because of the sun burn after refusing sunblock. Ginny was exhausted after being in the water and forcing Harry to swim out in the waves for hours. Hermione and Luna spent their time reading, but were just tired from the sun. That’s not how Y/N felt. She was at the ocean. She wanted to be on the beach every second she could be, even if the moon was the only source of light.

“Common, Longbottom,” she giggled, plopping down in the sand, not caring about the mess it would make later. “Come sit beside me!”

Neville watched, still standing, as she breathed in the deep, beach air that surrounded them. He looked down at Y/N, her eyes now focused on the waves. She was one girl that he always felt comfortable around. She made him feel confident and like his opinions and ideas had value. Then, somewhere along the way, she became more than just his best friend.

He was more confident in general and loved talking about his passions, but she made him nervous again, even if it was in a different way. His hands got clammy when she was around, he forgot what he wanted to say, and his heart beat soooo loudly that he swore she could hear it and just pretended she didn’t.

“Are you going to sit down?” she asked again, looking away from the ocean and to his towering figure.

“Oh, uhhh, yeah.” Neville took the spot next to her and listened to the sounds that surrounded them.

“I’m happy we came here. It was a good idea.”

“Of course it was a good idea,” Neville chuckled. “It was your idea wasn’t it?”

“Precisely,” she beamed, leaning over to bump into him. “Just look at this place though! I never would have been able to find it without Hermione.”

“Don’t give her your credit.” Neville spoke before he even thought about what he was going to say.

“What’s gotten into you,” Y/N chuckled, glancing over her shoulder at Neville. “She did do all of the planning, so she deserves all the credit!”

“That’s not what I mean. You’re still the one that made it happen,” Neville complimented her.

“Thanks,” she smiled simply, looking back at the water.

The silence was comfortable. Y/N and Neville had that type of relationship where they could just sit in each other’s company for hours and not need to say much of  anything. It was a beautiful thing that not all people can achieve together, but they did.

The tide began to roll further and further up the shore. The foam of the water was close enough to touch Y/N and Neville’s toes. It was warm and felt good against the chilly summer night air.

“Want to go for a walk?” Y/N asked, getting restless as she usually did.

Neville just nodded, following Y/N’s lead as he usually did. If Neville ever got into trouble, it was usually because of something Y/N talked him into doing.

“How’s your grandmother again?” Y/N started a conversation. “I didn’t get to see her yet this summer.”

“She’s good. Still my grandmother. Still scary. She has asked about you of course. She always does. Personally, I think she would rather have you as a grandchild.” Neville kicked the sand as he walked with his hands in his pockets.

Y/N stopped suddenly, looking at the boy. “Don’t say that. It’s not true.”

“It’s fine if it is. I don’t mind.” Neville shrugged.

“Well, anyone would be lucky to have you as a grandson,” Y/N giggled, a smile growing on her face as she teased the boy. Neville couldn’t help but laugh alongside her. She grew serious again shortly after though. “You’re wonderful. And your grandmother loves you a lot. I can tell in the way she talks about you to me.” Y/N rubbed his arm, reassuring him before she continued down the beach.

“We sure have gone a far way,” Neville observed, looking back to the little speck of light that was the house.

“Well, it’s beautiful out! I can’t help that I still want to be out here. I would even get in the water-”

Neville looked to see Y/N looking out in the water longingly. “No…no, no, no. Don’t even think about it, Y/N/N. I am not getting in the water in my clothes.”

“Well why not? You’re already wet,” she smirked mischievously.

“What are you talking about? I’m completely dr–” Before he could even finish his sentence, Y/N walked into the water enough to kick it, completely splashing Neville’s front side.

“See! It feels good!” She giggled.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Neville looked at her, wide-eyed. “I’m not going to take that sitting down!” He rushed her, but she dodged him, going further out into the water. Neville stopped at the edge. The waves were crashing right behind Y/N, the water now pooling around her knees and thighs. “You don’t even have a bathing suit on…”

“So? Who do I have to impress?” she giggled, walking backwards. Neville just took in the sight of her face. He really wanted to soak up as much of it as possible. The look she wore was just one of pure happiness and exuberance. She’d always been like that. Not caring what anyone thought and always doing what made her the happiest.

He could only shake his head and laugh with her as he just stood there on the shore.

“Come on in! The water’s great!” she urged him, lifting an arm to threaten that she would splash him again if he didn’t comply.

“You might want to come out before you’re dripping wet.” Neville warned.

“Nahhhh!” she shook her head. Her laughter was replaced by a happy scream when an invisible wave crashed on her head. Somehow, she walked out further into the water than she had realized and without the sun, the waves were invisible until they came crashing down.

Neville smirked as the water rushed back into the ocean. Y/N stood there, hair in her eyes and clothes dripping wet, her mouth hanging wide open in surprise, but the shock of the water over taking her was quickly replaced by laughter once again.

“I told you so,” Neville called over the sound of the waves.

“It was a good surprise!” Y/N spit back, smile growing even wider. “You know what would be an even better surprise? If you run in with all your clothes too!”

Neville didn’t take the bait, he just shoved his hands in his pockets once more.

“Ohhh, come on Neville, do something unexpected!” Y/N dared him, eyes sparkling with playfulness. That was all she needed to say for him to sigh before letting a lopsided smile replace the pursed lips he had worn watching her moments before.

“Yay!” she laughed as he crashed through the waves out to where she was. By the time he reached her, another wave crashed on top of them, soaking Neville as much as the one before drenched Y/N.

Their heads broke through the surface of the water as they came back up for air. “See, isn’t it nice out here?”

Neville took in a deep breath as he looked at her, swimming deep enough that her shoulders were underwater. Her Y/H/C pooled around her shoulders and the water made her skin sparkle. Water is supposedly rejuvenating, but new life and confidence seemed to enter Neville in that moment.

“What are you looking at?” Y/N laughed, out of breath from jumping over oncoming waves.

“I love you, Y/N,” Neville blurted, cheeks heating up the moment the words left his lips. Unfortunately for him, the moon was bright enough that the red was accented.

“You love me? N-Not just like a fr-friend?” Y/N stuttered. She never stuttered, she was always so confident.

He didn’t have anything planned to say after he made his confession. Hell, that wasn’t even planned. The move was Y/N’s to make. Neville was speechless, but he managed to nod. Y/N’s breath evened out.

“I love you too, Neville.” She stated simply, a smile growing on her lips. Neville felt his own smile following the feeling of relief. She loved him too.

“But, why didn’t you ever say so?” he asked, still confused that she felt the same way.

“I don’t know. I guess I was scared. We’ve been friends for so long and I didn’t want to push you into anything if you weren’t comfortable.” Neville watched her eyes fall to watch the movement of the water.

“You were scared? B-but you’re always so sure of yourself…”

“Not when it comes to stuff like that,” she admitted. “but, I do, ya know, love you.”

Neville smiled again. Hearing those words coming from her mouth made his heart flutter. Another surge of confidence as powerful as a wave flowed through him. He reached out enough to pull her body flushed with his and kissed her. He kissed her in a way he didn’t even know he was capable of.

The salty air filled Neville’s lungs when they pulled away from each other. His clothes hung heavily on his body and he had goosebumps all over his arms and legs, but he felt so light and warm on the inside. This was it for him. This was what he wanted for so long.

“Neville, you’re shivering!”

“No, no, I’m okay!” But, as another invisible wave crashed on top of them again, Neville’s teeth began to chatter.

“Nope, time to head in,” Y/N giggled. She swam towards the shore faster than Neville, but Neville didn’t want the moment to end.

“Wait, we’re just going to go back?” Neville pouted, bobbing up and down.

“We’re going to dry off and warm up, but we can continue once we do that,” she winked.

Neville’s face lit up at the prospect of spending more alone time with Y/N that he wound up reaching the sand before she did. “Woah, someone’s excited there.” Y/N exclaimed as she caught up to him.

“Can’t risk you changing your mind,” Neville teased, already starting to walk back to the cottage.

“Neville, wait!” Y/N called, catching back up to him.

“Yes, love,” he emphasized, excited to be able to use the endearing term with someone. Y/N took his hands in hers and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Hold my hand while we walk?” she asked.

Neville grinned like a Cheshire cat as he led the way back to the beach cottage, where dry clothes and a warm bed waited.

The moon was high and bright in the sky, it reflected off the ocean like a pearl polished and reflecting off the glass in a jewelry store. The waves grew and crashed onto the sand sounding like a drum beating at a steady pace. The whole world was calm, relaxed, and at peace, especially the boy and girl who were dripping with salt water, but in love nonetheless.

[bondsmagii]

Here’s something I really can’t explain.

To sum up: I shouldn’t be alive right now. I shouldn’t be writing this. I have no idea how any of this could have happened, but the fact you’re reading this now is kind of living proof that it did happen, so I suppose I’ll try and explain it as best as I can.

A little backstory for you. Way back in the late forties, my great-grandfather was a young man working with the local fire department. He came back after the war and just couldn’t settle into any kind of desk job, so despite my great-grandmother worrying about his mental state he ended up running into burning buildings for a living. Naturally he saw some messed up shit, but nothing haunted him more than a hotel fire that he attended.

At the time there had been an annual prize night for a local grammar school. Hundreds of kids and their families were crammed into the hotel’s large ballroom when a stray match lit up the curtains on the stage. Back in the day they weren’t exactly great about fire safety, and the walls and furniture were panelled or made with highly flammable materials. The whole room went up in minutes. Over one hundred people died, over half of which were children below the age of fifteen. It was an indescribable tragedy, and my great-grandfather – along with every first responder there – was scarred for life over the things he saw that evening.

My great-grandfather did his best to live with what happened, and for the most part he did well, all things considered. All of his grief seemed to be directed towards one little girl, who was never identified or claimed. She was badly burned but not unrecognisable; the theory was that her whole family had died with her, leaving nobody left to notice she was gone. She wasn’t the only person to suffer this fate, unfortunately – all told, five people were never claimed by families – but because my great-grandfather was the one to pull her body from the wreckage, he sort of became obsessed with her. He was preoccupied until his death with finding out her identity, and every year on the anniversary of the fire he visited her grave to lay a wreath. Unfortunately, he died without ever finding out who she was.

Fast forward a few decades, and I’m in my early twenties. My great-grandfather died when I was quite young, so I only had a small idea of this part of his history. It was, however, enough to make me wary of large fires – especially hotel fires. One summer, I’m visiting another city for my younger brother’s university graduation, and I stay the night in a hotel near the city centre. I remember fires were on my mind already, because initially they had tried to give me a room on the twenty-third floor, and I had politely refused and requested a lower floor. (An old maxim of my great-grandfather’s: never stay on a floor where you wouldn’t survive the fall.) Because of the graduation, the hotel was packed, and I ended up on the fifth floor in the end, but I figured it was better than nothing.

The first night was fine. The second night a fire broke out. The hotel had had some electrical rewiring done within the last month, and something went wrong. The fire smouldered for hours, undetected, before spreading into multiple parts of the ventilation system. Smoke and flame was pushed to all corners of the hotel before the fire cut out the power. Later, investigators would discover that the fire burned through the power for the smoke and fire detection alarms almost immediately – yet somehow the fire alarms went off. This is only the beginning of the inexplicable that night.

By the time the alarms woke me, my room was already filled with smoke. I had been drilled on this so many times as a child that it was instinctive for me to roll off the bed and onto the floor; only then did I start to panic. Luckily I had fallen asleep with the curtains open – the only time I had ever done that in a hotel – and the city lights illuminated the room enough to let me know the smoke was only in the top two thirds of the room, and not as thick as it could have been. I had time to crawl into the bathroom, wet a towel, and tie it around my nose and mouth. Then I crawled to the door and lay a hand flat on it. The door was cool, so I cautiously pulled it open.

In the hallway, it was pitch dark. This is the worst case scenario for any fire. Smoke disorientates people, and they feel ill from inhaling it. Panic compounds the confusion. People can get lost in their own homes – hotels are the worst place for something like this. People stand little chance of getting out if they haven’t memorised an exit, and even then it’s not foolproof. I should know. I always memorise exits, but when I went out of my room I turned the wrong way. I don’t know why. I was panicking, I was confused, and I just made the wrong choice. It should have cost me my life.

I realised my mistake as soon as I reached the end of the hall. The door there was propped open (fire safety hazard, I remember thinking, like it mattered at that point) but I could see no flames. The door led to the stairwell, and I had just crawled out onto it when the entire world went black. The smoke and flame had intensified, the fire sucking in oxygen and the smoke being forced up the stairwell like a huge chimney. It spilled over the edges of the landing and enveloped me even hunched on my hands and knees. My eyes began to sting and water; I couldn’t see anything. I crawled back and bumped into the wall, and for several long seconds that felt like minutes, I couldn’t find my way out of the stairwell. The heat was evaporating the water in the towel, and the sheer amount of smoke meant it wasn’t doing much good anyway. By the time I finally made it back out into the hall, I was coughing and choking. Panic made me pull the towel down. I only took the smallest breath before the floor tilted under me and I experienced a horrible rush of lightheadedness – with smoke so toxic, sometimes a breath is all it takes.

I kept crawling, heading back towards my room, now realising my mistake. At that point I was forcing myself to stay calm, but it wasn’t working. I had realised I had probably just gotten myself killed, and it was almost impossible to breathe. The temperature was climbing, and I knew the fire was close. I could hear screaming from somewhere nearby, doors slamming. Every single rational thought had left. I scrambled down the hallway in pure panic, and then I saw the child.

She was hunched down, looking right at me. She wasn’t in any kind of night clothing – she looked like she was still in the clothing she would have worn at the graduation ceremony, a neat little dress and polished shoes, a ribbon tied in her hair. She was perhaps eight years old at my best guess, and seeing her shocked some sense into me. Before I could speak or gesture to the direction she should go, she waved and then pointed.

“Come on, mister,” she said. “This way.”

Together we crawled to the other end of the hallway. Smoke was billowing from that stairwell, too, thick and dark though still not as bad as the other one. Either way it didn’t look good, but the little girl didn’t seem concerned – not even when we crawled out onto the landing, and the orange flicker of flames was visible several floors below.

“No,” I said. “It’ll be too hot.”

“Come on, mister,” she said again.

She began scrambling down the stairs, staying as low as possible. I could hardly leave her, so I followed.

The heat was unbearable, and by the time we were on the floor below, visibility was zero. The smoke was so thick and black that even the flicker of the flames had vanished; the only way I knew how close they were was from the heat and the deafening roar of it. Have you ever been near to a large bonfire? Have you heard how loudly it crackles? That’s nothing. Big fires, they roar. They sound closer to a freight train, a tornado. It’s a sound so loud that it sets off a primal kind of terror, even without the heat and the smoke to add to the danger. What I’m saying is that it’s something that’s very difficult to crawl towards, yet there we were.

I couldn’t see the little girl, but every time I began to panic she would reach back and touch me. The heat grew and I could smell my hair burning, my clothing threatening to catch. The floor was excruciating, and while I didn’t realise it at the time, I was in the process of receiving third degree burns on my hands and knees from the floor alone. I felt faint, the heat making my head pound. It seemed to drain my of my energy, and during those last seconds – as we passed directly past the floor where the inferno was at its worst – I was sure I was running only on pure animal instinct to get away.

Then we descended into the hallway below the fire, and it was all gone. The heat lingered, but it was nothing compared to what it was before. The smoke was hazy grey, high up by the ceiling. The little girl was tugging at me, and I realised I’d collapsed to the ground.

“Quickly, mister!” she said now. “Not far!”

In my pain and confusion, it didn’t occur to me that she wasn’t burned; that she had no difficulty breathing. She tugged hard at my clothing, and while I didn’t know that my clothing was alight at the time, later I remembered and wondered how she had done it. With her prompting and encouragement I made it down the last of the stairs and out into the hotel’s lobby, which was shockingly untouched. Alarms were blaring, but the room was free of smoke and many of the hotel’s employees remained there, grabbing people as they emerged, coughing, from stairwells and hurrying them outside. When I stumbled into the lobby I was immediately tackled by several employees who were, I was later told, beating the flames from me. I had stumbled into the lobby on fire.

I don’t remember anything else. I didn’t have time to mention the girl. I passed out, and was kept in a medically induced coma while my body recovered from serious burns. I very nearly didn’t make it, and when I awoke I had several months of painful operations and skin grafts to go. My hands were badly burned, though the doctors managed to save nearly all my fingers – I’m only missing the little fingers to the first knuckle, and while the scarring is bad I can use the hands well. My knees are badly scarred but functional. My back isn’t pretty to look at, but it doesn’t bother me now, not outside of itching in the heat. I forgot about the girl until just before I was released from hospital, five months later, but to my relief I was told that no children had died in the fire. Whoever she was, she had gotten out safe.

Almost a year later, my grandfather died. He was the son of my firefighter great-grandfather, and when my own father and I were around his house, sorting through his things, we came across some of my great-grandfather’s stuff. Medals, a few old photographs of the family, some letters. My father and I went through the pictures, my father pointing out relatives and telling a few stories here and there. What you would expect from such an occasion, really – but then I found an old picture of a little girl.

I recognised her immediately as the little girl I had seen in the hotel – there was no denying it. The picture was an unpleasant one, taken post-mortem, and while half of her body was badly charred the other half looked as though she could be sleeping. Her hair was the same, the bow singed but present. The dress was the same. I could even still hear how she sounded. Come on, mister! I was so shocked I didn’t say anything. My father looked at it for a long moment, and then he gave a sad sigh.

“I wish he had found out who she was,” he said. “That haunted him. He felt like he failed her.” He took the photo from me and looked a little more closely at it. “Nonsense, of course. He did everything for that little girl. I’m sure she would thank him if she could.”

She did, I thought. She did.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [25/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Violence / Angst???

A/N: ... 

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“You shouldn’t be here,” Loki said.

Shivers ran up your spine. For the first time since you knew him, he looked terrified. Helpless.

The Creature—the monster—that materialised from the mist inched closer. Its steady pace was unnerving, like pinpricks to the skin.

You took Loki’s hand in yours, felt his grip, ironclad, and said, “Right here is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

He smiled sheepishly, “Then our reunion was fated to be a short one.” He glanced at the creature, at its eyes, and clenched his jaw as tightly as his muscle could allow. He took an instinctual step back, pulling you behind him. “There’s no escaping it.”

You turned to the creature, unsure of what it was entirely that you sensed from it. It wasn’t fear—at least, not your own. Not hate either. Though it was masked in those emotions well. There was a drive behind its instinct, a purpose. Keenly aware of the fact you still had your magic, you let your magic do the searching where vision failed you. Tendrils of energy waned as if something unseen was pushing back, resisting. You planted your feet, took a deep breath and blocked out everything except the creature. There was familiarity there. A sense of pain. Grief. A broken heart.

Bestla’s words rippled back to you, reminding you of what she had said about Loki, “Loki is a fraught boy. Torn apart by two halves that will always be at war.”

A tendril of magic managed to touch the creature and incoherent flashes distracted you, making you lose balance.

With a grunt, you and Loki were both flung back, the wind knocked out of you. You rolled from your side and noticed the creature was undeterred from his path. A strong magical barrier surrounded it.

The creature lunged, its bone and flesh sword for a hand tearing the seams of Loki’s subconscious world.

You had to get Loki away from the creature, find a way to reassure him, give him room to process everything in safety. As long as the creature was a stone’s throw away, you wouldn’t be able to help him. “How do we escape it?”

Loki turned to you, downcast, “We don’t. I’ve never escaped it.” He looked at his hands. “I have no powers here.”

“But I do,” you forged a connection to his subconscious through your linked hands. “Think of a place, a memory, anywhere you feel safe. I’ll take you there!”

The creature neared and Loki’s mind flooded with too many images, too many years condensed into a barrage of smells and touch, hot and cold, emotion and emptiness. Steeling yourself, you clung onto the strongest sensation: smell. Berries. A burst of blue and purple. Warmth from an oven. A hug.

Instantly, the both of you were sucked into a portal of light, teleported deeper into Loki’s mind. Before the portal shut, the creature let out a roar, snagging skin from your elbow as it slashed and slashed in a frenzy. You seethed from the surprising burn of its cold touch.

You were thrust forward and wrenched back, a tension to your muscles, adrenaline soaking tissue. Your magic sparked, and you lost your bearing. When the world stopped spinning, you were in a kitchen, not the human kind with a hearth and cast iron pots, but Asgardian. Polished stones greeted your feet while gold embellishments decorated everything; curtains, fine dishes, the liquid within crystal clear tumblers.

“Where… where are we?” you glance around, unfamiliar with your surroundings.

Out from a blind spot, two boys darted into the kitchen area. Frigga followed soon after, a youthful blush on her face, hair the colour of magnificent straw. The boys played with wooden swords, clashing in a dull thud. Laughter keeping the room vibrant. The boy with the sandy hair yelped, and before your eyes, his wooden sword transformed into a snake, slithering away.

The raven-haired boy turned ghostly pale, frightened by what he’d just done. He clenched his fists in horror. Frigga calmed him, a sweet smile on her face as she ran her fingers through his hair. She hesitated for a moment before she hunkered low to hug both her sons. Soon after, a baker walked into the room with a silver tray of pastries. Blackish filling spilt over the folds, the smell of citric berries permeated into the space like a blanket, sweet and tart.

“Home,” Loki said. A look of longing crept over his face, a slouch to his shoulders. “I remember this day… This was the day before Father had taken us to the vault to tell us stories, of our grandfather, of the war…the Giants. Mother had asked the baker’s to make her favourite pies. We helped her pick the berries from a thicket near the edge during the day. It was the first time I used transformation magic. I was so scared. So was Thor. But not Mother… she just held us till we stopped crying. Made us feel safe in her embrace. She said I got my magic from her. That we were born under the same stars. Blessed by the same spirits.”

You placed a hand on his back and he leaned into the contact. “It seems like a happy memory.”

“Many of them were… before…” he turned to look away from the homely scene unfolding. “They were my family. My blood.”

The child version of him smiled with pie filling smeared over his round cheeks. You recognised Baldrick in his features. Slight, but distinct. The same dark hair and wide eyes. An impression more than anything.

“They still are,” you said.

“They are not my family…” he sneered, clicking his tongue. “And after what I’ve done, they couldn’t forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“I have done plenty wrong!”

You flinched, his anger turning the room cooler, snuffing out the air, closing you in. Mist crawled onto the windows, and, suddenly, you knew. This feeling—this dread—it had been warped around the creature too, preventing you from fully penetrating its barrier. That same magic now surrounded Loki. More apparent after his outburst.

“Not from where I’m standing,” you said. “Perhaps there is much you need to take responsibility for, but not this”—you placed your hand on his chest, felt the thrum of his heart—“not for who you are…what you are.”

 “They lied to me! Made me think I was one of them. Hid my birth rite from me. Hid me,” he shouted.  “I’m a monster!”

The mist had enveloped all the windows now. Cracks spread like veins. A chill wracked through the air.

You ignored the foreboding signs and kept your focus on Loki, “By that logic, so am I.”

His eyes snapped up meet yours, his lower lip trembling. “Not you. Never you.”

Your heart ached at his words. “I’ve taken life… Life that I now see was more than a simple monster made real from under my bed.”

Recognition flashed across his face, “The Giant in Jotunheim. The one who...”

You nodded, slowly. “Yes.”

“But he took something from you,” Loki held your shoulders, speaking in haste as he shook you. “You deserved vengeance. And wanting it… that doesn’t make you a monster.”

You let out a sigh, somehow feeling older as you did it, feeling the heft of another’s life—of Bestla’s life. “Only because something had been taken from him, too. Something that was rightly his.” A sad smile came over you. “Do you know what he said before I killed him? He said his kind were always the villains in my stories. I never thought much of it, at the time. But then I met someone…your grandmother. She told me things, about the Great Wars, the histories of the Giants, the truth. And I see now…”

Loki rambled, taken aback by what you said. "My... grandmother? H-How? When? I—I don't..."

The creature materialised into the room, stone walls exploding into flecks. It growled and Loki stiffened. He was about to pull you away, but you stopped him, mustering all your magic to urge the Jotun beneath his pale skin to surface. His breath hitched as he staggered, fighting the process. You kept watching as the creature continued on its approach. You had a few seconds at best.  

“I see now that there’s more than one side to any story. And war… war destroys more than the past. It takes history. It takes truth. It makes martyrs out of monsters and monsters out of martyrs. Makes kings. Destroys empires. Breeds hate. And these effects ripple out, for generations. You and I are but small grains of sand taken by the whims of the past, struggling to be still.”

“What are you—” Loki’s eyes went wide, making him look so small, so human, as his blue skin surfaced. You trailed along his arm, magic between the two of you building with a charge. With possibilities. He shuddered, taking a few deep breaths to centre himself, to grow used to his reflection in your eyes.

“And this is my truth…” you kissed him gently as the mist clung to your robes and feet. “I love you, Loki, Son of Asgard, Last Prince of Jotunheim... Trickster God. I love all of you. And I bent the world to save you, but the truth is, you aren’t lost, you’re running away.”

The creature lunged, and the wind died out. The creature’s shadow fell behind Loki. From over his shoulder, you could see it raise its arm high, ready to strike… ready to kill.

“It’s time to face who you are…” you whispered.

The creature struck. Loki shouted your name, cradling you close. There was a boom. A rush of air followed by a harrowing silence.

Loki stumbled backward, shocked. All around him were shards of ice, suspended in the darkness until it receded back from where it came. In the light, the creature sloughed away, like fungus being scraped off wood. The layers turned to snowflakes and dispersed all around you. Under the rage and strength of the creature was Loki’s double, pale skinned, blue eyed.   

You walked over to Loki’s double and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you see now? Do you see what you were running from?”

Loki paced from left to right, never letting his eyes leave his double. Then he took a step forward, mouth agape, the reality of everything dawning over him. “It was me.”

“You blame yourself for everything. For what happened to my village and what happened to me in the throne room. I suspect you’ve always done so. Resolved yourself to hate the part of you that was different. That was hidden. And that part of you, stricken by self-loathing and doubt, guilt and grief, remained buried here, in the depths of your mind, alone. Apart from you. And when you went under, you could no longer supress him. But after the throne room, those feelings grew in your subconscious, giving form to the very thing you feared. The Jotun in you. The Giant. The monster of your stories.”

“N—No… I—It can’t be.” Loki shook his head, conflicted.

You held out your hand for him to take, “Do you trust me?

He nodded, at a loss for words.

“Then connect them, the two pieces that have been separated for so long. Accept the truth,” you delicately ushered him closer to his double who just blinked, expression empty, hollow.

As the two Lokis stood face to face and the world shook. You took several steps back and watched as Loki put his hand up. His double mirrored his action. When they joined palms, a torrent of emerald light streamed outward, both cold and hot all at once. As bright as a star. As piercing as an arrow. Everything melted out of view until it was only you and him, the illusion of a night sky forming in the background.

He stood close, his smile not quite right. Snaking his arms around you, he held you flush to his chest. You looked up, chin resting on his chest. Finally, you were home.

 “Thank you,” he whispered before kissing you. The kiss was life affirming, as though he was saying a thousand things in a single act. You kissed him back, lips tenderly caressed by his own.

A swell flourished in your belly. Warmth you hadn’t felt since the last time you were in his arms flooded back. It was joy. You gasped as that feeling of solace returned from where it had been stripped away. Elated that you could feel his magic again. Feel him again. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could finally breathe again. Be at ease again.

“I—” Loki steadied himself, as though he were about to speak the world apart. “I—”

But before he could finish, you felt a third presence tunnel its way to your subconscious. A message warning you from the other side, from the woken world. It felt like Heimdall’s magic. And it was filled with desperation. “Wait! Heimdall… Something’s wrong!”

“I feel it too,” Loki said.

You felt yourself being pulled from the world, out and through. The world adapted to the invasion. Tears of reality blended into the space.

The voice of a guard shouted, “Captain! She’s resisting. We can’t separate them!”

“Pull harder!” the captain shouted back, her voice heated and coarse like lit charcoal.

Through the tears, you saw the healing chamber. Heimdall and the rest of your companions were defeated, huffing for air. They were being ushered out of the room in shackles. The resisted to no avail, dragged out one by one by the guards in shining armour.

Through the distortion, and past the ebbing flow of sound, you saw Odin enter the room. He carried a familiar tome in his hands. Bestla’s amulet!

You had forgotten that you’d left it in Heimdall’s care. Odin must have taken it from him as he was being dragged away.

“I haven’t seen this in a long, long time,” Odin said wistfully. His thumb brushed against the bird bones, beads catching light from the golden castle. He whispered to the captain, the amulet trading hands between them, from his to hers. Spine bent, Odin took his leave.

The Captain narrowed her eyes at you, and, had you been in your body, present and aware in all senses, you were certain you would have taken a step back.

The captain loomed closer, the tug of so many unfamiliar hands on your wrists and elbows. She shouted again, but the world phased and her sound never reached your ears.  

With a dimmer, Loki’s world had begun to flitter out of view.

Sensing this, he drew you close, desperate to have you hear his next words. His lips moved with fervour, words spilling out harried and muffled, incomprehensible. The outside world grew louder. More real. Loki tried to hold onto you, but you felt his hold on you slip away.

With a mind splitting headache, your body greeted your subconscious in the woken world. A wave of exhaustion washed over you as you were overpowered by the guards.

Loki, awakened, reached for you again as he shouted for the guards to desist. Some took a moment to consider, conflicted, but the captain silenced them with a look.

Loki struggled to keep his feet steady. The weeks suspended in the chamber had taken their toll on his body. It was spent. Just like his mind.

“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard, I command you to release her immediately!” he said, anger sparked within his eyes. He motioned to summon his magic, to use a spell to fend off the heavy men with heavy grips. 

Softly, you shook your head. Speaking low enough for just his ears, “No! Loki… No more violence.”

“Hold her still,” the captain ordered. You were wrenched further back. Loki was still reaching for you, just a little out of reach, staggering with weak knees.

“I’ll make this right!” he swore. “I promise. I’ll make it right.”

With a grimace, the captain placed Bestla’s amulet close to your neck and it came alive, a will of its own as it twined uncomfortably around your neck.

“Wai—”You recoiled from the deadened aura of the amulet. Once it settled in place, you fought the urge to cough. The amulet’s distinct lack of presence overpowered you. It made you limp and you felt sparse. Lacking. No magic. No warmth. Eyelids as heavy as boulders. The strength to stand seeming impossible in the moment. It was worse than the leeching. At least that came with pain, with something.

“Take her below,” the captain said before turning her sights on Loki and ushering a few healers into the space. “The prince needs assistance. Hurry.”

Woozy, everything seemed far, far away. The drag of your feet away from the healing chamber came with less resistance. Loki shrunk in your peripheral, still staggering to close the gap.

[writerwrites]

Yuánfèn | 03

Ch. 3: Saudade: “The feeling of longing for an absent something or someone that you love but might never return.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 4.2k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, fluff, domestic fluff is strong in this chapter... ALL THE FLUFF

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Complete Masterlist

You hadn’t been sleeping, not really. Between bouts of crying over the piles of pictures and old love letters from the war, you were at a loss for words. A part of you was so mad at yourself for never getting to know your grandparents, not really, not on a level that truly meant something. You loved them and by the prideful placement of your graduation pictures on the coffee table by your grandmother’s reading nook there was no doubt they had loved you too or at least been proud of your accomplishments. You were no one to the world. No one thought about the person that patched up heroes and now the one person left with whom you may have been their world was also gone. You could only describe the feeling as being left adrift.

Adrift, what an odd, dark place to be. You mused in silence as you thought about life, time, and death. None of it seemed black and white to you. No one was wholly good or bad and even the flawed souls had people that cared about them at some point, conflicting as that may have been. You’d turn that thought over in your head, night after night, wine in one hand and pictures or letters in the other. It made you wonder how long it would be until you’d find a soul to remember you when you were gone, the act of having to replant yourself one that felt more like a chore than your tired body seemed to have energy for. The only person that seemingly connected to your entire existence now was a hundred-and-something year old patient that was adored by every person that knew even a fraction of his story. Every night, with that reminder in mind, you’d polish off your glass and curl up into a ball on the couch and wait for a couple hours of reprieve from the horrors of your solitary reality.

At odd hours, you and Steve would check in with each other. For the most part the pair of you had stuck to texting, you with your proof that you were eating and Steve with some balm that the team was still in one piece without you. To your surprise, he managed at least one short FaceTime every few days. This was a new and pleasant escape from your solitude that happened to include little introductions to food he’d never had and meaningless promises that you’d cook more in your tiny kitchen and bring him your leftovers to try. Maybe it was the way his face lit up when you managed to peak your head up from your bundle of hoodie and blankets, but it really felt like he understood and never judged you for how miserable you looked or for those moments where you’d simply fall silent mid-sentence. In fact, he never commented on your appearance at all. Two weeks and it felt like you learned more about him than you had in all the years as a doctor at Stark Industries.

You missed your job, kept telling him as much but Tony insisted you stay and get what you had to get done over with to prevent you from having to make multiple trips away. Stark may have claimed one thing, but your conversations with Steve made you suspicious of what he was getting into and how he was coping with Wanda’s vision. As if you were on some sort of mental health retreat. Steve wouldn’t say anything particular about it, but you noticed that his jaw went tight before commenting that there were no medical emergencies waiting for you and he’d tell you if there were. It was one of the least reassuring statements the soldier had ever given you and he seemed to notice the way your expression fell, getting off the phone awkwardly with an excuse that he remembered he had somewhere he needed to be.

Something told you that it would be the last time he would FaceTime you on your trip to Mallorca. Rather than let yourself get upset by that or hyper analyze the giddy feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach every time your phone lit up with his name, you busied yourself with all the things you should’ve been working on in the first place. It was the most productive day you’d had since getting there, but you managed to forget to both eat or slow down and rest. With little interest in laying down on the couch, still incapable of sleeping in your grandmother’s room, you decided to shower and head out to find something to eat at one of the dozens of little shops. The noise in your head was already wondering what Steve would say when you sent a picture of whatever you were eating and he realized you’d actually left the house for more than groceries or a meeting with the lawyer.

The late April air was warm and dry, a light breeze blew in the sweet scent of the Valencia red roses and lemon scented geraniums that lined the large balcony. As you towel dried your hair with a yawn, half tempted to collapse onto the couch as your stomach groaned with hunger, the doorbell chimed through the house. You looked down at the maxi dress you’d put on, a little wrinkled from being in the small suitcase, as your heart raced. You hadn’t been expecting anyone and no one had swung by to check on your grandmother, but you figured it was only a matter of time. This is fine, I’m glad she wasn’t alone, you chanted whispered over and over as you went to the door and pulled it open.

Steve rocked on his heels, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a small box wrapped in parchment paper and tied with a simple blue silk ribbon. He could hear footsteps inside and his gaze moved over the place. It wasn’t like any place he’d ever been before, more like something from a postcard, and he found himself eager to explore the streets he could hear voices coming from. Then he heard the rapid pulse and little pep talk on the other side of the door, causing the corners of his lips to turn up in a small smile. In possibly the worst attempt at a Spanish accent you’d ever heard, he managed a bashful, “Buenas tardes.”

With a gentle nudge to his shoulder, mostly to make sure you weren’t hallucinating, you managed to pick up your jaw and ask, “Tony finally send you out here to drag me back?”

“Nah, team had a lead and I want them to practice a little recon without me. I’m not too far from them and, I think, my friend needs me a little more than they need me.” He swallowed down his nerves and you tried not to stare at his Adam’s apple or the fresh stubble along his jaw. Instead you looked at the box in his hand. “Sam said this might help with the pictures and things.”

Slowly backing up you nodded for him to come in, watching him duck through the doorway that he easily filled, as you took the gift from his hand. Moving the blanket and pillow from the couch so you both could fit, you carefully opened what was a portable image scanner that would plug right into your computer. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath, though he’d been watching you the whole time despite wanting to look around the place and he put a hand on your back, thumb rubbing across your spine as you let out a shaky breath. “It’s perfect.”

Nice things, little things, every little opportunity of letting yourself feel even a fraction of emotions seemed to make you fall apart. Steve noticed and took the gift from your hands, setting it gently on the coffee table next to your discarded laptop. “I didn’t get a breakfast or a lunch picture from you. Why don’t we go grab something to eat?”

For some reason you felt the immediate need to protest, but his hands were gently pulling you up from the couch and leading you back to the door. The sun stung your eyes when the door opened and there wasn’t a super soldier to block out the light, making you pull back into the house. Steve didn’t let go of your hand, waiting and trying to encourage you by brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “Okay.” You reassured yourself more than him, taking each step slowly as you let yourself be anchored by the man walking with casual purpose as if he knew where he was going. “Are we wandering or did you really memorize a map when you Googled the place?”

Steve smiled at you, a real smile that reached his eyes and you did your best to not cringe at how much your body naturally reacting with your own smile wracked you with guilt or how obvious it was that he knew by his fingers lacing through yours as he held on just a little tighter. Even when you turned down a little street you hadn’t explored and he pulled out a chair for you at a quaint little bistro you were still smiling. “So, I know what tapas are and with some googling this is supposed to be one of the best places for them.”

Time and again, something normal slipping from this man’s mouth couldn’t help but make you stare at him in awe. “Well, do you like spicy food? Tapas are great and patatas bravas are spicy. You can’t go wrong with the classic tortilla de patata though.” A waitress passed you both a menu and you ordered a café con leche and Steve politely nodded to have the same. “You know you just asked for espresso with milk, right?”

His face went a little pink as he admitted, “I thought café was coffee?” Attempting to hold in your laughter, the small sound that did escape you was muffled by the sound of melodic guitar pouring through the open doors and windows of the restaurant. “If I would’ve known that you were all alone in a postcard I would’ve asked Sam to check on Benton sooner.”

“Benton?” Your head tilted to the side as the waitress set your espressos between you and you processed, while asking her for a coffee with cream and sugar on the side.

“I told you that I’d end up naming your fish if you didn’t. Thomas Hart Benton is an American painter… pretty famous, but probably not an everyday kind of name if you aren’t really into the Regionalist art movement.” Steve waited until the waitress walked away before trying the espresso, his nose scrunching like a kid trying a sip of beer and finding out it tasted nothing like juice.

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” Hiding your smile behind your own espresso, you stole another glance at him, catching his bright blue eyes on you for just a moment before pulling away to the colorful scenery. “You’re  lucky you showed up when you did. I was torn between a nap and finding something to eat.”

“Is the espresso so you don’t fall asleep on the table?”

Burying your face in your hands you tried to hide your embarrassment. “It’s not that I’m not ecstatic to see you or that you’re not amazing company.”

Your hands muffled your words and Steve reached over and pulled them down. “It’s fine. I understand. You can get your nap in after you eat something.”

To your surprise, he kept reaching out for your hand between bites and light conversation. By the time you were done eating the waitress was hovering, now seemingly aware of who he was. Despite the looks and flirting on her end, he kept his attention on you, insisted on paying, and walked you back to the house. A part of you thought you’d wake up from the dream when you walked through the door but he followed you, only letting your hand go to close the door. “There’s a lot of books to read. I’ll probably only sleep for like an hour.”

“Sleep as long as you need to, Darling. I can sit out here and read or if you’d like me to help scan things onto your computer, I could do that too.” Steve’s smile fell as you buried your face in your hands and started to cry. “Hey, I don’t have to touch a thing. Whatever you need.”

His arms wrapped around you when his attempts to gently pull your hands from your face failed. Just as he’d done before, one hand caressed your back and the other stroked your hair until you settled into the hug. “I’m sorry, you’re just being nice and I’m exhausted.” Craning your neck to look up at him, you caught the glimmer of tears in his own eyes. You didn’t have to wonder who he missed, knowing that probably every person he’d cared about was gone or moved on in the time he was frozen. “I’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

Steve took in a breath, trying to steady himself as he looked over at the couch, remembering the pillow and blanket you’d moved for you two to sit earlier. “This whole time? Is there not a bed?”

Swallowing you hid your face, “There’s a bed, but it smells like her.”

“C’mon.” Steve cautiously pulled you out of the hug, “Show me where it is. I’ll be your pillow and you can get some proper sleep.”

You were in shock; confused, physically and emotionally exhausted, and then he was taking your hand and pulling you toward his best guess at the direction of the bedroom. After opening the door to the bathroom and office, Steve pushed open the door to the bedroom. Reluctantly and barely over a whisper, you muttered a quiet, “Okay.”

He stepped out of his boots and climbed onto the bed, taking up nearly the whole thing, before he reached out for you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Nodding you climbed in next to him and he pulled you right into his chest. His thumb and palms wiped the damp from your cheeks before brushing your hair from your face. Steve waited, holding your face, gently brushing your jaw as you settled in at his side, your head far away from anything that could shock your senses with nostalgia and grief. “Comfy?”

It didn’t seem to matter that you had to hike your dress up to your knees or that ‘comfy’ meant your legs were tangled up in his. The blankets being under the pair of you didn’t seem to matter either, when you were warm against his abnormally warm chest that, despite being solid muscle, still felt more comfortable than the pillow you’d been resting your head on every night. Steve’s long broad frame dwarfed you, giving you the sense of safety you hadn’t felt since before you’d lost your family. His fingertips drew an invisible map across your bare arms and you hummed a nearly inaudible ‘mmhm’ as your eyes fluttered closed. There were a million things you wanted to tell him, but as he took you in his arms and seemingly unleashed the jar of butterflies in your stomach, you almost instantly fell asleep to the sound of his steady pulse under your ear while he engulfed you in the scent of clean laundry and bar soap.

Steve stayed by your side, as promised, and despite the time difference and the Quinjet negating typical travel time from the States to Europe, he found himself comfortable and exhausted. Maybe it was seeing how broken you were to be sitting in a space of memories, displaced by the absence of everything you held dear, something he knew too well; but he found himself incapable of slipping out of the bed or even moving to reposition you so that he could give you some blankets. Until this moment he’d chalked up all of his thoughts of you to Natasha’s pestering to ask someone, anyone, on a date. As his blue eyes closed, he replayed your smile in the sunlight at the table, the breeze blowing the scent of your shampoo and espresso at him. God, he thought as he drifted to sleep, he should’ve asked you to dance.

When you woke up, disoriented by the darkness and a soft blue-white glow over your head, you found Steve staring at his phone, free hand absentmindedly stroking your hair. Your arm was wrapped tightly around his and the sudden realization that you were clinging to him for dear life made you relax. He looked down at you surprised. “I really thought you’d sleep through the night. Are you hungry again? It’s only eight.”

It was painfully domestic and you hated yourself for not wanting to get out of bed. It felt too much like borrowed time and you nodded, hiding your face in his side as you tried not to think about the reality outside of these four walls where you both would eventually leave back to your respective jobs. The certainty that things would go back to how they were the moment you were back in Stark Tower felt like a new pain you weren’t ready to confront. “I can make-”

“We are both hungry.” He’d interrupted you with a sleep-laced haze to his quiet voice. “We’ll cook together.”

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you gave him a studied look. “Full of surprises.” Reluctantly climbing out of bed, you stretched, feeling his eyes on you as the dress fell down your thighs back to your feet. Steve slipped into the bathroom and you heard him immediately turn the water on. Trying not to think too much into it, you put on some music and started pulling out the fresh feta, garlic, basil, and tomatoes you’d picked out at the store.

When he was done, Steve leaned against the wall of the hallway, listening to you singing along to the song, the corner of his mouth turned up as he tried to not interrupt what looked like a little moment of happiness. He could hear Sam’s laugh when he walked into your apartment to pick up the key and see where everything was. It was a laugh he’d given Bucky when he tried to play off asking the prettiest girl in school was a bet and not because he really liked her; the laugh of a friend that knew the truth but was willing to let you feign ignorance a little longer.

When you turned around, you nearly dropped the pot of water and at least half of it splashed onto you. Steve waved his hands in an apology. “I can boil water. I’ll clean this up.” His hand brushed over the soft curves of your hips as he apologized and shooed you out of the kitchen.

The person that looked back at you in the bathroom mirror wasn’t the one you’d seen every day since your arrival- or even in the last three years. You looked rested, despite your hair being a bit of a mess, and the small smile that no longer made your face ache wouldn’t seem to subside. The voice in your head tried to scold you back to reality telling you that this was the most loyal and old fashioned man on earth and that if you hadn’t sent him your location and seemed like a mess for weeks he wouldn’t have shown up. Swapping one dress for another, trying to make your hair sit right, and putting on some tinted chapstick and mascara, you came out looking like a new person and found the kitchen deserted. “Steve?”

For a moment you felt like an idiot, thinking you may have literally dreamt up his presence out of boredom and loneliness. Then he stuck his head in through the balcony door, already talking. “It’s too nice to eat inside.” You watched him visibly pick up his mouth. “You look… I feel underdressed.” You wrapped your hands around yourself about to apologize and offer to change before he said, “No, no. You look beautiful. I’m just… I’ve never really seen you not in scrubs, y’know.” He scratched at his blonde hair and nodded to the balcony.

When you stepped out you found the pasta plated, wine poured, and silverware set neatly on napkins. He’d even picked a few of the roses and placed them in a small glass of water. “How long was I in there?”

With a shrug, Steve pulled the chair out for you and when you sat down and looked up at him, waiting for an answer that he didn’t give, you watched him hesitate before going to sit opposite you. Your tongue ran across your lips, more out of the butterflies wishing you had kissed him than the smell of the food making your mouth water. “So, what do Spaniards say instead of ‘bon appétit’?”

“I think, qué aproveche, but I grew up saying buen provecho.” Steve picked up his glass and you did the same. “Salud!” You cheersed, tapping your glass against his. At first you kept quiet, the pair of you digging in with hums of satisfaction, but as your leg started to bounce under the table you found the question you didn’t want to know the answer to pour past your lips, “Are you just waiting for the team to send the extraction message?”

Steve’s fork hung from his mouth a little and he swallowed. “Yes and no? I have the Quinjet, so I’ll have to get them when they’re ready, but it could be days or longer. It could mean that I need to grab the shield and get to work.” The reality of the danger the team was in with the Maximoff twins working for HYDRA wasn’t lost on him, but two things currently felt more important. First, he needed to find Bucky and do whatever he could to save him. Second, he couldn’t leave you to cope with your grief alone. He’d seen so many people lose someone they loved and though he’d initially told himself that this was his way of doing the same thing Tony had done to help a co-worker through an unbearable situation, Steve was slowly settling into the reality that he looked forward to any time of day you gave him. “But I wanted to be here for you and I know the team can handle following a few leads without me. However long you need me and the rest of the world doesn’t, you’ve got me.”

You bit your lip, eyebrows drawing together, still telling yourself this was Steve doing a favor for a friend and to not read into what he was saying. It hurt, but you felt yourself trying to put up a wall to stop yourself from seeing the kindness of someone you happened to find attractive as more than just kindness. For a moment, you stopped to sip the wine, take a few more bites, and calm down your nerves. Just as he’d done at the bistro, he reached his hand across the table, waiting for you to take it. “I still think that I need you.” Whatever this was, you knew he had given you the first manageable day since you went adrift with fresh grief.

He watched you take his hand, studying your small fingers and how they wrapped around three of his, clinging to him like you had in your sleep. “I still think you need me, too.” But he held it in, trying to focus on you and not confess that he thought maybe, for the first time since he woke up from the ice, he felt like someone really saw him.

The conversation was lighter from there and the two of you decided to walk the cobbled streets to where he’d left the Quinjet so that he could get his bag and gear. As you walked back, hand in hand, you slowed down as a young musician plucked out a beautiful and intricate song on his Spanish guitar. “Can we just… just for a moment. My grandparents would’ve never walked away from this.”

Setting his shield, conveniently hidden in a leather case, and his duffel bag next to the musician, Steve came back to you and held out his hand. “I have no idea how to dance to this, but I’d love to learn if you’ll give me a chance.”

It took every ounce of self-control to not bypass his hands and place yours on either side of his neck so that you could pull his mouth down to yours. A soft, nervous laugh passed your lips, “Full of surprises.” A boyish smile spread across his lips as he did his best to learn and three songs later, the two of you settled into the easy slow dancing that disregarded everything else around you, including time and the small crowd that had joined what, to all others, appeared to be two young lovers lost in their own world.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I’m still shooting for posting a new chapter every Sunday. I would love feedback from you. Do you think they’ll put up a wall before admitting they have feelings? Is someone going to crack first? What’s going to happen when they’re back at the little villa or Stark Tower? I’d love to know where you think this is going.

I mentioned this last time, but while I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina. If you know the history of Venezuela, then you also know its political climate in the last 30+ years has led to a mass diaspora, which is why Reader (who like me was raised in the U.S. with family abroad) has some different phrases than typical Spaniards for things. I hope that my Latinx readers don’t mind and that my non-Latinx readers will stick around.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​​​

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Teen Tracys

Muse is on a roll today, it seems (and I even managed to get some uni work done!).  From a conversation with @janetm74 that started over a discussion about punk!teen Virgil with a green mohawk and Eco-Warrior!teen Gordon and snowballed into, well, something a bit like this.

Random, has not been particularly polished, and I threw in a time skip rather than deal with the serious conversation.  Might write that later.

For ages, we’ve got Scott at 21, John’s 19, Virgil’s 17, Gordon’s 13 and Alan’s 9.  Three teenagers in the house; uh oh.

Scott loved his brothers. Really, he did.  But sometimes, they were just too much.  Big brother just didn’t hold the same weight as parent, no matter that he’d helped to raise all of them, and every so often his little brothers remembered that.

“Gordon, no.”

The thirteen-year-old, decked out in nothing but recycled greens, glared up at him with all the self-proclaimed righteousness a teenager could summon.  It was a lot.

“Do you know how much pollution is still being pumped into the oceans?” he demanded, not at all cowed by the fact he barely reached Scott’s chest.  “They finally stopped all the fossil fuel in the 2020s, and plastic was entirely phased out by 2030, and then the world gave itself a nice pat on the back as though that fixed everything!”

Scott had heard this tirade before.  Many, many, times before.

“Yes, Gordon, I know. Preservation of the oceans is important and that’s why this family – and Tracy Industries – does its bit to make sure nothing goes in there that shouldn’t, and is why you take part in charity events to continue to spread awareness.  I know.”  He didn’t have a problem with any of that, either.  No, what he had a problem with were the rallies.

Charity work?  Fine.  More than fine.

The rallies?  Not for an unaccompanied thirteen-year-old boy, and Scott knew they often involved illegally sabotaging places that still produced pollution.  No matter how well-meaning Gordon was, it was Scott’s duty as big brother and guardian not to let him get tangled up in that.

“Clearly you don’t know if you think that’s enough!” Gordon retorted, and Scott sighed.

“Gordon, I know more needs to be done, but it needs to be done legally, and not result in you getting thrown in a lockup, okay?  You’ve got that charity dinner with Lady Penelope next weekend, remember?”

“I can do both!” Gordon protested.  “Scott, I have to go!  It’s important for the planet!”

“Well it’s important to me that you don’t end up-”

Bright green in his periphery killed the rest of the sentence as he turned his head to see his normally sensible, reliable brother looking anything but.

“Virgil, you are not going out looking like that.”

“I can go out looking however I want, Scott.”  Seventeen years old and the teenage attitude Gordon was showing seemed to have infected his next oldest brother at last.  Virgil had been such a quiet, low-effort teenager – even more so than John, whose rebellion had been entirely digital and Scott was quite frankly afraid of what he might have done – until now.

Now, the punk phase had hit, and apparently the colour of the day was green.  Vibrant, radioactive touch-me-and-die green.  In a mohawk.

Scott tried to be the supportive big brother, he really did, but there were lines and the all-leather ensemble complete with mohawk and numerous piercings were pushing it.  Worst of all was the noise-maker he called a trike that he’d gone and bought last week despite being explicitly told not to. That had crossed the line.  There had been much shouting.  Virgil refused to return it, and spent more time in the garage tinkering with it than with his family now.

Gordon considered it an affront, and Scott wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t going to be a target for the so-called rally if Gordon managed to join it.

“Virgil, please.”

“I want green hair!”

They’d caught Alan’s attention.  Great.

“No, Alan.  You are not dyeing your hair green.”

Realising both green-themed brothers – if for two very different reasons – were both trying to slip out while Alan played distraction, Scott backed up to the front door and blocked it with his body.

“Virgil did!”

“And if his hair dye ends up in your hair, his entire new ensemble is heading straight for the recycler,” Scott growled.  Three little brothers, all at once.  It was enough to give him a headache.  Gordon shifted, a shift that meant trouble, and he remembered the current household feud. “Gordon, if Virgil’s hair dye ends up in Alan’s hair, no more charity events until you’re eighteen.”

“But Scott!”

He didn’t even care which of the three said it.  It could have been all of them.  Why couldn’t they go through teenage rebellion from the sanctity of their bedrooms, like John did?

“I wouldn’t say green’s your colour anyway, Allie.”  As though summoned by Scott’s thoughts, the fourth little brother materialised.  Finally, some sanity- “how about we try black, or a dark blue, to match space?  Maybe Virgil can help make it a galaxy?”

“John!”

Betrayal.  Betrayal of the highest order, but Scott refused to get dramatic about it because he had three drama queens in the house already and that would only encourage them.  Even if the smirk John sent his way made him want to throw something.  Or scream.

Or both.

With four brothers ganging up on him – two because they’d hit the rebellion phase, one because his brothers were, and one just because he could – Scott knew he wasn’t going to win this with his sanity intact.

“Alan, no, you are not dyeing your hair any colour.  Gordon, you are not going to that rally.  Virgil, you are not going out like that.  John, if you’re not going to be helpful, scat.”

“But Scott!”

That was all four of them. In chorus.  If half of them weren’t feuding he’d think the whole thing was choreographed.  Looking at John, he still wasn’t convinced the ginger genius hadn’t managed to orchestrate it.  He was still smirking.

Scott needed to pull out the big guns.

“If you four won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll listen to Grandma.”

The woman was in the garden, taking a well-deserved nap away from five grandsons.  Scott didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew when he was beaten. Two brothers, he could handle. Three, tough but doable.  Four, when one was deliberately stirring the pot? Even Scott had limits.

Any hopes he might have had that the mere threat would be enough died when three defiant – and one amused, damn you, John – faces stared at him.

He pulled out his phone, gave them one more moment to change their minds of their own accord, before making the call.

“Scott?”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Grandma, but can you come back inside?”

“On my way.  What have the trouble-makers done this time?”

Scott gave her a brief rundown, interspersed with varying levels of protest from each brother as it reached their turn.  By the time he was done, the woman was inside the house, regarding all five of them.

Three faces were starting to quail.  Alan in particular looked on the verge of tears, but no teenage rebellion was stopping Virgil being a Grandma’s boy and even Gordon had a healthy respect for her tongue.  John continued to look far too smug, and Scott’s internal alarm bells were ringing.

Still, Grandma was here now. Grandma would sort his brothers out and Scott could get a blissful half hour – maybe even an hour, if he was lucky – without some sort of sibling drama.

“Well, I’m not seeing any problems here.”

What.

Grandma walked straight up to Virgil and started plucking at his jacket, deftly dodging the metallic spikes as she adjusted it on his shoulders.  “When I was your age, it was all pink.  Pink leather, pink hotpants.”  She winked in Scott’s direction and the urge to scream bubbled up in his chest.  “I dyed my hair to match.”

At least his brothers seemed to be as dumbstruck as him about that, even if Scott was watching his last bastion of support crumble before his eyes.

“Your Grandpa had the most amazing Harley,” she continued.  “Ooh, what a beauty.  Such a smooth ride.  He really knew how to treat a girl, your Grandpa.”

Nope.  Absolutely nope.  Scott needed brain bleach, and an escape from the madhouse, preferably before he screamed.

With a hoarse yell that was only a yell, and not a scream at all, he yanked the front door open, all but ran through it, and slammed it so hard a shingle slid from the roof.

He stared at it for a moment before surging into a run, past the garage and that damn trike, over the front gate, and headed straight for… who cared, as long as it was away. Right then, the house could collapse or burn to the ground for all he really cared.

Scott tried to be tolerant, he tried to be fair to all of his brothers, but sometimes it was just too much to handle.

***

“Scott?”

He’d ended up sitting in a tree after running all through the woodland until his legs burned.  Apparently, that wasn’t enough to stop his grandmother finding him when she wanted to.

“Are you ready to come home, dear?” she called up.  He sighed and let his head thud against the trunk.

“Am I going to be ganged up on by my brothers over stupid things if I do?” he asked.  “Because I think I’ve had enough of that.”

“Your brothers and I had a nice long chat, and we’ve put some new house rules in place,” she told him. “Gordon has agreed no more rallies and Alan no longer wants his hair dyed.”

“And Virgil and John?” he asked warily.

“Virgil has agreed not to provoke Gordon any more, but you two need to talk about policing each other’s clothes, young man.”  Scott winced. “As for John, he knows he went too far, but just like with Virgil, you are going to have to talk to each other like the reasonable young men you are.”  There was no reproach in her tone, but Scott felt scolded all the same.

He didn’t want to go home, but if Grandma was promising no more carnage…  Scott could never bring himself to leave his brothers for too long.  Reluctantly, he eased himself out of the tree, swinging from the last branch to the ground below.

“I know you don’t like what Virgil’s done to his hair,” Grandma said, looping her arm through his. “But remember it’s his hair, not yours.”

“It’s not that,” Scott admitted.  “He can do what he wants with it; it’s that trike.  He can’t wear a helmet with his hair all spiked up like that!”

“Then you should tell him that’s why you disapprove.”  Grandma was, as always, full of logic.  “None of you boys can read minds, you know.  You have to talk to each other.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “Sorry, Grandma, I messed up.”

“You’re just worried about them.”  She squeezed his arm fondly.  “They’ll appreciate it when they’re older.”

“Will they?”

“They’re not the first teenage boys I’ve raised,” she reminded him.  “There’s nothing you and your brothers have done that your father and uncle Lee didn’t do already.”

“…Even the punk mohawk?”

“I still have the photos.”

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 5

Day 5: Mission Go- Cooking for @taiqrowweek

Wait what do you mean I switched the prompt days around? Dunno what you’re talking about ;)

(Don’t worry it’ll make more sense in the long run)

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Sleeve

~

Tai had started feeding him.

At first, it had begun with little things, shortly following that fateful day he gave him the picture. Prepackaged snacks or fresh fruits or vegetables as a healthy addition to the cheap, instant lunch meals he could easily afford. Then it quickly dissolved into tubberware covered leftovers of various pastas or stews, things that kept well and were well adept at making in large servings.

By late May, with the advent of Qrow’s twenty-sixth birthday, Tai arrived at his place loaded with grocery bags, a proper skillet and a determined purpose to make his favorite dish of chicken curry. It was, hands down, one of the best meals he’d had in years.

Yet, even after the occasion passed, the trend continued until it seemed Sunday became the day his stomach most looked forward too. Normally, Qrow would put up a fight about being doted after – Tai wouldn’t be the first omega to develop the habit. The most prominent of whom had been Maria, whose sessions had to be shorter than most both due to her age and the difficulty working with thinner, more wrinkled skin.

But she had also been a grandmother. A feisty one, who smacked him on the head a lot with her cane, but was also kind and worried and constantly remarking on his too-thin frame until he just gave up and let her do whatever she wanted.

But with Tai, he couldn’t even manage to feign annoyance. In part because Tai’s cooking was damn good and he’d be a fool not to gobble it up at every opportunity. But also, because it gave an excuse for their sessions to run long.

He didn’t even think it was a one-sided endeavor. Beyond the innate omega instinct to care for and Tai’s naturally generous personality, there was a loneliness in those blue eyes that told the truth behind all the fumbled attempts to waste time or make breaks run longer. By July, Tai wasn’t leaving his place until at least ten at night.

Neither of them complained about the arrangement.

Then August rolled around, and Qrow had an absolutely foolish idea.

The first Sunday of the month was on the 5th and it passed with little incident or notice. They were back at the first of the designs, arguably the most complex with the amount of color layers needed, so their dinner was nothing fancy. Just simple sandwiches and side salads, so most of their time could be spent under the needle instead.

He’d banked on that happening so that what would happen next wouldn’t have a chance of paling in comparison.

You busy tonight? He messaged early Wednesday.

Tai responded a few hours later, probably when his first break popped up. No. Why?

Come over after work. I have something to give you. He replied after he’d finished with his client for the day, sometime early afternoon.

The final response was cheeky and towards the end of the school day. You’re about as subtle as a brick.

Almost at 6 P.M. on the dot, there was a knock on his door.

“Coming!” Qrow called, dancing between the kitchen and the table to make sure everything was perfectly in place. He gave it all a satisfactory nod, then hurried over, sliding the door open only enough so he could wedge between it and the threshold, blocking Tai’s view.

The omega looked different, fresh out of work. His blond hair had been lightly gelled, just enough to give it a bit of bounce. The casual wear he was normally in was swapped out for a more professional look; pants and a collared shirt ironed of any wrinkles and shoes shined enough they gleamed.

So of course his eyes fell onto the one thing that completely ruined the look with a teasing snort. “Nice tie, Tai.”

“You like it?” He grinned, pulling at the absolutely hideous yellow abomination that was covered in yapping cartoon corgis. “The kids love ‘em. They call me the Funny Tie Guy.”

Oh Gods. “Bet you get a kick out of it every time.”

“I literally can knot get enough of it.” Tai had the nerve to wink as he said it too.

Qrow groaned. “You are so lucky it’s your day. Speaking of-” He swung the door open, revealing the room with a flourish.

Admittedly, it wasn’t much. Still, it was satisfying to see the way Tai’s face lit up with joy as he spotted the modest little table set for two, dinner already set in their bowls and the most expensive white wine he could reasonably afford already poured. The omega looked from it to him, grin growing, “You did all this?”

“Yeaaah.” Qrow flushed, trying to hide his anxiety. He’d never been great with giving gifts. “Happy birthday ya big lug.”

Tai laughed, throwing an arm over his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “Thank you. This is just what I wanted.”

He could have stayed there forever – but he didn’t work himself to death to let dinner go cold. He pat his back, mindful of the healing wounds, and said, “Let’s eat.”

Qrow’s relationship with cooking was disjointed and the spread seemed to reflect that. The fried rice was perfect; it was one of the first things his mother taught him how to make on the stove. The garlic broccoli, more of a staple in the Xiao Long family, had a bit of crunch where some of the pieces hadn’t fully cooked through because he hadn’t had Tai beside him to remind him to stir. Just like the many other easy things he helped him learn how to make when he found out he and Raven had been living off nothing but white rice and peanut butter sandwiches for months.

The moo shu pork was the trickiest and most complicated dish by far and nothing he’d ever even attempted before. His amateur hand left it looking a bit of a mess as they poured it onto the tortillas. Unpretty as it was in presentation and lacking a few of the pricier ingredients like oyster sauce and sesame oil, the marinade had the pork still bursting with flavor.  

The wine was there to act as a garnish to make the food seem better than it was. Which was probably why Qrow kept pouring it until he and Tai had split two and a half glasses between each other. Either that, or because Tai was adorably chatty when he was tipsy.

“So, there we are, watching about thirty of these Fayblades spinning around, knocking into each other and some of the cheaper ones are falling apart. Everything is going too fast for any of us to do the math problems on them. And Missy and I just look at each other like we both just realized what a horrible mistake we made. It was only the first week back and I was pretty sure we were about to lose an eye or something.” As he told the story, Tai animatedly gestured around with his glass, liquid sloshing almost past the rim. “We get the kids to back up until they all stop. Then Missy starts gathering a few up, saying how this time we would try less so we can actually keep count – when Velvet speaks up from the back and says ‘Blue wins 124 to 90’.”

Qrow polished off his own glass, setting it on the table. “That’s the quiet one with the rabbit in her bag, right?”

“Mmhmm. She kind of tries to hide when everyone starts looking at her, so I don’t say anything right then. Just take it as fact and move on. But when recess comes around, I pull her aside and ask her how she knew the answer. And she tells me, completely serious mind you, that she’s a camera. So it was easy to do all the math when she basically had the pictures saved in her head. And I’m like, holy shit!” He taps his temple for emphasis. “She has a photographic memory.”

“Ain’t that just a myth?” He asked, starting to gather the empty dishes.

Tai waved him off. “Pfft. Qrow, you gotta stop thinking like the world’s just a big science textbook. It’s more like a-a fairytale! Where magic can happen at any moment.”

“Tai, you’re drunk.”

“I am not!” This time, when he gestured, some of the wine hit the table. He blinked down at it. “Ah, shit!”

He laughed. “Man, you still can’t hold your liquor.”

“You dishonor me.” The omega accused, pointing to his right hand as if it were an exhibit. “I’m holding it just fine.”

That only made him laugh harder, until he had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

~

Somehow, they found themselves laying side by side on the bed, shoulders pressed together. Tai’s scroll was balanced between the head of the bed and the wall, the display playing the finale of their favorite show growing up, Silver Eyes.  It was the height of the final battle. Rosette was locked in battle with Bastinda while the rest of her friends lay, unconscious or ensnared in traps, around them.

“Do you not yet see how pointless this all is? How my power eclipses you all?” Bastinda snarled as she swung her wand down. “You’re all just insignificant riffraff!”

Rosette seemed to find some strength, blocking the attack with her broadsword. “You’re wrong! No one is insignificant! Even the smallest of us has something good to contribute.”

“Foolish child!” A powerful gravity spell threw Rosette to the ground, knocking her sword out of her hand.

“Gods,” Qrow griped. “This is cheesier than I remember.”

Tai shushed him. “Hush, the best part’s coming up!”

He rolled his eyes, but his traitorous mouth smiled all the same. Alright, so maybe this part was pretty hype. Watching it play out again on the screen, he felt ten again, practically glued to screen as his excitement built.

A large shadow stretched across the valley, delaying the witch from striking the final blow as she turned to the source. Up on the hill, sun behind him, was Zwei. Rosette’s little corgi that had been with her from the start of the show. He came racing down the hill, stubby little legs barely able to pick up speed.

Bastinda sneered, pointed her wand at the dog. “Pathetic.”

“Zwei, no!!” Rosette cried, tears filling her eyes just as the blast fired.

It seemed like the end for the lovable pup as smoke filled the air.

And then, with a blast of light, something came flying out of the dust and landing before the witch. The world rumbled under powerful paws as the giant white wolf stood before her, letting out a powerful growl that brought her to her knees.

“I don’t believe it!” Blanca cried from her mirror prison. “Zwei’s a Guardian!”

The rest of the finale played out just as he remembered, Zwei turning the tide of the fight and giving Rosette a chance to free her friends, all of them coming together for one final attack that rid the world of the cruel witch once and for all. After that, the wolf turned back into the lovable and more marketable corgi pup, and everyone headed home to enjoy true peace for the first time in a millennium.

Tai sat up as the credits began to roll, stretching his arms above his head. “I still think it holds up pretty well.”

“Sure, if you ignore the fact they completely sidelined Silver Eyes. It’s only the title of the show.” He snarked.

“Come on now. It’s not about the power ups. It’s about the journey and the-”

“Friends they made alone the way.” He mimed gagging. It was only the motto shoved down his throat at the end of almost every episode.

Tai merely laughed at his antics, picking up his scroll and slipping off the bed. “It’s late. I better head home.”

Maybe it was the vestiges of the alcohol or maybe it was the other’s scent, sweeter and more inviting than usual, that loosened his tongue enough to offer, “You could crash here, if you want.”

“In your bed? We hardly fit.”

Acquiescently, he rolled onto his side, practically shoving himself against the wall as he pat the wide, empty space. “It’ll be fine. And your drunk.”

“Hardly. And I’ll have to get up early to get back home and get ready.”

“It’s fine.” The noise left him involuntarily. It wasn’t a growl, really; it was barely more than a rumble. Regardless, the regret hit him instantly as he bit down on his tongue and turned his face up apologetically.

The omega just arched a brow, entirely unaffected and unimpressed by his pitiful display. Then he chuckled, any meteor-sized tension there could have been burning up long before impact could be made. “Gods, you’re such a punk, you know that?”

“I…uh…”

“Alright, you win.” Tai set the alarm on his scroll with his right hand, while he crossed the room and got the lights with his left. He used the glow coming off of the device to find his way back, dropping it onto the nightstand. In the bits of moonlight coming from the window, Tai became an erotic beauty as he undid his tie and buttons, shrugging out of his shirt. His belt hit the ground next – though mercifully he kept his pants on.

Qrow watched him, utterly transfixed, as he lowed himself to the bed, mattress dipping anew with the readded weight as the omega stretched out onto his stomach. Beyond all comprehension, he had to fight every muscle in his body from reaching for him. The need to bring him close and curl around him was overwhelming. So, he shoved his hands underneath the crook of his neck and locked his elbows.

Why had he thought this was a good idea again?

Tai heaved out a long sigh, mumbling, “Goodnight Qrow.”

He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper as he responded, “G’night.”

Without a clock in the room, there was no telling how long he lay there, coiled up tight like a spring waiting for the pressure to come loose, listening to the sounds of Tai’s breathing slowly evening out. It wasn’t until Qrow was absolutely certain the other wouldn’t wake that he risked it.

Though it felt a bit reprehensible, it was with that same uncontrolled desire in which he found himself scooting his upper half forward, inch by agonizing inch, until the bridge of his nose was pressed up against the curve of Tai’s shoulder.

His eyes slipped shut, breathing in deeply. The omega’s scent swirled around him, sunflowers and soil and bright summer days; a smell that was unmistakably, irrevocably Tai.

Here. With him.

Slowly, the rigidity to his muscles relaxed and he finally drifted off, the scent embracing him as securely as its owner could.

[captainseaweedbrains]

✨stockings✨

Okay, so this made me want to write about stockings, but then I got inspired by that one scene from Brooklyn (2015) and my own grandparents and here we are. 

A 1930s Everlark 🌹:

1938

The only reason Katniss agreed to the Friday night dance was because Prim had promised to do all her Saturday chores if she’d come. “Mama won’t let me go unless you come,” her sister had pleaded, crawling across their shared bed, hands folded together. “Please please please, Katniss?”

“I hate those dances,” she argued, shoving her sister off her notes. “Plus I have an exam next week that I need to study for. Why can’t Mama take you?”

Prim looked aghast at the suggestion. “I can’t take my matka to the dance! I’d be the laughing stock at school! Katniss, please? I’ll do all your Saturday chores and take care of Babcia all night instead. Please?”

She likely would have gone without the promised bribe, but if Prim was offering to batter out dirty rugs and polish their mother’s silver and deal with their strict grandmother for a whole Saturday evening, then Katniss wasn’t going to bypass it. So here she sat in her church’s basement, huddled in the far corner where the girls with no dance partners sat, counting down the minutes until 9 o’clock.

The room was crowded with kids from the neighborhood, excited to congregate together without total parental supervision watching over them, and she saw Prim near the band with some fellow she recognized from church, her head thrown back in laughter. The guy’s face was a bit too close to her sister’s neck, but Prim would never forgive her if she stepped in and played matka. Katniss crossed her arms and sighed, slinking down in her seat.

Sixty-seven minutes to go.

“Not much for dances?” a boy next to her asked, causing her to jump. He hadn’t been there a moment ago.

She frowned. “Am I that obvious?”

“Most girls over here are scoping the dance floor for fellas. You, on the other hand,” he said, eyeing the clock, “keep checking the time. Got a hot date or something?”

Her cheeks flushed at his forwardness. “Gee, you talk to all the girls you’ve just met like that?”

“No,” he smiled, leaning closer to her, “but I think it’s important to make sure I’m not stepping where I shouldn’t be stepping. So is there a lucky fella? Or are you free to dance with me?”

Katniss gave him a hard look, amazed at just how forward this guy was. She hadn’t been asked to dance often, but she’d seen the bashful way boys usually asked Prim and Leevy. They were never as forward! She sniffed the air. “Why would I tell you such a thing? I don’t even know your name.”

“Peeta Mellark,” he said, holding his hand for her to take. Katniss lightly grabbed his fingers, gave a halfhearted shake in greeting, and put her hand back in her lap. “What’s yours?”

“Katniss Everdeen.”

“Everdeen?” he frowned. “That don’t sound Polish. Are you crashing this dance, too?” She tried her best not to notice how his blue eyes seemed to twinkle in the church’s poor lightning when he smiled at that.

“That’s because it isn’t. My mother’s Polish, but my father wasn’t.” She checked the clock and held back another tired sigh. Only five minutes had passed.

“Time would go faster if you danced,” Peeta suggested teasingly, leaning back in his seat. “I’d be happy to fill that time.”

Her fingers drummed on her knees, considering his offer. She still had an hour left of this thing and he wasn’t wrong about time moving faster if she was doing something.

“Okay,” Katniss agreed, holding her hand out. “One dance and you leave me alone for the rest of the night.”

He hurried to stand and grabbed her offered hand, bowing dramatically at the honor. She rolled her eyes and told him to move it along, before she changed her mind.

They walked to the dance floor just as the band was starting a new song. It was a swing tune, one the whole room cheered to as couples started to sway to the rhythm. It took Katniss a moment to pick up the new steps, unfamiliar with this particular dance, but with Peeta’s laughing encouragement, she was soon dancing and laughing along with him. He shook his hands to the side as the gentlemen in the talkies did and spun her around until her head spun. He even convinced her to take center floor with him as they kicked and stepped to the beat, the couples around them cheering around them.

Before Katniss knew it, they had danced four more times together. He didn’t ask if she wanted to stop after that first one and she didn’t bother to deny him as he kept pulling her back for more. Her hair was a bit disheveled now, her curls coming loose due to the room’s humidity and her own movements, and her feet hurt in her heels, but it’d been awhile since she’d had this much fun. Prim was never going to let her live this down.

Finally, the priest announced the band would be playing one last song, even though it was past 9 now, because they’d all been such a great group tonight. It surprised her, how fast time really did go by when she wasn’t sitting in the corner, pleading with the clock to move faster.

The band started one last time, crooning a slow ballad. Couples paired up and she saw her sister on the other side of the room with the same guy as earlier. Were they serious, she wondered, Prim and this guy? Peeta’s hand on her lower back pulled her back to them, their bodies pressed together now. She rested one hand on his shoulder, realizing just how tall he was as she looked up at him, his smile causing something in her to flutter, and she smiled back. Peeta smelled nice, she noticed, pressed against him so close now. Like fresh baked bread and a seasoning she couldn’t place. Dill maybe? His body felt warm against hers, but she welcomed it, despite how hot she was after all the dancing.Their hands laced together as the music swept through the room, couples spinning slowly to the tune.

“This is nice,” he said near her ear. “Glad you said yes, Katniss Everdeen.”

“It is,” she agreed, deciding it wouldn’t be a bad thing to rest her head on his chest. The other girls were doing it and well, Prim always said these dances were for meeting fellas.

“Hey, Peeta?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Hey, Katniss?” he asked in return, that smile of his still there, looking down at her.

“What’d you mean when you asked if I was crashing this dance?” It’d been bothering her since about their second dance. “Are you crashing?”

He laughed and spun them around. “Does Mellark sound Polish to you?”

“Well, no,” she frowned, not even thinking of that when he introduced himself. “I guess I just figured you were like me.” She couldn’t be sure, but it felt like he pulled her closer. Not that she was complaining about that.

“Both parents are German,” he said, his cheek pressed on top of her head. “As hard German as you can make them, really strict, you know?”

“So what were you doing at a Polish dance, then? Don’t the Germans have their own dances?”

“Oh yeah” Peeta said, laughing, “We do, but I like coming to your dances. They’re more fun and well, I really like Polish girls.”

Katniss tucked her face into his shirt to hide her blush. “German boys aren’t so bad, either.” If it was at all possible, his smile grew.

“I’ll take you to one, if you’d like,” he promised. “You can see for yourself how much more fun your dances are.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Peeta?”

“Would you say yes if I was?”

Katniss bit her bottom lip. “I would, yes.”

He spun them around one last time before the song ended, resting his forehead on hers. The music had stopped, the couples around them breaking apart, but Katniss and Peeta stood there, still holding on to each other. “When can I take you out?” he asked. “Please say soon?”

Glancing over at Prim, who had clearly noticed where she was and giving thumbs up in approval, Katniss smiled. “You free tomorrow night?”

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Thirty 

“Come on mate, if we don’t leave now, we’re gonna be late.” Harry told his friend from the door. 

Ron couldn’t help himself, he did another once over in the mirror. 

The Chosen One groaned, “You look fine, let’s go!” 

And he did look fine, better than fine actually. The dress robes he had on were new. They were tailored perfectly to him and were a lovely navy blue that brought out his eyes. 

However, being Ron Weasley, his insecurities still were shining through. He really hoped he had cleaned up well enough. 

“Alright, I’m coming.” He sighed, quickly smoothing his hair one more time before bolting to the door, making sure to grab the flowers on his way out. 

By the time he actually made it, Harry was halfway down the steps, he had to jog to catch up. 

“Oi, slow down, will ya?” Ron teased. 

“I just don’t want to be late, I have to walk to Ravenclaw tower to get Luna.” He commented, “Anyway, you should be worrying more than I should.” He said airily. 

“Me?” Ron squeaked nervously. What had he done now?

Matching socks? Check. 

Shirt tucked in? Check. 

Teeth brushed? Check. 

Flowers? Check. 

Sensing his friend's anxiety, Harry jumped in, “Well, you know how she is. Punctual and all. I reckon you’ll get a harder time than I would with Luna.” 

Ron’s eyes flicked to the clock above the stairs, noting he was running on schedule, “lay off Harry.” He said, half joking. 

When they reached the bottom, Ron suddenly didn’t know what to do. “Do we sit?” he asked his friend stupidly. 

Harry chuckled at his nerves, he knew what this meant to Ron, “I don’t see why not.” He shrugged. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, the pair of them flopped back onto the couch in silence. Harry drummed his fingers against his thighs, whilst Ron nervously fiddled with a button on his robes. 

It wasn’t until about ten minutes later something drew the pair from their stupor. 

Heels clicking against the stone steps. 

At the sound, they jumped up, Ron first. Harry followed too, but stepped back, knowing this was his best mate's moment to shine. 

Weasley noticed, only increasing his already erratic nerves. 

Don’t bugger this up. Don’t bugger this up. Don’t- 

As the figure reached the bottom, he could only manage one coherent word. 

“Merlin.”

“Hi.” Hermione said shyly, hand’s smoothing over the skirt of her dress. 

Ron was still too enchanted by her to speak.

She was absolutely stunning.

Seeing her come down the girls dormitory steps rivaled when she entered the Great Hall fourth year. 

She wore a long gown that was funny enough, the same blue as his dress robes. The top was tighter, the entire thing adorned with little navy flowers sewn into it. The flowers cascade down into a belt of sorts, then trickled off into the tulle skirt that just floated above the floor. 

Her hair had obviously been given a light amount of sleakesys, just enough to tame the frizz. It seemed to be in a bun of sorts, but only halfway, a good front of the pieces falling around her face. Some tucked behind her ear. 

Her eyelashes looked longer and darker. Her pink lips glistsend under the flickering fire. Her cheeks were tinged pink, but it wasn’t from blush. He swore he could smell the perfume he gifted her last Christmas. 

And her eyes. Well, if this was the last look he ever saw. He’d die a happy man. 

“Hi.” Ron manages breathlessly. 

At the tone of his voice, the brunette smiles, insticilvey pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, smearing the small amount of lip gloss she put on. 

“You look,” he couldn’t find the words, there didn’t seem to be a singular one that could describe it, “beautiful.” Angelic. Irresistible. Breathtaking. Lovely. Bewitching. Heavenly. Gorgeous… 

Her cheeks darkened, “you look quite nice yourself.” Hermione responded sheepishly. 

“These are for you.” He fumbles with the small bouquet a little before handing them over to her. 

She smiled gratefully as she took a small sniff, before looking at him again, “they’re lovely.” Hermione told him truthfully, “I’ll be sure to display them properly on my table upstairs.” With that, she flicked her wand, sending the bouquet exactly to that spot. 

“Brilliant.” He breathed at her wand work, a grin plastered on his face in admiration. 

Harry, watching the scene from a small distance, knew this could go on all night. This awkward dance of pauses and daring compliments. But he didn’t have all night, he had to get to Ravenclaw tower. 

Clearing his throat, the pair jumped, “you look lovely Hermione, but could we please be on our way? I have to get Luna.” 

A little embarrassed she didn’t notice him before, the brunette offered a flustered nod. Harry didn't spare a moment rushing over to the portrait hole. 

Just as Hermione went to take the final stair down, she stumbled a bit. Almost instantly, Ron caught her arm. 

“Oh, you’ll have to excuse me, I’m not used to these shoes.” She told him sheepishly as his eyes flicked to the small heels on her feet. 

Thinking quickly, he offered his arm to her, “I’ll help you.” Ron told her. 

Both pleased and surprised, she wrapped her arm around his extended one. 

“Thank you.” The witch said as they traveled across the common room. 

“Of course Mione.” The red-haired boy answered without a second thought, “I won’t let you fall.”

After that, they lapsed into a comfortable silence as they followed Harry through the corridors. Not that Ron could speak anyway, he was way too buzzed off the feeling of her being so close. 

It wasn’t until after Luna’s barmy greeting about how the moon was in perfect alignment for tonight did they break the streak. 

“Thank you again for coming with me.” Hermione said in a low voice, Ron thinks so Harry and Luna wouldn’t hear.

It makes him feel warm knowing the words are just for him. 

He dares to give her a small squeeze, “Hey, there’s where else I’d rather be tonight than here.” With you, he adds silently. 

“Me too. I can’t imagine coming here with anyone else if I’m being honest.” She admits shyly, eyes trained on the decorations above. 

“Really?” He asks, surprised, looking down at her. 

Finally, her brilliant brown eyes meet his. She simply nods in confirmation. 

“Wicked.” He breathes. 

She giggles. 

It’s the best fucking sound he’s evr had the pleasure of hearing.

“I will admit, I’m a bit surprised you agreed. I know Slughorn isn’t your favorite.” Hermione tells with a small smile. 

“Well, I didn’t come for Slughorn.” Ron states confidently, “besides, if I wanted to get to know the bloke I reckon I’d get a detention or something.” He adds teasingly. 

She laughs again.

His chest squeezes at the sound. 

“Come on!” Harry calls from the doorway. 

Ron didn’t even realize they had stopped until now. 

“Git.” he mumbles. 

Gently, he places his much larger hand on the small of Hermione’s back to lead her into the source of the music and chatter floating through the corridor. 

Her eyes snap to his at the action, but he just gives her a lopsided grin, which she returns with her own dazzling smile. 

Carefully, he nudges her on and they’re soon meant by all sorts of things. Floating trays of foods and beverages. Drapes cascading the room. Lanterns lighting the scene. A mass of even more Christmas decorations. An even larger mass of people, students and staff alike. 

“Ah Miss Granger!” Slughorn immediately noticed the new presence in the room. 

“Good evening professor.” Hermione said, voice heightening a little over the music. 

“Ah, Rupert, have some mead my boy!” Ron heard’s Slughorn say, though his voice sounded far off. Surely that wasn’t what he said. 

Shaking away whatever the hell that was, he tuned back in. 

“So happy to have you! Whose this young man?” He asked, eyeing Ron funnily, seeming to have noticed his dazed look. 

He suppressed a groan. He’s had Sluggy for potions all year and there’s not exactly a mass of red headed sixth year Gryfindors. You’d think he’d take a little notice. 

“This is Ron Weasley,” she stated produly before pausing for a moment, “he’s my date.”

Never, in his entire life does he think’s heard more brilliant words leave someone’s mouth. 

He can’t help but smile so wide you’d think the Cannons won the World Cup. 

“Yes sir, that’s me,” he holds out his hand as the old professor shakes it. Soon, he averts his gaze to the girl next to him, eyes twinkling as he does, “I’m Hermione’s date.”

Ignorant to the moment, Slughorn releases his hand and smiles, “Lovely! There are some people I’d love for you to meet Miss Granger, I think-” his eyes find the door, “Oh! Excuse me, will you? We can catch up later.” He’s gone before she can answer. 

After Slughorn leaves, he still can’t help but stare at her with pure amazement and adortion. 

She flushes under his gaze before speaking, “I’m sure you’re dying for something to eat, come on.” Hermione grabs his hand and leads him to a table. 

He never wants to let go. 

They soon find themselves at a table with Harry, Luna, and Ginny. Neville comes around and serves food and Ron even takes notice of his manners, as means to impress Hermione. 

Having polished off his plate and noticing everyone else has too, the friends fall into comfortable chatter. 

However, they’re soon interrupted when a fifth year Hufflepuff, who also seems to have gone alone, asks Ginny to dance. It’s only after she agrees did Ron notice the couples swaying in the center of the room. 

Come on you tosser, just ask her. Ask her dammit! He mentally scolds as he watches Hermione pick at the table cloth. 

Just as he opens his mouth to ask, a wispy voice cuts him off, “Oh Harry, I love this song, would you care to dance?” Luna asks softly. 

Harry, whose mind seems to have been elsewhere all night, agrees as he extends a hand to the blonde. Despite the notion, Ron still notices his green eyes scanning the room for someone else. Malfoy no doubt. 

Speaking of Malfoy, I wonder if Fred and George ever did owl back about- 

“I’m happy Harry brought Luna. Much better than someone like Romilda Vane.” Hermione noted from next to him. 

Romilda Vane? Why did that sound so familiar? Sure, she and Dean went to the Yule Ball, but there was something else he couldn't quiet place. 

Ignoring his thoughts he shakes his head, “yeah.” he agrees, still working up the courage to ask her to dance. 

At his words, she offers a small smile, seemingly sensing his nerves. 

At the gesture, he melts. It feels like ages since he’s given her that look. He hasn’t seen it since before Lavender. 

Wait! Lavender? No. He’s here with Hermione. He hasn’t spoken to Lavender about more than homework, right?  

Thinking his flustered nature is causing all these barmy thoughts, Ron jumps to his feet and extends a hand, taking them both by surprise. 

“Would you like to dance?” He asked shakily, any confidence soon leaving. 

Her brown eyes softened, “I’d love to.” Her much smaller hand slipped into his large one as they walked to the dance floor. 

Tentatively, he pulls her to him, reveling in her body’s warmth. He cups her waist with one large hand, letting his long fingers skim the small of her back as he places his other one in hers. She responds adequately, placing one hand on his shoulder and responding in kind by grabbing his larger hand back. 

Ron isn’t sure if it's him or her who initiated it, not that he cares, but suddenly they're closer. Her body is flush against his as she places her head on his chest and he drops his own on top of hers. Resting his chin against the smooth brown curls. 

They sway like this for a while. Neither one said anything. Just enjoying being so close. 

“Come find me.” He hears Hermione whimper, breaking the silence. 

Instinctively, he jumps back a little, “what did you say?” Those words, they were so familiar. 

Hurt washed over her features, “I said, I’m having a nice time, but if-” she began sadly. 

“No!” He assured, confidently pulling her back into their former position. “I’m sorry, I thought you- I heard-” He sighed, “I’m having a really nice time too.”

At the proclamation she visibly eased in his arms, tension leaving her body as she burrowed closer. Instinctively he wrapped his arm tighter around her, peering mometraily over her head. 

For a second he thought he saw a witch donned in black robes with wild curly hair grinning right at them, unmistakably Bellatrix ruddy Lestrange. But when he blinked, she was gone. 

Merlin, what the hell was in that Butterbeer? 

“Oh look Harry, mistletoe.” Luna’s voice broke his thoughts. 

Quickly, his eyes found hers, needing to see the uncomfortable interaction that would ensure between his best mate and the Ravenclaw. However, upon further observation, the sprig wasn’t above them. Not at all. 

It was above him and Hermione. 

“My father says if you ignore the tradition of mistletoe then your crop of dirigible plums will be spoiled by spring.” The blonde told the pair. 

“We can’t have that.” Harry commented with a shit eating grin. 

“No I suppose we can’t…” He was shocked when he realized it was Hermione who had agreed. 

Apparently his look of surprise was evident on his face as she soon looked away, “but we don’t have to, it’s just some silly tradition. It’s not like-” she began to justify, embarrassed. 

“Hermione, there is nothing I’d like more than anything to fulfill this tradition with you.” He promised softly. 

She blinked, “Really?” 

He nodded, “like you said, we can’t be ruining the plums before winter.” 

“No I suppose-” 

Whatever she was about to say was cut off as a pair of smooth lips found themselves over hers. Though taken off guard, she soon eases into it, responding with just enough passion. 

“Mm.” He moans softly against her. 

At this she pulls away for air, pupils blown, lips swollen. 

When he opens his eyes to take her in, he soon realizes they’re no longer at Slughorn’s Christmas Party. 

Instead, his hand is clamped over her mouth as she trembles in fear under the old oak tree at the Burrow. 

Living this night many times, he refuses to let it take over, not again. Not this time. 

Blinking again, he's grateful to have some sort of control as he finds himself back where he needs to be. Her in her navy blue dress. Him in his robes. Under the mistletoe. 

Perfect. 

Knowing he couldn’t have much longer, he practically whimpers her name before diving in for another kiss, “Mione.” He grumbles. 

When she catches her breath a second time he can’t help but speak again, “It’s just you and me.” 

No Bellatrix. No Greyback. No Death Eaters. 

“You and me.” She confirms breathless, before leaning in for the third time. 

He can only utter one thing before his world goes dark again, “Ermyknee.”

… 

“He’ll be alright?” Harry asked for the umpteenth time since being allowed in, making Madame Pomfrey sigh in annoyance. 

“He’ll be fine. He needs his rest.” She fussed over his blankets before turning to face the dark haired boy, “did he hit his knee when he fell?” 

Potter thought about it, Ron fell on his bum. 

“No, why?” He said after a moment. 

“He keeps groaning about his knee.” She shrugs, “I”ll mix a pain potion just in case. I’ll be right back.” Madame Pomfrey says before rushing away. 

As she goes, Harry takes a moment to observe Ron. He looks so serene, so calm. It’s the first time in months. 

His face is usually screwed up as he yells in agony for them to take him instead of her. Night after night Ron begs to be killed so they won’t touch her. 

The weight of the fact he easily could’ve lost him becomes overbearing, too much. That along with losing Hermione, Harry thinks he’d just crumble. 

He feels a tear on his cheek before he knows it, as he moves his hand to wipe it away. 

He quickly removes it from his face when he hears a groan from the bed next to him. 

“Mm,” Ron grumbles, head swaying a bit. 

“Mione.” It’s barely audible, but Harry knows what he’s saying. 

“Ermyknee.” He groans again sleepily.

He can’t help the small smile that grazes his lips at Ron’s words, it must be a pleasant dream. 

And for whatever reason, at this very moment, Harry knows Ron really does love Hermione. 

However, he can’t revel in it for long, because soon enough, Neville comes barreling into the Hospital Wing, parchment clutched in his hand. 

The door benags loudly againstg the wall, causing Ron to stir slightly. 

“Neville! Keep it-” He doesn’t finish, Neville cuts him off. 

“They’re dead.”

[enviedear]

that damn american ᶠᵒᵘʳ

you seem different

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which draco shows y/n the room of requirement, and she realizes she likes him more than she thought

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 1.6k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

chapter four, i hope you all enjoy! let me know if you do :) also gonna rec some some songs from the playlist

f**kin’ love songs - awa and 505 - arctic monkeys

“i’m a slytherin prefect y/n, if we get caught, i know how to lie. but flitch is an idiot squib so don’t worry. now shut up and follow me.” draco grumbles.

your newest friend has proved to be surprisingly fun. in the last three weeks he’s taken you on countless adventures and tonight is no different. this evening, he’s showing you the room of requirement. 

for the whole day, he’s been impatient and ready to show you this room. you can’t blame him, you were practically bouncing off the walls all day too. it left april and sophie a little annoyed as you refused to take them along. but you’ve found it was best to hang out with draco alone, or else he gets moody.

“here we are. now, think about the room, envision it, be specific in what you want.” draco tells you.

you do as you’re told and after a minute you see a door form in the stone.

“this is amazing..” you mutter, tracing the handle.

draco grins, “well, go in.”

you open the door and step into the room, draco right behind you. you’re amazed, the room is exactly as you thought. exactly.

“is this your room? really? you could have made it anything and you make it your bedroom. i knew i should’ve picked.” draco chides.

“oh shut up. i thought you’d like it. you’ll probably never get to see the real one. and now we could do what all friends do, have a sleepover.” you say, hugging his arm.

“fine, but i expect to be shown around.” the boy retorts, stiffening a little at your touch.

you nod and let him go, making your way to the far left of the room.

“this is my desk, where i cry over summer work, mindlessly scroll through twitter, and read. i once snuck a boy over and he begged to fuck me on this desk. of course, i couldn’t do that to her, and i told him to leave.” you chuckle, stroking the wood.

“i didn’t need to know that.” draco grimaces.

you shove him, “next is my shelf of plants. these are my babies and i swear to god if they’re not being watered while i’m gone i will hex my mother. which reminds me, i should text her.”

“right beside it is my picture wall. it’s kind of embarrassing, i have super old pictures up there. i should warn you, april used to dress like a farmer.”

draco pauses at the pictures, looking at them all.

“who’s that?” draco asks, pointing to and old picture of your grandparents.

“my grandma and pa. i think they were seventeen in this picture.” you reply, looking at your grandparents smiling young faces.

“that’s cute that they were together even then. my mother thought that pansy and i would be like that, but pansy is too, well, pansy.” he mumbles.

you smile at him, “whatever you say draco.”

he sits on your bed, “i’m being serious, i have someone else in mind.”

your eyes bulge and you look at him with a smirk, “and who might that be?”

he rolls his eyes, “i would love to tell you, but i’m not ready the tell the loudmouth american.”

“i can keep a secret!”

“i’ll tell you when the time is right. for now, i want to learn how to google.”

it takes an hour. a full hour just to explain the concept of google to draco. throughout the process he keeps asking stupid questions.

‘you’re sure there’s no magic involved?’

‘you can learn anything from this?’

‘what do you mean i can’t search that?’

like you said, stupid questions.

but it didn’t really bother you. it was nice seeing the platinum haired boy learn about modern living. and it was even nicer to see him begin to enjoy yet another muggle invention.

you stare at him at he types in a search, his eyebrows furrowed and hair unkempt. he looks different than the boy you first met. almost happier and more carefree. his pale complexion has some sun from the countless hours the two of you have spent at black lake. his fingernails are also now coated in a layer of light green polish.

“stop staring at me.” he grins, turning his face toward you.

“i can’t help it.” you say, fighting back a smile.

his cheeks turn a light pink shade, “and why is that, l/n?”

“you seem different.”

“is that bad?” he asks.

“no, it’s actually really nice.”

draco bites his lip and looks back down to the computer, “i think we should head to bed, don’t you think?”

you nod your head and close the laptop, placing it on your nightstand.

“did you bring pjs?” you ask him, reaching under your bed for your own bag that holds your sleepwear.

“um, no. why would i have brought them? i didn’t know i was sleeping here, l/n.”

you stick your tongue out at him, “i think i have some of quinn’s old clothes in here. hold on.”

you rummage through your drawers, trying to find clothes to fit draco, until you finally come across an old wampus annual bake sale tee and some black and orange flannel bottoms.

you turn around, only to find your friend shirtless.

your mouth opens, ready to tease him.

“oh please, i can’t sleep in a shirt.” he groans.

and you can’t help but to look at his chest and torso. he’s so muscular and lean. but before you let yourself be sucked into fantasizing about your friend, you throw him the pj bottoms.

“i’m gonna change in the closet, you can stay out here. just let me know when you’re done.” you say, rushing into the closet.

you change quickly, but stay inside for a bit longer, thinking about draco. 

your sweet, sarcastic, quidditch loving, spontaneous dickhead of a friend. and it’s then you realize that draco is not just your friend. 

you actually like the guy. 

and you’re about to share a bed with him. 

this should be great, but you’re too scared to ruin the friendship between the two of you. the one you’ve worked so hard for. 

when draco shouts that he’s done changing you quickly compose yourself and slip into your bed, right beside him. he turns off the lights with a simple flick of his wand and eases next to you.

“you don’t snore, do you?” he asks.

you feel his legs, wrap between yours and for a second you forget to answer.

“oh um, shit, i don’t know.”

he huffs and pulls you into him, pulling your curls away from his face and onto the pillow.

“goodnight draco.” you whisper, suddenly deathly aware of the close proximity between the two of you.

he rubs your back, “goodnight l/n.”

__

when the you wake up, draco is still beside you, arms around you and face nuzzled into your neck.

it takes a few minutes but he finally wakes up, separating from you. 

you miss his flushed face as you go to the closet to change, and he doesn’t pay attention to your stuttering each time you look into his eyes.

“i have to study for charms today. i’ll see you after lunch though, i think blaise wants us all to head to hogsmeade.” draco says, as the two of you slip out of the room of requirement.

“alright, sounds good. i’ve been meaning to try butterbeer.” you smile, avoiding eye contact.

when the two of you enter the common room, you’re greeted by april and blaise, who are playing a game of wizard chess.

“hi y’all! did you have fun last night?” april asks, staring down blaise’s king.

“um, yeah. it was really cool. i’ll have to show you and soph sometime.” you say, taking a seat on the armchair.

“merlin april, hurry up, you play like my grandmother.” blaise chuckles.

the dirty blonde smirks at him before making a move, “checkmate, zabini.”

blaise gives her a smile.

“come on zabini, let’s head to the library. i have a bloody charms essay due.” draco tells him.

blaise rolls his eyes, “sure, but i don’t know why i need to come.”

draco scoffs, “if you want to do your essay with crabbe then be my guest, i was just trying to be nice.”

blaise looks over to the fire, where crabbe is burning the tip of his wand. the brown eyed boy scratches the back of his neck before getting up and following draco out of the common room.

“he’s so cute.” april breathes out, staring at the door the boys left out of.

“zabini?” you ask, confused.

“yes girl. and he’s so funny. and sweet. i told soph last night that i wanted to take him out on a date. and i think i’m gonna,” she looks at you, eyes begging. “will you pretty please double date with us this evening at hogsmeade. sophie said no.”

you furrow your eyebrows, “i’d love to but i don’t have anyone to take along.”

she gives you a deadpan look.

“what?” you question.

“you’d take draco. i know you’re just friends, but if you talk to him i’m sure he’d be fine with it.” she says.

you sigh, “i’ll ask, but no-”

she interrupts you, “oh thank you honey! i love you y/n.”

you don’t tell her about your crush on the grey eyed boy. even though you’re dying to get it off your chest. 

but it’s probably for the best. he said himself last night that he has someone in mind. and what good would it do telling him, it might ruin the friendship. even if he did like you, there’s only so much time in a year until you’re back in american. i just couldn’t work.

even if you really want it to.

‘fucking great.’