#i think about that like almost daily its so astonishing and wonderful

[cricketrocker]

Mind The Gap

There’s a strange kind of discomfort that lives in the gap—not the gap where it used to be hard to tell which side of the store was girl clothes and which was guy clothes but the gap between blissful not knowing and the weight of knowing too much, so much. Somewhere in the gap is a nebulous haze of half-truths, suspended judgments, and the weirdball comfortable warmth of assumptions not yet challenged. Ignorance, they say, is bliss. And knowledge, knowing? Well, that’s the double-edged oh-so-sharp sword we keep slicing ourselves on in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, clarity might heal rather than hurt.

Sometimes I look at people and wonder what they carry—in their minds, in their hearts, in that invisible backpack we’ve all got strapped to figment of us that’s literal and beyond imagination. Maybe those old, fading Polaroids of love gone right or wrong or unfinished, maybe those dog-eared, brittle pages of books we’ll never get around to reading again but can’t quite discard or give away. Maybe the strange warmth of a kind word someone forgot they said, now fading but still echoing like a keepsake. Or maybe the harder things: missed goodbyes, sharp-edged regrets, things we did or didn’t do, all rattling around in there like a can full of loose change—noisy, unwieldy, but undeniably our very own.

Then there are the people we see every day. The ones we love or work with or endure. With whom we collide. What are they carrying? That’s the trick, isn’t it? You can’t ever really know. You might think you do, you’re oh so smart—you think you know the broad strokes, the caricature version. But beneath the daily nods, the polite smiles, and the “How’s it going?”’s, there’s always…more. Sometimes more leaks out sideways: a sharp tone here, a too-long pause there, an unspoken something hanging in the air. Other times, there’s more buried so deep it’s like an buried ancient-alien artifact: forgotten but still shaping the terrain layers that continue to accumulate above it.

And the whole wide world? Well, the whole wide world is doing its best impression of a sitcom that’s gone on five seasons too long.  Like How I Met Your Mother.  Or The Simpsons.  Or even The Office. The jokes are stale, the laugh track too loud, and everyone’s just a little too self-aware. We’re all here, in this collective globe of fun, trying to be functional humans while the planet itself is literally side eyeing us like, “Really? This is what you’re doing with your time?  This is what you’re doing while you are here?”

But here’s the thing about standing over the gap: the gap is not static. That’s the trick. You can’t un-know something or un-do what’s done, no matter how much you’d like to. You can’t go back to the bliss of ignorance once you’ve tasted the acrid tang of too much truth. And yet, the knowing—if you let it—sharpens you. Like a lens slowly coming into focus, blurry edges pulling together, and you start to see…yourself…everything.

This can be overwhelming, sure. And painful, too, in that way where you wish you could see something different but can’t. But we’re also astonishing as well. Because in the middle of all the too-muchness, we start to see the small things: the kindnesses so quiet they’re almost invisible, resilience that’s gone unacknowledged, love that’s still pervasive even when battered and bruised. You see people—really see them—and it’s beautiful and terrible and everything in between.  The gap.

And maybe that’s the point. Not to stay in the gap forever, but to move through. To carry the only the things you need and put down the rest. To take the sharp edges and use them to carve out new meaning. To remember that knowing—really knowing—doesn’t just see the world for what it is and is not, but also sees the world for what it could be or might be again.

So here we are, standing in the gap, fumbling our way toward something sharper, something clearer. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

[miami2k17]

all i can think about this is how a mutual told me they had a groupchat named after one of my middle school edm posts and whenever one of them would do something weird they'd say "gaypaganmin moment" all i can thjnk rn is. gaypaganmin moment. gaypaganmin moment. this is such a gaypaganmin moment

[deardolly]

doing quests with the inazuma boys

thoma always makes sure to let you have your freedom when the two of you are out and about whenever ayaka has got something for the two of you to do. he enjoys watching you do the work, and only hops in if its apparent you are in desperate need of help. not to say the man is lazy, but he just loves to watch you do your thing! “thoma get over here!” you’d shout as as you hardly miss another attack fierce by the mirror maiden. “m’coming! i just thought you could do it for yourself, y’know? see if you can own up to all those rumors!” he would say with the brightest grin of an angel, sparking the slightest annoyance in you. “now let me handle this, you’ve done an amazing job already!” thoma was one that constantly pissed your companion paimon off, but she has no choice as but to quickly grow fond of him as well. especially since once you’ve completed your expedition, he almost always makes sure to treat the two of you to some delicious green tea from taroumaru afterwards! and as you drink up and get warm, a certain blonde will constantly murmur out his long apologies for the troubles he’s caused as you embarked on your daily journeys, nothing too new.. but always, will he make sure to bandage you up and check for any wounds. he can’t be a good bodyguard if he lets you get hurt! working beside thoma at times can be horribly difficult, but his kind heart and determination is something you can never get tired of.

completing tasks for beidous crew beside kazuha has always been a thrilling journey for the both of you. the two of you have been marked as the infamous ‘perfect adventurers pair’, as the crews captain would always say. as you lay a last damaging elemental strike to the few nobushi enemies left, your partner in crime swings in with a deathly swirl, forcing your opponents to their unlucky demise. fighting alongside kazuha is like yin and yang. he always takes the right amount of time to match your fight style, constantly ensuring the best combat. it is common for the two of you to keep back to back, watching your opponents from all corners of your vision. “the wind rises at nine-o-clock traveller.” you hear from behind you. it took you quite some time to adjust to his plenty synonyms, but if anything it works better for the both of you so the enemy will be unable to catch onto your fighting tactics. and once all is done, kazuha feels at peace resting beside you high up the tower of beidou’s ship, playing a mellow tune from a leaf he found on your way back and telling you many tales of what he’s experienced from his time back home in inazuma. the perfect adventurers pair might just be a nickname you do not mind so much anymore.

to be blessed to work beside the general of the sangonomiya resistance is something one could only dream of. but to you, this is all but new. “you stay back and handle those guys, these ones belong to me.” came the familiar voice of gorou dashing by you, and charging straight to the enemies in front of him. when the two of you are found in battle, it is most common for you both to keep to yourselves. not that it is bad, but gorou favors his independence in a fight, and he knows you’re more than capable of getting rid of your opponents in no time. he rests his full faith in you. when you two break apart and take down whatever monsters dare block your path, it quickly gets the job done. he always makes sure to group back together with you immediately afterwards, shares his resources and food as you continue to embark on your journey. at times, the general can get a bit ‘too’ commanding. nothing rash, although being bossed around isn’t too fun. gorou means the best of course, but just makes sure to keep the task at hand before things get out of line. he is an absolute sweetheart afterwards, so please forgive him. “your excellency, the traveler truly is faultless on the battlefield, they never fail to astonish me!” you once heard him praise to kokoro. if you hadn’t stopped eavesdropping back then, one may assume he has began taking a liking to you!

“this is not what we had planned scaramouche” you groaned as you flicked off the remainders of the mud from your attire. he has insisted the two of you were to wait out and attack once the enemy had fallen asleep, but the moment they were in his sight once you reached the area for your stakeout, he just straight-up attacked them. although his reasoning was due to his pent up anger that they had taken a treasure with much value to him. little did he know, the treasure hoarders had plenty, plenty, plenty of shovels. you learned from that experience to resist coming to his rescue ever again. speaking of, when scaramouche is off doing his work he usually makes sure to take his time and think tactically with his decisions. but one small mistake, is enough to raise the harbingers quick-found temper. he does his own thing in battle, and expects you to just follow along. but quite frankly any decision you make will tick him off. “you are attacking way too slow.” “hurry the fuck up.” “you are so weak.” his constant critique enough to send a man mad. at times, it leaves you to wonder why do i still put up with him? but it is the few, quite rare delicacies that you remember why you stick by his side. when he saved you one too many times, brushing it off as though he did not care. although, at the end of every fight, a certain anonymous never fails to leave a perfectly cooked sweet madame dish by the front of where you dwell every night. scaramouche comes off as a completely apathetic murderer to most, but you are aware one you can crack that rough, rough outer shell, he isn’t all too bad to fight with.

[daenqyu]

Okay so Todoroki is insecure abt his scar right,,, so how about a drabble with Todoroki where he's been struggling extra hard with his confidence when it comes to his appearance lately,,, and his gn! S/o notices and spends an entire day just complimenting him, loving on him, just trying their best to let him know that they think he's amazing in every way 🥺🥺🥺 and that he's gorgeous

beautiful boy — todoroki shouto

( gif isn’t mine !! credits go to its rightful owner )

pairing: todoroki x fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: making out lol

word count: 1.5k

a/n: the fact i was already thinking about writing something like this and then you requested it ahhh, thank you so much anon! <3 i also wrote this with a fem!reader since that’s the style of writing i’m most experienced with.

TODOROKI’S hair feels soft against your fingertips as you gently massage his scalp, something you know calms him down. and it’s no different this time. he hums from his position on your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist to pull you close to him, content with the way you were holding him, yet his mind raced with millions of thoughts. he wasn’t one to care for looks, other’s or his, but his scar was something that always bothered him. it was a constant reminder of how terrible his childhood was, of how he was deprived from enjoying the things a normal child should; a reminder of all the pain that scumbag had caused to not only him, but his whole family as well.

and he knew you loved him, he knew you were completely and utterly in love with him, but sometimes he wondered if you really found him attractive. it was stupid. he shouldn’t worry about something as superficial as looks, especially since he knew that beauty was relative, but he did. usually he kept his emotions in check and didn’t show his insecurities or let them affect his daily life, after all, the least he wanted was to unnecessarily worry you. however, you were his girlfriend and you knew him better than anyone else, so it was no surprise you saw right through his act.

he wasn’t obvious, his actions could even be mistaken as meaningless, but you noticed. it was the way he wouldn’t look at you for too long, afraid you’d see him the way he sees himself. it was the way he hid his face in your neck whenever you two cuddled or simply hugged. and it hurt you. because he was so incredibly beautiful, in every sense of the word. not only was he smart and a perfect gentleman, treating you with the utmost respect you deserved, but he was also the most attractive person you’d ever seen. you understood how he felt, having your own fair amount of insecurities, and while his feelings were completely valid, you couldn’t just stand there and watch the love of your life think he wasn’t good enough.

you didn’t want to call him out and possibly make him feel worse, so you decided the best way to approach him was to be subtle about it. in school, you made sure to hold his hand whenever you had the chance and give him kisses when no one was looking, then when you were both training, you complimented his technique and let him know he was getting better at controlling his left side. that made him smile, a genuine smile that made your heart race excitedly. now you found yourself laying in his bed, hugging todoroki to your chest as one of your legs draped over his waist. 

it was a tiring day for him and his mood didn’t really help; he just wanted to cuddle with you and never let you go. and that’s exactly what you did. he looked so worn out and sleepy, you just couldn’t say no to that pretty face of his. 

“hey sho?” you called him quietly, in case that if he had fallen asleep you didn’t wake him up, but he moved his head to look up at you. his cheek rested against your chest and that made his hair fall in front of his face, not letting you see him properly. you giggled before placing your hands on his cheeks, and getting the hair out of the way. todoroki could feel the tip of his ears burning up with the fierce stare you had on him, almost as if you were captivated by him. or maybe you were looking at his scar. 

the thought had him moving his head to the side in hopes that you wouldn’t look at him much longer, but your fingers grabbed his jaw to keep him in place. you needed to let him know how beautiful he was, how much you loved him, and how a simple scar didn’t make him any less handsome. 

“you’re beautiful,” todoroki swears he almost cried at your sweet words, not expecting you to say that. “so ridiculously handsome.” a smile grazes your lips when he tries to hide his face, once again, on your neck, but this time you let him. he could be rather shy sometimes and he didn’t exactly like being the center of attention, so you understood how this could be somewhat overwhelming. however, you still felt the urge to shower him with your love. your hands slowly came up to hold todoroki’s face, his eyes still not meeting yours. “i love everything about you. you know that, right?” he nods before finally looking at you, a surprised expression decorating his features when he sees how serious you are.

shyly, todoroki takes one of your hands in his and plants a kiss on your knuckles ever so softly before interlacing your fingers with his own. the endearing action makes butterflies erupt in your stomach as you stare up at the boy in front of you; his hair is completely disheveled thanks to the way you were caressing it earlier, his eyes look tired yet excited at the same time, and a small smile reaches his lips when he catches you staring at them.

“i love your hair,” you continue talking whilst leaning in to his touch, closing your eyes for a brief moment as you revel in the comfort your boyfriend offers you, before opening them again to lock your gaze on his. “i love your eyes, i never get tired of looking at them. i love your lips and the way they feel against my skin. i love your hands and the way you touch me so carefully, as if i were you’re doll,” you pause mid sentence to plant a brief kiss on the corner of todoroki’s lips and he can feel himself falling in love with you all over again. “but most of all i love you. you treat me so well and always make sure i’m comfortable, i just hope you know that you’re more than enough and that i’ll never get tired of you.”

todoroki doesn’t say anything, too astonished by your words, instead he slowly pulls away from your grasp and places himself on top of you. his arms rest right next to your head and his knees between your thighs; the intimate position makes you a bit flustered and the way he’s looking at you doesn’t help either. his eyes bore into yours so intensely you can almost see the passion behind them, along with all the love he holds for you. before meeting you, todoroki didn’t really understand the concept of physical affection, thanks to his traumatic childhood, and the first time you tried to hug him he tensed up and patted your back awkwardly. however, once he felt comfortable enough around you, he never hesitated to latch himself on to you whenever he felt needy. 

and you loved the fact you were the only person who got to see this part of him, but most of all, you felt special. maybe even lucky. because you knew he had finally found a person who could give him all the love he deserved, and you didn’t plan on letting him go any time soon.

he’s so close. so close you can feel his heart beating against your chest and you smile when you notice how fast it’s going; you’re positive yours is the exact same, if not even faster. todoroki suddenly leans down and before you know it, his lips are touching yours. he kisses you feverly and passionately, wanting to convey all of the emotions you made him feel, the ones that were so intense he couldn’t describe them with words. your hands go up to play with his double colored hair while he gently nips at your lower lip, signaling you to open your mouth and you do. his tongue explores your mouth ever so carefully, as if he didn’t want to rush anything, and his actions elicit a soft moan from you. 

todoroki smirks in between the kiss, lowkey proud of himself from getting such a reaction out of you, but you simply look away from him, too embarrassed to face him. he thinks that’s cute, he thinks you’re cute, and since he doesn’t want to fluster you any more, he doesn’t force you to look at him. yet he starts to trail a pattern of open mouthed kisses all the way from your jaw to your collarbones, occasionally leaving a love bite or two which make your hips involuntarily grind against todoroki’s. he giggles, enjoying the way your body was always so responsive to him, and the sound makes heat rush to your face. 

“i love you too,” he smiles down at you and you copy him, joy filling your whole body as the sad expression todoroki had worn all week finally seemed to disappear. “thank you for lighting up my life.”

“you don’t need to thank me, pretty boy,” you plant another kiss on his lips. “thank you for making me happy.”

“no need to thank me, pretty girl.” 

[ace-nlis]

How they met you & fell in love

a/n: This is the first time I decided to actually write something with the intention of posting it. I hope that whoever reads this enjoys it. I'm sorry if I've misspelled anything, English isn't my first language. I hope I did well for my first writing post >.<

WARNINGS: none apart from slight violence. Female reader. Cussing.

Otherwise; fluffy content.

(Y/n) - Your name

(L/n) - Last name

Like or repost if you enjoy <3

Akaashi:

When you first met him, you thought he was a pretty boy with a resting bitch face. He is an extremely straight forward 'say it how it is' type of person and you respected him for that because it isn’t always easy to just speak your mind upfront in this day and age. He didn’t really look all that friendly or approachable, but since you were friends with Bokuto you just had to suck it up and stick around. It was pretty awkward talking to him or even just being around him at first, until you realized that his exterior was an act and he’s a total softy when he isn’t trying to call Bo out on his bullshit. You found him to be an intriguing person, but also rather intimidating. He was peaceful, he didn’t talk all that much and kept to himself like a true introvert. You were the opposite, more of an ambivert type. You tried your best to befriend him, but little did you know that friendship would spiral into something else along the line.

After a while of being friends, Akaashi got red in the ears in your presence. He was easily flustered around you, and the both of you often tended to flirt and bicker as if it was second nature. The two of you in a room together never got boring. Everyone around you could tell the two of you were head over heels for each other. You thought the opposite though, you felt that the friendship was never going to progress into anything more and that your crush was meaningless because nothing would come of it. After being friends for several months, nearly reaching the 1 year milestone, you eventually started to distance yourself.

You always thought the way Akaashi acted around you was purely just because the two of you had a close bond as friends, nothing more, nothing less. Akaashi on the other hand was devastated when he noticed the drastic changes in the close bond you both shared. He noticed that whenever he walked into a room, you’d disappear. Whenever he tried to call you, you wouldn’t answer the phone and make up some excuse that you were busy. The poor guy felt like his sanity was hanging on a thread and all he wanted was to speak to you, figure out what he did wrong and at least go back to how things once were. One day, he cornered you in an empty classroom. His eyes seemed frantic and he made sure to trap you between his arms and leave no room for you to escape so he could get answers. “(Y/n), are you okay? Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?”

It seemed like the questions that were wracking his brain kept tumbling out, and in an overwhelmed panic she stopped him. The next thing the both of them knew was that her lips were pressed to his. At first his eyes were wide and body was stiff with shock. He didn’t know how to respond, and he firmly believed that this was a dream. In her mind, she thought she had just made the biggest mistake of her life because he wasn’t responding to it, he was just standing there and embarrassment slowly started to flood her. Before she could pull away from him, his arms slackened and his hands slid down the wall beside her, eventually placing them on her hips and pulling her body flush against his while kissing her back feverishly. When the two pulled away, they were out of breath and their eyes had a dazed look in them as they locked eyes. He leaned his head against hers and sighed in relief, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he kept his eyes locked on hers. I think that’s when you both knew that there was no way in hell you’d let go of each other at any point in time because it really felt like you were meant to be together.

Oikawa:

You knew of Oikawa Tooru but you never actually wanted to be acquainted with him. To you he sounded like a total sleazebag, a player that loved breaking female students’ hearts left and right. Unfortunately for you, you just so happened to bump into him on Valentines day after having to reject a poor freshman. When you bumped into Oikawa, he thought that you were another girl ready to confess to him due to the box of chocolates in your hands and a smirk instantly made its way onto his face as he reached over to take the box. Your immediate response was to slap his hand away. If looks could kill, he sure as hell would be more than 6 feet under because you were not up for anyone's bullshit. Oikawa gasped in shock and retracted his hand immediately with a pout. “Hey! I know you. You’re (L/n), hmm. Aren’t you a friend of Iwa? You know, you don’t have to be embarrassed about trying to confess to me. I always appreciate a new follower.”

A mix between a scoff and a laugh of disbelief made its way out of you as you immediately shoved the box of chocolates into your bag. “Wow, I knew you were vain but I guess I underestimated just how much. If you think I have any interest in an asshole like you then you must be smoking something. I have no interest in being one of your petty little toys that you hold on a string. I refuse to be one of your little puppets that follow you around to show my undying admiration for someone as shitty as you. No wonder he calls you Shittykawa. You truly are a self centered douche.”

Oikawa’s face was burning red with embarrassment as she pushed past him and continued going to her class. He was astonished, shocked beyond any words imaginary as he stood there and tried to process what had just happened. Eventually he was brought back to his senses when Iwaizumi smacked him over the head and told him to stop staring like a dumbass and get to practice. “Iwa, How do you know (L/n)?” He asked suddenly after they walked in silence for several minutes, which was very unlike Oikawa. “I’m in the majority of her classes and she lives a block away from me. Why?”

“She’s weird. I thought she was gonna confess and then she slapped my hand and called me a douche.” Oikawa said, his tone was completely flat for once and Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Yeah, well what do you expect? She has better things to do than fawn over you, Shittykawa.”

*Insert offended Oikawa noises here*

Needless to say, his first encounter with you was not exactly what he would’ve liked it to be. Slowly though he tried to fish more information out on you, he wanted to understand why you weren’t like the other girls who practically fell in love with him at first sight and why you were the way that you were in general. That meant that any time Iwaizumi would meet up with you at a park to study together or whenever you guys would spend any type of time together that Tooru would tag along. Teachers thought that you were having a blooming friendship with him though and much to your dismay you ended up getting partnered with him on a school project. You felt sick to the pit of your stomach because you truly didn’t want him to come to your home, but he kept insisting and you knew that there would be no point in trying to convince him otherwise so you gave in to his stubbornness.

You felt ashamed the moment he stepped through the front door, your parents were never home and you had to take care of your younger twin siblings. The house was a mess, and that was when he understood why you had such a cold persona around others. You wanted to distance yourself from people and push them away as much as possible in order for you to not have to go through the embarrassment of looking like a train wreck to everyone else in the circumstances that you were in as opposed to your usual well put together attitude. To your surprise though, he was patient. He jumped in on helping you clean, he even helped the twins with any homework questions they had in between working on your project together and showed no judgement. In fact, he gave you a look of understanding.

After that, you were able to tolerate him more and you allowed him to visit the twins more often while even bringing along his nephew for all of them to play together. He taught them how to play volleyball while also helping you in the kitchen when you needed it. He didn’t want to admit it, but he honestly fell in love with you because of how genuine you were. You guys flirted, but it was suffocating to him like all the other girls who flirted with him on a daily basis. He only had interest in you, and you bet your ass Iwa teased the shit out of him for it. Your project got an incredible score of 100% and the two of you celebrated together by playing some volleyball even though you were complete shit at it. He didn’t care though and had fun. You found yourselves hanging a lot more often, being around each other almost 24/7 and you even met his family at some point. They absolutely loved you, and so did he.

He tried to figure out how he’d confess to you, he wanted it to be special. He wanted it to be a moment the both of you would remember because he quite honestly couldn’t see him spending any of his time with any other girl apart from you. Of course he was extremely nervous and skeptical on how to approach it, it was a 50/50 chance of you liking him back. The thoughts left his mind when he heard your voice outside a local supermarket, asking someone to leave you alone and that immediately flipped a switch in his brain. He quickly tried to look for you and found you trying to tell some tipsy guy that you didn’t want anything to do with him to which he immediately went over with his hands tucked in his pocket.

“Hey (Y/n), everything okay?” he asked as he coldly stared at the man that had been harassing you. A quiet “Oh thank god” was whispered underneath your breath as you managed to force your way closer to Tooru. He immediately wrapped one arm around your waist and kept his eyes locked on the other older gentleman that had been bothering you. The guy smirked, “Oh nothing man, I was trying to have a chat with her and she got all bitchy. That’s all.” (Y/n) could feel his body language immediately became a lot more tense, but you quickly pulled at him and tried to evade the situation. “It’s not worth it, Tooru. Let’s just go, okay? We can get some milk bread and watch movies or something.”

“I don’t appreciate the way you talk about my (Y/n)-chan. In fact, I’d advise you to leave her alone before I make you regret even breathing the same air as her. Got that?” He spoke calmly as he gently nudged you out of the alleyway next to the store. “Hey, who the hell do you think you are? Huh? Can’t just take my woman like that, dude.” This is when you truly saw how angry Oikawa could get as all he did was throw a punch and the guy was down. You could only stare in shock at what had just unfolded in front of you. “If you ever talk about her like that again I swear I’ll make you regret you ever existed.” At that he tugged you along and when the two of you were a few blocks away you grabbed hold of his hand and inspected it. “You seriously didn’t have to go that far. I don’t care what a low life has to say about me, at least I don’t live in the streets and I’ve got a roof over my head.” He remained silent for a moment before latching his hand onto your wrist and pulling you into his chest. “I’d never let anyone do or say anything to hurt you. Remember that. I’m just sorry you had to witness me get like that. I’ll make it up to you though.”

“Oh? I think a date would be a pretty nice way to make it up to me since you insisted on calling me your (Y/n)-chan” you said, giving him a cheeky smile to which he could only reply with a teasing smirk. “Hm, seems only fair after I saved you as heroically as I did.”

“Whatever you say, douche”

*insert baffled Oikawa noises here*

[liptonsbabe]

The light is coming [B.W]

Chapter 3

Previous

Summary: Bill meets the reader again. Some of the feelings that have been stored up come to the surface again

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: none

Chapter 3: When we were young

It turned out that Byron knew the location of Grimmauld place perfectly well. You were surprised at the ease with he had found the place, cause that was a great help in not wasting any more time. Standing in front of the door, you turned to Byron before announcing your arrival.

"How do you know about this place? I mean, I never told you about it, even I didn't know of its existence."

Byron looked sideways at you, one eyebrow raised and his pink lips curved into a little smile that made you blush. Byron knocked on the door three times before turning to you

"There's a lot you still don't know about me, honey."

"You're such a show-off" You rolled your eyes when you heard Byron laugh "And don't call me like that."

"Why not?"

“Cause I don't like it"

"Then what would you prefer me to call you?" Byron leaned close to your ear and whispered, "Love", "Darling", "Cutie pie"? You can take your pick. There's more where those came from."

"You’re such an idiot"

Byron laughed, but his mirth was interrupted by the sharp knock from the other side of the door. You gasped and recoiled as a small crack in the door swung open revealing a pair of blue eyes staring back at you

"Who are you?" He asked. You cleared your throat

"Uh... I'm (Y/N) and this is my partner Byron” you said, taking Byron by the arm so the boy on the other side could see him; he narrowed his eyes then turned his gaze back to you " We've come to the Order of the Phoenix meetings. We are aurors."

“Oh, really? What's the secret word?”

“I... I don't know”

“Didn't your sister write it in her letters or something?” Byron asked. You shook your head

“No, Dora didn't.”

“Wait, Dora? As in Nymphadora Tonks?”

“Uh... Yes?” You answered. The crack closed and immediately afterwards the door was thrown open by a tall, thin, red-haired boy. He greeted you with a smile and an effusive handshake.

“You're (Y/N) Lexington! I don't know how I didn't notice before, I'm such an idiot. Tonks has told us a lot about you, you know? Your powers are wonderful” The boy stuck his face to yours making you step back “I'm Fred Weasley, by the way”

“I met a couple of Weasleys when i was little”

“They were probably Bill and Charlie. Anyway, the meeting is this way”

Fred led you down a long corridor as he told you everything that had been going on with the whole Voldemort and his Death Eaters thing; he told that they had taken over the the Daily Prophet and that the members of the Order and Albus Dumbledore were almost certain that the Dark Lord's followers had managed to meddle in the ministry so just a few Aurors had the courage to be part of the Order of the Phoenix.

“Then it's a good thing that we don't belong to the Ministry," Byron commented. Fred cocked his head to one side.

“You don’t?

"No" you replied "We came from Beauxbatons, in France."

"What were you doing there?"

"We were Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers."

"I was a teacher, he was an assistant."

Byron rolled his eyes making Fred laugh. You smiled at that, but you didn't expect Byron to throw one of his arms around your shoulders and give you a kiss on the cheek

"And we were going to get married the next winter, weren't we?"

"No."

"Oh, couple problems?" asked Fred with amusement. You pulled Byron's arm away

"We're not a couple."

"You broke up?"

"We never started"

You looked to the front, you were near a huge room that was the gathering point for dozens of people. Among the sea of people you recognized a clump of bubblegum pink hair that undoubtedly belonged to your older sister -Dora always had a penchant for that color- and, without further hesitation, you entered the room.

You held up your hands and made light come out of them cause no one seemed to have noticed your presence. Everyone turned to look at you and you felt satisfied as each person's attention focused on the warm light from your hands. Increasing the intensity of the light, all the people in the room had to cover  their eyes and you took advantage of it to make your way to Dumbledore, who greeted you with a small handshake. You kept the light on over your left hand.

"I think that was enough demonstration for today, my dear."

You nodded and made the light disappear. Everyone fell silent trying to acknowledge the new arrival; Tonks, on the other hand, let out a squeal of happiness and ran to you to wrap you in a tight hug. In the distance, Bill Weasley made his way through the crowd with his brother Charlie.

"I knew you'd come," Tonks said to you. You smiled "Although I wasn't quite sure if all my letters made it safely to France, still, i appreciate you being here."

"Believe me, Dora, your letters made it all the way to my room at Beauxbatons" You looked at Dumbledore who was watching you patiently. You grimaced before sighing "Madame Maxime wasn't too happy when i told her  that I was leaving the school, but I couldn't stay knowing that you needed my help. I... I left my position at the school and have come to stay."

“Are you serious?" Tonks asked, astonished "You're staying?"

"Well, it's not like I have anywhere else to go, right? After all, Madame Maxime doesn't believe in the Dark Lord's return and I'm sure she won't lift a finger to get it talked about at school. Maybe the students don't even know what's going on. What happened at the the Triwizard Tournament...

"What happened at the Triwizard Tournament was an unfortunate event" said Dumbledore, raising his voice for all to hear "However, we are in time to prevent another such event from taking place, but well only succeed if each of us is willing to face any consequences from now on”

The chorus of voices from the Order members rose, agreeing with Dumbledore's words, who smiled in pleasure. People began to scatter around the room and as the atmosphere began to feel lighter, conversations formed that made a few people laugh. Sirius Black and Molly Weasley approached the sisters and greeted you with a smile.

"It's good to see you again, dear, Oh! You were just a little girl when i saw you years ago" Molly squeezed you in a bone rattling hug. Sirius let out a laugh "You must have been eleven when you left for France. You left without saying goodbye, how rude!"

"Calm down, Molly" Sirius said, gently pushing the woman away. He offered you his open hand and you smiled at him "I'm Sirius Black. You may not know me cause well, i was in Azkaban for a long time, but my cousin Andromeda has told me a lot about you."

"My mother,? are you two related?"

"Uh-huh. That makes me your uncle, isn't that wonderful, give me a hug!"

"Sirius!" Molly shouted, when he lifted you up and started to spin you around making you dizzy. She set you back down on the ground and waited for you to regain your balance before leaving a kiss on your flushed cheek "I told you not to behave like that!"

"Stop yelling at me, Molly, you already look like my mother. Besides, it was the excitement. I haven't had a family in a long time."

"Thanks for what I get" Tonks complained. Sirius laughed

"Relax, you're still my favorite niece. That is until (Y/N) competes for the position, then there's nothing I can do"

"You're unbelievable Sirius, you really are" Molly reproached him. You shook your head while maintaining a smile that made your face hurt.

At the back of the room, Byron struck up a conversation with the Weasley twins while Molly continued to berate Sirius for being so brash and crude. You watched Byron as he talked and talked about something you didn't hear, but it kept Molly's children wide-eyed and their hands static at their sides. Suddenly, Molly let out a squeak and took your hand.

"You must come with me, you haven't met my other children yet."

You wondered how many more children Molly had had when a pair of redheads came out to meet you. They were considerably older than the twins, but all retained their red hair, whitish complexions and huge blue eyes. Molly smiled, releasing your hand.

"This is Bill and Charlie, remember them? You used to play together as kids."

Bill's gaze collided with yours and it was then that you remembered your childhood before you left home, when you and Dora loved to visit the Weasley home solely to play and run all over the Burrow together with Molly and Arthur Weasley's children.

Charlie was the same age as you, but for some unknown reason you always had a special connection with Bill. You remembered playing with him for afternoons on end, or the time you tried to climb one of Molly's trees and fell and scraped your knee. Bill didn't want to call his mother to fix you up and, since you were still too little to do magic, he decided that a little kiss on the injured part would help the pain pass.

Your cheeks burned at the thought that Bill had been your best friend as a child and that.... Oh God, he had given you your first kiss when you were five and he was seven; it had been Charlie's birthday party and the two of you had been arguing over who should get the cherry from the cake. The fight ended when you put the cherry in your mouth and Bill gave you a little kiss on the lips so he wouldn't miss the taste of that cherry.

It was something silly and unimportant, but it still embarassed you horribly

Bill reached out his hand when he saw you deep in thought, and he took your hand slowly and shook it gently.

"It's good to see you again, (Y/N)."

You smiled apologetically. God, you looked like a fool.

"It’s good to see you too, Bill."

[teawaffles]

The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 4

Having concealed all traces of his presence, Albert was advancing through the enemy’s territory with efficient steps.

He moved through the battlefield without making so much as a sound, and had already felled three opponents; even so, he had yet to encounter any real action. Louis and the others were on the opposing team, so it was probable that their movements had been meticulously planned with strategic intent: perhaps, rather than making a clumsy full-on assault, they were quietly moving the situation along. In that case, between their opponents’ flag and total annihilation, which target should he aim for……?

From the time that had elapsed, Albert approximated the remaining strengths of both his opponents and allies. But just as he was working out a plan, he abruptly sensed a presence following him from behind.

He hid himself in a thicket, and turned around. Standing there was…….

“……Master Jack?” he smiled.

Before him was Jack Renfield.

Jack chortled. “Albert. I was observing you from behind for a bit: you didn’t leave any openings, and your movements were sharp. You’ve certainly made your teacher proud.”

As he said that, Jack toyed with the rubber knife in his hand.

“Nonetheless, I didn’t notice your presence until the last second; I still have a ways to go.”

“No, no — if I had approached you with the intent to attack, I’m sure you would’ve detected me. No need to be humble.”

He laughed heartily as he placed a hand on Albert’s shoulder.

“But I’ve gotten the feeling that there weren’t many enemies along the way, somehow. I wonder what they’re planning?”

“I’ve felt the same. They can’t have decided to throw the game either.”

“You’ve got that right. Of all people, your beloved Louis wouldn’t do that. Not to mention that team has Moran and Bond too: they aren’t the type to stand by and allow defeat——”

That instant, Jack dived to the side, breaking off the conversation. Around the same moment, Albert ducked, and a dry thud could be heard from the ground.

A look in that direction revealed a single mock bullet lying on the dirt. Albert verified that there were no others in the vicinity, and murmured.

“……A sniper shot.”

Jack nodded wordlessly. Then, the two of them fixed their gazes on a single spot in the distance. There, stood a small wooden cabin that seemed to overlook the entire forest.

“It seems to have come from that cabin.”

“That’s within enemy territory. I had a feeling someone would eventually make use of it,” Albert remarked.

Jack agreed.

A building that commanded a bird’s eye view of the battlefield was an exceptionally convenient thing to have. But although its utility was apparent, there was the downside that it was easy to deduce that one was hiding within. Its advantages and drawbacks were inextricably linked, and now, the two of them had been attacked from that cabin.

“As I recall, only a handful of people chose the sniper rifles, since they’re not easy for an amateur to use.”

“In that case, the list of potential suspects have been narrowed down.”

It wasn’t yet certain, but considering the skill of that sniper shot a moment ago, both men instinctively landed on the sniper’s true identity.

“——Is it Moran?”

“——It’s Moran.”

Magnificently, the master and student had agreed with one another. If it really was Moran, he could then target these two people with whom he was connected on a daily basis at once: this would be a golden opportunity.

As if they could see the man’s fiery gaze from the window of the cabin far off in the distance, the two men laughed in equal parts astonishment and elation.

“It’s likely that their strategy involves him shouldering their defence alone, while the rest go after our flag. That’d be why we barely encountered the enemy ever since we set foot in here.”

“I see: so they’ve made our camp the main battlefield. But in that case, we can consider their flag to be near the place he’s guarding.”

Just as Jack had predicted the location of their opponents’ flag — a possible route to victory, yet another bullet passed over their heads, whizzing through a spot precisely between the two of them. Considering Moran’s skill, it had clearly not been intended to hit.

Jack rotated his shoulders wearily.

“He hasn’t moved from his previous position. Moreover, that shot…… His aim was clear.”

“Indeed. It was a provocation — to ‘come and get me’.”

Saying that, Albert smiled, and Jack burst into laughter.

“Gahahaha! How impertinent!”

Despite being right in the middle of enemy territory, the old butler paid no heed to his surroundings as he raised his voice. Then, a ferocious glint twinkled in his eyes.

“Excellent. Let’s make him rue the day he picked a fight with us.”

“Agreed. For him, we shall be worthy opponents.”

With smiles on their faces, the two men turned to the cabin, and dashed toward their top-priority target at breakneck speed.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

As Albert and Jack had reasoned, the blue team’s camp had been transformed into an intense battlefield. The opposing team’s forces were shoving aside the vegetation as they advanced, and the blue team’s rear guard fired volley after volley of bullets, pulling out all the stops to defend their position. Even though it was just for fun, the heated atmosphere made it feel almost like a real combat zone.

“Oi oi, is help not here yet?”

“Everyone’s scattered all over the forest, so it’s hard to reach them. For now, we’ll have to get through this on our own.”

“Can’t we do anything about that? Still, it looks like the enemy forces are dwindling. Let’s hang in there and ride this out.”

Near the flag, some nobles were exchanging words of encouragement. Next to them, some children had banded together, and were firing indiscriminately with glee.

“Ahaha, this is fun!”

“Ah! I got someone!”

“We’re under attack here — someone come over~”

The children were laughing as they brandished their revolvers, and it made for an unpleasant sight. At first, the adults had taken issue with it, but then they remembered how they’d played war games themselves when they had been younger, and decided not to take it too seriously.

In the midst of all that, a distance away from the group of children, a girl was sitting quietly alone.

“…………”

This isolated figure was nothing more than a nobody who’d been excluded by her friends. But the adults who were supposed to point out this incongruity were all absorbed in the heat of the battle: unfortunately, they hadn’t even noticed her very existence.

“……It’s so boring.”

Those words fell from her lips. But disappointingly, they were swallowed up by the din of the gunfire and shouts.

Perhaps she should just go and get shot. That was what crossed her mind, but the moment she was about to get up, a small hand gripped her shoulder and stopped her.

Startled, the girl looked behind her, and saw a familiar face.

“What’re you doing? Even if it’s just one more person, our team needs more firepower — surely you weren’t thinking of dropping out on your own, right?”

After delivering that stinging rebuke, Helena Curtis sat down beside the girl, and began loading her gun.

Even now, as she looked at Helena’s angry profile, the girl’s face was screwed up as if she was about to cry.

“……Why? Even though I betrayed you?”

But Helena responded in astonishment.

“What’re you saying? I’m only doing this because I want to win. Don’t take this in a weird way.” Her mouth twisted into a frown, as if she were deeply unhappy.

At Helena’s words, the girl retracted her gratitude, and leaned back a little.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry……. That’s right. It’s for the game.”

Disappointed, she lowered her gaze. But once she’d finished reloading her gun, Helena’s expression morphed into one of sullen dissatisfaction as she continued.

“……That’s why, I’ll forget about how you left me out before.”

“!”

Those words were somewhat twisted, but even so, they carried a clear depth of emotion. Helena’s cheeks had turned red; as the girl registered that, her eyes vaguely misted up.

But it wasn’t like she was crying and begging for forgiveness here. The girl pursed her lips, and abruptly cast her gaze forward.

“……I see. Then, let’s forget about those unnecessary ties and join forces.”

“Yeah — we’ll definitely win. And if we lose, I’ll treat you to something.”

Helena and her former friend. The two of them stood side by side on the same battlefront, laughing as they once did.

——I’m glad I had the courage.

In her heart, that was what Helena thought.

[azucanela]

Hey, can I get an Bakugou/Shouto/Shinsou hcs where they have a crush on their classmate that haves an astronomic quirk? I had seen an artwork where the guy is just like an universe force full of stars on his body and I've just had this idea. I hope you having a good day✨✨✨

REACTING TO S/O WITH ASTRONOMIC QUIRK [GN HEADCANNONS]

ft. bakugo katsuki, shinsou hitoshi, todoroki shouto

SUMMARY: in which Y/N has an astronomic quirk and the boys can’t help but fall for her. 

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: mentions of threats, fluff, really pg tbh

A/N: there is a total of two gifs for shinsou hitoshi that exist so for the sake of fairness we shall move away from gifs! also i hope you have a nice day too bb <3

BAKUGO KATSUKI

the volume in this bus is

astronomical.

okay but fr you have an astronomic quirk that essentially allows you to do anything in relation to the universe, so you’re out here making black holes with your hands and shooting out some cosmic energy at your opponents, your lil super weapon is a supernova

whenever you use your quirk your body literally glows, like it looks like a galaxy on your body, your skin literally looks straight out of a photo from NASA, its almost as if your hair becomes a liquid as it floats into the air, defying gravity, wisps of energy occasionally coming off, speaking of defying gravity you can fly because gravity happens to not exist in space um float float woo 

moral of the story, you are POWERFUL, scoring in the top five amongst your class, depending on your control over your quirk and creativity, you may have even outdone katsuki

he hates you for this, and despises you because you’re just so good at being a hero, and yet everyone is still a student. unlike him you hopefully have your emotions in check, and are far more capable of social interactions, which are very important as a hero! for rescues, and interviews, and team ups! collaboration is key.

as he grows as a person, he also grows out of this mentality of despising those who are better than him and instead begrudgingly seeking their assistance to improve. so congrats, you earned his respect! you are one of few that his managed this task!

he just kinda forces himself into your life, not that you mind, but it is a little random when he just kinda plops down beside you during lunch and starts eating, looking at you as though he’s daring you to say something

you just raise a brow and move on, continuing to speak with your friends who remain baffled by his sudden presence

katsuki is gonna be asking you to train 24/7, he wants to improve his skills and you are one of few he considers worthy, you don’t mind because he’s also talented and your quirks are pretty well suited for each other in combat practice

realistically you could just suck him into one of your black holes but he doesn’t need to know that

anyways during one of these training sessions, after a while of actually getting to know you and stuff it just kinda hits him that you look really ethereal when you’re using your quirk, and wow you are beautiful

and now he’s been hit in the face by one of your cosmic blasts, and he is cursing and you are apologizing, coming over to his as the stars on your skin fade and your hair returns to normal

katsuki is BLUSHING as he realizes his mistake and he is desperately hoping you did not notice why he screwed up, swatting you away as you attempt to help him up from the floor, the remnants of your quirk’s glow still in the training room

he was here to be a hero. not to have stupid crushes.

you are definitely his first crush oh god. this boy is an emotional mess, he’s never felt like this, he never had the time or the desire to feel like this, katsuki has always felt like nobody else could keep up with him so why should he like anyone?

until someone could keep up with him, that someone being you

he likes you oh no. oh no. oh no. panic is all that is katsuki bakugo and he’s going to try and storm out but you’re like omg what the hell man???

everytime he sees you, especially when you’re using your quirk, he’s gonna get all blushy, and everyone is gonna notice how flustered he is, they’ll catch on pretty quick

accidentally stares at you in class and it frustrates him to no end when he begins to focus again and realizes he allowed his gaze to fall onto you

“you’re staring again bakugo 👀”

“SHUT UP.”

when you two start dating he’s gonna want to ask you to use your quirk when you’re alone just because he wants to admire you and how pretty it looks, but it is going to take a LOT of bullying and pushing to get him to reveal this

let him touch your starry skin he’ll be freakishly calm, and his touch will be so gentle because it is just so pretty and its you and it seems really out of character for him but your quirk is just so coming because at the end of the day it is you

moral of the story is stars calm our boy baku

SHINSOU HITOSHI 

the only person who hasn’t seen your quirk in action because he doesn’t get accepted into the Hero Course until later on. but he’s probably gonna see it for the first time at the UA Sports Festival.

you two are friends already! you wormed your way into his life, initially to his dismay but now he likes you as a friend, thats about to change

you probably just started sitting down at lunch with him randomly and he got really confused and you just kinda shrugged and were like, “you have nice hair.” 

that was it.

in all honesty, the purple color of his hair lowkey reminded you of your own quirk and you kinda just wanted to meet him and that’s what you did, after a while of hyping yourself up and backing out several times

regardless, it became a daily thing and you found yourself determined to befriend him, and you did! it was lovely, he was slowly accepting you and everything was going great, he was finally talking about stuff with you during lunch and he’d wave in the halls and woo!

anyways, the UA Sports Festival, you’re like the only person he knows so he’s paying attention to the festival purely for you, even when he gets eliminated

you’re about to go up against bakugo and allow me to explain some of the other wonderful parts of the universe

a wormhole = a white hole and i think its still rather theoretical and not proven but right now in this instance they are definitively real! so you can teleport with you quirk basically! not that anyone knows this because you’ve been saving this lovely ability

there is also black holes but that is a little excessive for a festival, and cosmic blasts, but bakugo has blasts of his own so

shinsou is watching and then you begin GLOWING AND HE’S SO SHOCKED MAN, like your skin looks like a picture of the galaxy, and your hair is glowing and floating in the air, hands sparking with wisps of energy radiating off of you 

its beautiful, you’re beautiful, bye bye platonic feelings, shinsou just fell in love by accident

he probably liked you already but it took this moment for him to realize that he liked you. 

shinsou is watching in astonishment as a white hole opens up in front of you, bakugo blasting forward at an incredibly quick rate and shooting through the hole, just to end up outside the arena

that’s the story of how bakugo almost killed you on camera and you won the sports festival :D shinsou thinks you are so COOL but he’s gonna be really nonchalant about it and be lowkey when he asks you about your quirk

tbh he’s gonna be bashful, but he’ll ask for a demonstration of your abilities because he really just wants to see that again, and when you say yes he’s pretty ecstatic though he isn’t expressing it.

“hey.. why didn’t you tell me about your quirk?”

“you never asked”

“would you mind uh..”

you’re looking at him like what you want boy

“would you mind showing me your quirk?” the words come out quicker than he’d wanted but you don’t seem to notice

“sure! right now?” 

you two are in his room and he doesn’t know why but seeing your body begin to glow, beautiful stars lighting up your skin, it feels rather intimate, and he finds himself blushing

you’re giving him a demonstration of your other abilities but he can only really focus on just how pretty you look because WOW

in general, he’s gonna try to catch glimpses of you using your quirk as often as he can, though it is difficult since you are in different classes 

when you two start dating it’s probably around the time he gets accepted into the hero course, and he feels like he’s behind so naturally he asks his girlfriend and best student in the class for help training!

get’s distracted the first couple of times he sees you use your quirk in class, but he manages to get over it after a while, mostly

not ashamed to blatantly stare at you in class, because you are his girlfriend and he is VERY proud to say that

TODOROKI SHOUTO

welp

this boy

is probably an astronomy nerd, idk why but i can see it, he just knows an odd amount of things about the universe and stuff or anything astronomy related

where’s this constellation? oh ask shouto for some reason he knows

honestly though, he had a lot of tutors growing up since he spent most of his time at home “training” with his father, shouto didn’t go to school and was instead taught by these tutors, and astronomy happened to be a very prominent subject

due to his blunt personality, he’s the only person who is gonna outright say that you look really beautiful when you use your quirk, and everyone is gonna think they’re hearing things, but he has no shame repeating it when asked

you’re blushing this time around ma’am

like you’re all demonstrating quirks as Aizawa pretends to determine if you are going to get expelled or not, and you kinda just begin to glow, your skin looks like the literal galaxy and your hair is glowing a variety of colors, becoming an liquified thing as wisps of energy radiate off you and yoU’RE JUST FLYING ACROSS THE FIELD WOW

space has no gravity because people go float, this is why you also float, but it is a controlled float! you also have cosmic blasts, a funky black hole, a white hole that definitively exists in this universe, yeah astronomic quirk looking good rn

“that’s incredible.”

“im sorry what did you say?”

“her quirk is very impressive.”

later on probably after the two of you are slowly befriending each other, shouto finds you interesting and he wants to learn more about your quirk, and he thinks you would be a decent training partner seeing as the two of you are at the top of your class, so he starts associating with you

and associating with you becomes sitting with you during lunch, sharing his food, studying with you, training with you, he’s spending a lot of his time with you and the entire class notices because shouto is normally way more withdrawn what is this??

its not until one particular training day that uraraka wonders if the dekusquad should get involved, you’re using your quirk and she, todoroki and the others are on the sidelines just watching as they wait for their turn to spar

shouto is staring at you, eyes wide, mouth open with wonder and he just says, “wow. that’s beautiful.”

uraraka is like DID I HEAR YOU RIGHT HAHGAS

he likes yessir, that is a gorgeous person that i simp for look at them glowing so pretty yes yes

idk who approaches who first, either shouto is so confused by this weird feeling he gets whenever he is around you and starts avoiding you, opting to visit midoriya since he’s knowledgable and asks what is wrong with him. or uraraka insists on an intervention since homeboy is clearly in love with you and someone has to tell his deku smh

once he realizes he likes you hes probably gonna be quiet about it for a hot minute, and you find his silent behavior odd because to everyone else he’s like this, yes, but with you he tended to talk more and now you’re like??

shouto is trying to figure out what to do about this situation because this was an ACCIDENT and he does fear losing you since you are like the only person he considers a friend at this point.

you confront him and he’s kinda like, “apparently im in love with you.” he cracks pretty fast about whats going on and he is really upfront with you and you’re just like WELP

thats how you start dating icy hot :)

only one that is not ashamed to ask you to use your quirk because PRETTY SHINY WOW gorgeous just art. definitely takes time to just stare at your glowing skin, connecting the stars with his fingers in astonishment he’s gonna tell you how pretty you are 24/7 even if you don’t use your quirk because you are just that beautiful

loves telling you random astronomical facts, tries to see if the things he learns can be used by you since your quirk is based off space

accidentally finds astrology and is now lowkey obsessing over zodiac signs and nearly got his ass beat by bakugo because he had a temper tantrum and shouto was like “this is just because you are an Aries.”

power couple woo

you aren’t just his world, you’re his universe <3

[hyucks-archive]

ceraunophile.

word count: 2,274

genre: angst

member(s): huang renjun

warning(s): none!

You lift the hood of your hoodie over your head. Taking in a breath, you’re hit with the scent of rain. It’s one of the heaviest downpours you’ve experienced in a while. Your eyes are fixed on the night sky; it’s so dark tonight. There are barely any traces of light sources – the moon is probably hiding somewhere, and the brightness of the stars are probably masked by the angry drops of rain. You recognise this landscape; the thunder and lightning should be making its presence known in a while.

There’s the sound of grass cracking, hurried footsteps struggling to find its way to the only safe space amid this hilly area. You remain under the pavilion, focusing your attention in the direction of the heavy panting. You shut your eyes when the light source that the invader is utilising accidentally meets your eyes. The heavy breaths of the stranger rings in your ear; you’re sure he, she, or maybe even it, is staring at you inquisitively right now.

You open your eyes, your right brow twitching at the boy that has arrived, invading your little pavilion. He’s so busy dusting himself off, that he doesn’t notice your stare. He runs his hands through his hair, trying to smooth out the dampened tangles. You continue to watch silently – unfortunately, or fortunately, whichever it is, you recognise the boy. You’d definitely recognise him anywhere, any time of the day; the way his frame is so distinctive, and the way the small sounds of displeasure that escapes his lips, further affirms your gut feeling.

Finally, he looks up. He meets eyes with you. He reacts in the way you’d least desire for him to.

“Hey!” he exclaims, all too excitedly. “What a coincidence. What are you doing here?” he asks, immediately jumping to the point, which is one of his fortes. Naturally, he takes a few steps towards you. He sets his bag on the ground, shimmying his way out of the tattered poncho that barely shielded him from the rain.

You’re not sure what to tell him. Option number one: This pavilion is basically my second home; I put myself through the torture of climbing this stupid hill daily, hoping that there’d be a thunderstorm. Option number two: I come to this pavilion every day in hopes that it would rain. Option number three: I make daily hikes just to get to this pavilion. Scrap those. All three make you sound like a lunatic. You have no choice but to settle for option number four.

“Why do you care?”

A look of slight astonishment flashes across Renjun’s expression. He wasn’t expecting the hostility. He manages to recompose himself just as quick, though. “It’s basically storming out there,” he says, “It’s dangerous to be out here alone with such weather.”

There it is. The nonchalant concern that you hate. Sometimes, you wonder if Renjun is doing it on purpose.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, changing the topic. Thankfully, Renjun rides along with it. “I decided to hike, but then this happened,” he says, gesturing in the direction of the rain with his chin. With his arms akimbo, he shakes his head, “Never should’ve listened to Lee Donghyuck. I knew it was weird the minute he insisted that today would be a great day to hike. He probably checked the weather ahead of time.”

You nod your head. Renjun manages a smile despite his disappointment at his failed hiking trip. “I guess Donghyuck did something right, still. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have been able to meet you here. It’s been like what? A year?”

He’s looking at you expectantly. To be exact, it’s been 11 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days. Not that it matters to him, anyway. He’s at it again – the nonchalant, heart-fluttering, passing statements. To him, they hold no weight. But to you, they basically mean everything. Your lips twitch at that; it’s so sad to spell it out like that, even though it’s been a long-established fact.

“Yeah,” you dismiss, reverting your attention back to the pouring rain. There’s going to be a crack in the sky, and then your favourite part of the night will arrive. “What are you staring at?” Renjun asks, following your line of vision. All he sees is the deep blue, almost black, night sky. But what you see, is a beautiful horizon, sparking hints of light. Then comes the rumbling of the thunder; the confirmation that indeed, the horizon will soon be decorated with the prettiest stray rays of light. Renjun shivers at the sound from the sky.

“I’m guessing you really like rain?” Renjun speaks up, trying to hold a conversation with you to distract himself from the loud roars from the sky. Still maintaining your focus on the horizon, awaiting the greeting of the lightning, you shake your head, “It’s too loud,” you answer. Renjun raises a brow. Renjun takes it that you’re referring to the fact that because of the heavy downpour, the two of you have to raise your voices in order to hear each other. So, he chooses to continue with, “Maybe if we move to the other side of the pavilion, it’ll be softer.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, there’s the crack of thunder, one of the loudest cracks you’ve heard in a while. Your heart calms at the sound of it.

Renjun lets out a yelp, cowering into himself. Then comes the second crack of thunder, and he hurries to cup both of his ears, shutting his eyes tight, as the third crack of thunder greets the two of you. You close your eyes, immersing yourself in the moment, fully appreciating the rare moment where there’s three consecutive cracks of thunder. Renjun glances up at you – he furrows his brows at how calm and composed you are. The fact that you look like you’re actually enjoying the moment further fuels his horror.

“Wait, are you enjoying this?” he can’t help but ask.

With your racing heartbeat, and your mind that is busy replaying the sounds of the thunder and the sight of the beautiful lightning, you don’t hear Renjun. His features contort further as he makes a second attempt at getting your attention. He takes a step forward, reaching forth to place a light hold on your arm. Your eyes immediately flutter open.

“Don’t you think it’s too loud?” he asks.

“The rain?” you take a pause, pursing your lips, “It’s always too loud. It drowns out the sounds of the thunder, and it also hazes the view of the lightning.”

Renjun stares at you in confusion. Did he hear you right?

“Aren’t the thunder and lightning the most amazing things?” you gush, expression lighting up just from the thought of it. Renjun’s mouth parts slightly to give you an answer, but he isn’t sure what he should say. He lets out an awkward cough. At least, you were too busy appreciating the thunder and lightning, to notice his act of cowardice. He gets shocked easily; he jumps at the slightest loud sounds.

“Let’s sit,” you suggest, fully satisfied for the night. You’ve gotten your daily dose of thunder and lightning, so all that’s left is for the rain to clear, so that you can make your way home. Renjun follows behind as you lead the way to the inner side of the pavilion. The two of you take a seat by the bench. It’s been long since you’ve sat beside Renjun like that. You miss it, there’s no lie.

“I didn’t know you’re a lover of thunder and lightning,” Renjun comments, adjusting himself into a comfortable position. You scoff, plastering on a smile, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Renjun.”

The boy raises both brows, his eyes widening. He thought he did. Or at least, he thought he had made the effort to get to know you enough back then. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he just didn’t try hard enough, so there’s still loads he has yet to find out about you. It’s not like he has the opportunity to do so anymore, anyway. The both of you are on different paths of your respective lives.

Instead, he chooses to at least try to understand your love for something that the majority of people would be afraid of. “So why do you like thunder and lightning so much?” he asks.

You ponder for a moment, mentally going through your reply in order to ensure proper and comprehensible phrasing of your words. “When there are rainstorms, it feels like the rain, together with the thunder and lightning, are washing away the entirety of the day. When it ends, it’s like a clean slate. A fresh start, with no remnants of yesterday.”

“It sounds like you want to wash away every yesterday,” Renjun comments, a small chuckle decorating the end of his sentence. You turn to look at him, a pursed smile on your lips. You nod your head, “Kind of, I guess.” Renjun’s smile softens at that.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever heard rainstorms being described in such a way.”

You shrug, “That’s not the only reason why I love thunder and lightning.” You take a pause, your vision falling to focus on your shoes. “Thunder and lightning also reminds me of someone.”

Renjun’s interest is piqued. He smiles, “Who?”

You shift your gaze to the night sky. “You know how the sky lights up for a brief moment when the lightning flashes, right?” Renjun hums in acknowledgement. “I was the dull night sky, and his smile was my lightning.” The b-roll of the variety of Renjun’s smiles you have stored in a safe section in your memory begin to play in your head. You’re still able to vividly recall the first time you had fallen for his smile.

When you were tasked to move the tables and chairs out of the classroom, everyone else had left you to it, alone. But then came Huang Renjun, along with his friends, who were bright and chirpy. “We’ll help you,” he had said, with a smile that seemed to light up the lonely classroom. You felt your heart flutter in that moment.

Renjun notices the faint smile that finds its way to your lips as you reminisce the past. He wonders who this person, who is able to elicit such an expression from you without being present, is. “He sounds like a nice guy,” Renjun says, for lack of a better reaction. You turn to him – it’s bitter, the way you have to nod your head, even though the ‘person’ is sitting right in front of you. But he’d never know that.

“What about thunder?” he asks, “What does thunder represent?”

You take in a breath, feeling a bitter twist in your heart.

“Thunder occurs for a fleeting moment. It’s not as brief as lightning, but it appears and disappears abruptly, when you least expect it to,” you explain, eyes on the ground. As though in tune with your speech, the thunder rumbles. Renjun furrows his brows at the sky. You smile. “He always appeared at the most unexpected, random moments, that would put the biggest smile on my face,” you say. The memory of how Renjun would suddenly pop by to say hi, how he’d invite you along with the boys for a meal if they happened to see you, how’d he know exactly where to find you during breaks whenever he needed something from you.

“And then he’s out of touch, out of nowhere,” you finish off, tapping the tip of your foot on the ground.

Sometimes, Renjun wouldn’t acknowledge you when you passed by. Sometimes, Renjun would say the most indirect things that’d hurt you. And sometimes, it didn’t even feel like you were friends with the boy. The most painful thing out of it all was that for the most part, he was caring, he was sweet, and he would look out for you. The little things he’d say to encourage you would make your heart swell, and the little nonchalance he showed to your feelings would make your heart crack. He never did it intentionally. You’re well aware of that.

And yet, it doesn’t change the fact that some way, somehow, you believed that Renjun was something that would last.

He used to be your thunder and lightning – your peace.

But he isn’t anymore.

“That’s kind of a bittersweet way to describe him,” Renjun says, clasping his hands together.

That’s exactly what he does. He says things in the passing, absolutely harmlessly, but his words would pierce through your heart. You scoff. That’s the price you pay for having a crush on someone whom you know will never look at you, in the same way you look at them.

Renjun reaches a hand out, placing a gentle pat on your shoulder, as he attempts to comfort you with, “You’ll get over him, eventually.”

Renjun is your thunder and lightning. He still is. And that is exactly why you can’t get over him. You love thunder and lightning so much, you can never resist the temptation to run in the direction of where your thunder and lightning is. You don’t, and will never have the power to shield yourself away from it. It’ll make its presence known, no matter what.

You swallow, taking in another breath.

“Thanks,” you manage out.

“Shall I walk you home? It’s late,” he offers.

You shake your head. You don’t need to prolong the pain.

Huang Renjun, you were the calm before the storm. It stormed. And now, you’re the distraught after the storm.

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct: Chapter 6

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6200 (yup, the words ran away from me!)

Warnings: Language, mention of death.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

To an untrained eye, need and love are as easily mistaken for each other as the real master's painting and a forgery.

Deb Caletti

Chapter 6

A low lit room- more fitting of an old jail than an art lock up- surrounds you with cool air that tickles the tiny hairs on the back of your bare neck, as you bend over double, digging through the equipment in the abyss of your bag. A gap forms between the waist of your jeans and t-shirt, revealing the tiniest bit of the lace edging from your bra band- a tantalising fact that catches Marcus’ breath, alerting you to his presence, “Hey, you ok?” you ask straightening up, “Did you find something?”

“Yeah, uh sorry. Think I just had a bit of dust in my throat,” Marcus stammers, utterly thrown by that glimpse of your underwear, as he tries to clear his throat and remember the reason he was standing in front of you, “So, uh, yeah, um- we found a couple of signatures from Paul Guillaume and Albert C Barnes- weren’t they the guys we had to look out for?”

Looking over the papers with your cotton gloves still on, you pour over the shaping of the letters that made up the signatures of the possible previous owners, “I dunno. I’m not convinced- the positioning of the letters seem odd- like a crude rendition of someone’s signature. Almost like someone’s faking their mum’s signature to get out of PE class. Only the thing is, you know the movement of your mum’s hand as she signs something because you’ve watched her do it a million times before. Those signatures do not seem real to me, personally.”

Marcus’ eyebrows raise as he crosses his arms, desperately trying to hide the smile that was creeping across his face. “You faked your mom’s signature a lot?”

“Poacher turned gamekeeper,” Élodie remarks as she crosses between the two of you, straightening your t-shirt up where it has caught upon the back of your jeans.

Marcus tries not to let his disappointment show. Calm down, Pike, you’re hardly a horny seventeen year old. But that was how you made him feel and certainly the uncomfortable pressure building in his jeans might prove otherwise.

“I don’t think we will necessarily manage to get this solved today,” you begin, “The section that Élodie looked at dates it reasonably within the time period but those signatures are now tingling my spidey senses. It’s probably going to need to be sent for further investigations at a proper lab. I’m about to look at it using the stereomicroscope- do you want to have a look with me?”

Marcus nods eagerly, earning a grin from you, and you start setting up the pieces you need- ensuring that the video camera is linked to your iPad so Marcus can see everything you are looking at in real time along with you.

Marcus drifts closer to the painting. You haven’t seemed to notice his closeness yet, and he half hopes you don't, as from where he’s standing the aromatically pleasing scent of your shampoo wafts dreamily from the dark shimmer of your hair.

“So tell me more about this piece. I love listening to you speaking about art. You make it seem like I’m looking over the artist’s shoulder as they’re painting it.” Marcus remarks, smiling when he notices the flush creeping over your cheeks that his words bring.

Impressed by your decision to play into his words rather than focus on how awkward you feel at the compliment, he loves how you fan yourself and flutter your eyelashes at him, “Monsieur, you flatter me! Well, looking at this piece it’s not difficult to imagine that Soutine may have had a longstanding beef with food. Though he was fascinated by food and frequently painted these edible arrangements, this stands as one of his most memorable and dare I say, raw interpretations.”

At these terrible puns, Marcus pretends to drum, “Ba da boom tish!”

“Do not encourage her!” Jacques shouts from the other side of the room where he is labeling the bags for the slide samples that Élodie had been collecting, “Once you acknowledge one pun, she’ll ensure that everything she says has one. Queen Nush of the dad jokes!”

“So at the meat of Soutine’s obsession,” Marcus half-snorts, half-groans, intending to encourage you as you add, “You find that a combination of not having anything to eat due to extreme poverty and using what food the family did have to practice Kosher traditions is largely to blame for his playing with his food rather than eating it.”

Marcus watches you flick through your phone so as not to interrupt the finally clear feed from the stereomicroscope focussing on how you bite your lip. You quickly google the Rembrandt that you want him to look at. “The remains of this omnivorous…”

“Oh you’re still gonna continue with that theme, yeah?” Marcus’ feels his lips curve at your humour, shaking his head at the ridiculous word play.

“Oh, I can keep this going all day,” you say with the cheekiest of winks, and Marcus hopes you will.

*****

“Omnivorous obsession,” you continue, “was based on his adoration of Rembrandt whose 1655 Flayed Ox was frequently salivated over by Soutine on his regular visits to the Louvre. Rembrandt’s carcass is noted for its vivid colors but when compared to Soutine’s, which was coated almost daily with fresh buckets of blood by his assistant, Rembrandt seems downright dull. The smell of rotting beef and fresh blood became so oppressive that neighbours called the police, who almost threw away the fermenting flesh before, what I can only assume was the Frankenstein-esque assistant, shooed them away like so many flies covering a carcass.”

“Always with the focus on the graphic elements of art,” Jacques calls out with a snort at your zombie-like impression before receiving a sharp nudge to his ribs to focus on the job Élodie has asked him to complete.

“Art is just a reflection of the things that humanity finds interesting and what can be more interesting to a temporal being than their own mortality or that of the creatures and objects that surround it?” At this statement, you tug Marcus’ coat sleeve away from the piece to come and look at the feed you have set up for him, “Come on you, we’d better focus or Élodie will have my guts for garters for not concentrating on what I should be doing!”

Marcus allows you to lead him over to a black metal folding chair to look at the feed, “So what are we looking for, Mademoiselle Pathologist?”

“Hah, did you just call her mademoiselle? She’s too old for that!” Élodie shouts in your direction.

Refusing to respond verbally to Élodie’s rudeness, you flick a finger up at her and turn back to Marcus, “Madame Pathologist will do- I am comfortable with my age. So what we are looking for are any bits of difficult to detect damage, fading, repairs and the ways paints and other coatings are distributed. Also if there are any strange fibres that we can spot using the double lens.”

Hovering the microscope over the bottom left hand corner, you start to scan the piece, “So what we’re looking for are any irregularities that we might not have picked up on a first scan that Élodie did to take the samples. The stereomicroscope helps us to understand the art in more 3D terms- so we can see something that generally looks flat becomes a landscape of hills and valleys.”

“Why’ve you chosen that corner to start?” Marcus probed inquisitively, wondering as to whether there’s method in your madness.

“Just felt like it!” You shrug and snort at his look of mock horror. “Nah, it’s where the signature is and ‘cos I’m not sure about the signatures on those documents you found, I want to take a closer look at Soutine’s over here. Kinda feels like a sensible place to start.” Your eyes squint as you drink in the images in front of you, snapping up when you hear a small grunt of consternation from your boss, “Have you found something, Marcus?”

“That’s weird. It kind of looks like the signature has been scratched into the art,” Marcus squints at the signature on the screen, reaching over to the table where the possible documents with Guillaume and Barnes’ scrawls lie, “Also, I am not an expert in graphology but the letter e looks consistent across the three names- they all arch at the same point.”

“Waouh- that’s a good catch,” Élodie agrees, pulling Jacques with her to look over Marcus’ shoulder at the finds upon the feed.

Jacques escapes Élodie’s clutch and starts to flit back and forth, checking between the painting and the feed with a mild look of confusion on his face, “This is preposterous. Why have they done the signature in a different medium to the one used to paint it? It’s almost like they want to be caught.”

“It looks like it has been lacerated by a needle,” Marcus scratches at his patchy beard in astonishment, “Spot on Jacques, it’s like they can’t even be bothered to hide their tracks.”

“Ok, I think we may have found one of our fakes,” a smile slowly creeps across your face, “Obviously, we can’t be definite -there are still so many tests that need to be done but I don’t think this is an original,” you shake your head with a half smile, “Élodie, I think we need to organise for this to be couriered back to the labs.”

An excited squeal from Élodie and a soft oof from Jacques puncture the cool air as she flies into his arms, squeezing him in sheer delight. As the pair embrace with joy, you and Marcus are left there- Marcus on the fold out chair, gripping the iPad tighter than necessary- I swear that man never quite knows what do with his hands- and you sitting cross legged on the floor with the stereomicroscope lying in your lap- grinning like idiots at each other.

✪✪✪✪✪

More coffee and cakes are devoured in the aftermath whilst you await a courier to come and pick up the likely forgery- you are not entirely sure that the blood in your body hasn’t entirely transformed into sugar and caffeine at this point. After checking alongside Élodie that the painting had been carefully loaded into a van, you sit next to her on the pavement outside the auction house.

“Do you know where Marcus and Jacques are?” you question as you sink onto the dusty ground next to her.

“Yeah, they’re inside taking an informal statement from the auction house owner before the local police quiz her properly,” Élodie rests her temple to your shoulder, “Today has been wonderful. I really like Marcus - from what I have seen of him. I think this will be a good move for you.”

“I do miss having you here though. Today feels like the first time I have had both of my arms. Since you returned to London, it has felt like a part of me has been missing.”

Hauling a deep breath into your lungs to try to quell that gnawing ache in your belly, you turn to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, “I am sorry, El. To be honest, I don’t even know where to start explaining what happened or even truly understand how everything fell apart so badly.”

The mountain wind decides to blow an icy gust that cuts through your clothes to the bones of you, “It was a normal undercover job- we’d been watching the comings and goings of the gang from a inside a local greasy spoon for ages-just trying to get a clear idea of what their patterns of behaviour were and it just all went South so quickly.

“Being a tiny caff on an industrial estate by the Thames, it was open 24 hours and the day it happened, it was during the middle of a night shift when the gang decided to up the ante. They’d obviously clocked that we weren’t exactly who we said we were,” you snort softly at the memory, “I mean Jas’ accent was a bit sus for being a short order cook but still.

“The gang openly marched the illegal immigrants out of the container and made them kneel in front of the caff as a lure to us, trying to get us to drop our cover. These fucking innocents just trying to find a better life and the evil fuckers just started executing them- one after the other. Jas just ran out there straight away- dropping his cover without any proper back up, a flak jacket or anything. His stupid, kind self trying to save at least one of them without a backward glance.

“I said the code word so we could have armed back up within minutes but I knew it wouldn’t be there quickly enough,” your voice starts to falter as your throat tightens over the words.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, chouchou,” Élodie squeezes the thigh nearest to her.

“I know but I should tell someone, somewhen. You’re probably one of the few who would understand.”

You pause, squeezing your eyes tight shut as you allow that stagnant, putrid box of memories to reopen, flooding your senses with the foul gangrenous smell of the past.

Having called in backup, you make the decision to slip out of the back door of the caff and run for cover behind the large communal bins. The incessant rain was giving zero sign of stopping and the noise was deafening as it bounced off the metal sides and drummed upon the tarmacked surface. You could barely hear the desperate negotiations that Jasper was trying to make for the lives of these poor, exploited humans.

From here, hiding amongst the shadows, you could catch the eye of one of the kneeling men and signal to him as to when he should try to make a run over to you. He’d reached his little finger out to the person to his right to alert them to the plan. Achingly slowly, tiny gestures had passed down the line of five remaining fellows, from person to person, notifying them of your presence and how you were attempting to save them.

You counted them down and then screamed for them to run. Gunshots rang throughout the air as they made a break for the supposed safety of the bins by you as blue lights and sirens swirled, announcing their arrival between the shipping containers. You counted them as they ran for their lives past you.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

But the gunshots…

Jasper.

As you ran to your former partner’s lifeless form, three more shots rang through the air, taking out the associates who’d been ruthlessly gunning down their illegal chattel. Jasper lay there in the harsh headlight of the armed response unit car, his apron and chef’s jacket were no longer the starchy white that glowed under the strip lighting of the kitchen but his skin had taken on a similar pallid tone as his life force pooled around him, staining the oily surface with a bloody bloom. Knelt there with the grit from the floor biting into the skin of your knees, you held his head in your lap, stroking his cold cheek as a shadow cast across you both.

“He’s gone, Nush.”

Tears course down your face in tiny rivulets and spill into Élodie’s hair, “If I had said yes at Fourvière. If I had accepted the position St Vincent had offered me, he’d still be here. He would still be here.”

After putting a hand on each cheek, Élodie then taps you upon the nose making your red-rimmed, watery eyes look into hers, “You didn’t shoot the gun. You didn’t kill him,” she says so matter of fact that you almost feel an inclination to believe her, “You have to stop blaming yourself at some point.”

“He made the decision to go out there without back up or any protection. If I remember correctly, it was Jas’ decision to head back to London too, effectively ending the freedom you had out here,” she adds gravely, “Everyone has to make decisions, Nush. Ours just tend to have more life or death outcomes and remember, the choice you made- you saved five people.

“As for marrying him, you didn’t want to and I don’t know quite how to clearly say this but you don’t have to marry someone because they ask you. Or because you think it’s the right thing to do. You saying no to him, had zero implications in how his life ended,” Élodie smooths a tendril of hair that has escaped your plait behind your ear, “Your relationship didn’t have a true balance because you spent so long trying to hide it- everything feels so much more amplified if you are constantly watching your coattails.”

Rubbing the exhaustion from the onslaught of emotions from your eyes, you turn to face Élodie, “What if that’s it? What if that was my chance of happiness?”

“Okay so you’re now fully in the ridiculous territory, idiot! So bloody naive,” Élodie rolls her eyes and slaps your knee, “ There’s no one person out there- nobody is perfect for you. There are just people who enter your life at different times and there is a certain compatibility…”

“Like you might want to jump their bones,” you giggle through the snot.

“Yep, that definitely helps! But after a while, other stuff comes up and again, you have to make those decisions whether you want to move to the next one or work at the relationship you have,” Élodie says frankly, “ Your first proper grown up relationship wasn’t ever truly allowed to develop into something normal and healthy but please don’t ever think for a second that is all you deserve or will ever get.”

“More happened than just Jasper’s death,” you confide in your ally.

“I know sweetheart. You tell me when you are ready,” Élodie pats your leg, “You will always have Jacques and I here for you. And I reckon Pierre would take you back in a heartbeat if you ever need to escape Marcus, not that I think you will.” You feel a little confused by Élodie’s last statement but don’t have time to swell upon it as the door to the auction house swings open.

Noticing two figures- one wiry and talking rapidly with his hands, the other broad and showing great interest in what the other has to say- walking towards you, you offer Élodie a hand up from your pavement seat. You feel a gentle hand brushing over your bottom and crane your neck to see who it belongs to, “Well, I’d hate for you to make my car any dirtier,” Élodie winks at you.

✪✪✪✪✪

The trip back to Lyon didn’t allow for any more rest for tired eyes against cool car windows. Excited chatter filled the car as between the four of you, you were all busily beavering away from making shouted calls to the science laboratories in Interpol- calling in favours to get your samples tested first- to fingers tapping on screens, flinging emails back to offices trying to inform everyone who needed to know. Although the journey was far longer, it felt as though five minutes had passed from the moment you’d left the auction house- the exhaustion from your disclosure to Élodie giving way to the adrenaline pumping through your veins with the excitement of having found a piece of the puzzle.

Jacques quickly parks in the Interpol car park, where you all pile out of the car, heading back towards the offices. As you walk together, you hear Marcus answer the phone to Andy back in London, filling him in on the events of the day- thankfully leaving out the parts where he’d talked you through a panic attack or accidentally held hands with him.

You didn’t need anyone else in the London offices thinking you were unprofessional. There were enough of those already.

Marcus. So much of the fear has ebbed away about the new role, and in such little time, thanks to your new boss. This straight-speaking American, who makes you speak up and want to stand up a bit taller. For the first time in what felt like forever, work doesn’t feel like a chore to pay the bills for a small, damp flat in South London. It isn’t so much the work as you know that like the back of your hand- it was that feeling of appreciation.

That feeling that someone sees what you can offer and values your contributions- not just as some rookie in an established office but as an equal. You know you are lucky- you get to use all the knowledge from your art history degree (oh how your family had groaned in consternation- doctor or lawyer- those were the proper options. Y’know, a proper career path not something seen as being so wishy-washy) and use it to protect the beauty of art from the shadier underbelly. Not that you could ever explain that part to your mum or her sisters, who just thought you were in some IT job with ridiculous hours.

In fact, it was the first time. You’d worked your way up from being a rookie with Stephens and although you'd got to work in a field with which you had a borderline obsession, you were still always seen as the new kid, even though others came and went after you’d joined and that got a bit wearing, especially when you’d hit your thirties and as you edged ever closer to your forties, it had bordered on the ridiculous.

But Marcus. He didn’t just listen to what you had to say, he positively encouraged you to speak- never expecting you to hold your tongue or wait for the “grown ups” to stop talking.

“Hey, Earth to Anushka,” those ridiculously warm eyes try to call your attention into focus.

“Sorry, heard you on the phone to Andy and took the opportunity to disappear with my thoughts for a bit. It’s been a bit of a day, hasn’t it?” you mutter as the knuckles of your hands almost rub holes in your eye sockets.

“Yeah, I thought we’d find zip on our first check as a team but that was something else,” Marcus nods, pouting his lips in thought, “I honestly thought it was an authentic piece when I found those signatures- just shows how careful we have to be with these crooks.

“You look about ready to collapse- that sleep on the way over, not help? I was about to ask if you fancied grabbing some dinner together but you’re dead on your feet.”

“Didn’t really get much sleep last night. Was kind of dreading what today would bring but,” your hand extends to squeeze Marcus’ forearm, “But you’ve made today far less painful than it could have been.” You feel a warmth creep through you, blooming from the spot where Marcus has placed his hand on top of yours, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles upon your skin.

“How about a slow walk back to the hotel, we grab some pizza on the way back and sit and watch Sharknado 4 this evening?” you suggest, still not removing your hand from his arm, ”I need to eat something other than breakfast pastries today.”

“Hmmm, I would say that dinner is the best time for breakfast food but yeah, probably best that we find something a bit more substantial,” Marcus relents reluctantly like a petulant child as Élodie and Jacques turn towards you both.

“Oh, why the sad eyes, Marcus? Has she been mean to you? ” Élodie teases, “We have contacts- we can make her disappear…”

Jacques shoots you a despairing look from under his arched eyebrow. The aching sadness returns in your tummy- you’ve missed them so much and missed out on so many special moments with them, “Oof, hey Nush! This isn’t goodbye- no matter the threats Élodie makes upon your life!”

Élodie leans in to sandwich you between the pair of them, “No, Marcus has given me your phone number and your email address- and he has promised me that even if you don’t respond to my communications, that he will send regular updates.” You look over at Marcus, who sends you a sheepish grin and a slight shrug of his shoulders, flashing that goddamn dimple in his right cheek.

“Élodie, are you going upstairs to get everything ready?” Jacques questions his wife, “ There’s only twenty minutes before I need to pick up Xavier from my parents so I’d probably better head off. Can you grab a taxi home afterwards? Nush, I love you and I will see you soon.

“Marcus, it has been a pleasure. I will ensure that all the details are shared with you in London. Let’s keep the lines of communication open between us, oui?” A firm handshake was not the only thing to pass between the men, as Jacques pats Marcus on the back and they wordlessly share a thought, Marcus’ eyes flickering back to you with a small smile.

“Come on, let’s find food and a film before we collapse,” Marcus beckons you towards him with a wave back to Élodie and Jacques before they head off in their respective directions, Élodie’s hand stroking yours as she walks away.

✪✪✪✪✪

Half an hour later, you find yourself standing barefoot outside Marcus’ hotel room door, oddly nervous about knocking. Your hair hangs in waves around your shoulders, still holding some of the twisted kinks that the plaits you wore it in had formed over the course of the day, face scrubbed but you are second guessing your choice of wearing pjs to your new boss’ room. Not that they were in any way indecent- just a good old pair of cotton jammies from M&S and you’d kept your bra on underneath, because not even the worst war criminal deserves to be tortured by the sight of you with your bra off. Just as you were about to head back for a hoodie to perhaps offer an ounce more decency, the door swung open and a slightly surprised look adorns Marcus’ face.

“Hey, I was just about to check where you were. Pizza’s getting cold and you should probably have something warm in your belly that isn’t coffee today!”

“Oh, I was just going to swing back to my room for a hoodie,” you awkwardly mutter in the direction of the deliciously soft looking man, wearing grey joggers and a white t-shirt in front of you.

A small pout crosses Marcus’ lips, “Come on, if you’re chilly, the pizza’ll warm you up but if you’re still cold after eating, you can grab one of mine- that is if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” he checks by lowering his eyes and gently lifting your chin.

Deciding not to keep the pizza waiting, you nod and shuffle past Marcus, the plush carpet deliciously soft underfoot, “I haven’t forgotten that we were halfway through a conversation this morning when El and Jacques arrived to pick us up. You want to tell me why you don’t feel like you are where you feel you should be?” you don’t look at Marcus as you ask him, picking the olives off the top of your pizza.

“I thought you said you like olives?” Marcus questions confusedly as he grabs a slice himself.

“Oh I do, but I’ll eat them afterwards as I like to savour them by themselves,” you giggle at your weird pizza eating habits, “Was that a wish to evade the question? Would you prefer to put on a film?”

“Hah, no! You’re full of quirks, y’know? It’s cute,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Cute?” you raise an eyebrow at this affectionate comment, “Eh, I dunno. I don’t think you can get to almost forty without embracing your quirks at some point.”

“I just hoped that by this point I’d be married with 2.4 kids, a dog and a nice house. Y’know, settled- never taking it for granted, obviously but comfortable with a family,” there’s a flicker of pain that passes through Marcus’ eyes as he speaks and it cuts through you like a knife.

“How on Earth are you not in a long term relationship with a lucky person? From what you’ve shown me over the past two days, you’re kind, considerate and thoughtful- although you should never tease a woman about her supposed snoring,” you pull an ugly face at him, sticking your tongue out and wrinkling your nose to diffuse the tension in his forehead, forcing him to laugh.

“Oh, I was married once and had long term relationships but neither worked out, sadly,” Marcus shrugs, focussing intently on his next pizza slice, “Can’t the same thing be said about you? You’re a beautiful, funny and intelligent woman and although you are a menace to yourself and those around you with a coffee cup in your hands, I don’t get why you haven’t been snapped up.”

Grabbing the pizza box and Marcus’ hand- pulling them both towards your room, you say, “Come with me.”

Thrusting the pizza box towards his hands, you put the keycard in the door and the light flickers to green. Guiding Marcus by the food container through the room to the balcony, you swing the French doors open to be greeted by a stiff Alpine air and the twinkling lights of Lyon spreading towards you.

“As you know from today, I was here in Lyon before. My partner and I were seconded here to work alongside Interpol on an art smuggling case- that’s how I knew El, Jacques, Pierre and everyone else from this morning’s meeting. We weren’t just work partners, we’d been hiding a romantic relationship for just over a decade in London as we knew that our supervisors wouldn’t allow us to continue to work together,” you clear your throat and see a flash of concern from Marcus seeing how much your hands were trembling.

He reaches for your hand with the lightest of touches grazing your ring and little fingers but not letting go.

Drawing a deep breath, you continue, “You see the beautiful cathedral up there- Fourviere?” you catch Marcus giving a gentle nod as he looks in the direction of your hand, the one he’s not holding, “Jasper asked me to marry him up there. And I, um… I said no.” Your eyes guiltily shift to the left after owning up to your shoddy track record.

“I mean, I did love him but I couldn’t offer him what he wanted or needed from life or from me. We’d hidden too long in the shadows and the thought of trying to explain everything to our families, to our friends, to our workplace was just too overwhelming. I had a lot more to lose than him.

“As you said earlier, our work is very much an old boys network and as a mixed race woman against a white man- who’d got his position due to a bit of nepotism as his uncle was our London boss- I stood to lose so much more. I have always had to work harder and to be a more impressive candidate to be taken as seriously as any white man in the room.”

“Had we returned to London as a married couple, there would have been so many unspoken questions about when we would think about having babies so there’d never be a chance of going any higher for me. And although seeing El and Jacques today- they have it so balanced. El was telling me that they split her maternity leave equally and that even now their baby is one, they have flexi working times so although they have such a little one and such intense jobs, they can still be there for bedtimes and neither of them be sidelined. But I know that’s not how it would have worked with us. Jas would have worked full time and I would have been a simmering pot of resentment.”

You notice that despite your confession that Marcus still hasn’t stopped holding your hand and regardless of the evening chill, warmth spreads through you at the thought that you haven’t entirely repulsed him with your actions.

“Where is he now? DId he ask for a transfer when you headed back?” Marcus gently questions.

“He took the ultimate transfer. We were working together undercover and he was shot multiple times trying to save some people from being murdered,” with a small shrug, you take your hand back from Marcus despite the comfort it is bringing you and cover your face. As you do so, he pulls you towards him, holding you tightly into his chest, resting his chin on top of your head.

With a gentle push back from his broad chest but without leaving his arms completely, you tilt your face up at him, “In fact, other than Jas’ death the bitterest pill was me being transferred out of the department. As you can probably imagine, a lot of shit went down after that night and a lot of the blame from it was laid at my door. Whilst it was all happening, I wasn’t allowed to have any contact with work colleagues and of course, your family can only know so much of what’s going on when you follow our line of work.

“So, I spent eight months in a stupid kind of limbo- being paid full whack whilst sitting at home, mourning a man who I’d been with for a quarter of my life but didn’t want to marry.” Shaking your head slowly, you continue, “That’s why I was a bit of a mess today- I kind of dreaded seeing everyone and how they might blame me for everything that happened with Jas.”

“Shit, I’m sorry sweetheart,” with that affectionate nickname confidently trickling from Marcus’ lips, you look up and smile broadly at him, “I am sorry that you went through all that. I have to be honest, as I am a terrible liar- there is a part of me that is glad that our paths have overlapped- I just wish it could be under happier circumstances.”

“No,” you pat him upon his chest, “You don’t get to our age without some kind of baggage and in our occupation, it’s hard for most people to understand our commitment to our job.”

“Hah, you can say that again- that’s what ended my marriage. That and her new partner,” you scrunch your face in consideration of Marcus’ pain, your thumbs rubbing back and forth, “And the failed engagement is what brought me to London- kept seeing her and the man she left me for around the DC offices.”

“Let’s go toast to those ghosts and our converging paths with what will be now a very warm bottle of white wine and cold pizza,” with eyes widening in amusement you smile at him, your hands still on his chest and his hands on your back, “But indoors as it is fucking freezing out here, no matter how pretty it is.”

“Agreed,” Marcus chuckles deeply, moving his hands to rub some warmth back into your arms.

“Just going to grab a hoodie,” you call over your shoulder as you go back into your bedroom. As you rummage through your bag, you miss the flicker of disappointment on Marcus’s face that he wouldn’t get to smell your perfume on his clothes.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Hey,” that beautifully soft baritone meltingly drifted up from the sofa in Marcus’ room, “Comfy now? I hope you don’t mind but I chose Casablanca instead of Sharknado 4.”

As you cross the floor in socked feet to try and thaw them out from your balcony adventure, you shake your head with a lopsided smile, “Not ok,” but to put Marcus’ raised eyebrow at ease, you add, “It’s my favourite - but you’d better have tissues at the ready as it will make me a snotty mess.”

“Already prepared,” he holds a tissue box aloft, “It does the same to me too.”

Instead of sitting at the other end of the sofa, you grab a glass of wine from the table and slide into Marcus’ side- half sitting up, half leaning against him. He reaches over, pulling your head onto his shoulder, stroking your hair away from your face and there you stay, comfortably curled into his side. Not for the hour and three quarters of the film, but until rays of spring sunshine filter through the blinds the following morning.

Tag list of glory: If you’d like to be added or dropped from the tag list or have any thoughts, thots or suggestions, please do get in touch! I don’t bite hard 🥰

@astroboots @silverwolf319 @lunaserenade @danniburgh @leonieb @mrsparknuts @sirowsky @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @tardisfangurl @zukoyonce @absurdthirst @green-socks @pedropascalito @disgruntledspacedad @mouthymandalorian @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 3

Masterlist  /  Playlist for reading in this chapter, the reader is fighting an infection and making a furry friend.

CW for phsyical injury, bodily fluids, extreme pain, loss of consciousness and being pinned down by someone (this sounds terrible but I promise it gets more fluffy halfway through!)

This beautiful screencap of Valka was shared in our discord and I don’t know who took it, please let me know if you know the artist so I can credit them and check out their other work!

Healing

You woke up crying, the pain in your cheek threatening to split your head in half. Your cheek was wet from your tears and sticky from the wound that had been seeping all night. Eda stirred next to you and you both stared at each other in utter horror. William’s daughter looked like a corpse. Her cheeks and eyes had sunken deep into her skull and her face was a greyish color. You probably didn’t look any better, if her shock was any indication. 

The cell opened and you got your first round of water and bread for the day. The man feeding you gave you a pitiful look but did not say anything about your state. There was still alcohol on his breath and he looked annoyed about his task, probably wishing he was still in bed like the other warriors. You did not dare to ask for help.

You drifted in and out of consciousness for the next few hours as the last few other prisoners were taken to Randvi and questioned about their knowledge and alliances. There was an aura of hopelessness in your cell. No one was speaking, everyone was staring at their feet and flinching at any loud noise. Eda ate a piece of bread and got terrible stomach cramps but managed to keep it down. At least one good thing. 

People were going in and out of the longhouse, you could hear horses outside, swords clashing in the distance - probably training - and a few servants sweeping the big hall and cleaning up last night’s mess. Suddenly something small and white moved into your field of vision. Were you dreaming again? You were sure you had a fever by now.

But this was real, Eda saw it too. She had straightened up next to you, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. A scrawny white cat was cautiously circling the cell and apparently scouring for leftovers. You quickly skimmed the ground for anything you could offer the little animal. And yes, there was a big crumb right next to your heel. You carefully pushed it closer to you with your foot and managed to get it all the way into your hands’ reach. 

Quietly whispering and purring to the cat, you tried to lure her closer. And sure enough, the little white lady slowly came closer to your hands. You stayed completely still and held out the crumb on your open palm. Carefully, the cat stuck its paw through the bars and pulled the crumb back toward her. She devoured it right away. Softly meowing, she looked up at you, asking for more. You smiled at the sweet animal, a silver lining on this terrible day in this terrible cell.

“Birna! Where are you, you little rascal?” a familiar raspy voice called out, this time in the sweetest singsong, making you smile even more. The cat did not move from its spot next to you, instead meowing back louder to call to her mistress. You slowly stretched out your hands and she watched them curiously, beginning to purr as you drew your fingertips over her soft fur. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Eivor rounding the corner, wearing nothing but a thick grey knee-length tunic and fur boots. She froze in her tracks when she saw the scene before her. You quickly pulled your hands back, thinking she was angry at you for petting the cat. She suddenly rushed to the guard that had fallen asleep on his chair, slapping his chest with the back of her hand and ripping the keys to your cell from his grasp. He jerked awake, but Eivor had already opened the door and squatted down next to you. 

“Fuck the gods.” She sounded astonished and extremely worried at the same time. “Damn you, Dag, how did you not see this? Her wound has festered!” 

Eivor’s voice got louder and angrier with every word. She placed a hand on your forehead. 

“She’s burning up! I’m taking her to Valka.” With one swift motion, she had unbound your hands and picked you up. You hung in her arms, too weak to move. As she carried you out of the pen, she shot Dag a warning look and hissed: “We’ll talk about this later.”

The tall warrior almost ran out of the longhouse, whispering to you to stay with her and that she would take you to the best healer she knew.

“Don’t you worry, little bird. You just have to fight and recover. I will take care of you from now on.”

You arrived at a smaller hut and entered the dimly lit room that smelled of burned incense and freshly cut wood. A small, black-haired woman with a beautiful headdress and impressive facial tattoos leaped to her feet when she saw you come in. 

“Oh Eivor, what have you brought me now? Lay her down here.” She motioned to her bed, a simple wooden plank with a sack of straw and a number of furs. Eivor laid you down gently, kneeling next to you and squeezing your hand. 

“She was struck by her master two days ago. It must have gotten this bad last night.”

Valka crouched down and inspected your tender flesh. You fainted several times as she prodded at the wound but Eivor always called you back to her. The healer was now assembling herbs, burning something, and heating up water in a kettle over her fireplace. She ground up some sort of root and a few herbs and threw the mixture into the boiling water. Then she took a clean cloth and ordered Eivor to place the hot kettle on a wooden plate next to the bed. 

She dipped the cloth into the hot, sour-smelling brew that stung in your eyes and nose, then she pressed it on your cheek. It felt like she had stabbed a dagger into your skull, the pain ringing in your ears and making you see nothing but burning white. You were too exhausted to scream, fading in and out of consciousness. Instead, your body started violently shaking and Valka yelled at Eivor to pin you down before dunking the cloth into the scalding hot liquid and repeating the procedure again and again. Thankfully, you lost consciousness completely after the third time. The last thing you felt was Eivor’s big, warm hands on your upper arms and her knee on your hip, holding you down as you convulsed in pain.

-

When you woke up for the second time today, you were still lying on Valka’s bed. You wore a long linen tunic and the women seemed to have washed you, freeing you from the sweat and dirt that had accumulated in the last days. The room smelled better than before, the kettle was over the fire again and the small woman stirred dried flowers and other herbs into the water. Eivor was sitting next to you and wringing out another piece of cloth over a bucket. You braced yourself for more pain, but the water was cool and the blonde gently wiped your forehead and healthy cheek, your neck, and upper chest, humming softly to herself. She dampened the towel anew and folded it to lay it on your forehead. It was only now she realized you were awake. 

“Little bird.” She laid a hand on your cheek. “The worst is over.”

Valka came over with a mug and put it down next to you. She gave you an exhausted but encouraging smile.

“I apologize for hurting you this much. The infection was spreading across your face, I needed to draw it out. You will need at least a week to heal.”

You raised a hand to your face, but Eivor stopped you from touching yourself.

“We will put on a bandage later. Now there is just a salve,” Valka explained, “and you will have to drink this daily to help your body fight from the inside and give you strength.” 

She handed you the clay jug and you carefully raised it to your lips, taking a small sip of the concoction. It tasted sweet and earthy, immediately spreading warmth throughout your body and giving you the strength to fully open your eyes again. The wolf-kissed smiled at you. 

“I will leave you in Valka’s care for now. Soon I will take you to my hut and look after you there,” she promised. “I need to go and attend to important business, but I will bring you both supper later.” She took your hand again and softly rubbed her thumb over your knuckles, then she raised it to her lips and placed a feather-light kiss on the back of your hand.

Before leaving, she put her hands on Valka’s shoulders and sincerely thanked her for helping you. Then she gave you a last smile and left. 

The healer forced you to drink three jugs of her wonderful tea, then she helped you outside to relieve yourself and brought you back to bed, rubbing the salve into your cheek again and ordering you to sleep for now. The ointment numbed your skin and made the pain bearable. Taking a final look at the sun setting behind the mountains, you drifted away to sleep again. 

-

When Eivor brought bread and stew later, you felt much better already. The two Viking women sat on the floor next to you as you ate together. The stew was made with thick chunks of fatty meat and big slices of root vegetables, filling your stomach for the first time in days. Eivor told Valka about the raid; apparently the healer had not attended the celebrations yesterday. When the warrior told Valka about Dag's terrible state last night and this morning, the dark-haired woman just shook her head about this much exorbitance and stupidity. 

Even though you were still exhausted and not fully present at times, it was nice to sit with the two women and listen to them exchange stories and opinions, talk about plans for the future and a woman Valka was thinking about pursuing. The name Randvi caught your attention at one point, but with a meaningful look from Eivor, the topic was changed. 

As it got dark and you couldn't stop yourself from yawning, they debated what to do with you this night. Valka offered to sleep on the floor so you could stay here, but Eivor argued that she had a bed large enough and far more comfortable for the both of you. The healer admitted that you seemed to be stable for now and made Eivor promise to call for her immediately if anything happened with you. 

She handed Eivor a bag with the ointment, a few clean bandages, and the herb blend for the tea you should drink for the next few days. The blonde slung the pouch over her shoulder, then she approached you with a suddenly shy smile. 

“We haven’t asked you for your opinion on this at all. Do you even want to sleep in my hut?” she asked timidly, seeming almost nervous as she waited for your answer.

You shook your head and smiled. “Eivor, I’m just glad to be out of that terrible cell. I will sleep on the floor if I need to.”

“Little bird, tonight you will fly into the land of dreams on the softest wings. This bed is fit for a queen.” 

You held up your arm and wrapped it around the back of her neck as she picked you up again. Valka accompanied you outside, then she said her goodbyes and left for the longhouse. Eivor carried you in the other direction and used her knee to open the door to her big wooden cottage. Red rugs covered the wooden floorboards and a big torch next to the entrance lit the room, drenching it in flickering golden light. Her bed really was gigantic, with intricate carvings on the headbord and furs draped over the mattress.

The warrior gently lowered you onto her bed and laid down an enormous quilt over your body. She lit a candle on her side of the bed and put out the torch. Then she sat down on a big trunk and took off her boots, placing them neatly at the foot of the wooden bedframe. Slowly, trying not to disturb you, she laid down next to you and covered herself with a thin blanket. You raised your head.

“Won’t you get cold?”

Eivor looked at you in surprise, probably having assumed you were already sleeping. She gave you her wonderfully crooked smile. 

“I’m very hot blooded. I don’t mind the cold.” 

“I admire that,” you sighed. “I’m always freezing.”

She turned toward you and rested her head on her arm, stretching out her other hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Her fingers stayed on your forehead for a moment. 

“Your fever has dropped. Good,” she mumbled, “you’ll be better tomorrow. Sleep now, little bird.” 

-

Later at night you woke up from the sound of your own chattering teeth. The cold had entered the hut and taken a hold of you with its icy fingers; your whole body was cramping up and shaking. 

You looked over at the warrior lying next to you. Eivor was sleeping soundly, her bare arms thrown over her head and one leg sticking out from under the blanket. She seemed to be immune to the bitter cold.

There was no way you could fall asleep like this, freezing and shivering, your jaw hurting from trying to stop the chattering. You had to take the plunge. Slowly, you turned over to Eivor, scooting closer to her and lifting the quilt to come in contact with her warm body. She was radiating heat. 

You snuggled up to her, laying your head on her shoulder and resting your arm on her chest. She flinched at your weight on her, opening her eyes to make sure there was no danger. You two shared a silent look, then she smiled and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in closer and warming you up so quickly that you were asleep again within minutes.

-

The next morning you were woken by the bustle outside, animal noises mixing with the blacksmith’s hammer and people talking as they walked past. A rooster crowed and reminded you of your old home in Williamsburg. You were still lying close to Eivor, your head in the crook of her arm and your leg intertwined with hers. She hummed in her sleep as she felt you stirring and pulled you in, not allowing you to move.

You noticed that your head wasn’t throbbing anymore. Your cheek still felt tender and the wound stung, but you were sure the salve and the herbal infusion Valka had given you would get you through the day. 

Eivor moved again, turning her torso toward you and holding you even closer to her chest. 

“How did you sleep, little bird?” she mumbled into your hair. “Did I share enough of my warmth with you?”

You pressed your forehead into the hollow spot beneath her collarbone and inhaled her wonderful scent, a mixture of herbs, tree bark, snow days and a faint musk reminding you of the deer on William’s pasture.

“Without you, I would have frozen to death last night,” you murmured back. She enveloped you with her strong, hot body while her fingers stroked your hair absentmindedly. 

Suddenly, the blonde drew her head back to look down at you. 

“How is your face? Better?”

You nodded. 

“It still burns, but I think the worst is over.”

Eivor let go of you and stretched her arm toward the bag on the wooden trunk, almost falling off the bed when she finally caught it. You grabbed her hand just in time to pull her back up, both of you having to laugh at her clumsiness. She opened the small jar with the rich yellow cream and dipped two fingers into the mixture. Careful not to press down too hard, she rubbed the salve into your cheek, all the way from your jaw to your temple. As she massaged the little dent there, you closed your eyes and leaned into her touch. 

After a while, Eivor got up and put on leather pants and a coat over her tunic. She lit the fireplace so you would be warm all day and slipped on her boots, promising to return soon with breakfast and a kettle to make your tea. 

You let yourself fall back onto the pillow and pulled the quilt all the way up to your nose. This day promised to be a lot more comfortable than the last ones. There was not going to be much to do except lay around and wait for Eivor to check in on you every once in a while. Maybe she would give you something to do - you could mend clothes for her or sweep the hut or prepare food for later. 

It seemed terribly unfair to you all of a sudden, you sitting here warm and fed while Eda and the others were still biding their time in their cell. It was not like you had done anything to gain anyone’s favor, Eivor just seemed to take to you a lot and your injury had drastically changed your path here. You wondered what the others were doing now and what they would be doing in the next few weeks. Eivor hadn’t taken them here without reason, there had to be a purpose to all of this. 

A noise at the window made you look up. It was Birna, the white cat from yesterday, shooting you a demanding look through the gaps in the wooden grid that let in some light without leaving a big hole in the wall. Right, no glass windows. No wonder you had been freezing last night. Careful not to lose your balance, you got up from the bed and took the grid from the small opening. You were delighted to see that it had started snowing outside. Birna gave you a satisfied meow and squeezed through the window, immediately heading for the bed and curling up right where you had sat. The spot was probably still warm.

After placing the grid back in the window frame, you joined Birna on the mattress. She stretched and rubbed her tiny head against the back of your hand, demanding to be petted, and you humbly obliged. The two of you sat together for a while, the little lady purring in response as you made her compliments and told her about the cats back at Williamsburg.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. This was strange - why would Eivor knock? To make sure you weren’t indecent? She had already seen you naked yesterday, although it would fit her to still be all honorable and courteous.

Another knock.

“Eivor, are you there? It’s Randvi.”

Your breath caught in your throat and Birna looked up at you, indignant at your sudden refusal to pet her. You did not dare to move or say anything. 

“Listen, I know we quarreled yesterday, but does this mean you won’t speak to me now? I just want to talk.” She sounded desperate, knocking harder this time. Fuck.

For a moment, there was silence and you started to hope she had left. 

Then the handle turned and the door opened. 

Randvi stood in the door, tall and beautiful as ever, her hand still on the doorknob. In a matter of seconds, her face went through surprise, confusion, realization, anguish and then nothing but wrath. You sat stone still, staring at her.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet and ice cold.

“So that’s how it is. I understand now.” She laughed but there was no humor in her voice, only bitterness.

Before you could say anything, she had turned on the spot and slammed the door shut. You could hear her steps fade away on the path to the longhouse and finally dared to release the breath you had been holding this entire time.

Birna had jumped at the loud noise, but now she rolled herself up in your lap and began to purr again. You let your head fall back against the headboard and stared up at the ceiling, trying to gather your thoughts. 

Jesus Christ.

You jerked up when you heard steps at the door again, but this time it was Eivor that entered. There were snowflakes in her hair, her face was flushed from the cold and she had brought a well-filled jute bag and a dark metal cauldron. A bright smile was on her face as she stomped her feet to get rid of the snow on her boots and threw the bag on the bed. 

“First snow!” she pointed out the obvious and took off her coat before letting herself fall onto the bed next to you and giving Birna a big smooch, which the cat took with an annoyed grumble.

“How did she get in here?” Eivor laughed and ruffled the cat’s fur. “She doesn’t like the snow. The little Viking princess is a sensitive one. She stays in here all winter and complains until the thaw comes.”

You cleared your throat. “I let her in through the window. But…” Eivor seemed to finally sense something was wrong and gave you a questioning look.

“Randvi was here.”

The blonde closed her eyes and sighed, then she blinked up at the ceiling just as you had done minutes earlier. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s complicated.” She shook her head.

You bit your lip and gave her an apologetic look. “She seemed displeased.”

This was a vast understatement, but you did not want to get involved in this, whatever it was. 

“I’ll talk to her later. This has nothing to do with you,” Eivor promised. Exactly.

You shared a breakfast consisting of bread, goat cheese and dried fruit while the water over the fireplace had started boiling and the herbs inside filled the entire room with their pleasant smell. 

When you had finished your meal and started sipping your brew, Eivor propped herself up on her elbow next to you. 

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Eivor?”

With her fingertips she drew patterns into Birna’s fur, her brow furrowed in contemplation.

“Do you think you could take another look at the map? I am planning on raiding Fort Winton tomorrow or the day after. The time is right, we are experienced in fighting in the snow and cold. I want to get this done.”

You swallowed hard, thinking of the life you had led before. If you supported this raid, you were betraying all your previous affiliations and fealties. Winton’s Steward was a terrible man. He had scared you when you were younger and he scared you now. You were sure that there was not a single person under his rule that enjoyed his company or thought him a good sovereign. You took a deep breath.

“I will. But under one condition: I do not wish to be seen as subject to English rule and fealty. I owe them nothing. I will give you all my knowledge and skill and I will swear my loyalty to you, only you. I will no longer be an English prisoner but your servant and by extension, a part of this clan.”

Eivor listened to you intently and considered your proposition for a moment, then she nodded. 

“I would not have let you come into my house and sleep next to me if I did not trust you already. I do not know how, but it sometimes feels like destiny brought us together.” Her hand moved toward yours, then she pulled it back and continued to pet Birna.

“I will speak to the council about this tonight. Tomorrow you shall help us strategize, so we can leave at first light the next day.”

You agreed, stretching out a hand to stroke Birna’s fur and just so happening to brush over Eivor’s knuckles with your fingertips. Both of you had to smile, feeling as if you shared a secret, one that had not fully revealed itself to you yet.

The warrior actually had a few tasks for you that you could take care of in bed: a few of her tunics that had tears and holes, a pair of pants which had ripped at the back - she went crimson red and mumbled something about a drinking contest and a wrestling match - and an old fur coat she had grown out of but gave to you to mend and wear. 

You spent the day with Birna, sewing and patching up Eivor’s clothes while telling the cat stories about Delia and Henry and your favorite adventures from your childhood. Eivor came by later, dropping off some more fruit to pass the time until supper. She seemed slightly irritated, but when she saw your work on her clothes she rejoiced. 

“You’re an artist, little bird! With you by my side, I will soon look like a queen!”

You laughed and clutched the fur coat to your chest. 

“I will take this as my first payment, then. Thank you. Maybe I will finally be warm for once.”

“Y/N, are you telling me you were cold last night? You must be made of ice if my heat could not pierce you,” Eivor teased you playfully. 

“Oh, it most certainly did. It seems you are the only one capable of doing so.” You smiled at her. She grabbed your hand and rubbed her thumbs over your palm. 

“I need to go now and meet the council. I will come back to warm you later.” She stroked Birna’s fur one last time, then she got up and in leaving threw you a last look that sent blood into your cheeks and made your stomach flutter.

“I long for it,” you whispered after she had closed the door behind her.

[nicka-nell]

Prompt Event

Request: anonymous - OMG 500 followers is so exciting!! CONGRATS!! I am so excited for your event - I hope your inbox doesn't get too out of control! 🥰 Can I request Ukai or Ushijima (you choose) + NSFW + 30, 37, 59??

Prompt Event  | Masterlist (coming soon)

Pairing: Ukai Keishin x reader Words: 2.345 Warning: NSFW, 18+ Note: All characters are grown-up!

Prompts: 30. Have you always been this beautiful? 37. What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids? 59. Shouldn’t you be with him?

Back then, you were little. You had just learned to tie your shoelaces without help, had made and eaten sand cake with your little hands. Back then, it was your father Nekomata who pulled you into a volleyball game.

To a team called Karasuno. A team where the coach was just as eager to win as your father. To your astonishment, he also had a boy at your age with him. He had always looked fiercely, his arms folded in front of his chest and always looked in the opposite direction from his father.

You can still remember that at a game, the men of the teams had warmed up, practiced their serve while you were about to close your loose shoelace. “Watch out!” Called the other coach’s boy as he stood in front of you and caught a harsh hit of the ball with his back, preventing you from getting punched in the face with a volleyball.

You remember you two used to sneak out at the games, hide out in his mom’s store, and secretly read adult magazines. You were laughing at the naked people in these, laughing and giggling every time you read the word sex. You were always reprimanded by your fathers, still that never stopped you.

But time passed, you became manager of Nekoma High School and Ukai became a setter at Karasuno. You had no time to see each other, had only met briefly at the games.

When your father also thought that Naoi, your substitute setter, is a nice guy and you should meet him, you knew that Ukai should disappear from your thoughts.

Naoi was in the same class as you, you had done a lot together and even now that you have your own job, he performs as the second coach of the Nekoma, you still meet. Just yesterday he was with you, had forgotten his jacket. You told him you’d give him his jacket back when you walked past the gym after work.

Whether it’s coincidence or fate, that you meet right in your former gym Ukai?

Unobtrusively, you sneak into the gym, go over to Naoi to poke him in the side with your index finger. He twitches with a smile before turning around and quietly thanking you for the jacket. As if it were a daily greeting to him, he gives you a kiss on the cheek before saying goodbye to you and turning back to the game.

You’re about to leave the gym when the opposing coach calls for a time-out. That voice, that voice… A voice that used to mean so much to you. Unbelievably, you turn around, to see if you really heard him.

“Ukai?” It escapes you almost silently, when you see the man from your childhood again.

As if he heard your sound, he looks at the entrance. At first he has difficulty recognizing you, but this hair, these eyes, this look, he would recognize it always. Yet you even have changed. You’ve become a real woman.

Now there’s only one question in his head. Have you always been this beautiful?

“Sensei, maybe we should replace him?” Gets him the captain’s voice out of his mind. For a moment, his gaze drifts away from yours, looking at the captain before he watches back in your direction. Except you’re not there anymore.

You know you’re supposed to meet Naoi after the game, but how can you if you just have to think about Ukai now. Almost automatically, your legs set in motion, making you get into your car to drive to Ukais shop, hoping that he will enter the store again today.

When you arrive in front of the store, you take a deep breath, wait a moment and let the chilly air calm your body down before you open the door and step in.

You are greeted by a man who introduces himself as Takinoue. Ask him if Ukai isn’t there today, when he confirms that he will come to the store again tonight. Nodding, you look around the shop as your gaze wanders to the adult magazines.

Smiling, you tell Takinoue that you would like to have one of these magazines, which he holds against you with red cheeks and watches you sit on a chair in the shop.

Time passes, the clock next to the cabinet with the cigarettes ticks and reminds you with every beat that Ukai will soon enter the store. The paper on the last two pages of the magazine squeaks between your fingers as you turn the page when the doorbells ring just a few seconds later and a familiar voice fills the room with excitement.

“Takinoue, did everything go well? I bet there wasn’t much of a clientele today, was there?” He laughs with his deep, smoky voice, but without answering him, Takinoue points at you. You’re still flipping around in that catalog, not looking up at those two men.

“Y/n?” Ukai asks wildly, can’t believe that you of all people are in his shop. Now you lift your eyes, smile at him kindly while you put the magazine out of your hand. “Takinoue…You can go now.”

Ukai’s gaze is filled with your eyes, fixed on you as if you were a shrine fulfilling his wishes. His voice is only heard softly, but still so loud that Takinoue understands to leave now.

Again you hear the bell before the door snaps into the hinge a few seconds later and Ukai comes towards you. Without a word, he sits next to you, looks at you before his gaze lands on the magazine.

He can’t resist a grin, leans back in the chair, his arms behind his back, his legs wide open. “Just like old times, huh?” He just smirks and makes you pay your full attention to him. “Like old times. But, you know what I also remember?” You ask, even though you know Ukai can’t answer that question.

Irritated, he looks at you, thinks about what you had done when you were little, but he can’t think of anything. Resolutely you get up from your chair, sit down on his lap and enjoy his suddenly so frightened face.

Grinning you move your pelvis in his direction, watch deep into his dark brown eyes before you kiss his harsh lips. Your warm tongue lies on his lips, seeking its way inside to connect with his.

With a quiet snort he opens his mouth, noticing his hands unconsciously looking for your delicate body, reaching under the thin fabric of your blouse to caress your sides. Almost a whiny sound escapes him as your lips separate from his when you stare at him with an incredibly attractive look.

“I don’t remember that.” He murmurs softly, not noticing the words that have left his mouth. “No? Maybe I should show you what else we’ve done?” You whisper to him seductively before you move your pelvis up and down in the hope of soon feeling something hard under you.

“Shouldn't you be with him? With Naoi?” He steers in, when your warm breath is already on his lips. “Huh? I’m with you right now.” You answer, and seal his lips with yours, so that you not give him the opportunity to answer.

His tongue, his saliva is bitter, you taste like he smoked another cigarette earlier. Ukai’s fingertips are rough as they wander along your sides, behind your back and digging into your flesh with a gruff.

Did he lock the door? No… Is the closed sign on the door? No… Someone could be coming in any minute. “Shit!” He curses under your kisses before he begins to caress your neck. To experience how you taste, to leave hickeys to show Naoi that you were with him. With Ukai, not with Naoi. He doesn’t care if anyone sees you now.

Your hands hastily search for the end of the coarse fabric of his sweater before you pull it off of his body with a quick movement and drop it to the ground. “Take off your blouse.” His tone is flat, husky as he looks deep into your eyes.

Nodding, you want to open the first buttons of your blouse, but you are too slow for Ukai. His hands that were still on your back before, are suddenly on top of yours, pushing your hands away when he tears open the fabric with an animalistic sound, and pulls it from your body. The buttons rattle as they fall to the floor, rolling through the store until they come to a lie.

With ease, Ukai lifts you up from the chair, kisses you before he turns you around with a jerk and presses your upper body on the table top in front of you. You hear the sound of his zipper behind you as it is opened and the coarse denim fabric glides off his legs.

With a whisper he pulls up your skirt, drills his hands into your shapely ass, only growls with clenched teeth. “Shit, you really got hot.” His rough voice sounds in your ears, and shortly afterwards you feel his warm chest lying on your back as something hard catches your attention.

“Nhhhg Ukai…” you moan and make him smile. His hand lets go of your butt, explores the area between your legs before he rubs his fingers on your wet panties. “God, what a naughty little girl you are. You’re already wet, just from our kisses, huh?” Even if you can’t see his look, you feel this mischievous radiance emanating from him.

“What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids? That I wanted to know how perfectly your sweet cunt wraps around my cock, as a teenager. Your needy moaning for my name?” He breathes into your ear as he begins to nibble on your earlobe and with his free hand pushes your panties aside to spread your walls and press his cock into you.

Almost without resistance it glides into you, wraps his dick with your essence and elicits a sugar-sweet moan out of your throat. A sound that is like music in his ears and satisfies him. “Tell me, my little girl, does my cock feel good in your sweet cunt?” He wants to know while he grabs for your hair to jerk your upper body up with his.

“So good… It feels so good, Ukai!” You snarl while you wonder why he feels so incredibly right. Unlike the men you had before. Ukais thrusts become stronger and more aggressive, causing your whole body to move.

“Oh god!” You whine again when Ukai starts to use his free hand to slide between your folds, just to start playing with your core. His fingertips rub against it, move rapidly, apply pressure and make your breath faster, so that your body tightens.

“God can’t help you right now, my little girl.” He just grins and starts to caress your neck, bite on it, and really play it safe, marking you as his.

His cock in you feels so big. Comes in places where no one has come before. Seek the way to your womb and make you understand that only he can fill you so well. You believe your vision go black, your legs automatically squeeze together as you keep pressing your pelvis against Ukai.

Awkwardly you reach for Ukai’s hair, burying your fingers in them, as if you didn’t know where to go with this desire that is about to explode. “Ah Damn, babe, you’re so hot. Just pull my hair, do what you want if you just give me your sweet moans.” His voice is barely understandable under his wet smacks on your neck, before he shoves his entire length into you with much force, making your tone completely uncontrollable. “Ah Ukai!” Your walls twitch, makes Ukai groan loudly, through this sudden tightness that literally constricts his lim.

You feel his member even better in you, every contour, every vein. Understand now also why it felt so good, because not only Ukais cock is in you, no also all piercings that adorn his cock. Everything rubs against your swollen walls. Elicit a whine that drives Ukai crazy.

“Damn babe, you’re so tight, I’m coming. Shall I pull out?” His trembling voice resounds in your scattered thoughts. “No, I want everything from you, I want to feel like I’m milking your dick, old man.”

That was exactly the answer Ukai wanted to hear, because with a few hard blows he distributes his viscous charge in you, fills you with his warm sperm before he lingers in you with a loud murmur for a moment.

“Damn, that was hot.” He breathes heavily before leaving your body and settling on the chair behind him. For a short blink of an eyelash, he still sees how a sperm thread connects him to you before it tears and sticks to his length.

Out of breath he dangles his hands left and right of him. Enjoy looking at your swollen walls, and how his thick sperm drips out of you slowly.

With an exhausted sigh, you turn around, straighten your panties before you sit on Ukai’s lap again. “As a tenager, I also wanted to know what your cock feels like inside me. Wanted to feel your cum in me and hear your deep voice. If I had known you were so good, I would have asked Naoi much earlier if he wanted to eat with me at home so that he would forget his jacket and I could bring it to him into the gym.” With a throaty laugh you give him a fleeting kiss on his reddish lips, which have changed their color through all your kisses.

“I guess I’ll have to thank the benchwarmer for leading you to me.” Like then, you swap conspiratorial glances before you both start laughing like teenagers when you lower your head to Ukai’s chest and give him an answer with gentle words.

“You have to, yeah.”

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Legolas x elven reader

Requested by @sokkasdarling​ -took me a lil while to think of smth but can i request a legolas fic pls🥺🥺 so maybe reader rly likes him and its super obvious to aragorn but not to leg man and then when he finds out its all soft and stuff🥺🥺🥺🥺 -

I hope you like this and it’s close to what you wanted, it was fun to write ngl, leggy is such an oblivious softie I love.

You had been traveling along with the Fellowship since your departure from Rivendell not even four weeks ago. But even so, time had not seemed so very long for you anyways. This whole adventure began when Gandalf sent word to your kingdom calling for your aid in an important mission of sorts, as per usual the old wizard was very vague in his brief explanations. But you’ve known him for such a long time that whenever he needs you, it’s usually very important. So you traveled many days to Rivendell where you met up with your other longtime friend Aragorn who has been traveling in the wilds since you last saw him, now looking incredibly less dirty if you may add.

It was a curious thing when you were gathered into a secret meeting where low and behold sat the one ring of all objects to grace your very eyes. Your inquisitive gaze scanned the open room as Lord Elrond spoke of the ring and who would be the one to help destroy it. You sat idly by the young hobbit Frodo, who Gandalf explained was the carrier of the one ring from all the way into the Shire to where he sits now. What a brave little fellow you thought. Directly in front of you from across the room sat Aragorn who was looking at the ring with a troublesome gaze upon his worried features.

 It was not until Boromir spoke did you realize the Prince of the Woodland Realm was among you. You didn’t exactly take the time to look at everyone sitting around the half circle when you got here, but your face softened the moment they locked eyes onto the attractive elven prince. You’d never met Legolas before, but you’ve heard about him through Aragorn and Elrond when he decided to vent about the dealings with Legolas’ kingdom. From that very moment you became immensely intrigued and drawn to the silver haired prince. Though your heart did leap when yourself and all of the Fellowship began the long journey to Mordor, you felt relieved and excited to be spending such a long time with Legolas. But as the weeks grew on, your feelings only grew stronger, and one night while on watch with Aragron, as the two of you sat away from the rest of your sleeping companions did you finally break your silence. 

“I must confess something to you or I fear it will eventually drive me mad. It concerns the likes of the only other elf among us, which I assume you’ve already guessed.” You begin with a sigh as you glance over to Aragorn for a moment, his eyes soften at this news that has been swirling within your mind for many days.

“What troubles you my friend?”

“My heart grows for the prince in a way that I did not expect. I enjoy his presence, the way he speaks, how he carries himself, his smile...and for that I cannot help it when I keep close to him while we travel.”

“I have noticed your longing eyes upon him, it is sweet.”

“In all my five-thousand years in this land, not once have I ever felt this way towards anyone. I cannot explain it Aragorn, it feels so strange...this feeling for him. So very strange.” Your brow furrows as you look off into the valley, Aragorn lends you a small smile though you don’t see it.

“My dear Y/N, I believe what you are experiencing is called love, well at least in human terms for that matter. I am happy for you, truly.” You turn your uneasy gaze to Aragorn, surprised to find him sharing a small smile with you. You turn your head towards the stars, closing your eyes as you feel a comforting breeze blow through your half braided hair. 

“Your words are kind indeed, but I cannot tell if he feels the same in anyway.....that is what scares me.”

“Let him know of your admiration in subtle ways, he should figure it out eventually. I know Legolas, Y/N, he is smart and sharp as the edge of a dagger.”

For the next week you thought hard about your conversation with Aragorn that night, so as the days rolled past and the nights came and went, you stayed at a healthy closeness to the prince and seeked his company in quiet moments when the Fellowship was at rest. To your great astonishment, Legolas deemed you quit comforting and unexpectedly full of good humor as well as kind-hearted and protective over the hobbits. You had more then once caught him staring at you when he thought you weren't looking, it always brought a warm smile to your face. But nothing more was said or done and your painfully obvious attraction towards Legolas was becoming increasingly more entertaining for Aragorn, within the daily trials of continuous walking and watching out for the hobbits and evil creatures alike. He truly felt for you and your internal frustration with these newly intense feelings for someone that you had never felt before. He understood that as an elf, when they fall in love, they fall with all of their heart and soul for whoever graces their path. 

The Fellowship had stopped for a small break after a long and tiresome hike up a large rocky hill for the past two hours, you practically had to carry Pippin up the last fifteen minutes of rough trailing just to make sure everyone was together at the top. Not even five peaceful minutes of rest could you have before Merry and Pippin were already forcing you into a game of who can throw a rock the farthest over the cliff. Not one to ever decline such an appealing invitation, you oblige and walk over to the cliff edge while the rest of the Fellowship watches in amusement. You chuck a fist sized rock into oblivion, unbeknownst to you from a spot higher up on the rocky edge, Aragorn has walked over to Legolas, deciding to figure out his elven friends innermost feelings.

“Y/N is a fascinating being isn’t she, I’ve never seen someone so willing to join in on the games of hobbits, her heart is kind, she’s good company.” Starts Aragorn as Legolas shifts his eyes from him and back to you again, the ghost of a smile forming onto his lips.

“I’m actually quite fond of her presence...it has surprised me.”

“Oh?” Wonders Aragorn with a knowing look that’s lost to Legolas as his attention is fixated on you and the two hobbits. 

“Yes. I did not expect to enjoy her company so much. Not ever have I met someone so unawares to how truly divine and clever they are...or beautiful.” Explains Legolas as he whispers the last part, its so quite that Aragorn almost misses it but he does not and a small laugh escapes him. Legolas abruptly turns to his friend, his expression a mix of embarrassment and slight dejection. 

“I do not laugh at your tellings my friend, if only Y/N new. She would be very pleased to hear this I’m certain.” Replies Aragorn with a nod, Legolas’ brow furrows in deep thought.

“What do you mean?” He questions, confused as to what Aragorn is implying.

“Have you not noticed? She feels much for you in these past weeks of our journey. Y/N has given you a place in her heart, do you understand my meaning now?” 

Legolas’ face changes to a new realization as he slowly turns his head to a smiling Aragorn, “Y/N loves me? I thought it was only I who felt that way, how could I have missed it?” He says astonished as his face breaks out into a beaming grin. “She loves me. Y/N loves me. This day has been weary and long, but my heart leaps with this news. I will tell her tonight when we rest for the day, I only hope that she will be just as joyous, even with my lack of a gift.”

“I don’t believe she’ll mind. Just knowing you feel the same should suffice.” Adds Aragorn with a friendly pat to Legolas’ shoulder, he flashes him a quick smile before staring at you adoringly once again. 

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.30}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

"Yet. Right." Robin repeated in a sigh, then removed her wand from her hair when the bun started hurting her head. It did little to lessen the headache that was starting to drum through her skull, but shaking her hair out of the restraint at least took some of the tension away. Little victories like that were important too.

"Actually, we do have a few answers now." Snape said after a moment, after again watching gravity at work on untangling the mess of waves cascading down Robin's back. "Morgan did come in here, and he most likely was talking about the portrait today indeed. We still have to see about the earrings, in due time. Other than that, we now have an answer to a question that goes all the way back to the start of this term."

"What do you mean?"

"The night of the welcoming feast. Morgan brought it up himself today, which quite honestly is what made me draw the connection in the first place."

"Right… You mean the entire ordeal in the hallway which McGonagall brought to an end."

"Yes. During your encounter back then, Morgan wanted to hold on to your locket as a keepsake. That line of behavior would certainly make more sense if at that point he already was in the possession of the portrait, seeing as the locket is perhaps not the most obvious, but indeed the most palpable connection between you and the woman portrayed. He hardly would have known about the locket otherwise, seeing as it isn't the most noticeable piece of jewelry."

"You're absolutely right… I should've thought of that connection way earlier!" Robin groaned in annoyance at herself, astonishment at the fact, and concern at the implications. How Snape even remembered little details like that was incredible in its own right, but the fact that Morgan might have been after the locket because of the portrait was a revelation she hadn't thought would clear the picture of the past events in her mind quite so much. Things at last started making a little more sense. "My locket and the portrait are connected somehow, that much we already could tell years ago. But it makes me uneasy to think that Morgan has something to do with it."

"Likewise. Perhaps you should take it off for the time being, until the issue is solved."

"Yeah… The bracelet too, probably, sad as that makes me. It was the first thing you gave to me that I didn't have to return by the end of the week like the books I borrowed." She smiled up at him, a sad half smile that showed defeat more than humour. "But you were the first person who ever gave me anything for my birthday at all, who ever thought of me in the first place, and that's all that matters to me. I can live without a piece of jewelry."

"I really was the first to give you a gift for your birthday? In all of eighteen years?"

"Yes. The very best gift even, when you got Jorien and Cas to make me see the day as a real celebration worth having. But I have to admit, you asking Dumbledore to take the bracelet out of this room was also-..." Robin cut herself off in the middle of her sentence, then stopped in her track and stood glued to the spot. The nagging in her mind turned into a sledgehammer that tore down the brick wall that had obscured her sight before, but now that it was gone, she could finally see. Or rather, she could wonder.

"What is it?" Snape asked as he came to stand right in front of her, both concerned and curious as ever. That really was a good way to sum up both of their sentiments currently, concerned and curious. "Robin?"

"Wait a second…" She replied on autopilot, while her mind pondered a question that she finally decided to voice when she couldn't answer it herself. "When you wanted to give me the bracelet, did you ask Dumbledore before or after removing it from this room?"

"Before, obviously, because-…" Now it was him who stopped in the middle of the sentence, when he caught on to Robin's line of thought. "Because one cannot remove from this place what was left for storage here without the current headmaster's permission."

"That's what I thought." Robin replied with a long breath, then jumped into action to look around herself in a sudden spark of adrenaline, upon which she finally picked up a random book from a pile to her right. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, it-..." He didn't get any further, for Robin had crossed the remaining few steps towards the door, then opened it and tossed the book through the opening and out into the hallway beyond. She tried to, at least, for the book got caught in the air in the middle of the door frame, floating there for but a broken second, before it was catapulted right back into the room of hidden things at a speed that turned the harmless piece of literature into a lethal projectile. Robin was just lucky that Snape pulled her out of the way in an instant, otherwise the flying book would have taken quite a bit of work off Morgan's hands. They didn't have time for her timely end right now!

"You really are remarkable at putting yourself in harm's way." Snape huffed in concern-turned-annoyance when the loud clattering of the book's distant landing had subsided, and it was just then that Robin realized how desperately he was clawing onto her right now. She felt bad for repeatedly scaring him in an instant; first the thing with Morgan –which hadn't technically been her fault, but it still counted to worry him– and now this thoughtlessness on her end. Or rather the result of too much thinking, and too little care for the real world results in contrast to the intellectual gain of the endeavour. Why was she only ever truly scared of getting hurt by people, not by something she did to herself? It was one more thing to work on at some point.

"You're remarkable at keeping me out of harm's way in return. And to be fair, I didn't think it would do that out of all the things it could've done." She finally replied with a weak half smile as she looked up at him. No. Humour wouldn't do now, that much was clearly written on his face. She sighed in resignation. "I'm sorry. That was stupid of me, I should've known better. This whole day, the thing with Morgan… it has thrown me into an odd ambivalence myself. I'm absolutely terrified and at the same time all the adrenaline makes me act like I'm bloody invincible. But that's no excuse, it really was just stupid of me and I'm sorry."

"Coming that close to death doesn't pass by anyone without consequences. Neither does torture." He said after a few seconds of silence, with an expression almost as guilty as Robin's own. "It is only too reasonable that your behaviour is rather erratic, and even if I cannot say I appreciate it, I do very well understand it. If anything, I am surprised by how well you seem to cope with the situation."

"It's not the first time I've come closer to death than anyone should. Only the first time I know who the person is that wants to see me dead." She shrugged in return, but after taking one glance at the expression of prevailing concern on Snape's face, she rested her forehead against his shoulder and gave in to the urge to lean into him once more with a sigh. She knew that he didn't mind in the least… and the work that kept her on her feet might as well wait for a minute. "To be honest, it's currently less coping and more of simply repressing and pushing through. Just wait until tonight when I actually have the time to come down from the adrenaline… It'll be a nightmare."

"I will be there." He replied quietly, holding her closer against himself than his calm demeanour would suggest, then remained silent for a moment longer before speaking on. "Stay with me tonight."

"That must be a first." Robin chuckled quietly, but kept her eyes closed to enjoy at least this short moment of calm for now. "Usually I have to pretend to be asleep for you to let me stay over in your rooms."

"You are terrible at pretending, I can always tell when you do."

"Only because I want you to."

"I know…" He replied in as close to a sigh as his composure allowed. "And I know that I will not be able to close my eyes for even a minute tonight if you are not with me."

"Not without seeing all that could have been if things had ended differently. Without the shadows and ghosts and darkness. I know, all too well." She said, then smiled into the cloud of fabric around her. "And in addition to that, it's been way too long since I stayed over last, even though I always love to. Whenever it's possible. You know that."

"I do indeed."

"And I love you. Beyond what's possible."

"I know." His tone let on a hint of a smile, then he placed a fleeting kiss on the top of her head while his arms around her tightened their hold so much that Robin had to smile. He never said he loved her with words in return. He didn't need to.

"We should get back to work… It's almost time for dinner, and I want to check Morgan's office before then." She said after taking a deep breath to savour the comforting scent of him, of home. "I really have no wish to run into him again today. Especially not after just discovering that we are the underdogs in this entire issue."

"What makes you think that we are?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She asked as she pulled back at last, and fully snapped back into work mode as they left the room of hidden things behind to walk through the dark corridors of the castle again. "If Morgan had to ask for Dumbledore's permission to take the painting, then the old man must know why Morgan wanted it in the first place. He wouldn't have given him the permission if he hadn't seen through his reasons entirely."

"I agree."

"So Dumbledore knows why this is happening, he knows Morgan's reasons. He knows what Morgan is doing to me. He gave Morgan the permission to keep the painting, and he has let him proceed in what he has been doing to me for years now."

"Indeed. But we have been aware of that problem for a while now."

"Dumbledore never does anything that isn't to his own advantage. And if he lets Morgan do all that to me…" Robin sighed gravely, and looked up at Snape with the most serious expression. "I think Dumbledore wants Morgan to kill me."

"That is-..." Snape cut himself and his automatic response off in an instant, but he returned Robin's dark expression nonetheless for a moment while her words seemed to run circles in his mind. Finally, he seemed to find his own line of thought again. "While I do have to agree with your reasoning, there is still a lot speaking against the conclusion you came to. I am not saying you aren't right, but I believe there is more to it than that. You are leaving certain matters out of the equation."

"And what would that be?"

"Me, for example."

"You?" Robin frowned at him in confusion. "You'll have to elaborate on that."

"If Dumbledore wanted you dead, why would he have been in favour of the connection between you and me right from the start, and at every point since?" Snape quirked an eyebrow at Robin in return. "He is a brilliant man, I have no doubt he knew that we would end up where we are now long before we did. Thus he must have known that we would always stand two against one in the end. My involvement makes it infinitely more difficult to have you killed, which in return would make it unreasonable for him to encourage our relations. "

"You're right… That doesn't add up." Robin mused with a lingering frown. "Neither does the book he gave me, now that I think about it. Ensuring that I know more about the unforgivables than the person he wants to see killing me would be an odd way to prepare me for slaughter."

"Correct."

"What a fucking mess…" Robin groaned under her breath, then rolled her eyes to herself and at the ceiling before taking a deep breath to regain some composure. "So if Dumbledore doesn't want me dead, then why would he let Morgan proceed in trying to kill me? It's not like he couldn't put an immediate end to those efforts if he actually wanted to…"

"That we will find out. Morgan's reasons as well as Dumbledore's."

"With my luck, I probably have to die to prevent the world's impending demise or something likely unlikely… The most exaggeratedly dramatic thing we could ever think of, that will probably be my fate. Just for irony's sake."

"I will gladly see the world in ashes before I let you die."

"I know." She had to smile yet again, and couldn't resist to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze even though they were in public. If one wanted to call a secret passageway from the seventh floor down to the fourth 'public', that is. "But whether it's the world we're saving or just me, I refuse to die before I graduate. I've put far too much effort into my essays and homework recently to let that all go to waste!"

Snape let out something that sounded like a snort and a scoff at once, and quietly shook his head to himself as they finally reached the fourth floor and crossed over into another corridor to continue their path towards Morgan's classroom. Robin was content with the reaction, and focused back on the matter at hand.

"How do we go on from here?" She asked in a whisper only, for who knew which prying ears might be nearby in a public hallway like this. "I mean… If we find it here, how do we go on?"

"We could confront the headmaster, for example. With a piece of evidence like that, not even he could deny his involvement in the issue. He might not give us the truth, but perhaps more leads to follow nonetheless."

"That sounds as close to a plan as we will probably get." Robin nodded, more to herself than to him. "In any case, McGonagall seems to know something about this entire thing as well, and I'm not convinced she's too happy about any of this either. She wanted to tell me, but the headmaster obviously asked her not to, and I at least can respect her loyalty. Too bad it is Dumbledore who is at the receiving end of it… She would make a good ally."

"Curious that you have taken a liking to Minerva after all."

"Oh, you know… If McGonagall can work with Jorien, who really isn't the easiest person to deal with from my own experience, she deserves some credit at least, if not my sincere respect."

"Funny." Snape replied with a not-smirk. "A while ago, she said much the same thing about you, for working with me."

Robin had to bite her lip quite hard to keep from snorting. They were in close proximity to the defense classroom, and loud noises like that were a no-go at this point if they wanted to successfully break and enter without drawing attention. So she settled for a soundless laugh, and a small smirk to follow it up.

"I'm glad someone recognizes the troubles of working with you at last." She whispered back softly, glancing up at Snape for but a second, which in return sufficed to take notice of the feigned glare and the not-smirk. Good… humour might do them good at this point.

"If anything, you brought the trouble into my life." He protested with a huff, while checking the corridor for anyone or anything that could observe them. Then he opened the door to the classroom with the same spell that sealed his own down in the dungeons. Robin was surprised, but very much pleased that he seemed to be doing all the breaking for now, and she only had to enter.

"I didn't bring trouble into your life!" She replied nonetheless as they walked into the room, after she'd closed the door behind them and locked it back up. It was no secret that Morgan never came to his classroom nor his office on weekends… Thus the risk of getting caught in here on this late afternoon really was minimal. "As far as I remember, you have far more trouble with people who are not me."

"That, for once, is true." He mused, but kept his eyes on the door to the office they were now approaching. "But you made me realize that I have trouble with everyone who isn't you. Before I met you, I simply thought the world was supposed to be cold and cruel like that, but then you had to saunter into my life and make me question every single thing I believed to know. You just had to show me happiness and thereby make everything that isn't you straight up unbearable, didn't you?" His sigh was dripping with so much feigned annoyance and the utmost irony that Robin couldn't help snorting at last.

"I won't apologise for bringing trouble into your life in that case." She smiled as she watched him working on the sturdy wooden door with spells she doubted were even suitable for the occasion. But she let him proceed anyway. "Seeing as the trouble only extends to people who aren't me."

"I did not say that, nor would I ever dare to." He returned a half-smirk, which made Robin roll her eyes with an even wider smile.

"Why is that?" She finally asked in an attempt not to laugh. They were breaking in somewhere… This wasn't the time for teasing and jokes, and yet they had chosen precisely this time to humour each other indeed. Oh well, why start being ordinary now, after all.

"I might have been surprised for a second, that you didn't consider breaking into my colleague's office as trouble, but then I remembered your liberal approach to breaking into places, which you displayed on multiple occasions last summer. Now, I am led to believe that perhaps you are trouble after all."

"And what if I am?" She raised her eyebrows at him with a small smirk. "Seeing as you've been causing trouble together with me all this time, I could say you're no better."

"You certainly are better at breaking into places than I am." He stated with a scowl at the still closed door, then quirked an eyebrow at Robin. "Would you be so kind to open the door now or is watching me fail too amusing for that?"

"It is quite amusing, but I'll open the door nonetheless." Robin chuckled at his feigned annoyance, then went to make quick work of Morgan's more than poor wards and locks. Thirty seconds later, the door was open, and a smug expression painted on her face as she looked up at Snape at last. "There you go. Anything else I can assist you with?"

"Do shut up, will you?" He grumbled, but Robin only had to snicker as they went to search the office. She knew that he was impressed with her knowledge of legal spells, and even more so by her knowledge of what was (in her opinion unrightfully) considered dark magic. That area didn't only extend to curses after all, and more often than not some of those unseemly spells served them better in their work than the school taught ones did. Either way, right now she knew that his entire dismissive demeanour was merely meant to humour her, and it really did serve that purpose wonderfully well.

After a good ten minutes of searching with as well as without magic, they had to realize though that the portrait wasn't here, nor was anything else that could've given them a clue about the current mysteries. Disappointed but not yet defeated, they locked the office door back up the way they had found it and made their way back out into the hallway. Unseen as ever. By now, it was about dinnertime, and thus they redirected their destination to the great hall instead of the dungeons.

"His private rooms will be a lot more difficult to search." Robin sighed as they reached the staircase that luckily was yet -or already- void of students. "He spends most of his time working from there, especially in the evenings. Or at least that's what I've heard. My information about him doesn't stretch beyond the gossip that makes rounds these days."

"We have to be certain he won't interrupt our search, or it would pose an ideal opportunity for him to justify another attempt on your life. Removing him from the castle shouldn't be a problem though, I believe I can arrange that without drawing too much attention to our goals."

"Wait, what? You can?"

"Years of knowing each other, and you still doubt me. Unbelievable."

"I wouldn't dare to."

He returned a small glare upon her sarcastic tone, but beneath the public facade of stony indifference, there was a layer of humour as almost always these days. Robin doubted that anyone but her had ever seen it though.

"In all seriousness, how soon can you get him away from the castle?" She asked after a moment, as they came to a stop in the hallway that led to the main entrance of the great hall on one end, and to the backdoor on the other. They usually went separate ways from here on, always careful not to arrive together at the wrong times and make the wrong impressions on the wrong people.

"An hour after dinner, perhaps a bit later. But in return he will be gone for a few hours at the least." He replied in certainty, and Robin wondered just how he was going to do that. Especially so quickly, after a day like this that hadn't been easy on Morgan either. She'd have to pay attention during the meal or simply ask about it later. After a few seconds, Snape added, "That should suffice to search his quarters, I believe."

Robin let out a breath in relief upon the prospect of a timely solution, then offered him a smile. "Great. I'll set up the dunderhead gang in the entrance hall to check when he leaves. That way we can be absolutely certain he's gone and not coming back. They can hold watch at least until curfew."

"I could always write them a note to have them stay out later than that, you know… At least I can for the girls. The Ravenclaws are out of my influence."

"I'm aware." She smiled at the memory of her own permission note to break curfew. Gods, that was long ago. "Perhaps we can send them up to the astronomy tower, from up there one can see the very foot of the hill. That would allow for a warning in time to make an escape. I'll ask Cas and Melissa; Jorien's got work with McGonagall, if I'm not mistaken."

Snape scoffed, then rolled his eyes in that lovely exaggerated manner. "Does Minerva ever give the girl a break?"

"Says the man who used to make me work every single night until four o'clock in the morning!" Robin laughed, then shook her head both at him and to herself. "Even on bloody school days!"

"You never seemed to mind." Snape protested with an almost sullen look, and if that was even in the realm of possibility, Robin believed he would start pouting if they'd been alone. Gods, that man was a mystery above all others.

"I didn't just not mind; I absolutely loved it even." Robin replied almost reassuringly, but with more humour than she could tone down. "But so does Jorien. She enjoys working with McGonagall, even if by far more normal hours than we do. No longer than midnight on Fridays and Saturdays and no longer than ten on school nights."

Now, Snape actually did snort for once, even out here in public. "We weren't even done with coffee at that time of night for the majority of the last years."

"We really are a terrible example though!"

"Are we, now? We usually are done working by midnight these days, aren't we?" He raised an eyebrow at her again, more teasing than serious, and Robin was sure they would miss dinner if they kept going like this. It had happened on more than one occasion.

"Well yes, we are, but for entirely different reasons!" She gave him a look, then a smile, then shook her head to herself as her cheeks tinted pink no matter how much she tried to prevent it. They really were done with work earlier than ever these days, as that left them with way more time for private matters afterwards. Not that those private matters didn't occasionally sneak into the lab or the office as well… they did get distracted quite regularly, even. But still, they tried to somehow keep school business and private matters separate now more than ever. That however did not apply for private studies, experiments or research, which they were more than happy to do in their very own kind of way, as they always had. Anyhow, Robin took a deep breath, then tried focusing on the matter at hand. "So, you get Morgan out of the castle as soon as possible, I bargain with Cas and Melissa, and you write them a note later for whoever has patrol duties tonight. Right?"

"Indeed. What reason for your request will you be telling the girls? And what are you willing to offer them in return?"

Robin scoffed, then smirked up at him in both humour and a certain smugness she didn't bother to hide. "What makes you think that they are going to do me the favour? The better question would be what they are willing to do for me if I set up a past curfew visit to the astronomy tower for them. Because they have always wanted to sit there and freeze their little butts off all night. They just don't know it yet."

"Clever." The not-smirk was back in an instant, as was the subtlest expression of pride. "As always."

"I'm trying my best." She replied with a softer smile. "As always."

"I know. I wouldn't be so confident in our plan under any different circumstances. Neither would I break into places for that matter, if it wasn't for you."

"Really?" She quirked an eyebrow at him in utmost doubt of what he was saying, and the smirk on her lips made him roll his eyes with a hidden one of his own.

"Dinner. Now. You can harass me later."

"Is that an invitation or are you trying to flirt with me?"

"Get out of my sight already."

With quiet laughter that resonated off the stones around them as a feather light echo, Robin gave him another look that said more than a million words could, then finally made her way down the remainder of the hallway and towards the main entrance with quick steps and a smile on her face. It felt good to laugh and joke again… but she had also learned her lesson today, knew perfectly well what was at stake, and that's precisely why she kept an ever careful eye on her surroundings now more than ever. They still were on a mission after all. A mission they were going to set into action now.

______________________________

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[monstersandmaw]

Mute male siren x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a tier reward for a lovely patron who wanted a siren who's never been able to use his voice, and is thus treated poorly by his own kind for being 'useless' in their eyes. Hope you enjoy!

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___

It was the eerie melody - almost more of a feeling in your chest than a sound in your ears - that drew you out onto the jetty from the beach where you’d been walking barefoot, flip-flops dangling from the fingers of one hand. You knew about the shoal of sirens who lived and hunted off the reef that guarded Starfall Bay, but you’d never seen them; they didn’t come too close to shore very often after all, preferring the vast open waters of the channel beyond.

Something about their song that afternoon seemed harsh, cruel, despite the plainchant beauty of it and a tear spilled from your eye before you’d even noticed it forming. The song faded as the sirens clearly dived back down again, and it left you strangely hollow. Humans were far from immune to the hunting calls and songs of those hauntingly strange creatures, and in the silent wake of their absence, you found yourself humming softly. The tune was a cheerful one as you tried to rally your spirits a little.

Squinting against the reflections of the strong summer sun against the rippling water, you clambered down to sit on the edge of the dock so that you could dangle your feet in the cool, clear water. A little crab scuttled around in the rocks beneath the jetty’s pilings, minding its own business, and you watched him for a bit. As the hairs on your arms prickled suddenly, you looked up and found that you were not alone.

Lying half slumped over a nearby rock which had been smoothed by the constant caress of the sea was a creature that was unmistakably a siren. You frowned, wondering what they could be doing just metres from the shoreline, and half-hauled out of the water. Something about their size and shape suggested that they were male, and you stared openly at the stunning colours of his tail and upper body. The thick muscle was covered with inky blue scales which were in turn dotted here and there with pearlescent scales. It brought to mind the clearest of night skies. The fan of his tail was feathered and spread out in the water behind him, while his upper body was smooth and free of scales. His skin there, however, was a dark blue-grey, and he had little fins of iridescent blue at his elbows. Plastered to his head and hanging halfway down his back, his hair was black as an oil slick, and he stared at you with huge, dolorous, sapphire eyes, blinking slowly.

“Hi,” you called, waving. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a siren up here before. Do you come here a lot?”

He waved back, somewhat hesitantly, and then gestured with a clawed hand at his throat, opening his mouth silently.

“Oh,” you said. “You don’t speak…? Is that right?”

In answer, he gave a slow, sad nod, those bright, completely blue eyes turning down to stare at a spot of vivid green seaweed on the rock.

Something about his dejected posture made you keep talking, so you asked, “Do you know Sign?”

His head jerked back up at that and he tilted it curiously to one side in a silent question.

“You know, Sign Language?” you asked. “It’s what people who can’t hear or talk - or sometimes both - use to communicate. They use their hands.”

The siren froze but his lips parted in soft astonishment, eyes wide with wonder. He clearly hadn’t known that there were other ways of expressing himself, and your heart twisted at the anguish in his storm-blue eyes.

“My friend teaches it,” you went on, thinking on your feet. “I don’t know it myself, but if you’d like to learn, I’m sure I can ask him for you.”

He nodded emphatically but then went still again.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He made an empty kind of cough, mouth opening in an unvoiced hiss of frustration - more of a choke, really - flashing razor sharp teeth. Then he looked back at you and rubbed his thumb against his fingertips in the gesture that said ‘money’ almost the world over. He’d clearly been around landfolk often enough to have picked that one up.

Waggling your legs slowly through the water as you thought, you pouted and then said, “I can ask if he’d be willing to help out anyway… He’s the kind of guy that would do that.”

The hope that kindled in those sad eyes nearly tore your chest in two.

“I’ll ask him right now. Hang on.”

One quick text later and Jera was agreeing to come down to the beach in ten minutes to meet the siren. The bright green of the lizardfolk’s tail seemed to fascinate your siren, and the two of them seemed to hit it off almost immediately. You couldn’t help but notice the way he flinched away though whenever either of you made a sudden gesture or raised your voices - even to laugh - and as you and Jera made your way back up the beach after promising to return the next morning, your friend voiced his concerns.

“For a siren to have no voice…” he muttered darkly. “He must be the lowest of the low… he…”

“He seems to desperate to communicate,” you commented.

Jera shook his head and made a soft growl like an alligator. “It’s more than that. They use their voices for everything: hunting, mating, socialising… Without that, he… he has no role, no function.”

Your heart ached for him and you said, “You mind if I sit in on the lessons too? That way he’s got me to talk to as well…”

“I kind of assumed you’d want that anyway,” Jera grinned. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

Over the next three weeks, you and Jera spent hours down at the shore with the siren. He was literate as it turned out, and at the start of your first lesson he wrote his name with a talon in the hard, wet sand.

“Ilta,” Jera repeated, looking up at him. “That means ‘evening’,” he added, and both of you eyed the starry night sky of Ilta’s tail.

“Appropriate,” you grinned and Ilta blushed darker. His face was so sharply defined, his features so intense and clearly belonging to a predator, that to see him turn a little softer sent a thrill through you.

When he saw the way you smiled, he signed, “Thank you,” with a hesitant and bashful hand.

One morning perhaps a month into your daily lessons, as you hurried through the town, with your heart fluttering and your chest light with excitement to see him again, your phone buzzed and you paused at the harbour to read the text.

Jera: Hey, I can’t make it today - something’s come up and they need me to cover for another member of staff at school. Sorry! x

You replied that it was fine, and that you and Ilta could practise together anyway. However, he wasn’t there when you got to your usual meeting spot in the cove, and a stab of worry hit you like a hammer blow. Eventually, after thirty long minutes of pacing the sand and staring at the water, the surface of the sea rippled in a rush of bubbles, and you saw Ilta’s dark tail propelling him towards you.

“Hey,” you called, waving to him, but when you saw how dejected he looked, how broken down, you knelt in the water, heedless of the splashing waves, and held out your arms to him. “Come here,” you murmured.

He lay in your lap, his chest heaving silently, and he flung his lean, muscular arms around your waist. Stroking his wet hair seemed to calm him and after a moment you felt him shiver. “Ilta, what happened?” you asked softly, but he only tightened his grip on you and buried his face from sight. “Ok, it’s ok,” you crooned. “I’m here.”

After a while, you recalled something that Jera had said about song being so important to the everyday life of a siren, and you began to hum quietly. It was the tune you’d sung on the day you’d first met him; a variation of a folk melody that had always cheered you up when your grandmother had sung it to you. Within seconds, his body went limp beneath your touch and he let his hands fall to the sand on either side of your thighs. He listened to you sing it through twice before he took a deep, shuddering breath, and then pushed himself upright.

His strange gaze met yours and he reached a lethally-clawed hand for your throat, his fingertips just brushing against your skin as you continued to sing. The urge to stop was overwhelming, but something made you keep humming. He blinked slowly, dark lips slightly parted, and he continued to touch you. Eventually he withdrew his hand and signed an embarrassed, “Thank you… I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” you asked, using your hands instead of your voice now.

He shuffled slightly, splashing you as he got comfortable enough that he could sit half-coiled up on himself, balanced and able to use both hands to speak. “Sorry,” he grinned as you wiped the droplets off your face with a quiet laugh. “I… I had a bad day with my shoal.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes in frustration, though it wasn’t directed at you. “They use their voices on me,” he admitted.

“I don’t understand…” you said gently, movements of your hands small, quiet, faltering.

He turned his gaze back to meet yours and said, “You know how we hunt, right? We lure our prey in and then we use our voices to stun them. The sounds are…” he paused, frowning, searching for a way to explain it to you. “You know how some whales hunt by blasting sound at fish, making the air inside them expand or leaving them twitching and immobile…”

Horror slid into your stomach and you stared at him. “They did that to you?”

Ilta nodded. “They’ve always done it,” he went on. “But since I’ve been coming here and learning to talk another way, they’ve been doing it more and more. I… I can’t defend myself from that.”

“Can you leave?” you blurted aloud.

He shrugged. “Probably, but only if I stayed in and around the harbour. I learned to hunt in the shallows the way other merfolk do, with a spear of sharpened shell, but they think that’s hilarious of course.”

You made a disgusted noise in the back of your throat and he smiled broadly.

“What?”

“I love the noises you make,” he said. “Sometimes it’s just really cute and other times it’s beautiful. You have a lovely voice you know?”

You snorted softly, flushing. “You should have heard my grandmother. She was a real singer.”

“What’s a real singer?” he asked.

“You know, someone who sings for audiences… People pay to come and hear her…”

“Oh,” he said. “You sang for me though,” he added, his movements suddenly shrinking down to barely-there twitches of his hands. He’d picked it up much more quickly than you had, and you almost missed what he said.

“I couldn’t think of any other way to make you feel better,” you said shyly. “Did it work?”

“Yeah.” It was obvious that there was more to it though, but he didn’t go on immediately.

“Did… Did I do something wrong?” you asked, trying to catch his eye but he was too busy looking at a patch of bare sand just beside you.

He shook his head.

“Then what is it…?”

He swallowed and looked up at you at last. “It’s something a mate might do,” he said with trembling fingers. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before. I thought they never would… you know… because of…” he finished by gesturing weakly at his voiceless throat.

Feeling brave, you reached for his face and traced your thumb across his cheekbone. “Ilta,” you said and he brought his hand up to your throat again before dropping it so that he could speak.

“I love your voice,” he said. “I wish I could sing for you. I wish… I…” His hands fell limply into the water beside his tail and he sighed. Slowly he brought the fingers of his right hand up to his own throat, claws digging into the muscle of his neck. For a horrible moment you thought he might hurt himself, but he relaxed a second later and opened his mouth. As he exhaled, gills flaring briefly in his neck, he let out a wet choking sound. It was just air in his throat, with no vocalisation at all. “I can’t,” he signed. “I’ve never been able to…”

You took his hands in yours briefly once he’d stopped talking and kissed his knuckles gently. “I know it’s… it’s been awful for you,” you said as you continued to kiss his cold skin, “But… I think that not having a voice has made you partly who you are. I’m not saying I wouldn’t love you if you could sing, but… I love who you are, Ilta. I love spending time with you and listening to your stories about what it’s like underwater… I would never have known any of that if I hadn’t met you.”

Ilta listened to your words and stared at you, stunned, barely breathing. Eventually he slid his hands free of yours and asked, “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you reassured him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked immediately, and when you nodded, he grinned again.

He knocked you back into the sand, pressing his whole body against yours, and it was as if his touch became his song. Silently, he sculpted his feelings for you against your skin, running his hands up your legs, his gills working as he became more and more aroused by the feel of you. He lifted your top and raked his teeth over your warm skin, making you gasp and cry out. The cove was mercifully pretty empty, with only a few people about, but they were a long way off.

His fluke flailed in the surf as he dragged himself up towards your shoulders, his body still pressed along yours. His long hair fell to one side and you looked up into his eyes. “You were going to kiss me,” you grinned.

Ilta’s answering smile was sharp and wicked but full of fondness, and he kissed you hard enough that you let out a low moan. One of his cold hands wrapped lightly around your throat as you continued to mewl and groan under his touch, and you knew that his touch was his answering song for you. Together, the two of you made a song of your own. When you said as much, he tipped his head back, almost in victory, and rutted up against your thigh, his scales suddenly slick where they touched you.

Ilta continued to touch you with reverence and wonder until you could no longer stop the sounds from falling from you. He took every single one of them and returned them with his body until the two of you were gasping together, sharing a breath as he spilled his release across your thighs, his forehead pressed to your collarbones and his fingers tangled in your hair.

With one final, soft, decadent moan, you kissed the top of his head and he signed something vague that might have been ‘thank you’ but you weren’t quite sure. To be fair though, you weren’t in a much better position to be articulating anything either.

—

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[themoonlitsojourner]

Chapter 7: Uncertainty and Exploration

Through starry nights and music lessons, Wanda and Vision rediscover themselves. And begin to discover each other.

Despite the early hour and the fog clouding her brain since she found herself alone in this world, Wanda knows immediately who waits outside her room. Taking a deep breath, she prays for the energy to face this day. She opens the door.

“Good morning.” Her attempt at a smile barely counts, but at least it’s friendly. Anything to soothe her visitor’s nervousness.

“Would you care for a morning beverage?” Vision asks at the exact same moment, his words colliding with hers. He winces, and she’s sure he would blush if he could. “P-pardon me. Good morning.”

Focusing on the mugs in his hands, Vision starts again. “It is customary to consume a heated, caffeinated beverage in the morning. This seems like a practice that would appeal to you, so I have secured two options. I- I am not aware of your preference.” His blue eyes flick to hers. They are skittish, like the eyes of a deer. “Would you prefer green tea or filtered coffee? Or a different product, perhaps?”

“No, no, the coffee is fine.” She wraps her fingers around the warm ceramic and Vision shifts his hand away as soon as she has a secure grip. He is so careful to keep his fingers from brushing against hers. So careful to avoid making contact.

If it were anyone else, Wanda would think it was because of her, a fear of the storm of red that boils just below the surface of her hands. But she has seen inside his head. He is not afraid of her. He is the only one in this building who isn’t.

No, Vision is avoiding human touch, just as he does in the hallways, entering them only when there are fewer people who might brush against him. And the entire time, he keeps his shoulders curled forward, as if to make himself as small as possible.

Why does he avoid even the chance of contact? Why does he fear it so?

Wanda focuses on the mug in her hands, soaking in the heat and the familiar comfort it provides. Steam rises to her nose, but it does not carry the rich, dark scent of fresh coffee. Instead, a burnt and bitter odor greets her. Feeling Vision’s gaze on her, she dares to take a cautious sip.

If Vision made this himself, she knows the first thing they’ll work on.

Wanda’s wrinkled nose must give away her disgust. Vision rushes to assure her, “I have also procured cream and sugar for you to add, if you so wish.” He ducks into the library down the hall, returning with a wooden serving tray.

Wanda pours most of the cream from the little pitcher into her mug, stirring it with the teaspoon he holds out. “Did you get all this yourself?” Her second sip, at least, doesn’t make her cringe. She might have outgrown watered-down coffee years ago, but the cream makes this drink halfway palatable. And if nothing else, the cup will keep her hands warm.

“I retrieved the tray and its implements from the breakfast bar in the dining hall. The teaspoon I selected from the kitchen drawer. The spoons that had been set out for beverage use were not of the proper sort,” Vision explains, expression solemn. “A pot of coffee had already been brewed, but perhaps I should have prepared a new one…” He falls silent, brow furrowed as he watches her sip from the mug.

“It is good,” Wanda lies, and Vision’s shoulders drop in relief. He nods and turns to set the tray down. His golden cape, reaching almost to the floor, ripples around his boots with every step. Wanda follows its lines up his shoulders, frowning at the metal collar joining it to the tight fabric of his suit. None of it looks very comfortable, especially for more than a couple hours.

She looks down into her coffee, idly stirring the pale liquid in slow circles. “You still want my help, yes?” Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Vision turn around slowly.

“Yes.” The river of his thoughts speeds up, tumbling and rushing like rapids over rocks. Anxious. About what, exactly?

Wanda realizes her intrusion and pulls back from his mind, refocusing. “Okay. So...” She takes a deep breath. “Um... the outfit. It is fine for fighting and such, but otherwise you might want something more… relaxed?”

Brow furrowing again, Vision peers down at his clothing. “I must always stand ready to defend.” The phrase is flat. Automatic. Scripted, maybe? His eyes meet hers as he speaks his next words urgently, striving to convince her. Or himself. “It is my purpose and honor to defend and serve.”

Did Stark decide that for him? Is it something S.H.I.E.L.D. told him?

Wanda nods slowly. “It is admirable of you to think that. But there is more than one purpose in life. And things change. Always.” Suddenly, she cannot watch him any longer. Staring down into her coffee, she wills her blurred sight to clear. She has cried enough. “And when they do, there is no other option but to adapt.”

Vision watches her solemnly, eyes soft with sympathy.

Wanda takes a deep breath and forces herself to try another smile. “So. Daily clothing.” The mundane topic is awkward and alien on her tongue. There wasn’t much talk in the last few years about anything other than matters of life, death, and survival. The normal and the everyday belong in her memories. In another lifetime.

Nodding thoughtfully, Vision stares past the wall, irises swirling from one direction to the next.

Is he considering his options? Searching the internet, maybe?

“What would you suggest?” he asks.

Wanda purses her lips. Where in the tower could they find extra clothes… There is nothing she can remember seeing during her brief tour, but she remembers little of that first day. We could ask the Captain. She clenches her sweatshirt sleeves in her fists at the thought of venturing into the floors below.

Then suddenly her musings are swept away. Wanda blinks, brain scrambling to comprehend what she sees as Vision’s clothing seems to ripple and shift, both in style and color. Soon, a loose, plain cotton T-shirt and dark jeans drape his tall form. Not a trace of the suit or cape remains.

Her mouth falls open in astonishment. “How did you do that?”

“I am equipped with a thin layer of nanobots, easily controlled through a mental-cellular interface. I assume their purpose is the formation of clothing.” He holds his arms out to the side. “Do you think this attire will suffice?”

Wanda frowns. Vision’s old-fashioned, formal speech looks jarring alongside the modern style, and his perfect posture disrupts the loose fit. If anything, he stands even stiffer than when he wore the battle suit.

She tilts her head. “Is it… comfortable for you?”

“It is casual, is it not?”

“But are you comfortable? Do you like it?”

The corner of his mouth curves down. “Not… strictly speaking.”

Wanda nods. “Try something else, then. You will want it to fit you.”

Vision’s irises begin twirling, starting with the opposite direction this time. When he does that, what exactly goes on behind those blue eyes? She’s sorely tempted to look.

A moment later, his clothing shifts again.

Wanda examines the dark gray vest and tie over a long-sleeved white shirt with neatly buttoned cuffs. Pressed charcoal slacks and black dress shoes complete the simple, yet elegant outfit.

Vision looks to her, waiting

Wanda bites her lip. Maybe he should loosen the tie. Then again, he is obviously more comfortable dressed formally. His body language alone speaks loudly to that. She nods once. “This is good.”

“Good,” Vision repeats. She wonders if he’s aware that he mimics her nod and tone almost exactly. “Excellent.”

----------

During those first weeks after Pietro’s death, the intensity of the searing, screaming pain had not surprised Wanda. Neither had the crushing cloud of grief, or the red haze of anger that fogged her mind and numbed her senses during those dark nights she spent alone, hiding in the Bartons’ spare room.

Wanda has been through it all before. She knows loss well.

But now the grip of those feelings has started to fade, and what does surprise her is the boredom. The restless, irritable energy, the listless lack of focus. Every day is just the day before, completely identical in every way. Get up, train, meals, train, sleep.

There is no purpose. No drive. No one to hunt down and make pay for her brother’s death. No revenge to lie awake and plan.

She already ripped out the killer’s heart, but it was too late to save her own.

Not even the intense combat training, progressing as rapidly as she can handle, holds her attention. No matter how hard she throws herself into it, how carefully she blocks out everything but the red in her hands, she cannot lose herself in the movements. All the fighting does is bring the memories of her last battle rushing to the surface. Pietro’s last battle. And when each session finishes, it leaves her fighting to hide her pounding heart and the shaking that spreads from her hands.

There is no forgetting for her. No distraction.

Fortunately, Vision seems to have found some direction, or at least something to fill his time with. He must have read every book in the library on their floor once, if not twice, and frequently he phases through the floor with an armful pilfered from elsewhere in the building. Made-up stories, real stories, textbooks, manuals, encyclopedias, he reads them all. His desire to learn is insatiable.

If only Wanda could muster even half that enthusiasm for something. Anything.

Today, the late afternoon sun seeps through the library’s full-length window, illuminating the book in Vision’s lap. Wanda flips through the channels on the TV in the corner, jaw clenched in frustration.

It is Monday, the fifth (or maybe sixth) afternoon in a row they’ve spent in this room, and by far the quietest. They train every morning and evening except for Sunday, but the hours between are their “free time.” It’s a good thing the time is “free” because she has done nothing but waste it.

Wanda drums her fingers petulantly on the arm of her chair, restlessness coiling in her chest. She jabs the remote buttons again.

There is nothing on TV. Even worse, there is nothing to do, and she needs to do something. With a growl, Wanda hits the power button and tosses the remote to the table.

“Did you know mantis shrimp are equipped with sixteen different kinds of cones?” Vision suddenly says.

Wanda turns to look at him.

“That’s thirteen more than humans possess,” he remarks thoughtfully, eyes still tracing the page of the encyclopedia.

This was another new thing, his habit of sharing random facts. There is an unspoken understanding between them that they spend the afternoons here in their library because neither dares venture into the mob of noisy people and hectic thoughts that awaits them downstairs.

Wanda could take the solitude a step farther and stay in her room. Completely cut herself off from the noise. But somehow her room is too quiet. Too empty.

She wonders if he feels the same about his.

So they end up here, sharing each other’s company but rarely speaking. Not knowing what to say is another thing they have in common. Vision wants to talk, though. She can see it in the way he glances up from his book every once in a while, eyes darting to her, just briefly. And she tries to start the conversation sometimes, she really does. But it is frightening to realize how little she remembers of how. This is why Vision breaks the silence and she does her best to keep the conversation rolling.

Wanda tilts her head. “Cones? What cones?”

Vision straightens. “Oh, pardon me for the lack of context. I see this topic requires a little elaboration.” Enthusiasm brightens his eyes as he ponders how best to explain. He really does have nice eyes.

“The organic eye perceives light and color due to a thin layer of neurons and receptors covering its posterior wall. This layer is called the retina. The superficial layer of the retina is composed of photoreceptors, which come in two different varieties, cones and rods.”

Most of the words fly over her head, but Wanda cannot hide an amused smile as Vision adds his hands to his demonstration.

“The rods line the distal edges of the retina, providing sharp vision, while the cones cluster in the middle and supply color vision. Humans have three types of cones, each perceiving a different wavelength of light. Mantis shrimp, on the other hand, have sixteen different varieties.”

“So they see more colors?”

Vision purses his lips. “Oddly enough, no. They can see ultraviolet light, however, and a property of light called polarization. The latter is sort of the orientation of the light waves.” He holds his hands up side by side, first vertically, then horizontally.

“Hmm.” Wanda considers this, searching for a good question to ask. Her mind remains blank. It’s harder to think now that Pietro is gone, like trudging through knee deep snow with every thought.

After a few moments without a reply from Wanda, one corner of Vision’s mouth lifts. The other remains stubbornly flat, allowing him to offer her only an awkward half-smile before he ducks his head and returns to his book. It is the one expression he hasn’t figured out yet, likely because he always seems so unsure about it. As if he’s afraid to commit and show the wrong reaction.

Wanda bites her lip as silence returns to the room.

“It is quieter than usual.” She glances toward the hallway. Normally they can hear the murmur of activity floors below, but today there is an uncanny stillness. It is far quieter than even the weekend, which is only minimally less hectic than the rest of the week.

“Today is President Washington’s Birthday, a federal holiday,” Vision promptly replies.

Wanda stares at him.

He lifts his gaze and clears his throat, a little sheepish. “By which I mean no one except Agent Romanoff is working today.”

“No one else.”

“Correct.”

Wanda fiddles with her sleeves, tentatively reaching across the compound to confirm this. The only minds besides theirs are those of the security guards.

“Would… you be interested in exploring?” Vision traces the cover of his book, stealing a quick glance at Wanda’s face. “I haven’t had the chance to investigate most of the ground floor.”

Wanda looks around the library. There is nothing to do here. And the building is completely empty…

She shrugs. “I guess.”

Vision nods and stands, wiping his hands on his slacks. Despite the formality of the outfit, he looks comfortable in his vest and dress shirt. Still, he does not seem to completely grasp the idea of clothing. He hasn’t switched outfits since picking this one, choosing instead to just change the color every morning.

The moment they step from the elevator into the huge, empty lobby, Vision tenses. His eyes dart across the abandoned floor without seeming to actually see it.

“Let’s, um… Let’s go this direction.” Wanda tips her head toward the right, and Vision nods, blinking a couple times. They walk without talking, resisting the urge to tiptoe as their footsteps echo off the walls.

Most of the doors on the ground floor lead to bland offices, and the two floors above aren’t much better. The rooms are either locked, more offices, or storage.

Her flicker of anticipation for this journey has long died out and Wanda is about to give up, when they stumble across yet another storage room.

Vision examines the label on the door. “Prop storage.”

Wanda lifts an eyebrow. “Props for what?”

With a shrug, Vision opens the door, gesturing for her to enter first. The room isn’t nearly as large as some they’ve found, but it’s stacked floor-to-ceiling with boxes, totes, and assorted junk all the same. For a building only recently built and occupied, the Avengers wasted no time filling it.

Seeing only junk, Wanda turns to exit. But when she doesn’t hear footsteps behind her, she glances over her shoulder to see Vision wandering deeper inside. With a sigh, she follows, fingers trailing idly over the shelving units.

“Theatre props is the first possibility that comes to mind, but I can see no logic in it,” Vision muses, still stuck on the room name.

Smooth leather meets Wanda’s fingertips, and she stops.

Is this…?

Reaching into the shelf, she slides out a black case and sets it on the floor. Her hands find the latch by memory, and she can’t hide the triumphant smile that crosses her face as the lid opens to reveal an acoustic guitar.

“Do you play?” Vision asks, peering over her shoulder.

“I did.” Wanda traces the wooden grain and gives the steel strings a gentle pluck or two. Glancing up, she catches Vision watching her expectantly. “What?”

“Are… Are you going to play it now?” Curiosity gleams in his eyes.

Her arms ache to hold it, her fingers to slot the notes and strum the strings. The need to play it winds together with another familiar ache, just as strong. The memory of her instructor. Her mama.

“No.” Wanda shuts the case.

“Oh.” Vision frowns. “Are you sure? I don’t think anyone would mind.” He glances around the empty room.

Wanda lifts the case and slides it back onto the shelf. “I’m sure.” Her curt tone keeps away any questions.

A few minutes later, they return to the library. But Wanda’s thoughts linger in the cramped props room all day.

The next morning, she is greeted by a black leather case outside her door. Frowning, Wanda eyes the case and searches for Vision’s mind. His thoughts echo from downstairs. Wanda shakes her head and sighs. She told him she wasn’t going to play.

For a moment longer, she stares at the smooth leather, picturing the instrument inside. She bites her lip. Kneeling beside the case, she flips open the lid. The guitar lies there quietly. Inviting. Promising. A soft brush of her fingers breaks the silence with a low hum. It needs to be tuned. Wanda pulls the case into her room and closes the door behind her. Before she can change her mind, she lifts the instrument into her arms.

The guitar is lighter than she expected, than she remembered. Yet it feels just as right. The strings are strong and familiar under her fingers and the ring of the notes resounds in her chest. The ache, the itch to play becomes louder than the need to avoid digging up old grief.

This floor really does belong to her and Vision, so no one will hear if she plays a few chords. None of the other rooms have ever been used, not even the offices, and not a single employee dares journey up here. Wanda feels the frantic spikes of fear in their minds on the rare occasions she enters their domain downstairs; it doesn’t take much to put two and two together and realize she has been isolated on purpose.

Normally, it would anger her. Normally, she would give them a piece of her mind. But she’s tired, and she is grateful for the solitude. For the quiet.

Especially today, when there is no one to hear her and ask questions, such as who taught her to play, or what the song is, or why she chose such a “sad” chord.

Wanda frets a D minor. She strums the waiting strings.

And finally the world fades away as she falls into the music.

----------

If the days are long and suffocating, the nights are worse. Darkness falls and Wanda lies awake, sleeping fitfully or not at all. The nightmares are fewer, but still she can’t sleep. Insomnia, Vision calls it.

But she avoids the subject, because she can’t talk about how her sleeping mind seeks out the comfort of his, diving into the ocean of gold when the nightmares start. Or how even her few good dreams take place on the seashore now. It’s too much, too close. Too personal to put into words.

There’s something about Vision. Wanda doesn’t understand it, but his mind and soul glow brighter than any she’s ever seen before. And somehow he and she are connected.

Yet every morning, she wakes and reminds herself she can’t lean on the comfort and reassurance he so willingly offers. What if she grows to need it? What if she begins to need him, and like everyone else in her life, he is taken away? She’ll be left behind again. Left alone.

She always is.

Wanda stares at the ceiling, her own breath too loud in her ears, nearly as loud as the thoughts burning in her mind. Flinging the covers aside, she slips from bed. There will be no sleep tonight.

The digital clock reads 2:11 AM. She walks just to move, to do something. She can’t outrun her own mind. But she can try.

Wanda tiptoes down the darkened hallway. The elevator looms ahead, and she stops. Down? No. The last thing she wants is to run into an obsessive employee working late into the night.

So up, then.

The doors open onto the rooftop and Wanda steps blinking from the harshly lit elevator. Slowly, her eyes adjust to the gentler light of the night. One by one, like frightened children, stars surface in the sky above, outlining a figure stationed at the building’s edge. His cape swirls softly in the brisk February wind.

She does not have to guess who it is.

Always, she and Vision end up together. In the library. Here. Are they really so similar that they seek the same places? Or did she search for him subconsciously? (She suspects it wouldn’t be the first time.) Or was it the invisible thread pulling them, a connection she can’t comprehend born from the moment she looked into his mind as he lay dreaming in the cradle. Part of him was still Ultron then. But Vision was there. She felt it.

Wanda steps quietly across the concrete. She stops just behind Vision, unwilling to disturb him but reluctant to go inside.

“I was disappointed to hear the New Avengers team would not be based at Stark Tower,” Vision says suddenly.

Stark. Wanda bites back a scoff. His disappointment is not mutual.

“It has nothing to do with Mr. Stark,” Vision continues, guessing her thoughts. “It is only that I have a certain… fondness for his view of the city lights.” He stares out over the dark countryside and she joins him, standing a couple feet from the edge. “They represent the life of the city, spread across the streets below. Still bright despite the hour, shining on both those awake and those peacefully slumbering. Pushing back the night like guardian angels. Providing a sense of comfort and safety.”

Vision’s words have the rhythm of poetry. His eyes glow softly like the light he paints such a reverent picture of. Wanda watches the serene blue spill over his pensive expression. In his light, she sees comfort. Safety. Just as he says. She looks away.

“There are more stars here, though.” Wanda nods toward the sky above. “You can’t see them in the city.”

Vision cranes his neck, searching the galaxies spread across the darkness. “But they’re so very far away,” he whispers. Curling his long legs beneath him, he sinks to the concrete, his head still tilted back to stare above.

Wanda stands in silence. She doesn’t know how to answer. Why his expression is so sorrowful or how to fix it. She doesn’t understand the source of his pain. But the ache of watching stars at night… This she understands. No matter how brightly, how beautifully they shine, they always burn out.

Wanda traces a meteor as it streaks across the sky and disappears from view.

Some stars even fall.

After a moment, Wanda sits beside Vision and pulls her knees to her chest.

The brilliant, glimmering show of the galaxies unfolds above them, millions of light years away. They watch until it melts before the threat of the morning light. Until every trace fades as if it were never there.

They do not say anything.

----------

Knock knock.

Stifling a groan, Wanda rolls out of bed and stumbles to the door.

“Hello.” Vision offers her a smile and a mug of coffee. The smile is as tentative as always, lifting only half his mouth. But a new light in his eyes makes up for it. “Good morning, Miss Maximoff.”

“Wanda,” she reminds him, accepting the steaming cup. She barely remembers to mumble her thanks before taking a long drink. Vision, as it turns out, is a much better coffee brewer than whoever made the burnt, bitter monstrosity.

Vision nods his acknowledgement. Is it just her grogginess, or does he hold his shoulders higher? Not with tension but with… confidence. He meets her eyes eagerly, boldly. As if he truly wants to be here. With her.

But maybe it’s just her imagination.

Vision’s gaze flickers past Wanda and into her room, just briefly. A sudden twinge of guilt twists in her chest. She didn’t join him in the library yesterday. In fact, after he delivered her morning coffee, she didn’t see him at all until nighttime. When they met on the rooftop under the stars.

She had spent all her time with the guitar, letting it pull her in and awaken an all-consuming desire to relearn the sound of the notes and the feel of the rhythm. To reclaim a piece of herself. And to be honest, she has no desire to share something so personal with anyone else. But Vision brought her the instrument. He gave her the push she needed to actually play it. It is only fair she let him hear a little.

Wanda takes another sip of her coffee to hide a sudden smile. With eyes as lively and curious as his, how could she say no? Lowering her mug, she clears her throat. “Also, thank you. For the guitar. I would not have gone back for it myself.”

“You are most welcome.”

She shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly nervous. “Would you… want to hear it?”

“Oh, yes please! If you don’t mind.” Those blue eyes Wanda can’t stop noticing glimmer with childish enthusiasm, and some of her hesitancy fades. She opens the door a bit wider and returns to her seat on the bed. Vision follows, gaze darting across the room, hands wringing. He stops just inside the doorway.

Breathing deeply, Wanda bends her head and focuses on her breathing. With each inhale and exhale, another piece of the world around her fades. Vision’s presence, the hum of activity floors below, the heater’s droning buzz. Her fingers slide down the polished fret. The strings bite into her sore fingertips, but the notes she plucks are clean and crisp.

They ring slowly and distinctly at first, each with a bold and individual voice. After a few measures the melody begins to grow, building and expanding beat by beat. Notes find their places, melding with their harmonies in a tune mounting in complexity. The volume, the tension builds until all the notes weave together, their voices joining in a single resounding chord that ends the song.

Wanda smiles to herself. The hours spent perfecting that piece and her red, aching fingertips are well worth it. Glancing up, she falters at the sight of Vision’s face. His eyes are wide and awestruck, as if she just performed a baffling magic trick. Though quite proud of herself, she must admit the tune isn’t particularly difficult or beautiful. But Vision’s expression says he thinks otherwise.

His gaze leaps from her, to the guitar, and back. “How did you do that?”

“I just… press my fingers here...” Surely he knows how guitars work.

“No, how did your hands move with such swiftness and precision? And in perfect coordination with each other?”

Her face reddens. “It wasn’t perfect.”

He stares at her hands. “It was entrancing.”

Wanda fidgets with the tuning pegs, embarrassed by his unabashed honesty and admiration. “Anyone could learn that.” The image of Vision poring over encyclopedias and old novels jumps to the front of her mind. “You could.”

His eyes snap to hers. “Oh, I truly don’t think so...”

“Would you like to try?”

“I-I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Giving him an encouraging smile, Wanda nods toward the bedspread next to her. The guitar looks small and delicate in Vision’s large hands as he carefully accepts it from her, propping it against his knee in an imitation of her posture. Awkward and uncertain, he looks to Wanda for guidance.

“Alright. The basics are mostly form and knowledge of the notes. The first string is an ‘E.’” She nods to him. He finds and plucks it. “Good. By holding the string against the board there at the top of the neck, you will make another note.” The “F” Vision plucks twangs brassy and flat. “You’ll have to press harder.”

He nods, brow furrowing as he applies more pressure and tries again. The note rings clear and musical.

“Good. To make a chord, press with more than one finger. The E minor is your second and third fingers on the second fret, fifth and fourth strings.” Her fingers curve around the empty air, miming the placement.

It takes her a moment to notice the wide-eyed look he gives her.

Wanda’s about to suggest they stick with single notes for now, when Vision cranes his neck and stares at the fretboard. “Second and third fingers,” he whispers to himself. His long, elegant fingers are strangely clumsy on the strings, fumbling to find the position.

“Second fret,” Wanda reminds him. She bites her lip as she watches him struggle. “Here.” She reaches for his hand. And just a moment too late, she remembers his aversion to touch.

Her fingers brush his and he jumps as if struck by electricity, the instrument nearly slipping from his grasp as he yanks his hand away.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Wanda apologizes, face flushing bright red. Vision set a boundary through his careful actions, and she crossed it. It’s no way to repay someone who has been nothing but overwhelmingly kind to her. I didn’t mean to, I am so sorry-

“No, no, I must apologize. I honestly didn’t mean to respond in such a manner.” Guilt and horror at his own reaction chases the shock from Vision’s face. He looks just as sorry as she feels.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s my fault. I should have asked.” Her entire face burns. He’s so new and inexperienced, more frightened and unsure than she probably knows.

“You only surprised me. I-” Vision stares down at the instrument in his hands. He takes a deep breath and his shoulders loosen downward a fraction of an inch. “I actually would like you to show me. The chord, that is.”

Glancing nervously toward his hands, Wanda bites her lip again. “M-may I?”

Vision’s irises rotate just once. She sees the moment he chooses to trust her. “Yes.”

His fingers are rigid and cold as she gently nudges them in the right direction, trying to keep her own hands from shaking as she explains how the notes fit together. He follows her guidance as best he can, the stiffness never leaving his hands. When Wanda checks out the corner of her eye, his jaw is just as tense as his arms. But then he glances at her, just briefly. And his eyes are soft and open. Longing, almost.

There is so much she does not understand about him. His sorrow the night before, his fear of people and touch. The hidden shame she’s just starting to hear behind his words. But there are some things that make sense now. There are some things she knows.

He trusts her. The realization startles Wanda in how sudden and obvious it is. He talks about his interests to her, lets her see the nervous and scared parts of him. He lets her guide his hand across the strings, despite the measures he takes to avoid even casual contact in the hallway.

Vision trusts her. But he doesn’t trust anyone else, and she knows exactly why. The few instances she’s seen him interact with others flash through her mind. Yes, he chooses to keep his distance, even during conversations, and never once has she seen him shake someone’s hand. But now that she thinks about it, she’s also never seen anyone offer him a handshake.

The people of Sokovia had avoided touching urchins such as Wanda and Pietro like they carried a disease. And isn’t Vision just like they were? Isn’t he new, and uncertain, and afraid, just like a child? Sent into the world alone just like an orphan?

Anger burns in her chest. S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to take care of Vision, but they handed him off. Dropped him at the doorstep of the compound, where he is ignored and avoided by every employee. Where he is nothing to the Avengers but another recruit to whip into shape.

Wanda may not know them well, but she is certain the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. would not abandon a child. No, if a child was placed in their care, they would guide and nurture him, providing whatever he needed as he struggled to learn and develop. As he tried to discover who he was. And if they could not provide this, they would place him with someone who could. They would not fail a child the way they have failed Vision.

Do they really not see him?

“Perhaps I am capable of learning to play an instrument,” -Vision’s voice pushes Wanda’s thoughts aside, pulling her back to the present- “But I think I shall leave the music to one with more skill.” He gives her the half-smile, and her heart breaks a little.

She shakes her head slowly, trying to refocus. “You are not so bad.”

Vision passes the guitar to her. “Could I hear another song?” He asks so shyly, and a soft affection fills her heart.

Wanda shrugs, settling the guitar in her lap. “I guess it is not yet time for training. One more.” Her fingers move almost on their own as a flurry of thoughts continues to tumble through her mind. She feels Vision watching her contentedly, open admiration written across his face.

He is so young, so eager and afraid all at once. So desperate to make a connection and find something to hold onto. He needs more than someone to ask questions of and tell unusual facts. He needs direction, to be introduced to experiences and the world outside this building, just as he so strongly desires.

The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. have failed him, completely. Forgotten him.

Wanda will not.