#it took almost half an hour to write this my brain is useless right now

[whilewewereyetsinners]

Please pray for me. I have so much to do, some of it business-related and urgent, but I've been in a flare for days and today I can barely think. The fatigue and pain and stuff are bad enough but I need to be able to function mentally. The business stuff has to get done asap but it's complicated and isn't making sense right now. Please pray for this to pass.

[fadingdaggerr]

omfggg I just finished reading truth be told and it was so amazing and good and wonderful and wow wow wow you're so talented!!! can you please please consider writing a part 2 where r and Mel slowly start dating and Mel starts bringing them back around her family and introducing them to the Abbott crew and everyone is like 👀👀 and then Mel asks them to marry her and everyone is Mel's family is like FINALLY.

truth be lived

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: part two of truth be told, based on request above | 9.6k

includes: useless lesbian disease, fluff, more fluff bc the last part didn't have enough

warnings: they/them pronouns used for r, slight insecurity, kissing/making out

translation: peluche (italian - teddy bear)

italics are flashbacks

note: god this took me so long i’m sorry. my brain is an evil being. but N E ways how shocked are we that this is way fucking longer than part one? we aren’t? that’s what i thought. swear my dumbass can't make it easy on myself, but i just really wanted to grow the relationship and not just throw it out there yk?? excuses excuses, i know

It’s almost worse than when Barbara made her go a month without caffeine. Scratch that. It’s fifty times worse. It’s been a week that Melissa has gone without getting to see you. The week that will finally come to a close once the clock strikes seven and you show up at her door.

Saturdays, as of late, the two of you spent nearly three hours in a coffee shop, talking endlessly until your macchiatos went cold. Catching up on over a decade apart was slowly patching the dam that gave out all those years ago. A month of this gravitated to getting lunch together during the week, sitting together on a bench in the halfway point between your jobs. A couple more weeks, and you started going to the bar on Fridays to get your whiskey sours to celebrate the end of a hard week.

It was over stealing a cherry from your drink that Melissa got brave enough to ask you what had been on her mind since she saw you again. She knew it had to be her move, after all that had happened before.

“Next Friday night, you busy?” Melissa asks as she picks the stem off.

Your tongue ghosts over your lips, “not at all. And for you, I’m always free.”

“Would you wanna go out? With me?” An exhale rattles her chest, “Like a- like a date?”

Scanning her face, all you can see is sincerity in her question, and not a touch of restraint. The corners of your lips fly up, creases around your eyes deepening as you take in the sight of a nervous, but hopeful, Melissa. What you wouldn’t give to cradle those flushed, pink cheeks and kiss her right now.

“I would love to go on a date with you,” you answer, “name the time and place, and I’m there.”

A grin that’s equally dorky as yours appears on Melissa's face, her smile prevalent in her voice, “you worry about nothing. I’ll pick you up.”

Green eyes flick from the Tucci mug in front of her to the clock over the door. Only eleven hours and forty minutes, not that she’s counting. A sigh passes her lips at her own desperation. She went nearly a decade without you, half a week shouldn’t be this hard. By God, though, it is.

By lunch, it feels like another week passed her by. A sense of freedom fills Melissa, finally able to dig her phone out of the bottom drawer of her desk where she previously jailed it, too tempted to check for texts from you or send her own. For added proof of her restraint, she doesn’t allow herself to look at the screen until she sits at the table next to Barb.

The moment leather pants meet the hard plastic chair, her phone is ripped from her pocket, glasses perched on her nose. Glossy lips stretch into a smile immediately.

Peluche: any idea how to make 6.5 hours into 0?

Peluche: asking for a friend

Tell your ‘friend’ if I knew, I would have done it.

The little smirk on her face does not go unnoticed by the others in the room, though none are brave enough to ask about it. Jacob eyes his roommate from across the room. He’s seen the weight on her shoulders fly off within the last few weeks, the oven door hasn’t slammed once, she didn’t even make fun of his new kombucha. Early excuses to retire to her bedroom were becoming more frequent, and after a very brave snooping session, Jacob heard tiny bits of a phone call. Breathy giggles coming from his roommate made him step away, an act to save not only his room, but also his life.

The little grin that would appear on her face, before she scurried upstairs, was the same one that she wears at this very moment. It takes the willpower of a thousand Ava’s in a hookah bar to not jump up and down at the thought that Melissa may be seeing someone again, someone clearly better for her. With all of his self-control, held together with sheer desperation, he glances at Barbara. God’s number one soldier is smiling to herself, giving a little nod as she feels his gaze on her. Confirmation.

There’s a certain pep in her step the rest of the day. Not one eye roll as Janine breathlessly recounted her walk back from the deli, no pinching the bridge of her nose when a student asked a question she’d answered seven times already today, not even one occurrence of biting her tongue to save herself an elbow from Barbara. Blissfully happy Melissa is almost more terrifying than angry Melissa, her stiff walk replaced with a certain bounce that didn’t diminish.

“Alright, little eagles, it is go-time! Move it, move it! If you’re not out the door in ten seconds, you’re spending the night with the Abbott ghosts!” The kids all run past Melissa in a flock of giggles as she mentally counts each one, making sure everyone is accounted for before locking up her room. Giddiness grows in her chest, T-minus four hours, and she finds herself just as motivated as the children to run out the doors. Uncharacteristically, she tries to avoid Barbara on her way out, trying to get home as fast as humanly possible, knowing she would be in a frenzied overdrive once she starts getting ready to see you.

“Melissa!” She cringes as she hears her name at the end of the hall, stalling her in her place. Turning on her heel, the redhead faces the floor to hide the pained expression she wears, before looking back up. “Girl, where are you going in such a hurry? You’re moving like the devil is on your heels.”

“The devil couldn’t catch me if he tried,” Melissa snorts, “and I’m just tryna get home, I got plans tonight.”

Barbara raises a brow, “plans, you say? With whom?”

“No one,” she replies, but the sly grin and pink cheeks give her away.

The kindergarten teacher hums, “well, you have fun with no one. I expect a debrief Monday morning, maybe Saturday if you find some free time.” Pink cheeks go as red as Melissa’s hair at the insinuation, only managing a little huff and nod as a response before slinking off to her car.

—☽—

Melissa had given you only one direction for tonight, being that you should dress warm. As much as she knew the limited information would bother you, she hoped you trusted her enough to go along with it, and you did without question, but not without a half-second of hesitation. She could already picture the game of eenie-meenie you would likely play when you went to pick out a sweater or sweatshirt.

And she would be right. With an hour left before Melissa was to arrive, you stood half-naked in front of the closet on your fifth round of the game in trying to choose what to wear. Though every time you reject an option, you’d manage to find a potential reason to go with it, and the cycle keeps going. Deciding to let fate take its chance, you throw an arm over your eyes and blindly swing the other to randomly grab something to wear, at this point you don’t even care if it’s the matching Bluey sweatshirt you share with your nephew.

Fate is on your side it seems, the blind reach procuring a loose fitting, dark grey sweater, one you’d owned over half your life. One that Melissa had stolen many times before, that you had to steal back from her. Without a second thought, you put a longsleeve on before the sweater, just in case it finds a way to pass ownership.

Similarly to last week, you find yourself tense and jittery, waiting on the edge of your seat for the text that tells you that you’ll be able to see her again. Bosco nudges at your hands to be pet, clearly noticing your nerves, attempting to snuggle them away. He’s an expert, your shaky hands stilling as you scratch gently around his neck, dodging his wet nose before it meets your eye. Utterly in the zone petting the spaniel, your phone pinging pulls you from your trance.

pretty girl: Ready when you are.

i’ll be right down, just a sec

pretty girl: Take your time hon.

You, in fact, do not take your time, but what Melissa doesn’t see, she can’t possibly know. Panting at the bottom of the stairs, you take a spare few seconds to catch your breath before walking towards the only car in the lot with its lights on. Leaning against it was Melissa, picking at her nails with pursed lips, a tell-tale sign of her nerves. The closer you get, the more clearly you can see her. Her bright pink hoodie is clearer now, contrasting against a pair of leather pants that almost rip the air from your lungs.

The words leave your lips before you can really stop them, “you’re beautiful.”

Bright eyes look up from the pavement, wide with surprise from your seemingly sudden appearance in front of her. Heat spreads from down her face to her chest at the compliment, feeling every bit of it from head to toe, reveling in the warmth of your attention. It’s been years since you’ve looked at her like this, much less spoken.

“You-” she breathes, “you’re wow.” A second wave hits her when she sees what you’re wearing, that fucking sweater. She’d stolen it more times than she can count, straight from the closet or even directly off of your body, and now it was within arms reach again.

“Should’ve asked first, wearing your sweater and all,” you say lightheartedly, hoping that it will calm the nerves between you both.

“I guess I can let it slide this time,” Melissa chuckles, looking down bashfully. “You ready to get going?”

All you manage is a nod, far too excited to be in her presence to get anymore words out. Ever the gentlewoman, Melissa slides in front of you to open your door, closing it once you’ve slid into your seat. You knew better than to ask where you were going, the redhead already told you three times that she wasn’t spoiling anything for you.

The entirety of the twenty minute drive, it takes a god-like amount of effort to keep from staring at Melissa’s hand on the gear shift. Shimmering rings just beg to be fiddled with, hand asking to be held, but you refrain from crossing the line. The late time keeps the road relatively empty, though Philly streets are never silent, a cacophony of horns and yelling seems to linger regardless of the sun’s presence.

The car pulls into a lot of a building, only a small deli on the first level, the rest appears to be utterly vacant. Slowly, you turn to face Melissa, looking at her with pure confusion and a need for an answer.

She peeks over, sensing your gaze on her. Putting the car in park she simply says, “just trust me.”

“I do,” you reply without hesitation.

It takes very little persuading for you to begin following Melissa, in through the deli where she greeted the man at the front desk. From the little Italian you still remember from being around her family, you pick up something about a door and the two of you being allowed to do something. All the fishing for translation in your mind halts when a hand goes to the small of your back, guiding you to the back of the shop towards the stairs. At the top floor, Melissa reaches around you to put the code into the door, opening the roof access. Three thick blankets stacked on top of one another, with a cooler holding them down, greet you when you turn after watching the redhead prop the door open with a brick.

A sort of wonder takes over, just following her movements as she sits on the blankets, patting the spot next to her. Taking residence next to her, you scoot closer without even an attempt of subtlety. Glossy lips curve into a smile at your action, Melissa immediately trying to hide it by reaching into the orange cooler.

From the cooler, she pulls out a shaker and a bottle of whiskey, peeking at you with a mischievous look in her eye. Without breaking eye contact, she lifts out simple syrup and lemon juice. Simultaneously, both your noses scrunch, leaning into each other slightly as you snicker, feeling juvenile in the excitement of it all. 

Despite taking the time to garnish both your drinks with maraschinos, you pretend to not notice the sly reaches to pull them out of your drink. As far as you’re concerned, she can have whatever she wants if you get to hear that quiet, satisfied giggle.

Reaching into the cooler again, Melissa pulls out a small radio, checking her watch as she fiddles with the dials. After a few moments, you hear what sounds like the opening credits of a movie. Knocking her knee with your own to get your attention, she points to a screen a little ways away, a small drive-in theater that you didn’t even know was in the city. Squinting a little to see the title from the distance, you see that it’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, one of her father’s favorites. The thought alone makes you smile, he’d gotten you both into westerns once you were ‘old enough to appreciate them,’ meaning when you were well into your twenties.

It takes little time for the two of you to end up pressed against each other, everything packed away and forgotten off to the side. The two of you stay quiet as you listen to the movie, both mouthing lines you remember. Your eyes long to look at her, so you look down to grab your drink, shifting your eyes to look at Melissa.

Once you do, all you can do is watch her, her hands, her eyes, her lips, how content she is written on her face. It’s hard to take your eyes off her, it always has been, but right now it feels more difficult than ever. Yellow street lights barely illuminate her, everything you can see is because of the sheer closeness of your bodies. The warmth radiating off of her is grounding, the chill around you nonexistent.

Feeling your attention on her quickly has Melissa turning towards you. She’s met with a nose brushing against hers, both of your eyes widening at the newfound closeness. Neither of you even attempt to move away, completely engrossed in each other’s gaze; the closest you two had been in a decade, here and now.

“Can I-” She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence.

“Please.”

Lips rush to press against yours, moving quickly, but so carefully that you can’t help the whine that crawls out of your throat. It takes even less time for your hands to slide up to her face, holding her close as her own hands wander to hold your sides. Needy fingers weave into her hair, tugging lightly at soft copper. Melissa groans into your mouth, tongue swiping against your lips, being met with instant entry and a cross between a sigh and moan.

Any remaining gloss that wasn’t sticking to the plastic cups was spread across your lips, giving you a taste of cherry and lemon, whiskey shared between you. The feeling of her tongue is intoxicating, and all you can manage is to haul her closer, wanting her entirely against you. Catching on, Melissa pushes further into you, leaning you down onto the blankets. The change in position seems to bring a moment of pause to both of you, parting for a moment to catch your breaths.

Slowly, you open your eyes, meeting jade eyes with blown out pupils. Detangling your hands from her hair, you bring them back to hold her face. Stroking your thumb over her cheek, her eyes flutter shut as a deep breath leaves her chest. You gently pass over her cheekbone, following the slope to her lips, kiss-swollen and lovely. Brushing against her lips, you see her eyes open again, watching your attention on her skin. You can practically feel the nerves radiating off of her.

Tugging her down gently, you press a soft kiss to her lips, easy and slow. A silent reassurance that you weren’t going anywhere, that you want this just as much as she does.

The entire drive back to your building, Melissa keeps her hand in yours, enjoying the feeling of your grip tightening around hers every now and then. Uncharacteristically, she drives the speed limit through the streets, wanting to prolong her time with you as much as she can. Pulling into the lot, she lifts your hand to press a kiss to it before hopping out, rounding the car to open your door.

“What a charmer,” you joke, voice bubbly and light from pure adoration for the woman. Humming, Melissa’s fingers tangle with yours as she walks you to the door. Leaning against the cold brick of the building, you pull her in closer, wanting her in your orbit a little longer.

Her thumb glides over your knuckles, “thank you, for tonight.”

“Thank you. Next time, though, I’m planning everything,” an easy smile crosses your face as you fiddle with her rings. You watch a barely suppressed excitement cross her features, feeling your heart swell at the sight.

Subconsciously, you both lean into each other, no words spoken between you. Your eyes flick to her licks, catching her attention. With a barely there touch, Melissa presses a kiss to your lips, lingering as you just barely keen into her. As she pulls away, she forces herself to take a step back, knowing if she stays close that she’ll never leave.

“Can’t wait,” she says, a smile on her lips that never fades when she’s around you.

“Text me when you get home?” You have to keep a hand on the wall behind to keep you in place, too drawn to Melissa for your own good.

She chuckles, taking a step back, “it’s a five minute drive.”

“Just text me, please,” your head drops to the side, looking at her through your lashes.

The only you get is a little nod, reveling in her little smirk as she turns away. Your eyes stay on her, intent on seeing her safely to her car, but she seems to have other ideas. Before she even reaches the fence, Melissa turns on her heel and quickly walks back up to you. Without so much as a warning, she holds your face in her hands and plants one more solid kiss to your lips.

When she pulls away she sees your brows raised and a dumbfounded look on your face, it leaves her with a little spark of pride in her chest. Her thumb passes over your lip before she steps back, slowly walking backwards, “I’ll text you.”

—☽—

The trudging of Jacob coming upstairs shakes Melissa from her last minute indecisiveness about her choice of shirt, registering her open door, throwing the green shirt over her bra-clad form. Quick feet land her in front of her vanity, plopping in the seat to seem busy instead of fretful. Silent prayers that he leaves her alone go unanswered, peeking in as she unscrews the wand of her mascara.

“What’re you up to tonight?” Jacob asks, practically hopping up to her.

She purposely avoids looking at him, “noneya.”

“Oooh, come on Mel-Mel! Spill!”

“Stop calling me that,” she lets out shortly, carefully blinking on mascara. “I’m just going out, that’s all.” Melissa promised herself the second you came back into her life, she wouldn’t refer to you as just a friend. Not until you told her that’s all you want from her, she couldn’t blame you for that choice after all of her own.

You are beginning to run out of things to fill the time until Melissa arrives. The kitchen was wiped down and swept, the living room vacuumed, shit, you even wiped down the blinds. A nagging part of your mind keeps ringing that maybe you should change the blanket over the back of the couch, but the others don’t match the pillows and that will only make your skin crawl more.

A slammed door in the hall makes you startle out of the near catatonic state you’re in, eyes glazed over as they stare unfocused at the coffee table. Your eyes jump to the clock, the little hand getting closer and closer to the seven, only twenty minutes until she’s here. You let out a deep breath before it hits you, only twenty minutes.

Nearly crashing to the floor as your socks glide on the carpet, you rip the top drawer of your dresser open, brain rushing to figure out if the fluffy socks are a bad look or not. Eyes clenching, you sigh at the immaturity of your own thoughts, feeling like a middle schooler trying to get their crush to like them. It’s all frivolous, really. But, God, you want her to like you.

With five minutes left to wait, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the dark TV screen as your leg bounces hard enough to cause a six-point magnitude earthquake.

Unbeknownst to you, Melissa has been sitting in the lot of your building for ten minutes, working up the courage to walk in. If she didn’t get here early, she is sure she would’ve been late walking inside. Melissa stretches out her hand from the tight clenched fists they had been, crescents in her palm from her pink acrylics. She has to reread her text about a million times before sending it.

Just pulled in.

Peluche: i’ll be right down, give me 30 seconds

Creaking of a heavy metal door takes Melissa out of her thoughts where she stands on the steps, turning to see your head just barely popping out of the door. Neither of you can help the little grins that come to your face, both of your attempts to hide them being useless against the other. Wordlessly, you wave her in, and Melissa is quick to obey. It’s quiet as you both climb the stairs, until you arrive at your front door.

The moment you press one number on the keypad, Bosco is barking up a storm on the other side of the door. When the door opens, he is just as quick to start jumping on Melissa, clearly remembering his friend that he hasn’t seen in almost three months.

“Bobo, dude,” you almost whine, trying to tug him away despite his excited hopping, “alright, enough. Bed, now, little freak.”

When you turn back to Melissa, her face is pink from laughter, the lines around her eyes deeper from the smile on her face. Slipping her jacket off her arms, she asks, “is he like that with everyone?”

“No, not everyone,” you answer, stepping forward to grab her jacket from her to hang up, “he’s usually only that excited when I get home or when my neighbor stops by, but he never jumps on him since the man’s like eight thousand years old.”

Melissa tries to ignore the shivers up her spine, “probably just remembers me, or I’m just that special.”

“Two things can be true at once,” you say sincerely, taking the bottle of wine with you as you search for the corkscrew. “I’ve only got stemless glasses, that okay?”

“Blasphemous,” she jokes, leaning against the counter, resting her weight on her elbows.

Lightheartedly, you roll your eyes, pouring her glass first. Melissa’s eyes light up as you swirl the wine in the glass before handing it to her, something she does before she starts any glass. It’s a pointless little thing she has done since Nonna began allowing her a small cup of wine at dinner when she was fifteen, she never thought you would remember something so miniscule.

It takes less than two minutes of sitting on the couch for Melissa to realize that she had made the biggest mistake telling you that she didn’t care what you watched tonight, that you had full reign of choosing. The Conjuring pops up on the screen, the ominous tree makes her groan. Dropping her chin to her shoulder, she stares at you. The pursing of your lips and strict avoidance of her eyes makes the stare turn to a glare.

“You’re fucking kidding,” she says with a facetious anger, “you’re fucking with me.”

Turning slowly, you put on a failing face of innocence, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Melissa laughs through her words, “you’re trying to get me to walk outta here.”

“No! You said I could pick whatever I want,” you gesture towards the TV.

Melissa heads tilts down, but her eyes stay on you, lips turning up, “you tryna get me all scared like a cliche little movie date? Real sly.”

“So what if I am?” Your expression is playful, but there’s something in your voice that makes Melissa feel warm.

A deep breath leaves her lungs, “if this jump scares me, I’m hitting you with a pillow.”

“Thankfully, I have several,” you mumble, a sated smile on your lips as you press play. 

Two glasses of wine later, you find yourself relaxed into the arm of the couch, while Melissa sits curled into a ball, fully leaned into the back of the couch. For someone so confident and brave, it has always humored you that she was so easily scared of horror films. She nearly suffocated you when she came over one night all those years ago, Candyman left you with the redhead clinging to you like a baby koala.

A pitchy squeak pulls you from the reminiscing you can’t seem to escape, eyes scanning the screen, seeing the exorcism scene, before looking towards Melissa. With her hands over your eyes, you can see her mouth moving, quiet mutters of God dammit and mother fucker leaving glossy lips. It’s impossible to suppress the little chuckle that bubbles in your throat, and squinted green eyes stare you down.

“Shut up,” Melissa mumbles, looking at you rather than back at the movie.

“I didn’t say anything,” you can’t even say it with a straight face, “you’re the one that said I could pick the movie.”

Melissa throws the pillow in her lap at you with a weak arm, “you know I don’t like this scary shit. I’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

“I’ll put Fox and the Hound on after,” you offer. Olive eyes give you an unimpressed look, but the corners of her lips turn up before she gives a little nod in silent thanks.

Her eyes don’t leave you as your attention falls back on the screen, watching as you become fully engrossed in the happenings she refuses to acknowledge. Melissa’s mind churns over your earlier statement, how you might’ve just chosen this for her to get closer to you, and she wishes she could say your not-so-subtle plan wasn’t working. Yet, here she is, thinking that if you were holding her, this would feel like a Pixar film.

Slowly, as if you were the spooked one, she slowly shifts closer. After scanning for discomfort that she doesn’t find, Melissa leans closer, praying you’ll catch on.

“Get over here,” you mumble through a huffed laugh, shifting to rest your back against the arm, putting a leg down on the floor to open up space. Not wasting a second, Melissa lays down on top of you, tucking into you enough that only one eye is able to see the TV, but only if she strains to look up.

It takes zero time for your fingers to find the ends of her hair, the feeling only making Melissa settle in further. Your free hand gets a hold of the remote, turning off the movie before it’s even ended. While you’re looking for the cartoon, Melissa fishes her phone from her back pocket, not bothering to move as she checks her messages.

Jacob: sooo am i leaving the porchlight on or are u coming back in the morning

Put the light on, please.

Jacob: am i allowed to ask questions????

The redhead feels your laugh more than she hears it, peeking up she sees your smirking face. You tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, “you’re right, he’s nosy.”

“Told you. If we were at my place right now, we’d be getting interviewed until next week,” Melissa grumbles. Your only answer is a hum, attention moving to the annoying task of typing out the name of the movie.

You just did.

Your chest rumbles with silent laughter at her response, only holding her tighter when her phone drops on the table and her nose bumps against your neck. The meandering fingers that twirl loose curls around them are a constant distraction for Melissa, the voices of Copper and Tod not even reaching her ears as she settles into a comfort she’s been longing for for years. Nothing will ever quite match the feeling of your lips pressing to her temple.

—☽—

Melissa Schemmenti is picky. Name a topic, she’s got a steadfast opinion on it. The Seahawks? Wanna-be Eagles. Mashed potatoes? Better when a little lumpy. Sleeping? Her bed is the only place she can feel rested. She’d grown all too used to sleeping in her own bed alone, it feels foreign to wake up with someone beside her.Well, her opinion may have changed on that last one.

Curled under a thin blanket, Melissa wakes slowly as the little rays of sun work their way under the curtains. Attempting to stretch her legs, she tries to turn on her back, but is met with resistance. Her movement makes the arm around her tighten, a head nudging into her shoulder blades. Her fingers run up and down the expanse of your arm, quietly asking for you to loosen up. With newfound freedom, she turns to face you, meeting half open eyes and a dopey grin. Tucking yourself into her, you press a lingering kiss to the junction of her neck, mumbling into warm skin.

“What was that, baby?” Melissa rasps out.

“Phone went off,” you grumble a little louder, shuffling closer to her.

Blindly, the redhead reaches around for her phone. Huffing, she forces her eyes open enough to catch face unlock, but they immediately bulge out of her head.

Jacob: hey u coming home tonight?

Jacob: mel mel?

Jacob: barbs said u were fine but can u just answer

Jacob: melissa?

Melissa flies up, your arm dropping limply beside her. A high pitched whine climbs out of your throat as you sit up, leaning against her side with your head on her shoulder. Glancing at her screen, your eyes go as wide as hers.

“If you need to call him, go for it,” you say quietly.

She sighs, “I don’t like lying to him. I’m just…”

“I know,” you reach to hold her hand, “just do whatever feels right for now. We’ll figure everything out later.”

Melissa only gives a nod in response, clearly still in her head. Giving her space, you press a kiss to her shoulder before climbing out of bed. Green eyes follow as you walk out of the room, nearly stumbling into the door as you go. She gives herself another moment to watch you by the coffeemaker before glancing back down at her phone.

Once you’ve taste tested the coffee you made for Melissa, you carefully walk back into your room, trying to not spill a single drop. Glancing up from the mugs, you see that Melissa’s eyes are scrunched, clearly hating the conversation that was happening, but accepting the consequences. Opening one eye and seeing you, she presses a finger to her lips as she puts the call on speaker.

“-ad me worried! You could’ve been dead in a ditch, or worse! I’m happy that you’re happy and having a good time, but you need to be safe! Wait- that sounded weird, I meant physically safe. But that kinda safe too!” Her roommate’s, well warranted, rant continues, leaving you both struggling to breathe from the laughter you try to hide.

Melissa takes a deep breath to compose herself, “Jacob, again, I’m sorry. Wasn’t looking at my phone, but I’ll be better about it.”

“Cross your heart!” The sixth grade teacher was clearly not playing games.

Despite him not being able to see her, Melissa actually draws an X on her chest, “cross my heart.”

Laughing inwardly, you leave Melissa to speak with Jacob as you pad around the room, grabbing your clothes for the day. You feel eyes on you as you move, chest warming under her affection. Peeking over your shoulder as you go down the hall to the bathroom, you send her a wink that makes her grin.

When she finally hangs up with Jacob, Melissa flops back onto the bed, mulling things over in her mind. Telling her friends about you couldn’t be so bad, could it? Starting slow could help, but that means starting at home, and Jacob’s mouth is far too big to keep anything to himself. Telling Barbara will be easy, she already knows about you, just not current events.

She knows that Barbara will love you, that you will love Barbara. Deep down she knows the two of you would be two peas in a pod, and the thought of that alone makes Melissa want to throw caution to the wind. As much as she hates to admit it, acceptance of you from Jacob is something that weighs on her. He’ll probably be obsessed with you, and you don’t even have to say how much you want to meet him, she already knows. It could be so easy.

The spiral in her mind comes to a halt when she hears the bathroom door open. Suddenly feeling full of energy, a giddiness in her bones, she jumps out of bed to find you. Finding you in front of the microwave, reheating your coffee, she wraps her arms around your waist. The light squeeze you receive makes you smile, turning in her grasp to face her, arms encircling her neck.

“Hey, you,” you say, fingers twirling her hair.

“Hey, yourself,” she doesn’t even try to hide the lovesick look on her face, “I’ve got a proposition for ya.”

You snort, “you’re propositioning me?”

“Don’t even,” a hand playfully pinches your side, “it’s a serious question.” The little grin on your face drops, and Melissa can feel your hands freeze where they play with her curls. “Not super serious… just wondering if you’d wanna meet them? Barb, Jacob, maybe the others?

“You want that?” She nods immediately. “Are you sure?” She nods again. “Then, okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

—☽—

How on Earth was she ever nervous about this? Seriously, how?

Janine had invited most of Abbott to her shoebox of an apartment for an end of year party, cleverly inviting Melissa and Barbara over early to get them in a cleaning mood. Everyone else wasn’t supposed to arrive for another half hour, you included. Melissa asked you to come later, hoping that there was less of a chance you’d be grilled if you arrived when the party was more full.

Forty sardines with master’s degrees fill the apartment, and Melissa is still finding little things around the place that need to be dusted and wiped down, but her momentum entirely ends when her phone buzzes in her pocket. Nearly dropping the vase in her hands, she fishes her phone out.

Peluche: i think i’m here

Peluche: the bouncer?? won’t let me in

An amused sigh passes her lips as she swerves through the sea of bodies to get to the front door, seeing Mr. Johnson with his arm barring the door.

“Mr. J, let them in,” Melissa laughs out, patting the man’s shoulder. He turns to look at her with scrutinizing eyes, but lowers his arm to allow space for you.

An arm wraps itself around your waist, immediately pulling you into her space, filling your senses with honey and the distinct smell of foundation on her skin. Guiding you carefully, trying to keep anyone from getting too close to you, she brings you over to where Barbara is fussing over a bookshelf. With a tap on the shoulder, the kindergarten teacher turns to Melissa before brown eyes land on you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone so excited to see you in your entire life, and you don’t even know this woman.

“By the good lord’s graces,” she gasps at her own outburst, thrusting out her hand for you. “I’m sorry dear, it is lovely to meet you. I’m Barbara.”

Shaking her hand, you reply, “lovely to meet you, too. I’m-”

“Oh, I know exac-”

“Barb!” Melissa cuts in, pinching the bridge of her nose. Your hand rubs her arm, trying to keep her from blowing a gasket, even if you’re fighting giggles next to her. Her attention falls back on you, all annoyance fading, “you want a drink?”

You nod, feeling her already beginning to tug you away. Rushing your words, you speak to Barbara, “it was nice meeting you!”

“You too, sweetheart. I’ll see you at brunch next week, I’m sure,” Barbara chuckles warmly. Accepting that this was the closest thing she’ll get to an introduction with Melissa.

Staying behind you with hands on your hips to guide you, Melissa leads you towards the kitchen. Everything feels like it’s underwater, with her hands on you, protective and, dare you say, possessive. For someone who had been nervous for days about you meeting everyone, she sure had no care in the world now. Quietly, next to your ear, you hear her counting down from five. Just as she hits one, a squeal pierces your eardrums.

“Oh my gosh. Oh. My. Gosh!” The voice is immediately recognizable to the one that had been lecturing the redhead over the phone in your bedroom only a few weeks ago. “Hi, hi, I’m Jacob, I work with Melissa at Abbott.”

“Also lecture her, from what I heard,” you joke, making Jacob pause.

Without a chance to blink, Jacob jumps up and down, “so you’re where she’s been lately!” Both you and Melissa wince and the sheer volume of it, but recover quickly when he calms, suddenly quiet and scanning you over, “you better be careful, not for her sake, but yours.”

There’s no malice in his words, it’s a pure warning. From the look on his face, it’s entirely about what he’ll do if she gets hurt, not what Melissa would do to you. From behind you, the redhead’s brows scrunch, mostly out of confusion, ready to tell Jacob off for talking to you like that. She feels guilty, she’s the one who messed everything up before, she deserves the questioning of her worthiness.

You take Jacob’s words in stride, “I’m counting on you to set me straight then, if I ever dare to step out of line.”

Jacob’s entire demeanor goes back to normal at your words, looking at Melissa excitedly, “I like them.”

“Yeah, me too. You ain’t special,” she chuckles, hand on your hip tightening, pulling you imperceptibly closer.

Within an hour, most of the partygoers are on the dancefloor, the two of you included. Cups with rum and whatever chaser Janine had left were teetering on spilling, holding your weight against her is all that keeps you from teetering as well. Sea Barbara stays happily to herself with her cardboard cutout dance partner, content to slow dance to the fast paced music. Singing and cheering around you feels far away as your drunken attention refuses to stray from Melissa, her attention staying on you.

It’s increasingly more difficult to not kiss you when you’re this close, but with warm bodies against her at every side, it’s less than ideal. If it were, it would just be the two of you. She’s so close to just asking if you want to get out of here, but she’s interrupted just as she ducks to speak in your ear.

“Melissa! Barbara! You’re supposed to be cleaning!” Janine yells, hands on her hips. You can feel Melissa groan more than you can hear it, loud music almost deafening you in the small apartment. Barbara tries to shoo the shorter woman away, but her drunk state doesn’t hold the same level of authority that it typically does.

“Janine, it’s a party. We’re partying,” Melissa says dismissively. Not once does her hand leave your waist, keeping you from being jostled by other people.

Her speaking up has Janine’s attention back on her, who quickly recognizes your presence. Brown eyes go from your face, to the hands on you, and back to Melissa’s face. Realization and excitement washes over her face, and the chattering that comes from her is hardly heard or understood from the bass boosts and liquor. Flapping hands keep moving as you try your best to gather her words, but she’s running off excitedly before you can even introduce yourself. You watch Janine bounce towards a lanky man, pointing in your direction, clearly telling him that Melissa brought someone.

Chuckling to yourself, you look back to Melissa, whose eyes are already one you. The universe seems to be both with and against her, because just as she tries to speak, the lights go out and the music stops. Warm hands pull you closer in surprise, and you can’t even be upset about your almost empty cup dropping to the floor. Murmurs around you get louder as everyone sits in equal confusion, but Melissa feels her opportunity.

Feeling lips brush your ear, heat rises to your cheeks, “wanna get out of here?”

“God, yes,” you say, shifting your hand from her arm to her hand, interlocking your fingers. Pulling you with her, she quickly gets to Barbara to let her know you’re both leaving, sneakily passing your phone to text Gerald while she gets her friend some water.

By the end of the night, neither of you could even find the energy to change out of your clothes after walking home. Melissa’s apartment being closer was a blessing, you didn’t even register that this was the first time you’ve been there. Neither did Melissa.

Brushing her teeth next to you in the mirror, pulling back sheets on the other side of the bed, becoming your personal pillow the moment you lay on the mattress. It just felt right.

—☽—

Bobbing your head along to Deftones, you mentally map out the drawing you’re supposed to be starting. The measurements they gave you make no sense, especially with the materials they requested. It’s like they’re asking for the building to concave on itself, not to house people. You’d pressed about giving them a consultation, see the inner workings of the old medical office yourself, but they rejected it ‘for time,’ which really means money. Little do they know they’re going to end up costing themselves more.

The song switches from Shove It to Mascara as knocking raps against your door, but they go completely unnoticed to you. So does the voice trying to get your attention without having to tap your shoulder, knowing it sends ten feet in the air in surprise.

“Boss… Boss… Boss!” Terrence gets no response for the third time before looking to the woman on his left, “you’ll have to go get ‘em, I guess. Lunatic keeps the volume to ear bleeding levels so they don’t have to listen to us, I swear.”

Melissa chuckles, “well, thank you anyways, hon. I got it from here.” Moving into the room, she shuts the door behind her, leaning against it to watch you for just a moment.

What she first notices is your button up, or lack thereof, disregarded on a chair on the other side of the room. Selfishly, she lets herself look you up and down, savoring bare arms and the hard look on your face. Melissa finds herself frozen, mind racing with images of you, subconsciously biting her lip as her eyes rake over you. Only pulled out of her mind by a groan that leaves your lips, she wills herself to get closer to you.

With your back still to her, you’re unable to see her slow movements as she tries to sneak up on you. Hands trail up your sides, clutching slightly when she feels you jump at the sudden touch. Turning in her arms, your bewildered expression dies when you meet green eyes, crinkled around the edges in amusement. Catching your breath, you wrap your arms around her neck.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you say softly, “but this is a pleasant surprise.”

“Missed you. I’ve barely seen you all week,” her arms tighten around your waist.

You press your lips together, trying to hide the giddy feeling in your chest that’s spreading, “I’m sorry, they’ve got me practically chained to the desk until this draft is drawn up. Fuckers think it’s easy turning procedure suites into apartments, it’s not.”

“Not your fault, sweetheart,” her lips press to your cheek as she tugs you in, missing holding you, being held by you. “I have dinner with my family tomorrow night, though, so I won’t be around. Just wanted to get my time in with you before I go into withdrawals.”

You laugh at her words, “Withdrawal? Little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“Me? Never,” she tries to keep a serious face, but her smile overtakes as she watches you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

A finger twirls a copper strand around, voice weary, “tell everyone I said hi?”

“Well…” Melissa’s face drops a little, knowing she hasn’t told her family that you’re back in her life. Her eyes scan your face, seeing the smallest hint of sadness, and hurries to correct it. “You can tell them yourself, if you want.”

The twirling stops, “you mean that? Because you can’t offer that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it, I promise,” her hands sit more firmly on you now, “they miss you, they just never mention it. But they do. Especially John Anthony. And Kristin Marie, but she’ll never admit that, even to herself.”

The only answer she received is a strong kiss pressing to her lip, her eyes immediately fluttering shut at the contact. The hand in her hair tightens as your entire body pushes into her, groaning at the feeling of her on you mixing with the emotions of it all. How easily she asked you to come with her, to see her family, to be by her side for real this time. It feels too early to say what you want to at this moment, so you just kiss her harder.

Melissa spent half the day and the entire drive to the house telling you that no, her parents don’t hate you, and that yes, they will be incredibly excited to see you again. She kept the knowledge of your attendance secret, not wanting to be slammed with questions, but mostly because she wanted to see the look on her mother’s face when she saw her favorite not-her-child from all those years ago.

“Are you sure you want me to go? I don’t want to if you only offered because you felt like you had to. If I’m impos-”

“You’re not imposing,” she almost whispers as she cradles your face, “I want you there. It hasn’t felt the same since you stopped coming.”

Pressing kissing to your knuckles every now and then, Melissa manages to take some of the anxiety off your shoulders. Turning onto the familiar street, you immediately sit up straighter in your seat, checking your outfit and fiddling with everything, desperate to pick off lint that isn’t even there. Melissa lets it go, knowing there’s no stopping this. Part of her feels guilty, knowing she’s the reason that you felt they could hate you, that they wouldn’t be happy to see you. All she ever told them was you had a mutual falling out, never that it was her fault, especially not that it was yours.

Pulling up in front of the house, Melissa’s fingers tighten around yours. Looking up at her, you see the silent question in her eyes, giving her a nod that tells her you’re fine. To prove yourself, you hop out of the car to jog to her side, opening the door for her with a grin. Shaking her head with a half-hidden smile on her lips, she takes your offered hand and pulls you into her, walking with you to the door.

No knocking required, Melissa steps in first, only letting go of your hand for a brief moment to shrug off your jackets before her hand is back in yours. Chattering in the kitchen leads you to where everyone stands or sits, sipping on beers and white wine. Clearing her throat, Melissa gets the attention of the room. Silence fills the previously loud air.

“Yooooo!” You hear someone yell, a voice that you recognize all too well. Without a moment’s notice, you’re immediately tackled, hand being ripped from Melissa’s. You hug the person back, still trying to figure out exactly who it is, but the exaggerated leaning side-to-side gives you everything. Little John Anthony isn’t so little anymore, not that he ever really was.

Feeling another body against you, one arm reaches behind to give some level of contact as acknowledgement. Slowly people let go of you while others come in, and all you can feel is glad that everything is so busy, no one will see the happy tears forming in your eyes. Annette’s noodle arms let go of you, moving as she feels a tap on her back. When she moves, Melissa’s mother stands before you.

“Finally,” she says, cradling your face in her soft hands, “I knew you’d be back.” Patting your cheek, she finally moves out of the way for others to get a hold of you. Melissa can barely see you most of the night, but the warmth in her chest grows every time she sees you talking with someone new, hugging someone else as you talk. Kristin Marie hides her excitement well, but not well enough, though you let her get away with hugging you tightly without saying anything about it.

By dinner time, everyone’s been reacquainted with your presence, and Melissa can finally get her hands on you again. Scooching her chair closer, she mumbles in your ear while the conversation carries around the table.

“Told you, nothing to worry about,” her hand squeezes your thigh reassuringly.

“I missed them,” you say, running your fingers up and down her arm, “I missed this.”

Family dinner ends the way it always does, with everyone talking in the living room, sipping coffee or the remainder of their drinks. You take your place next to Melissa on the couch, leaning your head on her shoulder as she talks to Toni about something you can’t remember. You haven’t felt this at peace in so long, you missed your family. Annette and Vinny fighting, music playing from the TV, chattering around you in a mix of Italian and English, it’s comforting.

Looking up from your perch on her shoulder, you keep your eyes on Melissa. Watching her hands move as she speaks, how happy she looks, how beautiful she is. Turning slightly to put her glass on the table, she catches your gaze, the corners of her lips going up as she catches the lovesick look on your face. Fully knowing she’s being watched, fully feeling the warmth in her cheeks, she leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips. Careful to not linger long, she pulls away and goes back to her conversation with her sister.

No more hiding.

—☽—

“Am I buying groceries for two people or three this week?” You ask as you walk into the kitchen, fidgeting with the pen in your hand,

“Mmm… Jacob mentioned maybe stopping by tomorrow night, so probably three,” Melissa answers, looking through the pantry, “and we need potatoes, I forgot to write that down.”

“Red ones?” You joke, coming up behind her to press your lips to the junction of her neck. Leaning her head back onto your shoulder, she lets you continue your path up her neck to her jaw, nipping at her ear. “I gotta get going before they close,” Melissa whines at the loss of contact, “I’ll be quick, might not even pay.”

She chuckles warmly, scrunching her nose, “right, sure you won’t, goodie-two-shoes.”

Pulling away, you jot down russets and give her another kiss, this one to her lips. “I love you,” you mumble as you part, “see you in a bit.”

The moment the front door shuts, the once cozy and nonchalant Melissa is replaced by a frenzied and excited one. Flying around the house, she begins to put her plan in place. Tealights are placed everywhere, the lighter checked for fuel, the small box from under her socks now buried in her pocket, she just had to open the bottle of Angel’s Envy. It took an embarrassing number of different liquor stores to find, but that was months ago, and this is now.

Melissa lights the last candle just as she hears your car door slam shut, then the trunk. Staying out of direct view, she watches you come in the door, looking at your feet as you walk. You’re in your own little world, completely walking through to the kitchen, dropping the bags off. Making your way into the living room, you almost drop the bouquet in your hands.

Candles all around the room, music playing softly from the record player, Melissa wearing your sweater. Your jaw drops, eyes wide as you stare at the redhead, utterly bewildered. She takes the chance to step a little closer, watery smile stretching across her face as you shakily hold out red chrysanthemums. Taking them carefully, she sets them on the table, grabbing your hand to pull you with her. Soft eyes watch her every movement, letting her move you around until you’re where she wants you.

“I love you,” Melissa says quietly, shifting from the couch to the floor, “I’ve loved you since the day I met you, and I haven’t stopped once. Even when I didn’t know, I loved you. When I wouldn’t listen to my own brain, I loved you. When I thought I couldn’t, I loved you.”

“Mel…” Your voice comes out cracked, a wobbly lip stuck between smiling and sobbing.

“Let me finish, baby,” she says softly, stroking the hand she holds in her own, “you are everything to me, and it took me too long to figure that out. But now, I’m not taking a single thing for granted, not you, never you.” Melissa reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a small, emerald box, “I wish I could’ve had you my whole life, but all I can ask you for is the rest of it.”

Tears spill down your cheeks at her words, fingers clinging to her hand like a life source. You so badly want to reach out, cup her face, and kiss her, her words playing the strings of your heart, but you refrain. Too much restraint goes into not pouncing on her the second she pulled out the ring box, your lips practically begging to be on hers already. You can’t help the frown on your face when Melissa’s hand leaves you, properly holding the ring to present it to you.

“Will you marry me?” The smile on her lips only grows as she asks, knowing what you’ll say just based on the look you give her.

What she doesn’t account for was that all your restraint would break, and she’s knocked to the floor as you pepper her face with kisses, lips smacking against her skin. Moving from her forehead, to her cheeks, and finally, to her lips. All love, all want, all devotion, all you.

“Yes, yes,” you answer quickly, lips barely parting from hers, “God, I love you. I love you so much.”

Chuckling at your overexcited babbling, she manages to sit you both up, keeping you in her lap. A warm hand pulls your left hand from her face, sliding the ring on without taking her eyes off of you. Your hand immediately goes back to her face, pulling her into your kiss once more.

Morning back pain be damned, neither of you leave the floor of the living room the rest of the night. Waking up with your heart beating under her ear is all the consolation she needs, your newly ringed hand in hers.

At the next family dinner, all the cousins take one peek at your hand, eyes widening. Melissa and you both brace for shouting and to be lifted in the air by one of her brothers, but you were wrong. Maria Christina groans as she passes a twenty over to Seamus, who was getting handed money by at least four other people. He peeks up to see a very shocked you and Melissa.

“What? We all saw it coming, I just picked the right week. Ma said tomorrow.”

note: time for sol’s monthly novel <3 hope you enjoyed

feedback appreciated as always

[thewritingbeforesunrise]

BALLERINA - Chapter Fifteen (Epilogue)

A Jake Kiszka AU

Physiotherapist!Jake x Original Female Character

Previous Chapter.

Story Masterlist

A/N: Hi everyone! This is the final chapter of Iris and Jake’s story. Honestly, I never thought I'd be able to finish my very first chaptered fic, but here we are, finally. I'd like to thank everyone who enjoyed this little story. A big thank you goes to those who supported me and encouraged me throughout the writing of this fic. You know who you are😉

I really hope you like this!

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings for this chapter: angst, nerves, feelings.

_________________________________

Paris, a year later.

Those mirrors along the walls were reflecting her every move and she kept seeing mistakes that didn't even exist.

Iris had been dancing and practicing for almost ten hours now. Her muscles burned but she didn't really care. She wanted everything to be absolutely perfect.

It was getting dark outside, signaling to her that it was almost time to go home. The next day was going to be her day. The most important one in years.

She practiced a few more moves and then packed her bags and walked the short distance separating the ballet school from her flat.

Her little rented flat, right next to her sister's, was tiny, in true parisian fashion, but it was wonderful. From her small balcony she could even see the Sacré-Cœur; its pearlescent white stones were shining even brighter with the full moon.

She tried to calm her nerves by admiring the beautiful basilica from afar, but it was useless. She was so nervous she couldn't stop her hands from shaking and her heart from hammering in her throat.

The next day was going to be a big step for her. It was the day in which she was going to dance again in front of a crowd after a year and a half.

And she couldn't stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong.

After tossing and turning for a while, she managed to finally turn off her brain and rest.

~

The next day, she woke up early. After a quick breakfast, she checked if she had everything she needed in her bags and left for the Opéra Garnier.

It didn't matter how many times she saw that theatre. Every time her eyes landed on its golden statues and white columns it was like the first. Little tingles travelled down her spine every time.

She showed her badge to the security at the entrace and reached her dressing room backstage.

She placed her bags on the floor, changed into her ballet shoes and started rehearsing again, trying to stop overthinking and fighting the urge to run away from there and never come back. It took her a while to finally silence the insufferable voice in her head that kept telling her that she was going to miserably fail but, eventually, she managed to do so, drowning that insecurity under the music of her choreography.

Before she knew it, her time was up.

Looking at the clock on the wall, she realized that her turn was quickly approaching.

The buzzing of her phone startled her.

She wiped her sweaty trembling hands on her leggings and read the text she had just received.

It was from her sister. She was telling her that the theater was packed and wishing her good luck using the French word “merde” like a true Parisian.

She smiled but her heart was threatening to jump out of her chest at any moment.

She finished getting ready and, when there were only 20 minutes left before her turn, she exited her dressing room.

Her heartbeat was deafening in her ears as she walked towards the stage.

She felt like a robot.

She wasn't even paying enough attention to her surroundings the closer she got to the stage so, when a pair of cold hands wrapped around her waist and dragged her behind the heavy velvet curtains, she was positively scared.

She gasped and thrashed around to escape, but a whisper in her ear made her stop abruptly.

“Iris”

Jake.

He was there.

Tears started flowing freely down her cheeks and she immediately relaxed in his grasp.

She quickly turned around and kissed him passionately, feeling his comforting presence in every cell of her body.

He cradled her face in his hands and caressed her cheeks, tenderly wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

“You told me you couldn't make it" Iris whispered.

“I told you I wasn't sure of it. I managed to arrive last night” Jake whispered back, a little smirk of mischief on his beautiful face.

“And you didn't tell me?!” She exclaimed, incredulous.

“I didn't want to distract you with my presence. But, as soon as I got here, I kept thinking about the fact that you were so close to me and I really couldn't stop myself from needing to see you, to touch you, to kiss you.” he said truthfully, blushing slightly and lowering his gaze to the floor.

She grasped his face and kissed him like it was the first time and almost lost herself in the kiss.

“Thank you” she whispered on those plump lips that she had come to know so well.

The sharp call to the stage made them both flinch and jump.

They shared a last kiss and a look full of love, before parting with a whispered “I love you.”

The moment she reached the stage the nerves were still present but she felt a lot less upset than before.

She could still feel the warmth of his presence on her lips and fingertips and that helped her immensely.

The air was cool all around her but her heart, so full of love, burned like a pyre in the night, lighting up everything with its orange glow.

The applause of the crowd filled her with joy and energy and when, finally, the first few notes of the music echoed in the room, she felt her feet start to move on their own accord, following the lead of her ever-present passion for dancing.

Throughout the performance she only ever had eyes for him, letting his calming presence guide her mind into a state in which nothing could hurt her anymore.

She had forgiven him two weeks after she had left for Paris and had abandoned him on the curb in front of her house, on that stormy morning of June, with teary eyes and a broken heart.

She had finally come to terms with the fact that life without him was simply unbearable.

She had mulled over the whole predicament so much she had given herself so many headaches, but, eventually, she came to the conclusion that, in his shoes, she would have probably done the same to protect her sister.

She realized he hadn't even meant to fall for her. It had happened. And she was so glad she felt the same and was ready to share her life with him.

When she had called him the first time, he hadn't answered and it scared her to death.

He had called her back in the middle of the night saying that he was in surgery when she had first called and asking if she was alright. He sounded extremely worried.

They had switched to a video call almost immediately and they had cried, laughed and talked for four entire hours.

The next weekend they were finally together. They had dinner in a cute little restaurant near Montmartre and then they went straight to her flat because they couldn't keep their hands off each other any longer.

He had flown to Paris a few more times while she attended the internship there and, every time, they went to visit museums and galleries together. They were always connected in some way. Her hand on his bicep, his arm around her shoulders, their fingers brushing when they walked. It was as if one was afraid to lose the other at any given moment.

Deafening applause brought her out of her thoughts abruptly.

Everyone in the room was on their feet praising her for her beautiful piece.

But three smiles were the only ones that she had eyes for.

She couldn't stop her tears from spilling while looking at them.

Her sister was standing between a very proud Jake, who mouthed a little “I love you” and Josh, who winked at Iris when he saw she was watching him and sent her a little kiss.

Their eyes were shining and their smiles beaming with love for her.

And it was all that ever mattered.

_______________________________

Thank you for reading!❤️

Taglist: @gvfpal @sammyslappers @spark-my-nature @highladyofasgard @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jessicafg03 @doodle417 @hellowgoodbye @ejoygvf @jaketlover @jakekiszkasbabymama @objectsinspvce @indigostreakmorgan @witchofendora @myleftsock @gretavanshmeat @gretasfallingsky @giraffehippy @jennasometimesreads @katiegvf @sinarainbows @laney_gvf @themorningbirds @starcatcherchords @lipstickitty @meetingthestardust @joshskittytickler @livkiszka @twistedmelodies @ignite-my-fire @gvfmarge @writingcold @brujamagik @edgingthedarkness @gold-mines-melting @mindastreamofcolours @blacksoul-27 @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @mapelsyrup07 @klarxtr @takenbythemadness @peaceloveunitygvf @lyndz2names @jazzyfigz @its-interesting-van-kleep @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @jakekiszkasbuttsweat

[hanniiesuckle17]

Ateez Reaction: Their Kid Gets Sick in the Middle of The Night

A/n: I love parent!ateez. Anything domestic im just like *heart eyes* also dont mind my weird petnames for kids. i just....i love kids......*sigh* anywayyyyyy hope you guys enjoy! im going to be writing for ateez and the other groups on my m.list alot more 

S/n: Son’s name      D/n: Daughter’s name

Pairing: Reader x OT8 

Genre: fluff, slight angst, parent!au

Warnings: cussing?, descriptions of sick children (colds and flus, etc), fem reader

WC: 5k (overall)  about 640-ish on average

Tag List: @woodiegochile @mini-meanhoe @leggomylino @hanstagrams @desertofdessert @hoes4hoseok @jeonqqin @geminirules @mrsunshine999 @jisungsjheekies @hannie-squirrel00 @cotccotc @kodzu-ken @konenichi @yangs-jeongin @binniebutter @orangegyu @little-precious-baby @yourdaddychan​  

Hongjoong:

You were in the perfect spot. A dreamless sleep had taken over your mind a few hours ago and you were perfect content pressed up against Hongjoong’s chest, his arms wrapped around your middle. His leg was tossed over yours and you were swaddled in a perfect cocoon of his warmth.

The blissful sleep of you and your husband was soon interrupted by a weak poke to your cheek. A second light jab forced your eyes open. In the dark room you could barely make out the shape of your three-year-old son. Lifting your head up, you checked the time- 1:04- and then over to your husband who was still fast asleep. 

Pulling away from your husband’s hold, you turned on the bedside light only to be met with the tearstained face of S/n. “Oh- Goose! What’s wrong?” Your son only cried more and reached out for you. Completely sitting up in bed, you pulled him into your arms- gently stroking his hair. You noticed the back of his neck was cold with sweat. 

“Baby? Everything okay?” Hongjoong mumbled, pushing himself off the mattress slightly. 

“Daddy.....don’t feel good,” Your toddler said between cries. You continued to tenderly rub his back in hopes of calming your son. “Head....” S/n mumbled, tiny hands pawing at his crown. 

Hongjoong now joined you fully sitting up. His dark eyes blinked rapidly trying to push away the edges of sleep still clouding his brain. Your husband motioned for you to pass over his son and you obliged. S/n cuddled up in his father’s lap - clawing at his shirt. “Baby, could you get the thermometer from the bathroom?” He asked, hand on his son’s little forehead. 

Your mind was still foggy, but nonetheless, you got up and half jogged to the bathroom. Still tired, you fumbled through the cabinets looking for the thermometer. After a few minutes you returned, the instrument in hand. Hongjoong took it, thanking you softly. The two of you waited while the thermometer read your child’s temperature. S/n’s head was resting deliriously on your husband’s shoulder.

When Hongjoong took out the thermometer, your S/n groaned, nuzzling further into his dad’s chest. “Tummy hurts, daddy...” You almost felt hurt yourself, not being able to help your son’s pain. Reaching out you rubbed his back and looked to your lover for what to do. 

A tired look rested on his face. The singer sighed looking down at the tiny instrument. “103.1,” Running a hand through your hair, you got up from the bed and grabbed a jacket for yourself and your son. “Hey, buddy. We’re going to take a little trip okay?” Hongjoong whispered to his son who was still crying from his head and stomachache. 

“The doctor is going to make you feel all better, Goose.” You sleepily sang, more comforting yourself than S/n.  The handsome man got up from your shared bed, still carrying your sick toddler, and headed into the living room with you quickly following. 

“Let’s go to the hospital. Y/n where are my keys?” Hongjoong, laced his fingers with yours after you grabbed his keys and the three of you ventured down to the car. “ The one on Ddobong St is closest right?” 

Seonghwa:

The cries of your baby girl woke you from a night of sweet sleep. Untangling yourself from your husband’s slumbering arms you rolled out of bed. With a sluggish gait, you walked into the nursery and hummed to your screaming daughter.

“Shhhh, baby- Daddy is sleeping,” You whispered, picking her up from the crib.

Any sleep your partner got was worth more than anything else you could give him. The sooner you could calm your daughter the more likely he stayed asleep. the one-year-old girl in your arms continued to cry, almost screaming in your ear. 

You stroked her hair in hopes of calming the distressed child. The skin of her forehead felt hot against your palm and you pressed it fully against her forehead. “Oh- I’m sorry, love!” Scolding your tired mind for not realizing sooner, you carried your crying daughter into the bathroom to grab a thermometer. 

Laying D/n back down in the crib, you lifted her nightgown and tucked the instrument under her arm, and waited for it to beep. The baby girl’s cries had quieted a little but remained constant and unrelenting. Finding she had a temperature you rushed to the medicine cabinet. All the bottles and labels blurred together in your sleepy vision. 

Finding one that fit D/n’s symptoms you grabbed a spoon and the bottle. You poured the dark purple colored liquid onto the spoon and tried to coax your daughter into opening her mouth to take the medicine. Instead, the baby girl cried louder, the smell of the medicine floating down into her tiny nostrils. “D/n, baby....please take the medicine! Don’t wake up daddy.” You pleaded in a hushed tone. 

“Don’t worry about waking me up.” A smooth, but sleepy voice said from the hallway. 

Seonghwa shuffled into the room, eyes tired but soft and hair fluffy and sticking up in random places. A tiny smile lighted onto his lips. “Hwa, I’m sorry- I was trying to handle it but she won’t take the medicine.” Your husband shrugged and waddled over to the crib. 

You let him take the spoon from your hand and carefully place it on the nearby table. He sleepily kissed your forehead before turning to his crying daughter. “Can you take her?” He asked gently picking her up and passing the child to you. 

Your husband turned back to the crib, grabbing something, leaving you with a screaming baby. The handsome man returned with his daughter’s favorite plushie in hand. His longer fingers pushed the arms to look like the toy was waving. “D/n, open your mouth please!” He chirped in a goofy voice. 

The little girl refused, shaking her head. She continued to cry in your arms, pushing away the stuffed animal. Your husband was not discouraged and instead gently picked up the medicine filled spoon with nimble fingers. 

“Hi, princess!” Seonghwa sang in a cute and happy voice. His free hand moved up to make bunny ears on top of his head. “Will you take the magic potion for daddy?” D/n’s cries trickled to stop and she sniffed, watching her father do all sorts of sleepy but sincere aegyo. 

“D/n, do you want the magic potion?” You whispered in her ear with a smile. 

The little girl nodded, rubbing her eyes. Seonghwa smiled and moved the spoon like an airplane before letting his daughter take the medicine. She gagged at the taste, crying a little at the bitterness. Her tears quickly stopped when she was wrapped up in her father’s arms. 

Her little fingers held on tightly to his shirt as his hand protectively held her to his chest. “Let’s go back to bed,” He whispered, letting his other hand envelope yours. “D/n, let's go sleep in mommy and daddy’s room, huh?”

Nestling your face in Seonghwa’s shoulder, you let him lead you all the way back to your bedroom. With your daughter placed between you and the medicine finally taking its effect, she was soon fast asleep, little snores floating from her tiny body. Pressing a kiss to your knuckles, Seonghwa watched you drift back to sleep before doing so himself.

Yunho:

Both you and your husband had been woken up an hour ago by your screaming toddler. Normally you could get him right back to sleep, but this time something was actually wrong. It was two o’clock in the morning and you had no idea what to do. S/n was crying and throwing up and had a fever that wouldn’t break. 

You were frantically searching symptoms on your phone, pacing in the living room. After reading mommy blog after mommy blog you felt like you were getting nowhere. “Find anything?” Yunho called from the bathroom. 

You almost shook your head, forgetting your husband was in a completely different room with your son. Ending your pacing, you ventured towards your bathroom. Opening the door you were met with a sight that made your heart skip a beat. The small room was filled completely with steam from the running shower. Your two year old son was stripped of his clothes, which he complained earlier of suffocating him. He clung to his father’s bare chest. Yunho had his arms wrapped around S/n, holding him up, resting him on his hip. Your husband's peach-dyed hair was clinging to his sweaty forehead. 

For a moment you just watched the tall handsome man pat his son’s back gently and hum a soothing melody. He really did look like a worried Papa Bear. After a minute he noticed the lack of steam in the room and motioned for you to come in and close the door. “Mommy blogs are useless. They all say to just give him fluids and put him back to bed.”

Yunho sighed, shoulders heaving. Your son stirred and his eyes opened just barely to look into yours. You waved before reaching over and kissing his sweaty little forehead. Your hand trailed from your son to the warm skin of your husband. “Call your mom,” Yunho suddenly declared. 

“No.”

“Call her.”

“Fine.”

At this point, you were too worried about your son to think about the wrath you were incurring by waking your mother at this hour. Leaning against the bathroom counter, you pressed the device up to your ear. Your son whined and reached for your hand. “Don’t tell her we haven’t moved out of the apartment.” He whispered hearing the dial tone from your cell. Yunho was also comically afraid of your mother. 

You rolled your eyes. “Umm...Hi- Mom....” Yunho winced hearing your mother’s shrill and tired voice from the other side of the line. “Yeah. I’m really sorry. Look- mom, S/n is sick. We’ve got him in a steamed room. He’s been throwing up like crazy-”

Yunho’s long fingers softly raked through your son’s hair as he tried to listen to the conversation with his mother in law. “No.....No...Mom- Yunho didn’t give him ice cream. No......”

“It’s always my fault isn’t it,” Yunho groaned in a soft tone not wanting to upset his sickly son in his arms. “Tell her that I’m just as worried about my son as-”

“Bear.....this is not the time.” You scolded him, hand over the speaker. “Mom just....” You sighed- pinching the bridge of your nose. S/n cried at the loss of your hand in his. Your husband shushed him, wetting a washcloth and dabbing at his forehead and neck tenderly. “What’s his temperature?” Turning to your husband, you looked for the answer. “Babe, what’s his temp?”

“Last I checked it was 100.8,”

“100.8″ You gave a sigh of relief hearing your mother’s answer. “He’s going to be okay as long as it doesn’t get higher. She says keep him in here until his temp goes down and to try giving him something to eat to see if he can keep it down,” Relaying the instructions, Yunho nodded and did exactly what your mother told him. 

Yeosang:

You had no idea what to do with a sick kid. Yeosang had no idea what to do with a sick kid. You both were kind of in the same boat. You loved your daughter wholeheartedly, but the both of you were still new parents even two years in and were flying by the seat of your pants. 

So, when D/n had a 103 fever, the two of you started to panic. It was the middle of the night. Yeosang was cradling his crying toddler and you were desperately trying to reach your mother-in-law. “Is she really not picking up?” Never before in the entire time you knew Yeosang, had you seen him this worried. 

“Sang- it’s like two am. She’s probably asleep.” 

Yeosang watched you nervously burn a track in the floor. “Will you stop pacing?”

“Well, then what should we do?”

Your daughter nuzzled her sweating forehead into her father’s neck, little hands pulling at his sweatshirt. He rocked her back in forth in his arms, gears turning in his brain. “Hospital?” Your fiancee suggested- a hesitant but still desperate look in his eyes. 

“Yeah. Emergency room. I’ll call Hongjoong on the way.”

Yeosang sighed, standing up and watching you gather a bag of things you would need. “Don’t do that. He’s just gonna wake the boys and then Wooyoung is going to go all Crazy God Father on us.” You chuckled slinging the packed bag over your shoulder. 

“You’re the one who made him D/n’s god father. My vote was for Hongjoong.”

He groaned, not waiting for you to follow him out of the apartment. Having no time to strap her into her car seat, the singer climbed into the back and held his little girl as your family raced to the nearest emergency room. You burst through the doors, Yeosang carrying your crying toddler with her arms wrapped around his neck, much like in one of the medical dramas you had been watching lately. 

Thankfully you were rushed into a room and your daughter was tested and examined by a doctor quickly. You sat by her side the whole time, holding her hand while Yeosang watched the doctors carefully. Occasionally he would ask questions or accidentally chide them if his daughter yelped from pain or looked uncomfortable. He would quickly go back to silently watching knowing he had overstepped. 

As the doctor finished his examination, he asked you to wait for the test results to come back just to be sure it wasn’t anything serious. The boys burst almost waking D/n, Wooyoung racing towards the bedside of his goddaughter, a huge teddy bear in hand. Just like Yeosang they were all dressed in sweats or pajamas.

After about an hour of her uncles ‘quietly’ attending to their niece’s every need, the doctor returned- test results in hand. “Mr. Kang?” The physician’s eyes searched the boys' handsome faces until Yeosang raised his hand and made his way forward. 

“That’s me,”

“I’m the godfather, Jung Wooyoung, what should I be doing?” Wooyoung said peeping over your fiancee’s shoulder. 

The doctor blinked a few times before looking over to you as if to ask for a clue as to why this over-energetic boy was here. There was nothing you could do but shrug. “Well...um....you could start by sitting over there......quietly....”

Wooyoung gave the doctor a glaring look before reluctantly taking a seat in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs in the room. “It’s nothing serious is it?” Yeosang asked, his hands subconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. “D/n isn’t dying right?” 

The doctor smiled, placing a hand on the worried singer’s shoulder. “Right now she’s just fine. You were right to bring her in though! We are going to keep her for observation for the next twenty-four hours just to be absolutely sure it is nothing to worry about.” 

Yeosang relayed the news before shoving the boys out of the pediatric hospital room so his little girl could sleep. He called his manager to cancel his schedules for the next day and he stayed by D/n’s side until the doctor told him that she was going to be perfectly fine.

San:

Two hours. You had been up for two hours. There was nothing more on this Earth that you loved more than your little girl, D/n. But when she woke you up at one o’clock in the morning, sick or not, it was not a happy occasion. It didn’t look like anything too serious was wrong with her. You didn’t even have to call your fiancee. Granted he should have been home from practice twenty minutes ago but that was another problem that you didn’t have the patience for right now.

Your toddler whined and rolled around on her bed as you got up to go to the medicine cabinet. D/n’s cries could be heard from all the way down the hall, hurrying your tired movements. “I’m coming, bean,” Instead of wasting time standing there, you grab the first five bottles you see and rush back to your daughter’s room. 

Placing a cool washcloth on her forehead, her cries soften a little allowing you time to read the backs of the bottles. The next thirty minutes were spent trying to get your little girl to take the medicine. The sound of keys tinkling against the dish by the door makes your ears perk up. 

“Babe? Everything okay?” San was home. 

A bouncing head of dyed hair bounded down the hall to stop in the doorway. “She said she’s feeling sick,” San immediately rushes over, hand on the small of your back as he kneels by his daughter’s side. 

“Hey, princess,” He whispers, stroking the hair away from her face. The man pouts seeing her clutch onto her stomach. “Does your tummy hurt?” D/n nods, rolling over onto her side and crying more. 

San turns to you with a half accusing look on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m the one who's been here taking care of her.” You smacked him lightly upside the head, not letting him forget he was the one who came home late. With a sigh, you dropped your sleep-filled head onto the singer’s shoulder. “She won’t take the cold medicine.”

Your fiancee scoffed, turning to look at you before filling a spoon with the oozy purple liquid. “I’ve got this. Watch the master.” San smiled, getting the attention of his little girl. “Princess, this tastes good don’t you want some! It will make you feel better!”

“Does it really taste good?” She askes shyly, looking at her father with stars in her eyes. 

He nods enthusiastically, side-eyeing the spoon. Your daughter looks expectantly from the spoon to her father. After a moment it sort of dawns on him what she wants. Hesitantly, he opens his mouth and swallows the medicine. While he tries to smile, San’s face immediately turns sour and he dramatically gags on the after taste. “UGHHH!” He groans making a gross face.

“No! I don’t want it! It will taste bad!” D/n cries. 

“Great job, Super-Dad.” You say sarcastically. San ignores you, still trying to wipe the taste from his mouth. “Baby, I promise you it doesn’t taste bad. Daddy is just a wimp.”

When you turn around to seek the singer’s help you find him on the phone and whispering to someone. “Hyung, what do I do? D/n won’t take the medicine. Apparently, Y/n’s been trying for hours and-” He freezes seeing you staring at him-brow raised in judgment. 

“Tell me you aren’t on the phone with Seonghwa.”

“I’m not on the phone with Seonghwa......” A moment of silence passes only filled by your child’s whines and cries. “Okay, fine. I’m on the phone with Seonghwa!”

“SAN!” 

“WHAT?! IT’S A REASONABLE THING TO DO!”

Mingi:

Mingi was panicking. You left seven hours ago. It took seven hours for everything to fall apart for the idol. While Mingi loved his job, it took away from him spending time with his two year old son. When your parents called, Mingi jumped at the chance to send you away for a weekend. He would get S/n time and you would get extra help planning for your wedding. 

This was not going at all how Mingi wanted. It was almost 1 AM and his son was crying loudly with a scalding fever. He rushed around the apartment trying to find the list of emergency numbers you had left him. His son was in resting on his hip secured by the rapper’s arm. “S/n...it’s okay. Shhhh.” He could do this. By calling you he would just be proving that he couldn’t take care of his son by himself and he was totally not going to let that happen. 

“Fuck, you’ve got a pair of lungs,” he cursed under his breath when the toddler screamed right in his ear. 

Mingi could not stop himself from physically cheering after finding the slip of paper. The smile all but comically fell when he saw that spaghetti sauce from the dinner he had made S/n was staining every inch of the sheet. 

Crushing the note in his fist he tossed it into the sink and just hoped it didn’t get stuck down the drain. “Okay, buddy. Time to go on an adventure.” Sitting his still crying child on the couch he grabbed a jacket from the closet and slipped his little arms through it. The toddler sniffled and looked at his father who tilted his head before returning to the closet. Mingi came back with two more coats and started stuffing his son into the puffy jackets. 

“That should be enough,” he stated, pulling the hoods over his son’s head and picking him up. The little boy sniffled and cried in his father’s arms all the way to the nearest convenience store. Mingi’s legs were sore from running and he was sure that S/n wasn’t comfortable either. 

White fluorescent lights shined all the way through the store’s windows and out onto the street. A happy chime alerted the half-asleep pharmacist behind the counter of the boys’ arrival. “Welcome, how can I help?” the woman greeted.

“I- uh.....my son....uh...” S/n turned around in Mingi’s arms rubbing his tired and tear-filled eyes. It was then he knew.....Mingi could not do this alone. “One second, sorry!” His long fingers pull his phone from his pocket and quickly dial your number. 

Your sleepy voice floats through the speaker automatically relieving the tension in his whole body. “Hi, baby, what’s up?”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry- S/n has a fever and I tried everything and there was spaghetti sauce and jackets and- and.......baby...please help.”

You giggled over the phone and asked your boyfriend to take a deep breath. Once he was calm and speaking in full sentences you asked, “Do you want me to come home?” 

“NO!” The pharmacist jumped at his volume and S/n almost started crying again. “Baby, just please tell me what to do!” 

After agreeing to stay you listed off several medications and tried not to laugh hearing the idol attempt to repeat them to the woman behind the counter. Mingi insisted you stay on the phone with him the whole way back to the apartment. 

S/n stopped sniffling and groaning when Mingi took off the boy’s three layers of coats and gave him the medicine. Both boys eventually fell asleep on the couch to you talking to them on speakerphone. 

Wooyoung:

Your bodies lay draped over each other on the couch. Wooyoung lay under you, fingers threading through your hair as he watched the random drama that played on the tv. The volume was low so as not to wake your sleeping toddler in the other room, but instead of the show, you listened to your boyfriend’s steady heartbeat. 

It was late. Maybe one in the morning? Wooyoung had rehearsals tomorrow, but no way was he going to pass up time alone with you. After you put S/n to bed he immediately dragged you to the couch. “I need my Y/n recharge!” He whined, making you giggle. Now you were so happy listening to his heartbeat, threatening to fall asleep to the calming sound. 

“Are you still awake?” He whispered, brushing his cheek over the top of your head. The singer chuckled as the tiniest nod rubbed against his chest. His hands dropped down to your waist hugging you tightly. With his fingers removed from your scalp, you started to come back from the tempting fog of sleep. 

Your mother ears picked up on the sound of a door opening and you sat up like a meerkat making the man below you smile. Your superpower was correct and soon tiny feet padded into the living room dragging a teddy bear behind him. Both you and the singer sat up seeing tears on your son’s cheeks. 

“Daddy, my tummy hurts,” the two-year-old cried. 

Immediately Wooyoung reached up and pulled his shaggy hair away from his face, wrapping it with a tie on his wrist. You smiled watching him switch into full-on dad mode. Picking his son up under the arms, your boyfriend stood up and let S/n’s little limbs wrap around his body. Full dad mode Wooyoung was honestly the hottest thing you had ever seen and it shocked you every time. 

“It’s probably just an upset stomach but let’s take his temperature just to be sure.” Wooyoung nodded at your words and comforted your child as you searched for the thermometer. 

Coming back with the instrument in hand you grinned at the sight before you. You could only compare the feeling to watching those videos of otters holding hands. The thermometer passed hands and you watched him struggle to get your son to open his mouth.

When he finally succeeded a soft grin floated over his lips as he watched his son. Hearing the click of your phone camera brought him out of his happy trance. “You did not just take a photo of me,” Wooyoung whined, smile betraying the tone of his voice. 

“The boys have to know what a soft dad you are!” You joked, wiggling your phone at him.

Wooyoung laughed and maneuvered his son onto his hip. “If I was not holding our son- I would fucking tackle you.”

“WOO- LANGUAGE!”

“Oh my god, he’s two what’s he gonna do?”

Rolling your eyes, you watch your boyfriend tease you and pull the thermometer from S/n’s mouth. Wooyoung tossed the instrument to you before walking over to the kitchen. Thankfully your little boy didn’t have a fever. 

The singer set s/n down on the counter and walked over to the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of ginger ale only to be stopped by your hand. “What?” You shook your head and put the soda back in the fridge. “I drank ginger ale all the time for this when I was his age,” Wooyoung stated like he was the smartest man in the world. 

“Yeah well, doctor’s everywhere say ‘no’.” It was his turn to roll his eyes as you gave your son a natural fruit pop and water instead. “Show me your MD, babe.” You joked, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“Whatever,” Wooyoung said with a smile, kissing the top of your head before returning his focus to your son. 

Jongho:

Jongho was already nasty being away from his daughter for too long. This was the first weekend-long shoot Ateez was doing since D/n was born. You wouldn’t classify Jongho as a ....’clingy’ dad....just one that needed a picture and video check-in of his little girl every two hours or he would have a mini-meltdown. 

His shoot was supposed to be two nights and three days. It was only ten o’clock on the second night when your daughter suddenly got a high fever. The little girl wouldn’t stop crying and in the few words she knew, she complained of bad stomach pain and a headache. Your boyfriend would obliterate you if you didn’t update him. Therefore promptly on the hour, you called Jongho despite the crying infant in the next room. 

“Hi, Y/n-,” His expert ears immediately picked up on the crying over the phone. “What’s wrong is she okay? Are you okay? Is everyone okay? Why is my baby crying?”

“D/n is sick-”

“Do I need to come home? I’m coming home. I can totally come home.” You heard Yeosang shout a ‘No, he can’t’ from somewhere over the phone. 

You sighed-rubbing your temples as a particularly shrill shriek pierced through the thin walls of your apartment. “She has a fever, and a pretty bad stomach ache. I think it’s possibly the flu. It might just be a stomach bug.”

Jongho was getting more worried by the second. He hated hearing his baby girl cry and not be able to do anything about it. They were at least three hours away and that was if he forced a taxi driver to run all the stoplights. “That’s it. Baby, I’m coming home.”

“No, Jongho, honey-” It was too late. He had already hung up. 

Jongho walked right off set (thankfully cameras hadn’t been rolling). The singer marched right up to the director with determination in his eyes. Yeosang, having heard the youngest’s conversation immediately told Hongjoong who gathered the Maknae Damage Control Crew. I.e: Yunho and Wooyoung. “I need to leave.” he stated. The director didn’t even look up from his binder, simply waving his hand. 

“Yeah- go to the trailer. We aren’t rolling for another ten minutes.”

“No. I need to go. As in I’m done. No more shooting of Choi Jongho.”

This got the older man’s attention. His brows raised at the idol’s sudden defiance. “Sorry, kid. Your contract says I own you for another twenty-eight hours. You aren’t going anywhere.”

He took a shaky breath, obviously suppressing his anger. Yunho uncertainly placed his hand on the younger’s shoulder only for it to be brushed off. “You don’t understand. My daughter is sick. I’m leaving.”

“No.”

“NO?” Jongho was furious. Things escalated from zero to sixty very quickly. Wooyoung and Yunho were now holding back Jongho in hopes of keeping him from throttling the show director. The singer had an almost crazed look in his eye and was shouting about getting home to his D/n and something about breaking his head like an apple. 

Finally, Hongjoong stepped in. “Look just let him go home. We can finish the show with seven members. What’s the harm?” Thanks to the leader’s negotiating skills Jongho was soon racing back at light speed. At almost three am he burst through the door of your shared apartment only to be met with silence. 

He was very confused. His first thought was: “Oh no. D/n had a deadly contagious virus and both of them died almost instantaneously.” Frantically he pulled his mask back over his face and ran to the nursery. Surprisingly, he found his little girl fast asleep. Her face was calm and her forehead was no warmer to the touch than normal. 

Jongho next ventured into the bedroom, finding you passed out face first on his side of the bed. Smiling, he kicked off his shoes and took off his mask. “You had me worried for nothing.” He mumbled, collapsing onto the bed and pulling you into his arms. Not even the movement woke you up from your deep sleep. “Good job, mommy.” 

Masterlist

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Grandfather Clock Chimes | 1921

Pairing: Carlisle/Esme

Rating: G

Word count: 1977

Warnings: None

Summary: The first time Carlisle and Esme are alone together.

A/n Thanks to @jessicanjpa for the idea to do a solo Carlisle/Esme fic! I’m obsessed with them at the moment, so writing the first hopeful, awkward, thrilling moment when they’re on their own made my heart all kinds of happy! 

In the entry way, the tall grandfather clock noted the hour.

Esme counted five chimes.

Carlisle was rarely home this early.

His arrival through the grand front door had startled Esme, who had become quite used to their little routine, but did not seem to shock the bronze-haired boy composing at the piano. No, Edward had merely smiled in that shy, all-knowing way of his, and welcomed the doctor home before announcing his intent to visit town. Esme had watched him go, shocked into physical silence, but inside, her mind raced, shouting panicked thoughts at the boy.

She had never been alone with the doctor, and had no idea what to say to him.

Stifling a grin, Edward had patted Esme’s hand in a half-hearted attempt to soothe before he took his leave, off to town to ‘collect supplies,’ whatever that was supposed to mean.

And that’s how Esme and Carlisle came to find themselves alone in an unnecessarily large house, sitting unnecessarily far apart in the unnecessarily spacious living room.

Esme sat straighter in her chair, if that was even possible.

On the sofa across from her, Carlisle mirrored her action.

The seconds ticked by.

“I was reminded of you while at work today,” Carlisle spoke suddenly. His voice disturbed the heavy silence between them, and Esme blinked to buy time while she found her voice.

“Oh?”

Though her response was minimal, Carlisle felt encouraged — the brief, thrilling moment when she spoke to him was much better than the silence.

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, leaning forward in his seat in a futile attempt to close the space of the entire room that lay between them. “A woman visited her brother in our burn ward, and she had the same length hair as you do, with the same bounce to her curls. For just a split second, I thought it was you — but of course, it was ridiculous to believe it could be.” To illustrate this, he shook his head slightly, admonishing himself. “Regrettably, you are confined to the house and our land for the time being, so obviously, you could not have been visiting me at the hospital. Not to think I would presume that, were you to leave the house, you would visit me at the hospital,” he was quick to correct, glancing at her nervously. “No, you could be there for any number of reasons, I’m sure. Though,” his eyes darted to the wall just to her left, avoiding her slowly yellowing eyes, “those reasons are escaping my mind, at present.”

Despite nerves that made her wonder if she still possessed the ability to pass out, Esme smiled. Carlisle always seemed so proper, so put together — nothing ever flustered him.

Nothing, it seemed, until today.

Without Edward there, Esme could afford to be honest with herself in this brief moment of mental privacy. And, since she was being honest with herself, she could acknowledge that she quite liked seeing the doctor flustered.

In her silence, Carlisle continued to babble. “Once I got a better look at the woman, it became doubly clear she could not have been you. Her hair, while a shade of brown, was nothing like the unique caramel color of yours….” He trailed off once again, his gaze falling from the wall to a spot by Esme’s foot.

Esme pursed her lips against a smile. His nervousness had an unexpected effect on her — it seemed to embolden her, almost, to push past the uncertainty of her own. She attempted a slight change in topic. “How was your time at work?”

His perfectly golden eyes snapped to hers, a measure of relief in them. “Quite pleasant, to be honest. All easy fixes today. That is not often the case.”

“Is that why you were allowed to come home early,” Esme prodded, unable to fight the smile that tugged on her lips. She continued to be bold, watching his expression carefully as she spoke. “I admit, I found it a pleasant surprise to have you home before your usual time.”

Hope — beautiful, lighthearted, blossoming hope — lightened Carlisle’s eyes. He leaned forward, now in danger of falling off the sofa. “You did?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, caught off guard by his exuberance. She realized how her careless words could have been interpreted, and hurried to cover her tracks. For all his happiness at present, it was clear he did not share her feelings — best not to scare him off. “It is good for Edward to see you often — though he is older than me in our immortal years, he is still a boy at heart. He needs your attention, your guidance.”

Carlisle’s face sobered, though he quickly softened the lines into a small, understanding smile. “You are right, of course. I should spend more time with him. I am grateful for your insight.”

Esme’s useless heart could have melted right then. Always so polite and considerate, her doctor was, and it never failed to chip away at her carefully constructed reservations.

They fell into silence again, and Esme bit the inside of her cheek — a human gesture carried into this new life. Her hands laid over each other on her knee, touching the skirt of the light blue dress she wore — a gift from the man who sat at her opposite. Her fingers interlaced and tightened as she raised her eyes to his once more, trying to provoke her courage into gathering again.

“What did you and Edward do for fun before I arrived?”

Carlisle’s eyebrows raised, and so did Esme’s. She hadn’t planned on asking that.

Carlisle’s lips stretched into a nostalgic smile, and Esme decided right then that it was the most beautiful expression one could make.

“We spent a lot of time exploring the areas we lived in — visiting shops on cloudy days, hiking in the vast forests, even swimming in the lake sometimes.”

Then, his expression clouded, and Esme nearly had to sit on her hands to keep herself from rushing over and caressing his cheek, wanting to offer him every ounce of comfort she could.

“But I must admit,” Carlisle continued, sounding sad in a way that broke Esme’s heart, “those days were few and far between. Edward is…an introspective soul,” he decided on his phrasing finally, sounding like he chose the words with great care. “There are many days when he prefers to stay at home and lament over a choice he had no chance to make for himself.”

Esme had noticed this. Despite all the good times she and Edward had together, there was many an occasion when he would insist that they were all damned. Him and herself she could believe with little argument, but Carlisle? His damnation was a more difficult point for her to be convinced of — he seemed too pure, too wonderful, too good to be stopped at the gates of Heaven.

“I think he requires a push sometimes,” Esme reasoned, having gained great insight into Edward during these past few months of her new life. “He is intelligent, he needs something to stimulate his mind and take away from those dark thoughts. Perhaps visits to museums or—or an opportunity to play his compositions publicly, like at one of those galas you’re always being invited to.” The ideas came to her suddenly, tumbling out of some vault in her mind she wasn’t aware she possessed. “Maybe even school would be good for him.”

At this, the corners of Carlisle’s lips turned down, and Esme sucked in a breath — had she said something wrong?

But Carlisle shook his head, speaking gently. “It would not be right to leave you home by yourself, not while your control is…still in its early stages of success,” he finished delicately, always hesitant to insult even the most deserving being.

“Right,” Esme agreed, looking at her lap as she thought. A new idea sparked in her brain, and her eyes snapped to the doctor’s with enthusiasm. “I could teach him!”

Once again, Carlisle’s eyebrows raised, this time in clear surprise. “Is—is that something of interest for you?”

“Oh, yes,” Esme nodded, excitement overtaking her. “Though I don’t remember much of my career, I know I was a teacher in my human life — I would love the opportunity to rekindle that passion.”

Carlisle grinned, and Esme had to amend her earlier thought — this was the most beautiful expression one could make.

“I think that is a fantastic idea,” he enthused, hands settling on his knees. “I will go into town tomorrow morning and order all the necessary supplies. Are there any subjects of interest you yourself would like to expand upon? I would be happy to pick up the materials.”

Esme tilted her head as she thought on this. There was something, a curiosity that had always played at the back of her mind.

“Architecture,” she answered, then surprised herself when a playful smile overtook her lips. “If I learned about it, maybe I would stand a chance restoring this crumbling mansion of yours.”

Carlisle dipped his head in a teasingly bashful acknowledgement and promised to find her the proper books and supplies.

Esme leaned back in her chair, mildly embarrassed to find how far she had extended herself in Carlisle’s direction. “Perhaps you could be a guest lecturer of sorts — when your schedule allows, of course.”

Carlisle blessed her with her favorite grin once more, and Esme basked in it. He tilted his head as if explaining some inside joke. “Esme, we do not sleep. I am sure I could find time to help with your project.”

If she thought his smile would do her in, it was nothing compared to hearing him say her name! How lovely it sounded coming from his lips, resonating in the gentle baritone of his voice. She wished she could pretend she did not hear it, to ask him to repeat himself, and have the chance of hearing him say it again. Then, perhaps, she could return by speaking his own name — his familiar name, as he had used hers — something she rarely allowed herself to do.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, when the front door opened and Edward’s scent filled the home.

The breath she would have used to speak tumbled from her mouth in a sigh. So soon…

But the clocked chimed again — six tolls, this time — and Esme was startled to discover that she and Carlisle had been together in that living room for over an hour.

How had the time stretched in an eternity, yet been over in mere minutes? What was this man’s presence doing to her?

Esme’s eyes sought Carlisle’s once more and she felt a pleasant warmth upon realizing that his eyes were searching hers with an equal fervor. They stayed like that for an immeasurable moment, locked in a gaze of unexpected intensity.

She hoped, down to the deepest parts of her useless heart, that there would be more moments like this, where it was just the two of them. Yes, part of her was relieved at being freed from this constant state of being unsure, but another part regretted Edward’s rapid return.

Part of her would have been perfectly content to sit in the hesitant, hopeful, awkward, thrilling silence with Carlisle for an eternity.

She didn’t quite know what to make of that.

Knowing their time for this evening was done, Esme and Carlisle stood and met the boy in the foyer, welcoming him home. While they inspected and praised the packages he brought — items for the house and gifts for the two he was quickly starting to consider as his parents — Carlisle and Esme avoided each other’s eyes.

Only Edward could know what the other was thinking.

And, out of respect for them both, he would not tell them that they were thinking exactly the same thing.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! You can find my masterlist here :) 

[iloveitwhen]

how about tim and marinette jokingly planning world domination and then accidentally carrying it out (to the annoyance of the batfam)??

this was so fun to write and I hope it makes sense! Marinette and Tim are extremely delirious so it was hard to share their thoughts while also having it make sense to the readers... I hope you like it!

“Dick, stop lying! There’s no way we could have done that. There’s no way we “accidentally took over the world.” Do you really think the two of us could have taken out all seven JLA members?” 

“What day is it, Marinette?” Dick asks instead of answering her question. 

“Tuesday,” Tim answers for her. 

“And the number?”

“Nineteenth,” Marinette crosses her arms and looks at Dick impatiently. 

“It’s Saturday the 23rd,” he declares hotly. “Haven’t you been wondering why you’re so hungry this morning? The two of you have been sleeping for 32 hours and had been awake before that for almost an entire week with maybe an hour of sleep a day. But it’s ok! Because before you fell asleep we got you on camera admitting to everything that you’ve done and we have your notes, which you will have to decipher by the way because for some reason you thought it was a good idea to code everything in your notes and you are in so much trouble right now!” 

“Show us,” Marinette was now understandably a little concerned because she totally did have the weirdest dream last night. And was it really the 23rd?

Five minutes later Marinette is standing side by side with Tim watching a video on the bat computer of the two of them in the interrogation room while Dick is questioning them. 

Marinette’s head is resting on the table, clearly sleeping when Dick slams his hand on the table forcing her to snap her head up in alarm. 

“You are NOT going to sleep right now. The last time this happened you couldn’t remember a thing! Tell me everything and I’ll let you go to sleep.”

Tim who has already been sitting up but was still very much asleep and didn’t seem to be affected by Dick’s outburst snaps his eyes open. 

“How dare you!” he bellows causing Dick and Marinette to look at him in surprise, Marinette’s much more exaggerated than Dick’s, “We will never agree to these terms!”

There are a few moments of silence in the video and Tim makes a noise of embarrassment from the back of his throat while Marinette holds back laughter. 

“I wouldn’t laugh quite yet, Marinette,” Dick admonishes. 

“Wait I’m really tired though… ,” Marinette complains to Tim.

“Great!” Dick claps his hands together and turns his attention to Marinette, “after you tell me everything you can go to sleep.”

Marinette nods very seriously then takes a deep breath and shakes her shoulders as if she’s hyping herself up to start a race or lift some heavy weights. She looks at a point on the wall a few feet to the right of Dick’s head and begins speaking as if she is a narrator of a science documentary. 

Marinette cringes, some of the memories coming back to her like how she had believed she had one more mission, and that was to let the audience know the “trials and tribulations of their story” as she had so eloquently thought about it in her head. She watches as Video Marinette recounts their story remembering that she had believed it was a serious story and that the imaginary audience (that she wholeheartedly believed were watching) must understand this.  Her hand goes to her mouth in horror as she watches herself on the screen go silent and stare at the point behind Dick’s shoulder for several awkward minutes, several times throughout the video. She remembers she had been trying to portray the scene that was passing before her mind’s eye for the “audience” to see as well. Clearly it didn’t work. 

---

** italics indicate when Marinette is using her narrating voice and is staring into the “camera” 

** dashes indicate flashbacks

“It was an accident.” Marinette starts, “Really, truly an accident. You can’t blame two delirious teenagers with a combined two hours of sleep within 3 days and half a brain cell to share between them. Honestly you can’t judge them, it’s not their fault the Lustice Jeague- Justilea- Just- Justice. League. Fell for it. You just can’t. It’s not their fault the justice league-”

“Marinette.” Dick interrupts.

“Right. Did I already say that? Well, anyways, point is. Not their fault….” 

-------

Marinette pops her head suddenly and looks conspiratorially at Tim, “Hey.”

“Hmm,” not stopping his clacking away at his computer. 

“Did you know Superman’s biggest weakness is Lois Lane?”

Time grunts in response as if saying, “yeah, what about it?”

“Like, he would literally be incapable of doing anything if Lois Lane was in trouble, like if Lois Lane disappeared so would Superman.” 

“Yeah that’s crazy,” still clacking away at his computer. 

“And do you know what Batman’s biggest weakness is?” 

“Superman?” 

Marinette giggles, “that’s funny. No, his pants.” Tim’s finger’s still as he processes what Marinette just said. “Think about it. If batman has no pants then he would disappear as well. Do you really think Batman would show up anywhere if he had no pants?” A pause. “Batman must really love his pants,” Marinette adds thoughtfully.

Tim begins ferociously clacking away on his computer again. “This is amazing,” he whispers, “we can use this against them! Amazing,” he says, whispering the last word with, well, amazement. 

“I know, right? We could like… take over the world with this information or something.” 

Tim gasps, finally turning to Marinette sprawled on his bed, “we totally could!” Suddenly he looks around and lowers his voice as if sharing a secret, as if there was anyone else besides Marinette to hear anyway. Marinette sits up and leans in excitedly, “we totally could,” he repeats. 

Marinette nods her head enthusiastically, “and we can totally give it back afterwards. Like, it’s no big deal. Just to like, prove we could.” 

Tim’s eyes grow wide and he nods his head with child-like excitement, “let’s do it.” 

-------

“24 hours later, now with 7 hours of sleep between them in four days, Marinette and Tim had developed the most bestestest plan to ever grace the mise of anyone, it was-”

“Mise?” Dick interrupts again, trying to figure out what she was saying. 

Marinette scrunches her face up, “My- mizzzee- my- m- myyy-nnnd. Mind.” She finally corrects then turns her focus back to the imaginary camera, “of anyone who ever lived. It was spectacular.”

“This is horrific.”

“Exactly. So horrible that it worked miraculously. I say that totally seriously. Seriously. No, I am not a miraculous, ask Ladybug.” Marinette then switches demeanor shifts in her seat and asks: “Ladybug?” she shifts in her seat again to slightly face the opposite direction and answers herself, “Yes?” She shifts again. “Are you a miraculous?” Shifts. “No. I am not.” Marinette looks back into the imaginary camera, “See? She says Marinette is not Ladybug….” she trails off for a moment, her head slowly dropping indicating she was very close to falling asleep. 

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Marinette snaps her head back up.

“Oh but it has. Tim and Marinette had targeted every single weak point of every JMLA member, the Jumpstice League stood no chance against the duo. Tim crafted a device that tracked Lois Lane, gathering any and all data on her to mimic her, including her heartbeat and scent so that Superman would be properly duped. Setting the trap in his very own house-” she suddenly cuts herself off and looks between Tim and Dick, “by the way did you know? That man is like, super weak to Kryptonite. It would have been so much easier to know that in the beginning. And also that he has a cousin? She’s very pretty, right, Tim?” She turns to her boyfriend who is looking at her with a soft smile.

“Mmhm. You’re very pretty.”��

Marinette ignores him and continues, “So Tim and Marinette trapped him in a cage of kryptonite-”

“You did WHAT!?”

“-and he totally passed out, the two heroes are still a bit confused why he was making such a big deal about it.” Marinette pays no mind to Dick as he reaches out and shakes his hands like he wants to strangle her neck.  “Tim then crafted a signal miminicking a detest call-”

“Distress,” Dick corrects. 

“-distress call from Themyscira rendering Wonder Woman unavailable. Unfortunately for her and fortunately for us it was her birthday and since I’m good friends with Momma Wonder,” she abruptly turns to Dick and points a finger at him as if he was a five year old in trouble and adds: “that’s Queen Hipopotolia to you, Mister,” before turning back, “they threw her a total rager,” again changing her demeanor and rolls her eyes “which I’m missing right now by the way, so she’ll be gone for a few more days, those gals really know how to party…. 

“Then the Flash. He was easier than the two expected, they meanly- I mean merely, well, meanly too- slapped a speed force inhibitor around his wrists. He couldn’t tap into the speed force to vibrate through it, he couldn’t cut it off, he would definitely die including everyone else in a mile radius-” Marinette swivels her head to Dick and smacks the table,”-nuclear bombs are SUPER dangerous by the way, you really don’t want to mess with them. 

“He couldn't contact anyone, any electric device he came across was rendered useless due to Tim’s genius, once again. 

“You’re so smart, baby, they couldn't have done this without you,” she adds out of the blue looking at Tim with a proud smile 

“Mhmm. You’re so pretty,” he repeats while Dicks drops his head into his hands. 

“They knew the Flash had friends so they did what they had to and locked him in one of those big containers that you sometimes see on trains and sometimes see on big ships and is currently in the middle of the ocean. Also that inhibitor thingy works as a shock collar too so like screaming electrocutes him preeeetty bad.”

“If the JLA doesn’t kill the both of you, I will.”

“The Martian Manhunter, well, you know what they say, show, don’t tell…. Marinette looks deep into the “camera” willing it to see what she was seeing.

--------

“J’onn J'onzz.” The green alien turns around to find two young adults who looked uncharacteristically professional, hands clasped behind their straight backs and serious expressions.

“...Ladybug. Red Robin. What can I do for you?” J’onn places an alien piece of tech down to focus on the two of them. Unfortunately he could not read Ladybug’s mind when she was in the suit and Red Robin’s mind was a mess of noises and jumbled thoughts that made no sense whatsoever, except one that was a bit louder than the rest and was repeated like a mantra. 

Christmas eve, 1998. 

J’onn tensed, “What do you want,” he demanded more than asked, overly concerned about how and why that thought was in Red Robin’s mind. 

“Nothing. Exactly that. Nothing,” Ladybug responded. “We need you to leave, to go somewhere for a few days and to not resurface or interfere in any way, shape, or form. And in return we will delete anything and everything that ever existed on Christmas Eve of 1998. It’ll be like it never existed.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

Ladybug suddenly broke her composure and groaned. “Oh come oooon, We promise no one will get hurt!” she linked her hands together and gave the Martian a pout, “pleeaaseee?” 

“The last time you two were like this you “accidentally” created a multimillion dollar company solely based on cosplay.” Ladybug was not phased and Tim was still chanting Christmas Eve, 1998 in his head, the boy probably wasn’t even aware time had passed since he got there. J’onn sighed, whatever they were up to it probably wasn’t too big of a deal. “Fine. But I want proof everything is deleted.” 

“Yess, it’s a deal, big man. See you in a few days! C’mon Tim.” 

“Can I stop repeating that thing in my head now?”

------

“Marinette.”

She breaks and looks at Dick impatiently, “I’m telling a story right now, what do you want?”

“You’ve been staring at the wall for 5 minutes straight, where is Martian Manhunter?”

“Oh I don’t know, he should be back on Tuesday though,” she shrugs and nods at the same time but like a switch has been flipped she is serious again. “As for Aquaman? Well, he has his own problems in the undersea. As you know the detective of Justice is Batman, Aquaman? Not much of a detective at all. But, having a mystery that needed to be solved in the undersea would have to be done with the bat’s assistance. However, Batman had his own problems to mace. 

“Face?”

“Yes. A problem that he will never be able to solve without asking for little help of his own. Unfortunately for him, his pride and dignity was on the verge of devolution- devil- devolve… ded- destru- destruction! Also all communication to Alfred was severed and he was sent to the Bahamas to relax since Tim and Marinette promised that since Batman would not be able to be fight he would be safe.”

“Ohhh is that where he went? No wonder there was no breakfast this morning.” Tim drops his hand supporting his face and looks at Marinette in wonder. 

“Babe we went over this like one time, you should know this.”

“Oh, right, yeah… I still haven’t eaten.” Tim lays his head down on his arm sadly and promptly falls asleep. 

“And last, and definitely least, Green Lantern. Marinette, miraculoused in her all-black ninja suit- wait no- no miraculous involved, it was just black clothes,” Marinette trailed off and snorted. “I really just stole the Green Lanterns ring… It was uhhh, it was actually kind of easy….

“Marinette had slipped the ring from Hal’s hand and put it on her own, quickly and quietly slipping out the way she came but not before taking the battery thing that powers the ring and stealing every single cup in the house. The ring had then proved useful as it assisted in Marinette’s journey.”

“Wait. How?” 

Marinette shrugs as if it weren’t such a big deal when it definitely was. “I don’t know, it actually gave me a little speech about going to Goodwill and then told me I was a lantern. Wait, do you think someone would have bought me if I posed as a lantern…? Oh yeah! I totally had a green suit and everything, it was crazy. Look! I still have it,” she stuck her hand out to show Dick, the thick green ring almost making contact with his face as she practically jumped over the table to show him. “I don’t want to give it back to Hal though it’s like… a really cool ring,” she says sadly as she sits back down, not giving Dick an actual chance to look at the ring. 

“Ok. Ok.” Dick drags a hand through his hair in frustration. “What about batman? Where is he?”

Marinette shoots both of her hands up and points at the one way mirror behind Dick’s head, “Boom! Right behind ya in that there mirror.” Then she again turns to the imaginary camera to continue her saga.

“Batman. The easiest, yet most difficult. The smartest, yet most helpless. And though Marinette and Tim wish they could have said they did it alone, they desperately needed the help of a certain… seductress.” 

---

Selena Kyle leans a hip into the counter of a kitchen, quietly making tea when a dark red and black tangle of something falls through an open window and crashes onto the floor, bumping into the family dining table and rattling the vase of wilting flowers. Selena curses loudly and goes to flee but realizes what, or rather who the pile of dark red and is. It’s Red Robin and Ladybug, otherwise known as Tim Drake and Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

The two groan loudly and clumsily untangle themselves and flop on the ground next to each other apparently too lazy to stand up at the moment. 

“Hey,” Ladybug says, moving her head to the side to look at the standing woman. 

“Hey,” Selena takes a sip of her tea and almost laughs when she realizes that Red Robin had either been knocked out or  had simply fallen asleep. 

Ladybug’s words are slurred together when she says, “we need your help,” while slowly blinking. Either she was on something, very drunk, or very sleep deprived. Knowing the two of them and considering Red Robin was fast asleep on the floor it was probably the sleep deprivation. 

Selena acts as though she’s considering it even though she would help regardless, whatever it was these two were planning she wanted in. 

“Only if you agree to owe me a favor.” 

Ladybug (who had closed her eyes for a moment) snapped her eyes open and grinned, quite evilly, “what we’re planning will be favor enough.” Then, as if the conversation had ended, rolled her head around taking her surroundings in, “this isn’t your house.” 

Selena chuckles, “no it’s not, but you found me here anyways.”

“Ohhhhh, right I forgot about that, do you know the person who owns this house?” Selena shakes her head and Marinette hums in response, wandering her eyes over the kitchen. “So what do you say about the pant situation?” 

“The what?”

------

“The mystery woman had easily fallen for the trap. With her help, Tim and Marinette had almost succeeded in world domination, all that was left was to carry out the plans….”

---

Dick pauses the video and turns to the two heroes who were blushing furiously and fidgeting, waiting until they could bolt. 

“I thought you were going to sit there for a few more minutes then start talking again but you just kept sitting there until I realized you had fallen asleep with your eyes open.” He huffed and started to type into the computer again. “You’re lucky none of the JLA members got hurt or that this-” he clicks a file “video did not get out to the world.”

Ladybug and Red Robin stand in a professional stance with hands clasped behind their backs, they were standing slightly off-center of the screen with an empty JLA table behind them.  

“Good evening, world. I am Ladybug.”

“And I am Red Robin.”

“We have single handedly disposed of the JLA.”

“They will no longer terrorize our world-”

“Burn down our cities-”

“Trample us underfoot-”

“Wait-” Ladybug breaks character and turns to Red Robin, “are we describing Godzilla?”

Red Robin furrows his brow for a moment before bursting out in laughter, grabbing onto Ladybug and dragging her down into hysterics as well. They fall to the floor out of view of the camera but their guffaws are still spilling over the speakers very loudly. 

Several minutes later they stand up, wiping their tear-streaked cheeks.

“Anyways,” Red Robin continues, a chuckle still present in his voice, “We totally have taken over the world and you!” he points into the camera.

“Are!” Ladybug repeats his movement.

“Under our control!” they chorus together, pointing their thumbs at themselves as if this were some sort of disney channel ad, some sort of joke and that they hadn’t just literally threatened world domination, hadn’t just succeeded in world domination. 

They held the pose for a moment before Red Robin relaxed, Ladybug held her pose and continued to look into the camera while Red Robin reached up and paused the video.

“Luckily,” Dick begins, “You streamed the video straight to your own computer and not to the entire world, and luckily, you left your computer open on the dining tables for Duke to see it and for the rest of us, minus Jason,” he adds hotly, “to fix your mess.” 

“At least you caught the perpetrator?” Marinette adds helpfully, her voice going up like a question and her face scrunched up hoping that the comment would placate Dick.

It did not. 

Bonus:

Dick has both Marinette and Tim sitting side by side in an interrogation room, Tim is smiling and staring at Marinette with hearts in his eyes and sighing happily every once in a while Marinette is staring intently at the wall a few feet to the right of Dick’s head and talking as if she were the narrator of the documentary of her Tim’s “adventure” of literally taking over the world. 

“This is insane.” Bruce Wayne whispers behind the one way glass with a towel wrapped around his waist, every single pair of pants he owned was still missing. And would continue to be missing until he admitted he needed help, the rest of the batfam had collectively agreed to not help him until he asked for help, much to Bruce’s chagrin. 

Bonus Bonus: 

The video is shaky but clear, it’s facing a dingy empty stage with a lone mic stand in the middle at what seems to be Karaoke night in an even dingier bar. The crowd is mostly quiet save for the buzz of conversation until the start of “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey starts and everyone cheers. The camera violently shakes and Hal Jordan’s voice booms through the speakers,

“Let’s go babyyyyy!!” 

A few moments later and J’onn J’onzz, in his human form, hops onto the stage clearly hammered and most definitely not in control of his actions. He dances awkwardly around the stage until the first lyrics on the screen behind him light up. 

“Oh when you walk by every night, talkin sweet and lookin fine, I get kinda hectic inside,” along with the words he points to someone in the crowd then puts the back of his hand to his forehead to indicate “swooning”. 

“Oh baby, I’m so into you,” he clumsily hops off the stage and staggers over to someone at one of the front tables. The video zoomed in for a bit and focuses on the woman who briefly looks around her table with a laugh and she raises her strong arms, welcoming the drunk martian. 

“Darling, if you only knew,” J’onn’s smile was so wide and he laughed into the mic instead of singing the next few lyrics. He forced Wonder Woman’s chair from the table with his telekinesis, and with an excessive amount of exaggeration he circled the chair, dragging his hand over her face. The other women, more Amazons by the looks of their arms, pounded the table howling in laughter. 

“But it’s just a sweet, sweet fantasy, baby, When I close my eyes, you come and take me,” he circles to her front and boops her nose as he sings “take me” before turning around and facing the stage. 

“On and on and on,” he looks back at Wonder Woman seductively and winks, “it’s so deep in my daydreams,” he hops back on the stage, “but it’s just a-” his foot gets tangled in the mic’s cords and his voice is cut off when he tries to save himself from smashing into the ground. 

He fails. 

Laughter erupts in the bar and the camera is slammed onto a table and Hal’s wheezing is heard above the others before the video cuts off.

phew *wipes brow* that was... actually a loooooottttt, but I hope it made you laugh and i really hope it wasn’t confusing to read! *smiles awkwardly and waves* byee....

[tobesobri]

When the Lights Go Out (Halloween fic; 8k)

𝖆/𝖓: first off, happy Halloween yall! This is my second favorite holiday and so I really wanted to get something up in celebration of it! I’ve talked a lot on here about having trouble with writing recently and so I do what I normally do with writer’s block and I just leave what I’m stuck on and go off to write something random, which is what this ended up being. So, my writing style is definitely different and maybe not great, but this is just for fun so I don’t care! I still hope you enjoy! There’s spookiness (not too much), enemies (frenemies) to lovers, pumpkin carving, smut, alcohol consumption, and giant skeletons 💀 (oh and Harry dressed as Tarzan 🥵)

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𝕸ost people’s Halloween traditions weren’t too complicated; usually involving cult-favorite scary movies—ranging from Halloweentown to Nightmare on Elm Street—handing out Snickers and Kit-Kats to tiny trick-or-treaters, or just getting wasted at a friend’s haunted house party down the street. Their friend group, on the other hand, opted for a pumpkin carving contest every year on Halloween at Jason Hallow’s house, and, yes, his favorite holiday is Halloween because of his last name. And so, a few years ago when they were all undergrads together, he began hosting the annual carving contest at his house, in which they all paired up and, at the end of the night, whichever pair’s pumpkin came out the best—as judged by Jason, the resident Jack O’ Lantern expert—won whatever candy was leftover. That and marathons of R-rated horror flicks as well as occasional breaks to go out in the neighborhood and scare some of the kids while dressed in terrifying monster masks and slightly drunk off their asses from too much Tennessee whiskey.

Jason’s house was, hands down, the place to be in their neighborhood. Everyone who came by always wanted to join in on their festivities, and one year, they’d been just drunk enough to let a few of-age neighbors join in. This year, though, it was different. The stakes were higher. They were competing not only for the candy, but also for the much envied twelve-foot tall skeleton Jason had found at Home Depot which currently sat in his front yard amongst his other outrageous decorations. The skeleton was definitely the most noteworthy and had been the center of plenty group photos from just about every one of his neighbors since he had brought it home and especially tonight. In fact, every time the doorbell rang and he greeted another group of kids in his gory doctor costume—because Jason was in med school after all—every one of them squealed about how much they liked his skeleton. And so it almost pained him to have to give it to one of his friends after tonight, but if he’s being honest, he has nowhere to store it—he’d purchased it completely on a whim—and next year they will compete for it all over again anyway.

Tonight is also different because Harry and Y/N are not getting along. They all knew this beforehand, but simply brushed it off until they realized it was much worse than anyone had imagined. They had a horrible friendship—if one could even call it that—ever since they’d met as freshmen pre-law students six years ago. Sometimes they got along, but mostly, they bickered non-stop at each other, which all their friends took as misguided flirting. They got along for about six months once, after a drunken hookup, until, of course, Y/N hooked up with someone else and set off the volcano that was their relationship all over again. It had been calm recently with both of them needing each other’s help through their vigorous law school studies. So, a truce had been made and they tolerated each other at best. Tonight, though, the monsters had truly been unleashed and neither one of them had stopped picking at each other since they’d arrived.

It began on the street, when Harry took the spot Y/N had wanted to park in. Then at the door, when he asked her how her midterms were going and she felt like stepping on his toes until she crushed them. Which was perfectly logical since his was barefoot and mostly naked in his stupid Tarzan costume he’d recycled about four times now since they’d all known each other. He only wore it when the weather was warm, as he claimed, but they all had a suspicion he wore it so that he could watch Y/N drooling over him all night.

She wasn’t innocent either, in his defense, at least not this year when she came dressed in a sexy Beetlejuice costume, something none of them ever thought was possible. But she made it happen. She wore a too-short black and white vertical striped t-shirt dress—which had rips in all the right places, particularly across her chest—and a pair of neon green boots that were Doc Marten knock-offs she had found online. Other than that, she had spray painted the front bits of her hair a grey-green color and did her makeup to match the theme, dark purple smokey eyes and a green color used as contour. It looked good, she looked good, not that Harry would ever say that out loud.

Jason’s entire living room and dining room floors were covered with plastic tarps. He’d set up the usual fold-away tables and chairs for everyone. It was an easy clean-up job that wouldn’t leave pumpkin guts smudged into his hardwood floors or, even worse, the beige carpet in his living room. And, as always, he had a line up of various pumpkins on his kitchen counter—and the necessary kit of carving tools—ready to go. They usually didn’t start until nine-thirty or ten, once everyone arrived and had a few drinks in them and they had all agreed on what movies to watch. This year was a marathon of The Conjuring franchise, because Jason had spent way too much money on a box set and he would not be wasting them. Nobody objected anyway because the movies held a sentimental value to all of them. Every year since the beginning when a new movie came out, they all managed to go see it together, and also cause a horrible ruckus in the theater. Although they’d almost been kicked out a couple times, it was still some of the best memories together they’d ever had.

There was also that one year, when Annabelle Creation came out and Y/N and Harry were getting along on account of the LSATs, that they’d secretly gone home together. And then, of course, pretended it never happened.

That had been the second time they slept together, the second time she’d woken in his bed, with Harry’s annoyingly toned arm wrapped all the way around her, and the last as well because Harry got into a serious relationship their first year of law school and that had been the end of things.

Well… not completely the end. At least not until tonight.

“Okay we’re getting started!” Jason announced over both the music and the television, which someone turned down before Jason continued. He stood, wobbling, on one of the foldable chairs, for no other reason than the bottle of vodka in his hand. He was teetering on the edge sobriety and really didn’t give a fuck if he fell off. “Y’all know the drill! Isa’s handing out the cards. No whining. No trading. Or you’ll be disqualified.”

The cards in question were riddles that they had to match up with the answer. Half of them got the riddle card, the other half an answer card and that would determine who their partner was.

Y/N both wanted Harry as her partner and detested the idea at the same time. She was all for it because, well, he was hot dressed in nothing but his small piece of brown loincloth fabric hanging loosely on his hips. But at the same time, she knew they wouldn’t win together and she really wanted that skeleton.

The riddles were all hand-made by Jason on his computer and then laminated in his girlfriend’s school’s teacher lounge however many years ago. They all knew every answer to every riddle by now, but it was still a much more fun way to pair up than picking names out of a hat.

Y/N read her riddle twice, having absolutely no recollection of the answer to it, however—which was probably due to the alcohol she’d consumed herself within the past hour. She wasn’t all to blame, though, Harry had a lot to do with it too. She was still mad at him, for what she wasn’t sure, but she also could not stop herself from stealing glances at him and the only way to stop feeling so many confusing things about Harry was to drown it all away.

She read her riddle one last time: The person who built it sold it. The person who bought it never used it. The person who used it never saw it. What is it?

Her brain felt like mush after the third read and she hoped someone would find her first and give her the answer. She peeked around at people’s cards as they all tried to find their pair, some of them meeting up immediately and getting the prime pick of the pumpkins. It had dwindled down to just a few of them and she finally waltzed herself up to Harry, grabbed his card from his hand without his permission and read it.

In bold, 16-point Helvetica font, it read: A coffin.

Of course.

She rolled her eyes, shoving his card against his stupid bare chest and groaning audibly. “Figures I’m stuck with you.”

When she finally looked up at him, though, she wasn’t all that upset about her odds as she pretended to be. Not with the way his face set into a devilish, wicked, up-to-no-good look that made her want to rip him from the room and rip his useless Tarzan costume off too while she was at it.

He had also been drinking, which was made even more clear when he opened his mouth. “You’ll always be stuck with me.” And then he leaned in a little bit, his smirk widening and his eyes darkening and the sweet smell of vodka on his tongue strengthening, “Forever.”

She hated the buzzing in her stomach he caused, and hated that she liked knowing they probably would, at the very least, know each other for the rest of their lives. It had already been six years since they met and she still hadn’t managed to shake him off. And now they were finishing up law school together and getting offers to work at the same firm together. There would be no escaping him, not that she really wanted to.

The only time she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him was when he had a girlfriend. She hated seeing him in her classes, in her study groups, her circles, at her internship. He was always there, though, rubbing it in her face as she had once done to him. Hers was just a dumb hookup, partially just to spite him, and his was… well he dated the girl for entire year before they broke up and he seemed genuinely heartbroken over it. It had been serious, and Y/N had been seriously miserable the entire time. Even more so when she found out they’d split up and she just about threw a party while Harry moped around campus. She couldn’t help it, though, she’d liked him ever since they met, but then they just sort of… didn’t get along all the time.

She knew he liked her too, at least a little bit, or he’d never have slept with her twice. How much he actually liked her though was still up for debate, and so she chose keeping their weird hate-love relationship over ruining all of it by admitting her feelings for him. Plus, she liked working with him and getting his help on exams and papers too much to ruin that as well.

Y/N grabbed the third to last pumpkin, an unopened carving kit, and led the way to two lonesome chairs. They sat closest to the door, and farthest from the dining room and Jason, in their own little corner where they had enough room to stretch out given that no else had laid any claim on the other side of their table yet.

“So,” Harry began once they were settled and Y/N began opening the kit of tools, “what are we making?”

Before giving him an answer, she laid out all the tools on the table in front of them, next to their poor misshapen pumpkin, and then reached down into the side of her boot and pulled out a black sharpie; she’d learned a couple years back to start brining one. It might have been cheating, sketching her design beforehand, but Jason never outlawed it.

“I’m making Jason’s favorite Tim Burton character and you’re in charge of the guts.” She dictated confidently, slapping the sawing tool and the large orange plastic spoon in front of him so he could get started right away.

He eyed the tools for a moment, then the pumpkin, and then finally her. “Absolutely not. I’m not doing all the shit work while you do the fun stuff.”

“Thought you’d be used to that.” She half-mumbled, but he still heard her over the rest of the noise in the house. And, frankly, she was right. When they had interned together last year, she always handed off the demeaning tasks to him, like getting the coffee or making copies, while she did the much more interesting parts of the job. What she didn’t know was that she didn’t make him do anything. He always did it so she didn’t have to.  

He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, arms that her eyes—which were completely out of her control at that point—glued to immediately. He’d been working out ever since the break up and finally filled out the Tarzan costume a lot better. He’d always had a nice body, she knew that, but now… now he made her dizzy.

“I’m not doing it. Least not all by myself.”

She gave up then, mostly because she lost her will to argue against the pout of his lips and the flexing of his biceps—which weren’t ridiculously big, but they were subtle and modest and very much bigger than they had been this time last year when he’d dressed up as a shirtless baseball player. Most all of Harry’s costumes involved some level of nakedness and not much sense, but she didn’t complain too loudly. And his arms were definitely bigger now than they had been the last time she was in his bed and he was over her.

“Fine.” She groaned, grabbing the mini saw tool and then standing to begin carving a hole at the top of their pumpkin, around the stem. She made it big enough for them to be able to stick their hands inside, and then once she was finished, pulled the stem piece off and set it aside for later, chopping off some loose bits of pumpkin shreds first.

Despite his earlier protests, he was the first to dig into the pumpkin, standing as well and going hands first into the thing where he pulled out fistfuls and dumped it into a pile on the table. They went back and forth digging out the insides of the pumpkin until finally, Harry grabbed the spoon and really went in. And she didn’t even bother offering to help, and instead stared, again, at his stupid biceps and especially at his hands, which were slick from the pumpkin juice. She shuddered remembering where his hands had once been, and then pulled herself together remembering how long ago it had been and how very little interest he’d shown in picking up where they’d left off pre-girlfriend.

Once the pumpkin was fully gutted, they both sat again, and cleaned their hands off on the paper towels Jason had set up on each table.

She was the first to begin the process, sketching out the design with her sharpie of Oogie Boogie from The Nightmare Before Christmas. She’d carved the character before, but still needed a reference picture on her phone to get all the details right. And Harry watched her the entire time, memorizing her face for the millionth time while she concentrated, and sometimes he stared at her hands, too, hands he also found himself reminiscing over, to the point of needing to cross his legs so it wasn’t made visibly clear what he was thinking about. He was starting to regret recycling the Tarzan costume.

While they all worked, Jason answered the door and handed out candy about once every five minutes. The best part of their tradition wasn’t the pumpkin carving itself, but rather, the atmosphere. They loved the feeling, the adrenaline rush of it all. How messy everything would eventually get, how loud they all were. The anguished shouting when someone messed something up. The sounds of Thriller playing in the background mixed with the loud jump scares from the horror movies played all night long. It was heaven to any lover of Halloween (and they all loved Halloween).

She’d let Harry start the carving of the design, informing him what parts were staying and what parts needed to be cut away, before she ventured into the kitchen to grab them both a drink. On her way back, she paused for a moment, just watching Harry work over in their corner. The sight of him almost made her want to finally admit how she felt. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if he rejected her, at least then she’d know.

But then Zoe plopped down into her empty chair next to Harry and crushed everything back down like an aluminum can being recycled. She tossed back about half of her Smirnoff after Zoe had scooted closer to Harry and grazed her fingertips across his arm—the one he wasn’t using the carve the pumpkin. And at first, he ignored it, but then he set down the tool, pushed his hair back with his clean wrist and offered Zoe one of his annoying little smirks that Y/N always thought he saved just for her. But now, seeing him use it to flirt with Zoe, she felt stupid and betrayed. And stupid again for feeling betrayed.

She had no claim to him. She just had her memories, as inconvenient as they were at times. But that was nothing and it’d been so long that he showed any interest in her, in anybody, that for her to be jealous now was just pure selfishness. As much as she hated Harry sometimes, she still wanted to see him happy again.

Y/N made her way back slowly, eying what others were doing, until finally joining Harry again just as Zoe went back to her own pumpkin.

She was quiet for a moment, sipping on her drink, watching him as he got back to carving, before cleaning her throat as she finally said something, “What did Zoe want?” And she tried not to sound anything other than curious, but the way Harry glanced at her, with a raised brow, she knew she needed to be so much more subtle.

He took the other cup from her that she hadn’t drunk from and replenished his blood alcohol level. “She just asked me what I was doing after this.”

Instead of opening her mouth and being obvious, she just set her drink down and grabbed both the carving tool and the pumpkin from Harry to take over. He’d already done way more work than she had, so it was about time they switched anyway.

He eyed her curiously still, even though he allowed her to continue where he left off as he leaned back in his chair and took a break, downing what was left in his cup as she worked.

“You’re not jealous are you?” He finally asked, after a few moments to let his brain marinate in the alcohol in order to brave that question in the first place.

“No.” It was sharp. A piercing rejection he felt dig its claws deep into his heart. He couldn’t tell if she was lying or not, but if not, it hurt. More than he was willing to admit, even to himself. He wanted her to be jealous. He always did. That was part of the reason he’d gotten a girlfriend. And of course she was also part of the reason they broke up, if not all of it.

He nodded, “So it wouldn’t bother you if I went home with Zoe?”

He noticed her brief hesitation, when her hand stopped moving and she took in a breath of air, but then she settled again. “Doesn’t bother me what you do, Harry.”

Again, he nodded, still watching her just to get a sense of her reactions. Of course he had no plans on going home with Zoe. He just wanted to know. Where they stood. How Y/N felt about him. Whether she thought about their nights together as often as he did. When they were studying together and she’d shift her hair behind her shoulder and he’d get a whiff of her shampoo and be taken right back to one of those nights, and the nights that came after that when he got lost in that scent on his pillows until it eventually dissipated and left him craving more.

He tried again. One last time. If he still didn’t get the response he was hoping for, then he’d give it up and leave her alone. So, he sat forward, crossing his arms on top of the table, close enough to her now that the buzzing in her stomach reappeared even though she never braved a single glance at him. He was close enough that the smell of his cologne overtook the odor from the pumpkin. Close enough that she felt his breath on the side of her face when he spoke.

“So, I’ve just been imagining the way you’ve been looking at me all night then?” His voice was just above a whisper, and soft, caressing her ears as the sound crept its way inside of her. As it seeped into all the places the alcohol had been, although Harry was always something way more potent than whiskey or tequila. He made her head spin, made her feel everything and nothing at the same time. Made her heart flutter so much at times it hurt.

His words sunk in and all her motions stopped as she froze in place. She stopped carving their pumpkin, stopped blinking, stopped breathing. Staring blankly at their half-finished design until he was wrung out from her system completely. That never really happened, though, because he was staring at her, watching her with those glinting, impatient eyes, waiting for an answer. There wasn’t even the familiar hint of a smirk or a bit of amusement on his face anymore, either, that might have calmed her nerves. Because at least if he seemed to just be messing with her, she could play that game with him, but this was different.

He leaned forward a bit, trying to get her to look at him, to say something, anything, really. He’d be satisfied enough with her lies at this point. But he also knew the absence of an answer alone was all he really needed. He didn’t feel like he was getting ahead of himself, seeing the way her body reacted to him, by assuming that she felt, at least somewhat, the same way he did about her. Because if she’d been the one to ask if she was imagining how he’d been staring at her all night, he wouldn’t deny it.

Just as she opened her mouth, just as she had gathered enough words to form a coherent sentence, the room went dark. Pitch black, actually. The lights all around them flickering off, the television going blank, the music cutting out. And once the startled gasps and dramatic, drunken yelling had subsided, they were left in a ringing silence, so completely opposite to what they had been moments ago that it was painful for their ears to adjust to.

“What the fuck?” They heard Jason’s voice in the darkness and then, finally, a bit of light as he turned his phone’s flashlight on.

“Did the power go out everywhere?” Someone else asked.

And while everyone panicked, all Harry cared and thought about was Y/N’s hand wrapped tightly around his own on his lap. He wasn’t exactly sure when she’d grabbed for him, but once he realized she was there, he didn’t really care too much about the lights anymore. What he did care about still, however, was whether she’d ever answer his question now. If he’d ever get to hear what she was about to say just before the darkness cut her off.

A few of them stumbled about, making plans to go outside and check on things while everyone else stayed inside and waited. The room went dark for a few more moments as Jason left, but then someone else turned their flashlight on, and shined them at the ceiling so that there was at least enough light so that they didn’t have to sit in complete darkness.

If it wasn’t Halloween, the power going out wouldn’t have bothered her so much. Outages happened happened all the time. But now, in the middle of the second Annabelle movie with all sorts of other spooky shit around them, she couldn’t help but be terrified and imagine the worst. Like… what if there was a killer on the loose who had cut their power. What if the killer was chopping up Jason and the others and then eventually heading inside to do the same to all of them?

“Hey,” Harry mumbled beside her, inching closer and rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, realizing she’d grown tense when her grip on him had tightened. “You alright?”

Hearing his voice again, she let out a breath of air and tried to relax. She watched way too many scary movies and this was most definitely not one of them. Just a power outage, possibly due to everyone being home and using lots of extra electricity on their lights and decorations. She had no reason to panic. Although it could be blamed on Harry as well, if he hadn’t made her an astronomical amount of nervous just before.

She nodded until she realized Harry couldn’t even see her very well. “I’m fine.” She finally affirmed, and, to his dismay, took her hand away from his.

They sat in their own silence for a while, listening to the quiet conversations around them, particularly to Zoe and Julie who were trying to look up any information they could even though their phones were slow from the lack of Wi-Fi and service.

After a little while, she found his hand again in the dark, and this time, she wasn’t afraid from the power going out, but rather what she was about to say. Because if there was ever an opportunity to spill your guts to Harry Styles, it was in a dark room where his grassy green eyes weren’t all over you, sucking every ounce of courage from your bones.

Her voice was in a whisper, and she finally looked at him, or rather in his direction. To the outlines of his face, of his nose and his cheekbones. Even though she couldn’t find the green, she knew he was there, waiting, listening.

“You haven’t been imagining anything.”

She couldn’t quite see it, but his eyebrows had hit the ceiling and before he could question her further, she continued.

“I was miserable when you were seeing Liv and so fucking happy when you broke up.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t let that stop her, “And then miserable again because you didn’t want me. And maybe you still don’t, but it would really bother me if you went home with someone else.”

The quiet almost ate her alive for the next few seconds when he said nothing and she didn’t have his features to go off of. But then, she felt him getting closer until, finally, his lips were at her ear.

“I’ve always wanted you.”  

The buzzing was back but this time it was debilitating. Especially when he faced her and cupped his free hand along her jaw. And especially when he tilted her head back slightly to meet his lips, which had pretty good aim given their predicament. She missed the way he felt, she realized, once he was kissing her. Once he had scooted closer and released his hand from her grip on his lap. Once he grabbed up the other side of her face and pulled her closer. And then her hand was left to fend for itself on his thigh, and she, almost unconsciously, drifted her touch closer and closer and closer…

He moaned softly into her mouth when she toyed with the flimsy piece of fabric tied around his waist with her fingertips. And finally, she pulled apart from him, catching her breath before whispering, “Do you think they’d notice if we left?”

He shook his head, “Don’t think I care if they did.”

And so they were off. Trying not to draw too much attention to themselves even though she slightly tripped over the leg of the chair and he tried not to giggle too loudly while helping her. His hand fell into hers again as he led the way out of the living room, down the hall and into Jason’s guest room, closing them both off from any light source completely, not that they really cared too much about seeing each other; they just wanted to feel each other again.

And as soon as Harry had closed the door behind her, that’s exactly what they did. As she wrapped her arms around his neck; as he felt his way around her waist, he kissed her like he hadn’t kissed anyone in years. Like he was a dry, cracking desert and she was a vast river flowing through him.

He took brave steps towards the bed blindly, backing her up further into the dark room and managing to not trip over anything when he finally made it to the bed. They’d both, on separate occasions, spent the night in Jason’s guest room before, which helped when maneuvering around in the dark. For instance, Harry knew that Jason kept his secret stash of condoms in the bedside drawer. Harry had no idea why, but he was thankful for it right now, when, after laying her back on the bed, Y/N had already begun undoing his costume—with such quickness, he was sure she’d studied how the thing was connected to his body so that she knew exactly how to get if off if need be—and, within the next few seconds, tossed the flimsy Tarzan loincloth out of sight.

Which left him in just the black thong he wore underneath. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have even bothered with it. But, when he had first gotten the costume and tried it on without anything, he imagined all the wardrobe slips and potential boners might not be in everyone’s best interests. So, he went out and bought the smallest pair of underwear he’d ever owned, tucked himself inside of them, and called it a day.

Those, too, were stripped from his body in a matter of seconds, or at least pushed down his thighs to where they no longer covered what they were intended to cover. But then she flipped them around, so that Harry was on his back this time, splayed across the bed and she was finally ridding him of the thong all together and not wasting any time getting her hands on him and he wondered, with how quick she was to get to this point, if she had been thinking about this all night. And if she had, then he would definitely have to whip out the Tarzan costume more often.

He seemed to sink into the mattress once he felt her mouth close on him, his eyes fluttering shut and his mouth hanging open involuntarily when he hit the back of her throat. He had no idea how he’d gone so long without her, or why either. Why had he been so stupid? Why did he let her think he didn’t want her? Why did he deprive the both of them of this? Of the way she felt circling her tongue around the tip of his cock, the way he knew she was looking at him even though he could physically not open his eyes or come down off his cloud long enough to tell her how good she felt. How much he missed it. How much he was probably in love with her, even if that might have been crossing some sort of line.

“Forgot how big you were,” she whispered, giggling almost shamefully after wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and giving him a break to actually breathe properly again.

“Think we both know that’s a lie.” He was out of breath already and he was right, although she wouldn’t feed his ego no matter what he said. Although she remembered his cock perfectly fine, she wasn’t exactly used to it. And maybe she had momentarily forgotten what he had hidden under his costume. It’d been two years since they slept together, and the first time it happened they’d been drunk.

She didn’t say anything else, just tried to hide the blush on her face—even though he couldn’t’ see it anyway—by taking a mouthful of him again. She didn’t let him come, though, of course, and he didn’t expect her to either. She never had before. She always led him get right to the edge, to where he was panting and writhing and digging his fingers into her hair, on the verge of screaming her name into the dark, and then she’d stop. Pull him from the back of her throat and leave him a sopping, moaning mess.

He’d somewhat recovered when she crawled on top of him and and sat on either side of his hips with her hands planted on his chest. And now that their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could see the curve of his lips as he smiled up at her and even the sinister little twist of his mouth just before he grabbed hold of the hem of her dress and ripped it off over her head, letting it fall onto the bed next to him. He wished they had just a little bit more light, but at the same time, it turned him on having to see with his hands instead. Having to reach up and cup her breasts in his palms and rely on his memories for a better visual than the one he currently had. And as she came down to kiss him again, there was one thing for sure he didn’t need any light or anything but his fingers to do.

He tossed her bra into the same vicinity as her dress and within seconds had his hands all over her again, and his tongue as well, wishing she was on her back so he could worship her in all the ways he desperately wanted to, but also aware that the power could flick on at any moment and he really didn’t have the time.

Not that she had asked, and maybe she just hadn’t thought of it yet, but he still, while continuing to make out with her, reached over, pulled the drawer open on the nightstand and reached inside to locate the box of condoms.

However, once he did, and he didn’t find what he was looking for, he sat up and pulled apart from her, twisting himself a bit in order to see inside the drawer. His other hand held onto her hips so she didn’t fall off of him as he searched the drawer. But, soon enough, he was laying back again, groaning as if he was in physical pain.

“There’s no condoms.” He muttered between his teeth and just that one little sentence ruined his entire night.

“It’s okay.” She assured, continuing to whisper just as he did so that no one would hear them through the thin walls. “I mean… we’re clean right? And I’m on birth control…”

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking up at her and trying to decide if it was a good idea or not. She was right, of course, but even so there was always a possibility. Even with condoms there was always that same possibility too. He knew one thing for certain. If he remembered correctly. There was absolutely no way in hell he’d be able to pull out, so that really wouldn’t even be an option either.

“If you don’t want to though, that’s fine.” She spoke again amongst his silence. It’s not like he would hate the potential consequences, and of course he would not hate feeling her without a stitch of anything in between them, he just needed to be reassured that’s what she wanted, truly.

“I do, just um… are you sure you’re okay with that?”

She nodded first and then, confidently, “Yes.” As she fell back into place over him, her lips came to his ear this time, “I want to feel you coming inside of me.”

His whole body shuddered, needing her more than he quite possibly ever had. And as she tucked her panties to the side and guided herself onto him, he would most definitely go outside and cut the lines himself if the power decided to come back on before they were finished.

“Forgot how wet you are…” He whispered, heart fluttering at the way she laughed while fucking him. He never forgot either, not quite. But feeling her again now, pooling around him, warm and snug, he again wondered why in the living hell he kept himself from her for so long. Sure, they didn’t like each other most of the time, but their first time together had been hot, drunk hate sex and ever since then he’d chased that feeling with other people, none of them ever quite adding up to her. He wondered if she thought the same. No one ever making her feel the way he did either. If, when she was with someone else, she thought of him instead.

He knew he wouldn’t last long the second she put her greedy hands on him, and so her being in control now was slightly dangerous. He wasn’t ready for it to be over, even if he was racing the clock, even if he could just take her home from here and do it all over again, properly. He didn’t want it to end as quickly as it started.

So, he flipped them back over, getting her on her back like he’d wanted to earlier. Slipping a pillow under her backside to get a better angle and letting her sink all the way through the mattress this time. He remained inside her the entire time, only making quick, shallow movements to avoid the sounds of their skin slapping against each other. But he gave up being careful about their noise level after she begged him to go faster, after he reached between them and rubbed his fingers over her clit to catch her up with him.

She tugged at his hair while he kissed her, breathlessly and without much of a second thought this time about how loud they were being. He assumed all their friends knew about them anyway, even if she chose to be ignorant to it. They all speculated about the secret hookups and the mindless flirting that was disguised as harmless bickering. So, he just stopped caring the closer and closer he got.

That was until he buried himself as far as he could inside of her, his hand wrapped around her throat the way he remembered her liking, and he felt the scream building beneath her skin, beneath his palm. Quickly, before her noises led to everyone barreling into the room to find out what was going on, he clasped his hand from her throat to her mouth instead. Holding tightly as she let it out, his eyes pouring into hers like a lake of shining emerald waters getting her to stay there in the room with him. So that she didn’t close her eyes and float away like he had before.

He titled her head to the side, kissed up her jaw to her ear. “Mm, I missed the way you sound.” He wanted to tell her how he thought about her pleads and her moans and her yells late at night when he was feeling particularly alone. When he wanted nothing but her, to either be inside of her, or to just have her there next to him. But all of that got caught in his throat, and instead, as he continued burying himself into her, he whispered like a growl in her ear, “Missed how well you take me.”

And although it made her moan, made her eyes cross and her fingernails scrape across his shoulder blades, he wanted to tell her that he missed how they fit together. How where he ended she began so seamlessly no one else could hardly compare. There had always been a seam with everyone else, with Liv, a visible divide between him and them, soldered together haphazardly. But with Y/N, it was smooth, flowing together as if they were the same person.

His hand slipped from her mouth as he began losing control, and soon she was the one having to cover the noises. Though, this time, she just simply pulled his lips to her own and felt all the vibrations escape from his throat against her skin, her teeth, her tongue. She breathed in nothing but the air from his lungs, and held onto his tightly as she began to unravel.

His moans quickened and quickened until she felt his release, warm and deep inside of her, just as her own gave way, until his body began to give out, until he was panting and no longer able to hold himself up over her. And so once they both descended from their cloud, once their wave had crashed onto the shore, he planted himself beside her, their chests in rhythm as they cough their breath.

And before either of them even managed to open their eyes or breathe steadily again, the surge of the power coming back on dimmed the haze. Their room was still dark, but light seeped under the door and the rest of their friends cheered from the other room as the music began again. And for a brief, stupid moment, Harry thought about fucking her again and letting her scream all she wanted, but that fantasy was cut short when he remembered their friends would soon realize they were missing.

“We should get back.” She mumbled. Although she made no sudden movements to get up. She even closed her eyes again, still off in another world.

And so Harry risked it, just for a few more moments, anyway, where he rolled closer to her and slid his hand up her jaw softly, pulling her attention toward him again as her eyes fluttered open, waiting.

“I was miserable when I was with Liv too. And we broke up because she knew I spent all my time thinking about someone else.” He swiped his thumb across her cheek, realizing for the first time that he’d probably royally fucked up all her makeup and then hoping she wouldn’t come to her senses and kill him for it.

“And who might that be?”

He smiled, sweetly this time unlike all his asshole smiles, and just as he glanced at her lips, ready to kiss her again, he was cut short.

“Yo, where are Harry and Y/N?” It was Jason, loud and clear and possibly headed their way to investigate his missing party guests who had snuck off together in the dark. Jason didn’t know that yet though, and as much as Harry would like none of their friends to find out, it wouldn’t exactly look great the two of them waltzing out of the guest room together. Harry’s curls in shambles, fresh scratches all across his back, and Y/N’s makeup smudged. There was simply no use in hiding what they’d been up to, it was written all over them.

Harry grabbed her clothes and handed them off while he went on a search for his own tiny pieces of costume. And just as they got decent again, there was a knock on the door.

“You guys in there? You better not be doing what I think you’re doing.” Jason warned and Harry and Y/n looked at each other for a moment before busting out laughing.

Harry got to the door first, throwing it open to a very surprised Jason, who then narrowed his eyes when he saw Y/N come up behind Harry.

“God, not in my guest room!” He whined as Harry pushed pass Jason, a looking Y/N following shortly behind, “Now I have to clean the sheets again! I just did them yesterday.”

“Sorry, mate!” Harry called over his shoulder, glancing down at Y/N quickly to give her one of his cocky little winks. And once they had reached the main room again, as he fell back into his chair, she realized just how many scratch marks she’d left on him, and wished he’d worn a costume with a shirt to cover it up.

She drowned out all the whistling and the comments about how everyone knew she and Harry were up to something, about the bets won and lost. All she heard was Harry’s voice in her ear, telling her how much he missed her and she wondered if it was real. If he really did miss her, or he just missed fucking her. If, when it was no longer October 31st, they’d just go back to normal. Like the horse-drawn carriage turning back into a lumpy, ugly pumpkin.

Harry noticed this, of course, because he’s a law student and notices everything, but just as he leaned in to ask if she was okay, she pulled away.

“I just, uh, need some air.” And then she was gone before he could do or say anything. She used through the front door, abandoning their poor pumpkin and headed toward her car. She’d left the keys and her purse inside, but it didn’t matter. She just leaned against the passenger door and gazed up at the stars, thankful for the clear night and warm weather.  

And, of course, he was beside her not too long afterwards. She’d heard his footsteps against the pavement, knew he’d probably follow her out anyway.

He cleared his throat, half watching the same stars she was and half glancing at her. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s um…” she faltered, her eyes falling to her feet. “Think I just had too much to drink.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I—” she cut him off before he got too far in the wrong direction.

“No, I mean…” she pushed off her car then and faced him, “Are we just going to go back to how we always are after tonight? Because I don’t know if I can do that. But I never know what you’re thinking, Harry. Do you even like me or do you just like sleeping with me sometimes and arguing with me all the rest of the time?”

He continued to watch her for a moment, almost waiting for her to tell him she was kidding. But when she just ran a nervous hand through her colored hair, he realized she wasn’t.

He waited for a group of kids all dressed in various Star Wars outfits to pass by them before he began. “I guess I thought I was clear, but obviously not enough… I don’t just want to sleep with you every couple of years and pretend we don’t like each other in between. I think we’ve already wasted enough time, don’t you?”

She nodded once his words sunk in.

“Can we go finish our pumpkin now? And win the stupid skeleton. So I can take both it and you home with me?”

Again, she nodded, but this time it was matched with a smile. “Who says I want to go home with you?”

He rolled his eyes and threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close enough to kiss the top of her head as he steered them back toward the front door. “Guess it’ll just be me and the skeleton then.”

They both glanced over at the giant thing stuck in the middle of Jason’s front yard, still attracting every young person like it was a princess at Disneyland, and then she looked up at him again. “On second thought, I might like to see that.”

He shook his head, opening the front door for them, “M’sure you would.”

[yamigooops]

Break My Heart

pairing: oikawa x gn!y/n genre: pure angst warnings: just angst really, I just wanted to write something sad lol words: ~2k

“Tell me you've never loved me Tell me that it wasn't real Just say you've found somebody else I wanna know the way it feels (Break my heart)” - Break My Heart by Hey Violet

a/n - time to break all your hearts, this had me tearing up while writing so hopefully it does the same to you so I'm not the only one hurting >:')

You were done, you’d had more than enough. You lay in bed, alone, for the fourth night in a row, waiting for your boyfriend of two and a half years to come home, and you were sick of it. Reaching over to turn on the light beside the bed, you picked up your phone to check the time. Almost 2 am. He should have been home an hour ago at the very latest.

With a huff, you threw the sheets off your body, sitting up. You rested your forehead in your hands, elbows braced against your knees. What else could you do? You’d told him so many times you’d lost track that he needed to try harder, that you needed more from him if this relationship was going to work. But he always brushed you off, assuring you that things would get better.

But they weren’t.

You sent a text to your best friend, knowing they’d be up at this time anyway, and asked if you could come to spend the night. You wanted him to know how it felt to go to fall asleep in an empty bed, just like you had done so often lately. Receiving an affirmative text from your friend, you rose and started to pack a bag for tomorrow.

Your mind raced. Did he even want to be in this relationship anymore? Did you? He had been putting in the minimum effort as of late, spending the vast majority of his time at training or going out with his friends and teammates. It seemed he had more time for everyone other than you, and you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. You almost wanted him to end it, almost wanted to get in a fight about it just to have him show anything other than nonchalance about the situation.

You had been so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t heard him come in, unaware of his presence until he opened the bedroom door. “Y/N? What are you doing up so late?” The smooth silk of his voice shocked you in the silence of the room, making you whirl around to face him.

There he was, Oikawa, in all his glory. His tanned skin bore a sheen of sweat, and his chocolate hair was mussed, from the wind or something else you had no clue. He looked worn out, though that could have been from practice or going out to the club. You wouldn’t know, since this was the first you’d seen of him since he left this morning to go to practice.

You clutched the sweatshirt you were holding to your chest, subconsciously shrinking back from the tall man. You weren’t expecting him to come home until after you had left, now it would be all that much harder to leave. “Um, hi Oikawa,” you muttered, taking a deep breath. “I’m going over to Y/F/N’s place for the night.” You were surprised you got the words out, almost caving at the thought of getting to spend even a little time with your boyfriend, even if it was at two in the morning.

“Why would you do that?” He cocked his head, looking genuinely confused. A small pout formed on his features, and you could tell he was genuinely a bit upset about it.

“Well, I-“ you broke off, not knowing what to say. “We were talking, and they invited me over, and since you weren’t back yet I thought I would go,” you lied. You weren’t sure why you did though, the angry part of you said you should have just told him flat out that you were upset with him. But the peacemaker in you won out, unwilling to cause a fight where it wasn’t necessary.

“But it’s a weeknight, why wouldn’t you just wait until the weekend? Don’t you have work in the morning?” He set his gym bag down on the bed, unzipping it to remove his dirty clothes from practice.

You gulped, mind flying as you came up with a cover. “They, uh, they’re having a bit of a breakdown right now, I was going to go over help them calm down.” You resumed packing your bag, placing each article of clothing inside carefully as you felt his eyes on your back.

“C’mon,” he whined. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week, can’t you just stay? We can cuddle. Usually, you’re asleep by the time I get home, so I’ve been missing out.” The pout was back in full force as he came up behind you to snake his arms around your midriff. He placed a kiss on the back of your head before resting a cheek on your hair.

“Yeah, we’ve barely seen each other all week,” you reiterated, something igniting in your chest. “And whose fault would that be?” The words came out before you could stop them, sharp as knives.

He stiffened against you, arms loosening. “Y/N, I have practice every day but Sundays, you know that,” he replied, a bit defensively.

You pulled out of his grasp, picking up your bag and placing it on the bed. “Yeah, and what about when your practice is over? Hmm? Where do you go then? From 6 to 2 in the morning?” You couldn’t stop the anger from bubbling over, your chest burning with it. Now that you’ve started, you couldn’t stop yourself. “Are you just hanging out with your friends instead of your girlfriend? Are you going out to the clubs?” Your tone was pure venom as angry tears welled in your eyes. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you hissed out the last thought in your mind. “Are you seeing someone else?”

He gaped at you, lips parted and eyes wide as he comprehended what you had said. “Am I- what?!” His voice raised at the end in indignation. “You think I’m cheating on you? You think that’s the kind of man I am?”

“What else am I supposed to think when I’ve gone to bed alone for the last four nights in a row?” You cried, tears blurring your vision. “Torū, I’ve barely seen you at all this week, tell me you wouldn’t be suspicious too!”

He froze, eyebrows coming together slowly. “No, I don’t think I would be,” he defended. “I have quite a bit of faith in you, and it hurts me to know that you have so little in me.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word. You brought your hands up to press the heels into your eyes, hoping to do something to relieve the pressure building behind them.

“My point isn’t to call you a cheater, Torū, all I meant by that was that I have no idea what you’re out doing because you don’t talk to me!” Your voice grew thick with emotion, face growing flush as you raised your arms up to clasp your forearms above your head, eyes still screwed shut.

“Y/N, I’ve just been spending time with the team, that’s all,” he replied exasperatedly, and you heard the soft thump of his clothes falling into the hamper. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been spending enough time with you, but there are other important people in my life besides you!”

His words left you silent, and you opened your eyes to look at the ceiling, head tilting back slightly. The lump in your throat grew, making it unbearable to swallow back the tears that slipped from the corners of your eyes.

“If they’re all so important,” you whispered, “then maybe you don’t need me anymore.” You released your arms, letting them fall to your sides as you came to meet his gaze. The sight almost shattered your heart.

He looked at you like a lost child, mouth agape and hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Were those tears in his eyes? You couldn’t tell from the distance between you. He reached up to run a hand through his hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck. “So… what are you saying Y/N? Hmm? Because I’m not sure at this point,” he breathed, eyes meeting yours and filled with emotion.

You took a moment to get your thoughts in order before responding. “I guess what I’m saying is-” you hesitated, unsure if you should continue. Could you continue with this relationship? Were you happy with him anymore? “I want you to break my heart. It’s already on its last leg and I just need you to cut the last strings because I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

There was a look of pure agony in his eyes. His hands went limp at his sides, and his shoulders fell. “Y/N I-” His voice cracked with emotion. “I don’t think I can do that." He took a step toward you, then another, until he stood just a few inches away, looking like he wanted to wrap his arms around you but refraining. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

All you wanted was rest your head against his chest, cry into the soft fabric of his shirt and act like you were still in love with him. But you couldn’t, not anymore. “I was scared that if I talked to you about it, then that would make it real,” you whispered into the space between, eyes stuck on the collar of his shirt and unable to meet his.

There was a pause, silence overcoming the two of you and thickening the air around you. You could practically hear his brain working to come up with a response that wouldn’t kill you, and you almost broke and fell against him. But you didn’t, couldn’t.

“I don’t think I could ever bring myself to break your heart,” he murmured, words smooth and soft. “But if you need me to cut whatever ties you have left, I’ll do it, even though it kills me. Whatever you need, I’ll do, even if it means I have to lose you.”

It was then that you gathered the courage to meet his eyes, and the moment you did you regretted it. Tears slid down his angled face, shining in the soft light of the lamp. Your heart crumpled, nearly unable to handle the fact that you were doing this to him.

You allowed yourself to reach up and rest your hands on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” your thumbs ran beneath his eyes in a useless attempt to wipe away his sadness. “I never want to hurt you, but this just isn’t working anymore, and my heart can’t take it. I’m sorry.”

He leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, eyes shut, and lower lip drawn between his teeth. His hands came to rest lightly on your hips, fingers wrapping into the material of your shirt. “I know, I know,” he assured you softly. “Things haven’t been the best between us lately, I know that now, but still-” Your hands snaked around his neck, effectively pulling him closer. His lips came to press against your forehead, and the feeling almost made you melt into him. “I’ll always love you Y/N, but if you need me to cut ties, I’ll cut them.”

The feeling of his breath against your skin brought on a fresh wave of tears as you nodded. “Thank you, Torū,” you murmured, fingers running through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Thank you for everything, I mean it.”

He sighed, pulling you against his chest as his arms encircled you fully. “I know, Y/N, you’re welcome.”

consider buying me a coffee for exclusive writing

[nessiancalore]

maven and thomas, the truth untold.

Hello, I just wanted to say a few things about this one-shot

1. English is not my first language so there will probably be a lot of weird things with the writing ... Maybe some misspellings, or something like that (sorry).

2. I'm using as a base a Maven that is still not fully "with" Elara in his mind, only when they are together, and because they are not, he is very confused about some things.

3. If you are Victoria Aveyard: I swear that my dog pointed a gun to my head and made me do this, I swear. please don't sue me.

PART I

—

Maven

This place makes me sick. People planing to kill, or send more people to die, over nothing.

If you are going to command useless people, at least do it to make them useful. My brother does not think like me, though. He is the perfect soldier. Fulling himself with fighting strategies and training, like that would solve anything. What wins a war is not guns, it is a brain.

The worst of all that in here, the barracks, they all follow that. The rules of my ridiculous father. I wish mother was here. Or not. I don't know.

"Maven?" Can you shut your fucking mouth for one second?

"Hi, Cal" He is standing in my doorstep. The thing is, in here I'm not 'a king's son. I'm addressed as such, I have my guards, but I don't have the advantage, and that is one more thing that I despise about this place.

"General Osanos is showing us the engineer behind the new guns that are being send to the front line tomorrow, like he promised us at lunch, let's go." Like he promised CAL at dinner last night, I couldn't care less.

"I don't feel so good, maybe I should just stay here", thankfully, I'm good at lying.

"Just call Skonos and come, It will be fun!" No it won't.

"Cal just… Let me stay here, alright?"

"C'mon Maven!"

"FOR MY COLORS CAL— just — I DON'T WANT TO GO", I try to stop screaming, but then I realize I don't want to... I feel like it could kill him right now. I mean... I don't want to go to that stupid thing but... I shouldn't be this angry.

Should I?

"...Maven, did something happen? Are you okay?"

He tries to enter the room, I can see how worried he gets. It's not usual that I yell at him. At anyone, actually.

"Go fuck yourself, Cal! Just... Leave me Alone!" Definitely not THIS angry. But as I'm walking away I realize exactly what made me act like this. I don't need your perfect self around me all the time, Tiberias. I hate the fact that I'm here because of yo— Great, I've run so much that I don't even know where I am — ... I hate you. Do I?

—

Getting into the stables was the only decision I actually took since I got here, and it was an amazing one. Even being night I can see the horses, and It's quiet, I can just… Breathe. I've been here for at least for half of an hour by now, I couldn't scream like I wanted to, because someone could hear me, so I cried. As much as I hate doing that, it helps a lot.

"Excuse me" I hear something falling down.

"Who's there?!", a flame appears on my hand, but it flames out when I see a red.

"No one you'd know. I work here ... Are you okay?" The red is tall, taller than me, I can't see his face perfectly, but I would guess he is just a couple of years older. He's staring at the tears on my eyes.

"I'm fine", I say as I clean them up, more terse than I expected to be.

"Are you sure?", My eyes must be really gray.

"Just grab what you came here for and leave, Red"

"You are on top of it, Silver", weirdly, he says that as if he's telling a joke.

"Don't you know who I am?", I ask.

"It's really dark, and you look like almost everyone in here, so I really don't. Could you please excuse me?", he is pointing to the hay I was sitting on. That doesn't sound like a bad thing, him not knowing who I am. I can just act "normal" for a few moments. As I get up I can tell by the look on his face that he notices the silver on my hand and on the block of hay. It wasn't on purpose, but he wouldn't think that.

"Don't tell anyone you saw me here", I know he doesn't know me, but still.

I hear the Red take a big breath before saying, "Again, I don't even know who you are, and what would I say, exactly? 'Hey everyone, I went to the stables today and found a grumpy bossy silver, aka a like every silver we know. It was a really special day' ", I can tell he didn't give much of thought before saying that, because my laugh surprises him…

And I.

"I'm... Sorry" But my apology doesn't. Weird.

"It's fine. You don't seem to be having a good day anyway, so..."

"I'm not..." We stare at each other for a few seconds before he says, "... Here is really nice, isn't it? The horses, the sky. If you close your eyes for long enough, you can even forget that there's a war out there. You can just... Breathe"

"... I guess so...", more staring.

"Is your hand...?"

"I lifted the saw that it was on top of the hay... It was stupid"

"Oh! Are you... Okay?"

"I'm just... Angry, I'll be fine", why am I telling him this?

"There are other places here in case you need to... Breathe. By the lake is very quiet. You can go to the second floor of the base at lunchtime, no one is there or..."

"You seem to know your way in to ... Quiet places", do I know any words? What the hell did I just say?

"I'm red, I ... get angry a lot"

" 'Those silvers, Huh?' ", The joke comes out before I can actually realize.

"Such a pain in my ass..." I see his confusing after saying that, I guess he thought it would get me mad. When I laugh, I see his shoulders sagging a bit.

"But... You don't seem to... hate me" 

"What do you mean?"

"All reds hate silvers, and all silvers hate reds. And yet, here you are... Making conversation. I think...", I know people... But I can't figure him out.

"Did you memorize that first line in school?"

"More like... Life experience"

"... Do you hate me?", he seems really worried about that. No. No?

"... Maybe not."

"Well... I don't hate _all_ silvers. My aunt was one, and she was a lovely person, her people are usually...", I can see his brain picking the right words, "... Not the best — But I have learned that the color of someone's blood doesn't define much"

Is he leaving? When he lends me a piece of fabric, I believe it is to clean my hand, I see that he is... Unfortunately.

"Why are you being nice?", I ask.

He makes a cute face when he is thinking.

"Trying to get you not to hate me, I guess"

Good job.

—

Since I got here, two weeks ago, I haven't been able to hear my mother's voice. I've been confuse about what to think, sometimes I even think I might be having a dream, but then I wake up.

That happen this morning. I could swear I saw that boy in my room before I was totally awake.

But I haven't seen him in three days.Not that I'm counting or anything, I just... Know.

Maybe I should go to the stables again? He could be there. Or maybe I should ask someone about him.

And say what? 'Who is 'stable boy?' For my colors, this is frustrating.

I don't even know why I want to see him again. I just do.And everything is so much worse with Cal trying to apologize for what happened. I get it, you are sorry. Even though you don't know what you are being sorry for.

After a boring, but I must admit, helpful, training with Osanos, I got send to the basement by the General — because in here apparently 'all of us have to help' — to grab... What was it?

"Hello, grumpy guy. Fancy clothes."

He scared me by showing up from nowhere.

He is looking at my training clothes.

And he is close.

I don't know what am I supposed to say. This is confusing. He is making me mad because ... I'm usually good with words.

"Hi", seriously Maven? The boy complements you, and that's all you can come up with?

"Angry again?"

"No", why does he want to know?

"So you really like quiet places?"

"You can say that — Maven, control your mouth— but that's not why I'm here. General Osanos ask me to grab a...", I tried to sound like I was serious and superior and all but... I can't fucking remember what I suppose to get.

"A...?"

"I forgot what it was", you know, like an idiot.

I guess he can see the confusion in my head because he starts laughing.

"... That's gonna be good", he says, like he is thinking out loud.

"I have to remember", Not that I care about what Osanos wanted but, this guy needs to see a superior of some sort in me, right?

"Are you sure the thing you need is in here?"

"Yes, the General said so"

"Okay, let me see", he takes a step towards me.

"Let... Let you see what?", why am I getting nervous?!

"What we have in here. I'll tell you what I can find, that I think they would want, and then when your thing appear you'll probably remember it"

"Don't you ... Have work to do?" I hope do not sound rude. Gladly, he smiles before saying, "My job is to please and serve silvers... I'd be doing just that"

I didn't like that "pleasing and serve" coming from him. I don't know why. "You could 'help' me find it. What do you think?"

"Okay...", Now I've surprised him.

We spent 40 minutes, until I remember that I needed the huge roll of maps beside the door. Now I definitely feel like an idiot.

"There you go", he gives me the maps.

"Thank you... — I don't know your name"

His smirk is the cutest thing I've ever seen.

Wait, what?

"I must be making progress about the 'not hating' thing" MAVEN CALORE, DON'T YOU DARE BLUSH.

"You... Might be"

For my colors stop smiling, it's annoyingly beautiful.

"I'm Thomas", He stands his hand and I see scars on his wrist, rope marks, It's impossible not to notice that I'm looking at it.

"... I got those for stealing a jacket that my sister... Wanted"

"I'm sorry"

"It's not your fault. Anyway, what's your name?"

"... I'm…" I feel... Embarrassed? "Maven"

"... Maven Calore", He stays quiet for only three seconds, but if it feels like eternity "Nice to... Officially meet you"

I guess he didn't notice the fire that day.

"... Now you hate me", I say it out loud and immediately wish I haven't.

"No"

"You do"

"Ma — Your highness, I do not hate you"

"You don't have to lie"

"Why do you think I am lying?"

"You just called me 'Your highness', I'm not the guy from 2 minutes ago for you"

"I barely knew that guy"

"And now you think he is a son of a bitch"

"Why would I think that?"

"Because I'm silver"

"I knew you were silver before"

"Because I'm... The king's son. My father is responsible for...", I can't help but look at his marks.

"I don't hate you... Maven", he doesn't seem to be lying.

"Really?"

"To hate someone, I have to at least know them first. Maybe I do hate your father and everything he stands for but... I don't know you"

"We help people like you to be killed"

"Like you just said, your father does", I'm curious to see why he's trying so hard.

"Either way, I'm not sure if you're going to like me"

"I think that... You seem to be the guy that goes somewhere else when he's angry. And I'm sorry if I'm being invasive, but — You seem to be hurting. Not the type of pain you heal with a Skonos, but real pain... And that makes you different from a lot of people in there"

"I don't need pity"

"That's not what I'm trying to—"

"I don't feel that pain for Reds, I feel that because of myself", I get so nervous that I admit that without thinking twice about it.

Thomas saw that, he notices my surprise, so he gives me a warm smile and says, "But at least there are feelings in there. I may be wrong but from what I saw you're not trying to be invincible, a lot of silvers think they are"

I really don't know what to say. "... You took that by one meeting?"

"Maven, the only silver I know that it would have actually talked to me or accepted my help today instead of you was my aunt, and she was lovely..."

"My brother would", I think he notices my discomfort in talking about Cal.

"Well, I don't know him"

"You would want to meet him, everyone does"

"I'm not everyone"

"... Why do you want to know me?!"

"I've said it already, you seem different"

"What if that's a bad thing?"

"What if is not?"

"... I've got to go"

Maybe he just wants something from me. Money, probably.

"Maven, can you do me a favor?" I'm not facing him anymore. "Only talk about your brother if you really have to. You look prettier when you don't"

Maybe he is just a good person.

—

—

I really hope you enjoyed!

I'll be posting more parts soon, there will be at least 4 or 5 (I'm almost done with the hole story already, don't worry), stay gay and hydrated, bye bye ❤

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

Introductory prologue. The main pairing will be established ironstrange x reader. This story will be rated explicit, have some canon-typical violence and language. The 'fuck' harvest is bountiful this time of the year. Updates - irregular so far, I'm posting it as I go.

No y/n, no "you", no name - nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns. Please leave a comment if you spot a stray 'blushing' or the likes, I write as it flows and sometimes miss those words when I proofread. I try to be inclusive of all my readers.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[rreyie]

Fight for Us

Chapter ii- A Field

summary- after getting a rather ominous statement from reiner, you figure out exactly what it means.

warnings- major triggers- attempted suicide, guilt, mentions of figurative violence, dark thoughts. read with caution if you are sensitive to those issues.

a/n- this chapter was definitely a hard one to write, but i mean i don’t think it came out terrible? i promise all this angst is temporary and i’ll make it get fluffier :( 

Reiner and you sat on the curb of the street, looking up into the midnight sky that hung over the two of you. The moon was at half tonight, and you could see the craters on it even though it was millions of miles away.

A cool breeze came along through the air, sending a shiver down your spine. Reiner could see you shaking out of the corner of his golden eyes, shimmering bright in the pale moonlight.

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” He asked. “You should get home before you catch a cold.”

“I-is that okay?” You ask, body trembling in a weak attempt to stay warm. “I don’t w-wanna leave you here.”

Reiner chuckled. “Don’t worry about me. We’ll catch up in the morning if that’s okay with you.”

You nod, and get yourself up off of the cold pavement. Reiner stays there looking up at the moon, a content expression on his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Reiner”, you say, and wave. Turning the opposite direction, you head home to go to sleep for the night.

Before you head too far off, Reiner clears his throat loud enough to make you hear him and turn your attention back to him, a puzzled expression on your face.

“Y/n?” He asks, still not turning away from you.

“What?”

“...I’m sorry.”

You arch a brow at this, not knowing exactly what he meant by this. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything. What are you apologizing to me for, anyway?”

Reiner sighed, one that was barely audible. “You’ll know in the morning.”

———

After heading home confused and partly concerned, you tucked yourself into bed after reading a part of a romance novel you borrowed off your parents bookshelf.

At one point, the two main lovers in the story were frolicking in a field after running away from their disapproving parents. When trying to visualize this, you swore you might have accidentally saw you and Reiner instead of those two lovers.

If only the world was as complicated as that field of flowers.

When you woke up the next morning, it took you a moment to remember your conversation that you and Reiner had last night. His last words before you

left echoed through your head.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, what could that mean? You ask yourself, pondering on this question while slipping out of your nightgown and into your normal day clothes. You shrugged off the question for now, it couldn’t mean anything too deep.

Today you had plans to go into town just for the hell of it. Perhaps a nice shopping day in downtown Marley would be nice, maybe stopping for some coffee or tea afterwards. And of course, you had to pop into the warriors dorms to say hello to Reiner again. He did say he wanted to finish catching up with you.

After getting the rest of your clothing on, you headed out the door to the busy streets of Marley, already crowded with people and merchants. It was like everyone in this country had collectively decided to come out and buy groceries this very hour.

The walk to the headquarters wasn’t long, perhaps fifteen minutes or so from your apartment. Once you got there, you saw two men with blonde hair and a woman with black hair that was rather messy. You could recognize them easily, since they still flaunted some of the features they had when they were children. One was Porco Galliard, another Zeke Yeager, the woman was Pieck Finger.

The first one to notice your presence from across the cobblestone street was Porco. His head instantly turned, and a wide smile formed on his lips.

“Hey, y/n!” He shouted, throwing a hand up in the air and waving it.

You smile, and cross the street to meet the other warriors. Eventually Zeke notices you after lighting a cigarette, followed by Pieck.

“How are you?” Pieck asks, wrapping you in a warm hug. Her demeanor was always soft and comforting, making you feel safe every time you were around her. “You got tall, it feels like the last time I saw you, you were only this high!” She gestures her hand to somewhere around her chest.

“Yeah”, you giggle. “Puberty does wonders I guess. I heard about your victory in Fort Slava, that was pretty cool if I do say so myself.”

“It was, but it was a little terrifying to see a canon being pointed at me every five minutes. But nonetheless it was still cool.” Porco chuckled, and you saw the faintest shade of pink spread across his cheeks. He reached a hand to smooth back his blonde hair, even though he must’ve had a gallon of hair gel on him.

“So um, have you seen Reiner?” You asked them. Porcos face instantly dropped upon hearing his name. “I figured he would be here, since the whole titan shifter thing.”

“He uh, hasn’t showed up to the meeting this morning”, Zeke added, breathing out a puff of grey smoke. You coughed as your nose picked up the scent of ash. “You could probably find him in the dormitories.”

“Thank you Zeke”, you say. “I’d better go find him. He said we would catch up today since we didn’t have the time yesterday. I’ll see you guys later!”

You wave goodbye to them, Zeke and Pieck waving back while Porco just stood there.

Porco didn’t want to admit it, but hearing Reiners name come out of your mouth like that made his blood boil. He saw yesterday the way your eyes lit up when you looked at him, how you hugged him so tightly. And the worst part was that you liked to hang around that asshole, the one who had the chance to make things better, but didn’t. He swore he could do better than him in every way possible.

You walked down the halls to where all the dorms were, all the doors open except one. You assumed Reiner was probably in the occupied room, so you made your way down the hall to that closed door.

Your footsteps echoed in the near empty hallway, boots clacking on the polished floor. Once you came to the door, you gulped down your nervousness and placed three knocks on the wooden door.

There was no reply. You waited patiently for another thirty seconds or so, but soon grew impatient and decided to just open the door.

“Reiner, I was wondering where you wer-“

Your breath was practically stolen from you because of the sight laid out in front of you. Reiner sat on his desk chair, a locked and loaded rifle sitting in his throat. His eyes were dull, hair a mess and skin pale.

You were frozen. You couldn’t comprehend why that rifle was in his mouth. He was always so lively, what the hell was he doing?

Then it clicked.

“...I’m sorry. You’ll understand in the morning.”

He was going to shoot himself.

You ran to his side, trying to hold back an outburst of tears from streaming down your cheeks, you could feel them building up in your eyes. Reiner swiftly pulled out the rifle, a gob of spit coating the head. He let out a few strained coughs, letting you know exactly how deep that rifle was inside his mouth.

“Reiner, what the hell are you doing?” You ask, voice cracking. “Don’t tell me...”

“It’s what it looks like y/n, i know. I just don’t- I can’t- fuck, this is hard to explain...”

Before he could let out another word, you found your arms enveloping his cold body, wrapping around both of his broad shoulders and around his upper back.

“Don’t say anything”, you whisper in his ear. “Just... just sit with me.”

Reiner could feel his tears start to come up too, clumping up at his lashline and threatening to come down.

“I’m s-sorry I’m useless”, he hiccuped. “I-I’m so tired...”

His grip tightened around your back, and he soon found himself clinging to you, the tears rolling down his puffy cheeks. He sniffled, and let out a broken sob. His tears began to soak through your shirt, creating a temporarily stained spot on your shirt. But that was the least of your concern right now.

“You’re- you’re not useless, Reiner”, you say. “You’re everything that this country needs.”

“I’m just holding them back, y-y/n...” he said, almost whispering in a voice you’ve never heard come out from him. “I’m the reason t-that we lost Bertholdt and the others. I would be better with my brains blown out right now.”

You slightly gasp at his statement, but don’t dare to pull away in the state he’s in right now. “Don’t you say that ever again, Reiner. You were chosen for a reason-“

Reiner pulled away from you, tears still rolling down his cheeks. “R-remember what I told you last night? Marcel swayed the decisions to protect Porco. It wasn’t supposed to be me. It shouldn’t have been me, ever.”

“Look at me”, you say, taking ahold of his face, holding his head between your two palms. “You’ve done everything you could- in fact, you’ve done more than I ever could! You’re brilliant, Reiner, you hear me?”

Reiner was trembling at this point, shaking like a nervous puppy at the vet. His eyes were wide with panic, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. You didn’t know what else to say.

Your mind wanders to a darker place for a moment, if you had shown up a minute too late to see his cold body on the floor. What would you have done? How would you have forgiven yourself? You were going to pray tonight for getting the chance to talk him out of it.

His eyes clenched shut, and he buried his head in your shoulder. You could physically feel your heart shatter for Reiner, being in a condition like this. You couldn’t help but cry along with him, not knowing what else to say. Muffled groans and sobs escaped his mouth, quieted by your shirt you were wearing. Each cry felt like somebody was stabbing you repeatedly, the vibrations from his wails shaking you to your core.

“Im sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He wailed. “I’m just so fucking tired of this planet!”

“S-stop apologizing, R-Reiner...” you say, a knot forming in your throat. “L-let’s just go over here, okay? R-Relax.”

You take his hand and guide him up a few steps to lead him to his bed, where he quickly sits down, unable to stand because of the intense emotions. You sit down with him, in fear of what he would do if you left. You reached out a hand, which he quickly started to hold, squeezing your palm.

Reiners cries start to calm, not entirely, but the volume has certainly gone down. He hiccuped twice before speaking clearly.

“Y-you shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“I’ll take this over your blood all over the floor any day”, you reply, wiping a tear from your cheek. You notice a few staining his, so you quickly reach out a thumb to his cheek and wipe away a salty tear or two.

“Thanks”, he said.

You could hear some yelling outside, the distant chatter of children audible through the wall. You guessed the warrior candidates were out to play during one of the rare breaks they had.

“If Gabi saw me like that”, Reiner began. “I would be screwed. And my mother? Dear god...”

“I’ll keep this a secret if you want to”, you quickly say. “Just make sure you put that rifle somewhere else. It makes me uneasy thinking that you could... you know.”

“I’ll do that”, he adds.

“Good”, you say. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. It’s out of protection.”

Reiner nods. “I get it.”

After sitting in comfortable silence for a moment, Reiners mouth opens, as if he was going to say something. But nothing came out.

You turn to him, confused about what he was trying to do. “Something wrong?”

“It’s nothing”, he said. “I’ve just been thinking about... about how you’ve been here all this time. When we were kids you cleaned me up after Porco beat the shit out of me. You even brought me stuff to eat when we couldn’t afford much. And now you’re here... after all of this. Why? Why are you here?”

Now that you thought about it, why were you here? What had compelled you to stick with him? Was there something more than platonic feelings towards him, No, no. That couldn’t be right, you thought. You’re only feeling these things because you missed him.

“Because... you’re my friend”, you quickly answer. “This is what friends do.”

A minuscule smile curved on Reiners pale lips, indicating he was content with your answer. “Huh.”

After sitting in a few more seconds of utter quietness, Reiner looks at the clock and quickly gets up, smoothing out the folds on his uniform. “Fuck. I told the others we would go out for drinks tonight. Plus the festival is tomorrow. Uh, wanna come with us? I’m positive the others won’t mind.”

“I don’t see why not”, you reply.

“Alright”, he says. “I’ll go shower. We’re going to the pub at 7.”

“So it’s a date?” You ask.

Reiners brow arches. “What?”

You cover your mouth, shocked at what you just said. “I-it’s a saying. Like i’ll be there. Not an actual date, of course not-“

“Oh. That’s okay”, he cuts you off. “I’ll um, see you at eight then?”

“Perfect”, you say, heading to the door, heat rising to your cheeks. “See you then!”

As you close the door, you immediately face palm yourself and sigh. Why the hell did that come out of you? Now Reiner was totally going to suspect that you felt something that is definitely not platonic, and he might leave you!

After realizing how much overthinking you were doing, that finally tore it. You felt something different for Reiner Braun. But you were going to have to hide it for a while now.

[panda-noosh]

set me free {Draco Malfoy x Reader}

Words: 12.3k

Summary: Death Eaters aren’t supposed to care.

Genre: angst

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - please let me know if you guys would like a part two to this?? because i feel like there’s a lot more i could explore. anyway, enjoy!!

----

You're getting used to waking up in a new place everyday.

  The spell wears off after twelve hours, the perfect amount of time for them to move you from one place to another. It does not matter how many times you tell them you will go willingly; they never listen. They don't want to risk it, don't want to put up with a little half-blood, only fresh out of Hogwarts, screaming and kicking in an attempt to get released.

   Lord Voldemort has too much to worry about already.

   Your eyes peel open slowly. That familiar headache is at the forefront, the first thing you feel besides the cold concrete pressing against your tender cheek. Your hands are shackled, but the chains are useless; you're always weak when you first awaken, much too weak to attempt an escape, and they know that. The level of magic they use on you would be enough to paralyse anyone.

     You look up. The room you are in is small – as they often are – and doused in uncomfortable darkness. A little light glows from beneath the door, and above your head you can hear people walking back and forth, the odd whimper coming from whatever victim Voldemort has acquired today. Water drips steadily from a hole in the concrete roof, slapping against the back of your hand which lay flat on the floor; you clench your fist just to make sure your fingers are still working, that he hasn't taken the extra precaution of damaging your limbs, too.

   You push yourself up at long last, though the effort is exhausting. Your head feels too heavy, and your limbs too sluggish, and the idea of facing the day weighs you down to the point where you're half tempted to just lay back down and pretend to sleep. Maybe you can convince them they've finally gone too far, used too much magic, killed you entirely on accident.

   But you don't, because your curiosity gets the better of you, just as it often does.

   You stand on wobbly legs and make your way over to the cell-like door locking you in. You push it, getting a surprise when the door actually opens to reveal a concrete staircase leading up to a rickety looking wooden door at the very top. You poke your head out, glance left and right before slowly making your way towards it.

   You know you shouldn't be doing this. Lord Voldemort will order someone to come get you when he wants your presence, but you currently have no idea where you are or who is present, and that's all the sentiment you need to find yourself breaking the rules these days. You were in Slytherin for a reason, whether that reason be as extreme as Voldemort's or not.

   Behind the wooden door there is a hallway. Long, empty, eerily decorated with portraits of dark wizards you have only seen in the history books. They grin as you slowly make your way past them, trailing your bruised and cracked fingers along the emerald green wallpaper that almost seems to shine beneath the lights cast upon it. Your feet – bare, bruised, cold – sink into a plush carpet of the same colour – the Slytherin colours.

    And part of you recognises this place. You're certain you've seen it before, somewhere, maybe a long time ago, maybe recently. Either way, it makes your blood run cold, a startling fight or flight response settling in the pit of your stomach that you pay no attention to. You couldn't fight if you tried considering Voldemort has your wand, and the idea of trying to flee from him is scarier even than walking through these strangely familiar hallways.

    You turn a corner, appearing at yet another large wooden door. It's a double door this time with a brass knocker and shiny gold handles; you approach, slowly open the door-

   You realise your mistake only too late.

  A spark of green light misses you by inches. It's only because you haven't even got the door fully open yet that the magic whizzes past you, slamming into the wall at your side. A painting cries out and slips down the wall. Inside the mysterious room, chairs are scraping backwards and people are calling out to whoever they believe is behind it – you close your eyes, uttering a curse to yourself that you could be so stupid.

   “Open that door immediately, please.”

  It's his ice cold voice that makes you step forward, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to turn and run, pretend it was someone else. You enter the room – clearly the dining room – and bow to Lord Voldemort, and Lord Voldemort only. These other wizards pretending to be big and bad can all get locked up in Azkaban in your opinion.

   Lord Voldemort smiles. It's fake, and you know it is, but it calms your nerves anyway – maybe he won't be so angry at your intrusion, at the fact you took matters into your own hands and decided to have a stroll around this very large, very confusing mansion.

   “Ah. Y/N's awake,” he says, not unlike a husband telling his wife that the child has stirred. “How was your rest?”

   “Fine.”

   He stiffens.

   You quickly correct yourself. “Fine, my lord. Exactly what I needed.”

   He grins again, the skin stretching grotesquely across his nose-less face. You want to look away, but keep your eyes forward in fear of offending him.

    “And I can see you've made your way around Lucius's mansion just fine on your own. That's good. We don't have to waste time with the tour.”

  You flick your gaze over to Lucius – you know him, of course, have seen him parading around Voldemort's feet for nearly as long as you've been here.

  “This is your home, is it, sir?” you ask.

  Lucius looks up, scowling. “It is. The home of me and my family.” He gestures vaguely to his right, and there you see the rest of them. You don't know why you didn't recognise each of them immediately, because you've heard all about them from Hogwarts.

   Standing beside the head of the house is Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco, both of whom look miserable. Narcissa holds herself with the same tough restraint as her husband, pretending she's meant to be here when in reality, she looks so far out of her comfort zone it almost makes you feel bad for her.

   Draco, however, isn't even trying. He looks at you, lower lip wobbling, eyes wide, because he knows exactly who you are and where you've come from. He went to school with you before the Daily Prophet was writing about your sudden disappearance, before the wizarding world took a week to look for you before ruling your disappearance off as a murder and leaving it at that.

    “Draco,” you say, giving him a bow. “Lovely to see you again.”

  “Ah!” Voldemort exclaims, clapping his hands. Around him, Death Eaters flinch, but you've gotten used to his dramatics. “I had a suspicion you two might know each other – you were in the same year at Hogwarts, were you not?”

   The question is aimed at Draco, but you answer. “We were, my lord. Both in Slytherin.”

   “Interesting. Quite a coincidence.” Voldemort gestures to the empty space beside him, and you stiffen, already knowing what he is offering. “Have a seat, Y/N. Meetings always do feel a little flat without my favourite little helper by my side.”

   Nagini hisses, as if scolding you for taking her place as favourite. You give the snake a glance before slowly making your way to Voldemort's side; it's only with all these eyes on you do you take into consideration what you look like. Your hair, a tattered mess, clothes ripped and ragged. You wouldn't even go as far as to call them clothes, more like rags magicked together into something that can cover your body.

  You sit down on the ground next to Voldemort. Nagini slips into your lap, swipes a tongue over your fingers before settling down around your shoulders; Death Eaters stare in awe, wondering how on earth you have somehow managed to tame the beast they are all so afraid of.

  You look Lucius Malfoy dead in the eyes and stroke the top of the snakes head.

  Voldemort smiles down at you for a second longer before he turns back to the table and continues with whatever meeting you had previously so rudely interrupted.

  You can't even bring yourself to listen. You're exhausted, brain still reeling from the effects of the unknown magic used against you. You want to close your eyes, try sleeping again – for real, this time – but the weight of the snake in your lap and the tension in the room keeps you bolt upright, staring around at the Death Eaters Voldemort wants you to call family, but will never be family to you.

  Your eyes land on Draco. He's not looking at you, because he's wise and he knows his place. Instead, he keeps his gaze dead ahead, hands locked in his lap like a boy terrified of his first day of school. His lower lip continues to shudder, but his parents offer not a single word of sympathy – nobody does. Around him, Death Eaters are in the same position – goodness, even his father looks a little frightened, refusing to look up to meet the eyes of the man they claim to adore so much.

  Man. Even that term is used loosely in regards to Lord Voldemort.

  The scariest part is, he knows it.

  “Y/N here was kind enough to let me borrow their wand.”

  You look down at your lap. “My pleasure, my lord.”

  You can hear his nails clicking against the wood of your wand, the one thing you have ever truly cared about. It's in his possession now, but you were never under any illusion that it was ever fully yours once Voldemort took you under his control; as soon as Voldemort brought you along with him, every one of your possessions became his. Nonetheless, you have to curl your fingers into fists to stop yourself from reaching out and snatching your wand back. That will end badly for everyone.

  “Ten inches, made of hawthorn wood with a. . . What was the core again, Y/N?”

  “Unicorn hair, my lord.”

   “Unicorn hair.” Voldemort chuckles; the sound slurs through his lipless mouth, and you shudder. “Not as powerful as my own, but sometimes we're not looking for power. Sometimes, we're looking for quick escapes. Isn't that right, Peter?”

  A knee smashes against the bottom of the table. “Y-yes, m-my lord. Of course you are correct. Always correct.”

  You scowl; you've never liked Peter Pettigrew.

  “Thank you, Peter,” Voldemort purrs. “Always so supportive. And what about you, Draco? How do you feel?”

   Draco looks up, and so do you. You aren't entirely sure why, considering you've always found it so easy to listen to the suffering of the Death Eaters when Voldemort is questioning them; however, there is something about the way Draco's silence stretches that little bit too long, the way Voldemort's sickly smile slowly begins to drop, the way Lucius leans across the table and hisses, “Draco, answer him!” that has you pulling yourself to your feet, Nagini still balanced over your shoulders.

  “Perhaps it is safe to assume Draco is a little bit tired, my lord,” you say.

  Everyone around the table goes still. Dolohov utters, “Stupid little wizard,” beneath his breath, but you pay him no mind. Already you have interrupted Voldemort's questioning; you do not want to make it any worse by turning your attention to someone else. You'll get Dolohov later.

  Slowly, Voldemort turns to look at you. “Did I say you could stand, Y/N?”

  “No, my lord, but I just-”

  “You claim Draco is tired.”

   You falter. “Y-yes, my lord. I made the suggestion that he is tired, and perhaps that is why he is taking a little bit of time to gather his wits today.” You glance at Draco, who stares at you with wide, watery eyes. “Us youngsters are forever messing up our sleep schedules; you must understand, my lord, he means no disrespect.”

  “I'm feeling good,” Draco blurts out, the words rushing so fast from his mouth that his body jerks along with them, shaking the unused cutlery on the table. “I'm feeling very well, my lord. Of course I am. I'm here, aren't I?”

  Despite Draco's long-winded answer, Voldemort keeps his eyes trained on you. Slowly, he reaches a hand up and strokes the top of Nagini's head – his finger is so close to your cheek now, close enough that you can feel the wind from each of his strokes. Back and forth and back and forth, Nagini humming in contentment as she bundles a little tighter around your shoulders.

  “Good,” Voldemort says quietly. “I'm glad to hear it, Draco.”

  You swallow thickly. He continues staring at you for a moment longer before he says, “Pettigrew.”

   Again, Peter jumps, his knee slamming against the underside of the table. “Y-yes, m-my l-l-lord?”

  “Take Y/N back to their rooms – you know the one. I will have a chat with them later on.”

   Peter stands up immediately, wrapping his tiny little fingers around your upper arm. You continue staring at Voldemort until Peter tugs on your arm and drags you from the room, uttering incoherences under his breath. As the door begins to shut, you cast yet another, final glance over your shoulder, feeling your stomach flip when your eyes meet Draco's.

  The door slams shut, and you're thrown back into the dungeon.

  ----

  “Sometimes keeping your mouth shut doesn't ensure safety, young Malfoy.”

  The darkness responds with silence, as you knew it would. Leaned up against the back wall of the dungeon, knees drawn to your chest, you can make out only the subtle silhouette of Draco Malfoy, leaning against the wall just outside your door, waiting for you to notice him, waiting for you to ignore him, waiting for the moment he can look at you and say you're fine, so he can go on about his day without feeling guilty.

    “I am okay,” you call out, never looking up from the patterns you have scraped into the concrete using a rock. “I have much more experience with the Dark Lord than you do, Draco. We all make mistakes.”

  There is a sigh, followed by footsteps, and then Draco is there, pale fingers curled around the bars of the door, sharp face illuminated by the light from his wand. “You've been here this entire time. A Death Eater.”

  Your skin crawls at the name, the mark on your wrist burning. “I don't like being called Death Eater, Malfoy.”

  “Why not? That's what you are. That's why you're here.”

  “By here, do you mean the dungeon in your home? By here, do you mean trapped against my will, saving your stupid backside from getting hung up from the rafters like your precious little Muggle Studies teacher?”

  Draco doesn't reel back. He doesn't even flinch. If possible, his gaze only continues to soften as he looks at you, and you're certain you must look pathetic right now. Curled in the corner of this dungeon wearing clothes that wouldn't even be considered humane, wandless and angry. Oh, a sight you must be, a joke to the world outside.

  You look down at the floor and continue to scrape your name – over and over again – into the concrete. In case you forget you ever had one before all this.

  The bars of the door creak as Draco leans against them. “Nobody back at Hogwarts would have suspected you becoming a Death Eater.”

  “Don't-”

 “Whatever you are. A helper. All I'm trying to say is, you were one of the better Slytherins. People truly thought you'd been murdered.”

  “Oh, goodie.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  You pause. “Yet here I am.”

  This conversation is pointless. You want him to leave so you can continue wallowing in fear on your own; this darkness is no place for someone like him, someone who can't even sit at the grandest, most prestigious table in the wizarding world without choking up. He's no Death Eater – you could see that much from the moment his lip started trembling.

  “You didn't have to jump to my rescue out there, either,” he says.

  You close your eyes, thumping your head back against the wall. “You were just sat there.”

  “He was going to kill me, wasn't he? If I didn't answer.”

  You shrug. “He gives out chances sometimes.”

  “Only to you.” Draco steps forward, curling his fingers around the bars. “What makes you so special, Y/N?”

 You find yourself smiling, flicking your eyes to him. He reels back at the glare, so different from the joyful, carefree eyes you used to hold when making potions in Snape's classroom, or studying in the Slytherin common room.

  “Wouldn't we all like to know?”

  The dungeon goes quiet, nothing more than the drip, drip, drip of water smacking against concrete ringing out between you. Draco shouldn't be here, of course. You can't imagine Voldemort granting him access to your 'chambers' after what he did, and certainly not before the Dark Lord himself has given you your reprieve for the way you acted back in the Malfoy's dining room. The punishment he will bestow upon you won't be light, will certainly not be merciful; you disappointed him, his closest confidant making him look like a fool in front of a room full of his most loyal supporters.

  To make matters worse, you are only seventeen years old, barely just turned the legal age for a wizard.

  You lean your head back and close your eyes. “When is he getting here?”

  “I don't know.”

  “You could find out.”

  Draco doesn't respond.

  You sigh heavily. “But you won't, of course. You're scared of him. Your master.”

  “He's not-” Draco stops abruptly. Even in the dim torchlight you can see his blue eyes flick to his wrist, where the Dark Mark is burned into his flesh for good.

  You smile. “He is. He owns you now, Draco – that's what that mark means, in case you forgot.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I don't understand why you're so scared of something you willingly signed up for.”

  “I'm not scared. I'd be stupid to go against him – the strongest wizard of our time, of course I bit my tongue!”

  “You bit your tongue at the wrong time.” Draco's eyes trace a line along the column of your throat before landing back on your gaze. “He's a bit more lenient with us, Malfoy, because we're the young ones, the ones who will follow in his footsteps if he plays his cards right. But that doesn't mean he's going to let you get away with complete ignorance, and what you showed at that table today – he'll see that as ignorance.”

  Draco purses his lips and looks away, because he knows you're right. You've been by the Dark Lord's side since you were fourteen years old, learning the ways of his followers, building your way up the ladder until you could sit beside his throne and hold his beloved python across your shoulders.

  “You pretend you know everything about him.” Draco's whisper sounds more like a hiss echoing through the eerie dungeon, Parceltongue. “You think you're in his head just because he chose you.”

  “Trust me, Draco; you'd know if I was inside his head. I would not be talking to you as an equal if I was inside his head.”

  Draco slams his hand against the bars. “What is it about you? He acts like you're – you're some kind of god-send, and then he locks you up in this dungeon. What have you got that enamours him so much, and what are you missing that makes him hate you just as much?”

  The words claw, scrape, make your chest constrict because each question is one you have been wondering for a very, very long time. You gave up trying to get the answers.

  You stare at Draco, unmoving, showing no emotion. It's a trick you've learned to master over the years, and it does its job. Draco keeps your gaze for only a moment before he huffs out a breath, looks to the floor and pushes away from the door, muttering curses beneath his breath.

  “You should leave, Draco,” you say softly. “Before Mummy and Daddy catch you down here. They wouldn't like you talking to the prisoner in rags, would they?”

  “And leave you down here on your own?”

  “I think I'll manage.” You tap the concrete with your palm, a slap sound that makes Draco wince as it bounces along the walls imprisoning you. “It's awfully comfortable in here, you know.”

  Draco shakes his head. “I'll see where he is.”

  His voice is so quiet; you lean forward and say, “Come again?”

  “I'll see where he is,” he repeats, louder, stronger. “And then I'll be back, okay?”   “Don't put yourself in danger for me, Malfoy. I'm only in here because I saved you earlier – I won't be there to save you this time.”

  Draco glares. “I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this to show I'm not afraid. He chose me just as much as he chose you – he'll show kindness.”

  Your heart aches for that glimmer of hope etched into his voice, evidence of the innocent boy he once was roaming the halls of Hogwarts with his friends, learning new spells and charms and potions as the world crumbled around him and he knew nothing of its severity. He stares at you for a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving; you wait until you hear the wooden door slam closed before you close your eyes and let the tears slip silently down your face.

  ---

  Draco doesn't return. The next person to open the door of your cell is Lucius himself, tall and white haired with a sneer that makes you want to punch him.

  You pull yourself up from the floor, hands behind your back. It's reflex to give the older man a bow, one he does not return; this could mean two things, you have learned – he either doesn't respect you, or he thinks he's too good to bow back to the younger generation. He doesn't think you've earned that kind of kinship just yet.

  “Sir,” you say. “I wasn't expecting you.”

  “No,” Lucius replies. “You were expecting the Dark Lord, weren't you?”

  You don't reply. He's asking stupid questions, questions he already knows the answer to.

  “I'm afraid he's too busy to see to you right now,” Lucius continues. “So he's sent me in his stead.”

  “You must be honoured, sir.”

  A smile twitches at his lips, though he fights to remain stoic and professional; it should be easy to wriggle under this idiots skin. People who have no other personality trait than Death Eater are easy enough to manipulate when you've been doing it for so long.

  “He's asked me to use Cruciatus on you for now,” Lucius explains.

  “Oh. He's going easy on me. He really is generous, don't you think?”

 Lucius's eyes snap down to your own. “Generous?”

  “He could do so much worse with a power like his,” you reply, nodding enthusiastically; there's a sick sense of pleasure in watching this grown man's face scrunch up in confusion, horror almost. “When he took my wand, for example; leaving someone defenceless in a world like this is a big, big punishment, Mr Malfoy. If your son ever steps out of line, I would highly recommend giving it a go.”

  Sorry, Draco.

  Lucius opens his mouth, but words seem to fail him. He raises a brow, shakes his head and tries again. “I didn't come down here to take suggestions on how to raise my son, Y/N. I'm a busy man – let's get this over with.”

  “Busy doing what, sir?” you ask, even as you press your back against the wall. “If you don't mind me asking.”

  Again, Lucius falters. “Busy serving the Dark Lord, as we all should be.”  You nod as if you understand, as if his words aren't pathetic. “Oh, yes. Of course. Right you are there, sir, right you are!”

  Lucius scowls, pulls his wand from behind his back, and you seize the moment as soon as you can. It's difficult, forcing a blinding pain to the forefront of your mind that you only just manage to fight off before it completely consumes you; you've been without a wand for only a handful of days, so you're a little rusty when it comes to disarming in this way, but that scowl on his face makes it a little bit easier.

  The pull is painful, yet satisfying. Lucius's fingers twitch, his wand shivering in his grip; he just has time to say “What-” before you jerk your head and the wand is flying towards you, the wandless version of Expelliarmus that took far too long for you to learn.

  You lurch forward and snatch the wand from the air before pointing it at Lucius; the wand feels strange, fighting against it's new owner, but it still works – it has to, that much you learned from Ollivander.

  Lucius stumbles forward, catches himself on the wall before you cry out, “Petrificus totalus!” and his entire body goes still. He clatters to the floor, lifeless eyes staring up at the concrete ceiling.

  You stand over him, wand pointed at his chest. “You look pathetic, sir. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Lucius doesn't reply – of course he doesn't. You grin down at him, tilt your head before dropping his wand onto his chest.

  “I don't really like wands made of elm,” you say. “And dragon heartstring? Really, Lucius? If the wand really does choose the wizard, I have some questions for you, sir.”

  You clap your hands together, ridding them of dust before you give Lucius's paralysed body one last smile and walk out of the dungeon, head held high.

  ---

  Voldemort knows what you've done. He set the whole thing up, a test to ensure you are still useful.

  You've had multiple of these tests thrown at you ever since you joined his ranks – willingly or not. He sends people in, Death Eaters, criminals that make most wizards tremble by just being named. He puts them against you and tests your strength, and by the looks of things, you're doing a fine job.

  You're still here. He's kept you alive.

  You walk into Lucius's office without knocking, knowing full well the Dark Lord himself is behind the door. You keep your gaze locked on the patterned carpet, letting the double, grand oak doors clatter closed behind you.

  “Y/N!” Voldemort exclaims, clapping his hands together. You glance up, startled by the smile stretching across his face, the boy sitting across from him; Draco stares at you with wide eyes and an open mouth, glancing between you and the door as if expecting someone to follow.

You snap your gaze back to Voldemort, knowing the Dark Lord won't appreciate your lack of attention on him. “My Lord.”

  “Where's Lucius?”

 He knows where Lucius is. He's playing a game, pretending he has no idea what he's done, what he's been doing from the very moment you stepped into his presence and he saw potential within you.

  “He's busy with some work, my Lord,” you respond, refusing to look at Draco despite your curiosity as to why he's here in the first place. “He told me to go on ahead.”

  “Ah. That was nice of him.” Slowly, Voldemort leans back in his seat, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “Did you get his wand?”

 “I left it with him, my Lord; made of elm, not really worth it.”

 Voldemort grins even brighter; this is a good sign. You didn't take the wand. He thinks you're getting stronger, that your strange ability to use magic without a wand is growing. You can't tell him that it still pains you greatly, that you currently feel as if your ribcage is on fire, that you could keel over at any given moment.

  “Very well,” Voldemort replies. “The choice was yours, of course. Come, Y/N – take a seat beside young Malfoy here. There's plenty of room.”

   Draco shifts, keeping his cold gaze on you as you walk towards him and sit down. Your back is straight, heart thundering in your chest so loud you're almost certain you will not be able to hear whatever it is Voldemort has to say to you. Nonetheless, you keep your expression impassive, hands folded in your lap in any attempt to look as calm and collected as the Dark Lord expects you to be.

  “My two prodigies,” Voldemort begins. The word sends a shiver of repulsion down your spine. “I don't think I've ever had the opportunity to speak to you both without my other Death Eaters lingering over my shoulder; isn't that bizarre, Draco?”

  “Yes, m-my Lord.”

   “I have to split my time evenly amongst you all, so forgive me if I find it a little difficult to give you the attention you both deserve so deeply.” He bows his head; Draco straightens up a little in his chair, but you're not falling for it. You've seen Voldemort do this multiple times in the past to the exact people he later murdered for miniscule reasons. “I see potential in you both. So much potential. It could be us against the world if you really put your mind to it.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Draco mumbles, before shooting you a glance that tells you he's proud of the fact he spoke up and wants you to notice his achievement, too. You look back at him, trying for a tiny smile that falters the moment Voldemort starts speaking again.

  “I want you both to stay close together,” he says. “Work hard, encourage each other, become the wizards I know you are capable of becoming.” Voldemort settles his red eyes on you. You try your hardest not to falter beneath his gaze. “Let's take over the world together, shall we?”

  And that's all he needs to say. He smiles that sickly smile of his and dismisses you and Draco with a simple flick of his pale hand. You stand up immediately, whirling and darting towards the door; you don't want to be in his presence any longer than you have to be, and you feel much too ill to try and hide that fact.

  “Y/N! Y/N, wait!”

  “Not now, Draco.”

   He grabs your wrist as the doors to his fathers office clamber closed, leaving you alone in the wide, emerald green hallway. You freeze, resisting the urge to flinch away from him, but only because his grip feels so secure, fingers soft against your racing pulse.

  He must notice the evidence of panic beating beneath his fingers, as his words falter and he glances down to where your flesh meets. It's when he starts tilting his head, when you can see the question forming upon his tongue, that you rip your hand from his and whirl around. “What do you want, Draco?”

  His eyes snap up. “He sent my father to your dungeon. He said – He said something about the-”

  “Cruciatus Curse, yes.” You spin, starting back down the hallway. Judging by the hurried footsteps sounding behind you, Draco has decided to follow.

  “Well, are – are you alright? I didn't hear any commotion, but the dungeon is just below my fathers office – I would have heard something-”

   “Lucius Malfoy is currently paralysed on the floor of his own prison.”

  Draco falters. “What?”

  “The Dark Lord wanted to test me, and I passed.” You shoot Draco a glance, noting the colour drained from his face. “Don't worry; he's still alive. A simple Stunning spell, just to prove my point. He'll no doubt be attempting to suffocate me in my sleep by nightfall.”

  Draco pauses. The puzzle pieces are there, but he's clearly struggling to put them all together. He keeps pace with you, however, as you march out into the garden, bursting into the fresh air with a deep inhale that you hope can chase this dreaded headache away.

  “My father is a very powerful wizard, Y/N,” Draco says. You close your eyes, resisting the urge to rub your temples. He just wants answers; you can't blame him for that. It was only a few years ago you were cursed by the same curiosity. “Don't take offence, but I can't see how you managed to overpower him.”

  “It was simple enough.”

  Draco shakes his head, pulling more pieces to the front, pieces that just don't fit. “Hold on – you don't even have a wand, do you? He took it. The – The Dark Lord-”

  “Yes, He has my wand.”

  Your head is going to split in two; you can feel it, that unmistakeable pressure rushing to the forefront, the fresh air doing nothing but poking and prodding at a pain that was already present. You close your eyes tighter still, crumbling against a tree despite your fragile attempts to catch yourself.

  Draco grunts at the sudden movement, darting forward to catch you with little effect. “Y/N?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “No, you're not. You're burning up.” He places the back of his hand against your forehead, eyes immediately widening. “You're really burning up.”

  “I'm fine.” Maybe if you repeat yourself, what you're saying will become truth.

  Draco, however, is a smart boy. He crouches down, dragging you to the floor along with him; you wriggle in his grip, whispering “I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine,” but your fight is only for show. Sitting in the grass is doing you wonders, and you soon find yourself drearily slipping against Draco's shoulder, sinking into this new found relaxation.

  “What's happening?” he asks, keeping his palm against your forehead for a moment. “I need to bring someone out. I need to get a medic-”

  “I'm fine,” you repeat, the words nothing more than a slur at this point. “I promise, Draco – it will pass.”

  Draco opens his mouth to protest, but taking one look at your face has the words dispelling in the air between you. He gives in with a sigh, leaning back against the tree, holding you against his shoulder so you can hear his heartbeat ringing in your ears. You desperately want to pull away; being this close to someone is uncomfortable, not what you're used to, and yet your body is too weak to do such a thing. You sink into the humiliation for a little while, gathering your strength before Voldemort comes out and sees you in such a state.

  “What did he mean when he told us to stay together?”

  Draco's voice wobbles, and you can tell the question has been playing on his mind for a while.

  “He wants us to learn from each other,” you mumble into his blazer. “Make each other stronger. He sees potential in us – that's why he ordered you to kill Dumbledore.”

  Draco stiffens. “How did you know about that?”

  “I see everything that happens behind the scenes.”

  “I still don't understand that.”

  You lift your eyes, stare into the side of his face as he gazes out at the gorgeous garden you are sitting in right now. “What don't you understand?”

  “Why he trusts you so much.” Draco looks down, eyes meeting yours. “He has prisoners of Azkaban on his side – some of the worst people on the planet. He's got murderers and torturers and. . . and god only knows what else. And yet it's you he calls into his office. It's you he sees potential in-”

  “You and me both.”

  Draco scoffs, looking back out at the garden. “He would never trust me to touch Nagini. He would never let me just walk into his quarters without notice.”

   “It's little perks, Draco. Hardly anything you should be fretting over.”

  He scowls, shifting beneath you. Your cheek rubs against his blazer, and you make to pull away before your spine screams in protest and you slump back against him.

  Draco doesn't seem to notice your weakness as he continues. “I'm just new to all of this.”

  “We were all new at some point.”

  “How long does it take to settle in?”

  “I'm still trying to work that one out.”

  Draco sighs. You don't know if he notices how his grip suddenly tightens around your shoulders, but you don't tell him either way.

  “When you went missing...”

  The conversation change works as an electric shock. You jolt, eyes lifting. “No, Draco. I don't want to talk about that.”

  “Why not?”

   “Because it's not important – you know now that I didn't just drop off the face of the earth. That's all you need to know – and I certainly don't need to know how people reacted.”

  Draco opens his mouth, can't seem to find the words and instead takes to shaking his head slowly. “They were worried, Y/N. The whole school was making inquiries about your whereabouts – even the Potter kid and his group of lackeys.”

   You scoff, finally drawing the strength to pull away from him and sit on your own. “They were just excited to have a mystery to sink their teeth into.” Draco hums. “Maybe. But that doesn't mean they weren't worried.” He pauses. “I was worried.”

  The chill in the air increases. In the distance, the grand apple tree sways gently in the breeze, a gathering of white peacocks drifting back and forth through the grass.

  “You didn't know me,” you say.

  “I knew you, Y/N. The Slytherins were a close bunch.”

  “I was more than just a Slytherin. I was different. I wasn't like the rest of you.”

  “That's why you stood out. That's why I cared.”

  You close your eyes. “Death Eaters aren't meant to care.”

  That shuts him up. You feel the air tighten to your left, his mouth snapping closed, this sentimental mood he's in immediately shutting down with such a simple, obvious statement. You glance at him, noting his tense jaw before you push yourself up, using the tree as leverage.

  “I'm going back up to the house. Lucius should be coming back around any minute now,” you say. “Shall I tell him where you are?”

  Draco shakes his head. “He doesn't care. He's a Death Eater.”

  You stare at the top of his pale head for only a moment longer before turning on your heel and leaving, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart and the uncertainty in your actions. You've never before struggled to leave someone wallowing in their own pity, but there was just something about the way Draco looked – the way he was speaking – that makes you feel like perhaps you should have stayed.

  ----

  “You will use my wand for today's lesson.”

  You pluck Bellatrix's wand from her outstretched hand. “Thank you, ma'am. A walnut wand, is it? Dragon heartstring core?”

  Bellatrix swats your nose. “Don't be picky. You'll make do with what you've got, do you understand, you little brat?”

   You give the Death Eater your best smile in reply. Draco shifts uncomfortably at your side.

  Bellatrix hums, pacing back and forth in front of her two students – honestly, you don't understand why Voldemort placed her as your tutor. She has a temper, shows no mercy when it comes to her victims, and these are all traits Voldemort surely places as very important, but she also gets lost in her own head – to the point where the majority of her lessons are put together with her screaming spells and Draco on the verge of tears.

  It's been a week and a half since the last time you did magic without a wand, a week and a half since you convinced Voldemort you're ready to take the next step; it was a mistake leaving that office with him thinking you were strong. Your lessons are now beyond your capability, and as Bellatrix paces back and forth in front of you, you can feel the tingle of a headache racing to your skull, fragments of the damage you did to Lucius a few days ago.

  The lesson starts off as it always does; a duel between you and Draco. You let him win this time, since he let you win yesterday, and the two of you move on pretty sharply. There's no point wasting time duelling something with equal skill to you – you want the lesson to be over as quick as possible.

  Draco drags himself up from the floor, both of you ignoring Bellatrix's hysteric screeching. He gives you a wink, turns to Bellatrix and says, “What's next?”

  She goes quiet immediately, narrowing her eyes at her nephew before she moves onto the next stage of the lesson.

  “Alright, kiddies,” she says, continuing her pacing. “Today we're going to be trying something a little different. One of you will be moving onto bigger, more challenging defence spells whilst the other will be moving onto bigger, more challenging ways of blocking.”

   You raise a brow. “Blocking, ma'am?”

   She smirks, crooked teeth showing between a pair of red lips. “I'll have my wand back now, Y/N. You won't be needing it for this section of the lesson.”

  Your heart plummets.

  Draco looks between you and the teacher in confusion. “How will Y/N do magic without a wand?”

  Bellatrix doesn't take her eyes off you, and that's proof enough that she knows the answer. Voldemort must have told her of your abilities, the magic built up inside you that can be released without the use of a wand. He must have told her to help, to train you up, because he thinks you can do it with no problem.

  You tug Bellatrix's wand into your chest and shake your head. “Not today, ma'am. Please, not today.”

   Draco perks up. “What's going on?”

  Bellatrix surges forward. Her black nails dig into your collarbone when she snatches her wand back into her possession, ignoring your startled cry of “Please!” She doesn't understand – none of them understand because you refuse to tell any of them about what is going on, how badly using that type of unnatural magic destroys you.

  “Draco,” Bellatrix snaps. “Sectumsempra. An easy enough spell, but it does plenty of damage.”

  “I know,” Draco grumbles.

  “That is the spell we will be using today, courtesy of Severus Snape.” Bellatrix turns to you, grin growing when she notices your trembling hands, your stiff demeanour. “Y/N, today it will be your job to block that spell using your abilities. Is that what we should be calling them? That makes you sound a little bit more special than you really are.” She throws her head back and cackles.

  Draco glances at you. “Y/N?”

  “I'm fine,” you croak out. “Just get it over with.”

  You know you can do it. You've blocked spells without a wand before. It's the aftermath that frightens you, the aftermath that rips you apart.

  You take a step back, turning to face Draco who continues staring at you with a raised brow. His wand is in his hand, pointed at you, ready, but he isn't making a move to do anything. He just stands there, as if waiting for you to give the signal that everything is okay.

  And you want to. You know you should, because Bellatrix is getting impatient and her pacing is getting quicker and quicker, her crazed uttering getting louder and louder – but you can't. You want him to keep standing there, want him to continue staring so you can build your strength up for just one more second-

  “Sectumsempra!”

  Bellatrix's spell comes out of nowhere. Draco cries out, but you're quick; you spin on your heel, collecting as much strength as you possibly can. A barrier breaks from your skin, and the green light cast from Bellatrix's wand reels back, smashing against the lamp in the corner of the dining room. It smashes, glass raining down upon the floor as Draco sprints towards you.

  “What the hell?” he cries.

  It takes a minute for the nausea to rise. For a single, blissful moment, the room goes blurry, and you can deal with that. There is no pain, no shock, no sickness. For a single moment, you are floating.

  And then it crashes upon you all at once.

  Your knees buckle. Bright lights flash behind your eyes until you can see nothing but your own hand darting out, grabbing for Draco. He catches you mere seconds before you fall, and yet you still feel your knees crashing against the marble floor. Your fingers twist in the soft fabric of his shirt, and he's there, whispering in your ear, or maybe he isn't whispering, he's screaming, crying out, but you can't hear him properly because there is something pop pop popping in the back of your head and it's all you can focus on, all you can cling to to stop the world from disappearing for good.

  It's a reminder, you know. A reminder that your form of magic is dangerous, unpredictable, unusual, and you shouldn't possess it. No wizard should be able to do magic how you can, how you so desperately wish you couldn't.

  “What's wrong, Y/N? Tell me what's wrong! Bella, what is wrong?”

  Your eyes slip closed. Draco repeats the same word over and over again: “No.” It's a mantra, a lullaby that stirs you to sleep even though he's tapping your face, trying to force consciousness into your body. You're too weak for that now, and it's with a grunt that you finally slip beneath the waves that have been pulling you under for years.

  ----

  You wake up back in your dungeon, and he is there.

  You knew he would be. You would have been foolish to believe he hadn't got news of your downfall the very moment it happened; Bellatrix most likely relayed the story to him in great, great detail, laughing the entire time.

  He's standing over you when you wake up, a ghost in the darkness. He's dressed in a set of grey robes, and your wand is twirling in his fingers. His red eyes stare as you sit up, though he offers no assistance, not even when you wince and press your fingers to your abdomen.

  Everything hurts, but at least you're not dead.

  “My lord,” you manage, voice weak and hoarse. “What an honour it is to have your presence in my-”

  “Be quiet, Y/N.” His voice is calm, smooth, too casual. “You embarrassed me, Y/N. Terribly.”

  You swallow and nod; you're too scared to speak right now.

  “I have been singing your praises to my Death Eaters for a long time; Bellatrix was disappointed. She expected a lot more from you.” He runs a hand over his bald head. “As was I.”

  “Where is Draco, my Lord?” The question is out before you can process it.

  Voldemort's eyes cast down to where you cower in front of him. “You worry about the Malfoy boy in a time like this? How sweet. How caring. How human.”

  “No, my Lord. It was just curiosity that-”

  “Draco has done a wonderful job in his lessons. No harm will come of him.” Voldemort stands up a little straighter, as if to make himself more intimidating. “He was awfully distraught when you collapsed, however. Have you both been bonding over these lessons you partake in together?”

  Your heart skips. “No, m-my Lord.”

  “And now you're stuttering. You never stutter when speaking to me, Y/N. Is this line of questioning making you nervous?”

  You don't even bother with a response this time, instead casting your eyes to the knotted hands in your lap.

  Voldemort sighs. “I should have expected, of course. Two young people, the world at their disposal – you don't understand the consequences of love yet.”

  “I do, my Lord. You have taught me plenty in my time with you.”

  “I have.” Voldemort nods solemnly. “Such a shame you do not listen.”

  Your head snaps up; this is what you wanted to avoid. “I'm sorry if you feel that way, my Lord, but I make it a priority to put your advice into action whenever I can.”

  Voldemort hums. “So you claim not to have feelings for the Malfoy boy?”

  You don't understand why your denial is so difficult to articulate; you don't. You can't. You and Malfoy have lived in two very different worlds, experienced two very different lives; it would be bizarre to even think those two lives could mingle with one another, come together as one.

  “No, my Lord. I do not.”

  “So you would not care if I were to order his execution?”

   Your head snaps up so fast your neck cricks. “Why would you do that? He's useful to you. He – He's a strong wizard, my lord, he can serve you in very useful ways-”

   “It sounds as if you're sticking up for him.��

   “No, my Lord, of course not! You are free to do as you please, but I wish you would just look a little deeper into-”

  Voldemort holds up a silencing hand. Your heart thunders, fingers curling into fists as you try your hardest to bite your tongue; he's right, of course – you cannot be sticking up for Draco, especially if it means going against Voldemort to do so. You don't care about him that much.

  You can't.

  “If I am forced to pick between you or the Malfoy boy, the Malfoy boy will be the first to go,” he says. “You must know that, Y/N. You're too valuable to just throw away for a particularly skilled wizard. I don't want skill – I want something the wizarding world has never seen before, and you are the perfect candidate.” He sighs. “It's such a shame you've fallen into the trap of love.”

   You squeeze your eyes closed; there is a denial on your tongue, but Voldemort knows when you are lying, and he will not be pleased to hear such false statements coming from your mouth.

  “I want to see you working harder,” he continues, tapping your wand against the concrete wall behind him. “I want to see your strength improving. I want to take you into war with me, Y/N. And soon. We've wasted enough time as it is.”

   You nod slowly. Voldemort smiles, skin stretching, your stomach turning, but you say nothing as he nods at you a final time and walks out of the dungeon.

  And you know there's no hope for you here.

  For years you've tried avoiding the truth, but now Draco has been added to the equation and denial is no longer a possibility; you've tried your hardest to show strength, to convince yourself you can be just like them, but it's not working. It will never work. You were not built for the life of a Death Eater, and such things have never been so clear as they are now.

  The door above you clambers shut. You push yourself up, gripping the wall to stop yourself falling, your head pulsing with the aftershocks from your last lesson with Bellatrix. You're driven by your masters words, the threat behind them, the risk you are taking by staying here when you feel these things for the boy you barely even know.

  But that isn't really true, is it?

  You know Draco better than you will ever be willing to admit. He was your schoolmate, a Slytherin, a part of your life long before Voldemort was a part of your life. He's one of the few people on earth who can relate to the things you've been through, the things you're still going through, because he's going through nearly the exact same thing.

  And that's why you have to leave. That is why you can't stay here. You won't be able to disguise your fondness for him, and Voldemort will see that, and he will end it all. He will kill Draco without a second thought if he believes it will make you stronger.

  You drag yourself to the top of the stairs and shove the door open. The hallways are empty, the only sound being Peter's hysterical laughter ringing out in the room above you; he does that sometimes, though nobody knows why.

  You shuffle along the corridor as quietly as you can, keeping tight to the emerald green walls as you search for the door leading to Draco's bedroom. You have seen it only a handful of times, but the door becomes instantly recognisable as soon as you see it; wooden, glittering with protection spells, a brass knocker stamped in the centre. You don't even bother using the knocker, instead shoving your shoulder into it and stumbling inside.

  Draco spins around. He was pacing. There is sweat on his upper lip, his top button undone to reveal sweat soaked collarbones. His white hair is sticking up as if he's been running his hands through it continuously.

  He looks scared.

  You kick the door closed. “Draco.” It's all you can manage, all your brain will let free at this moment in time.

  Draco rushes to your side immediately, grabbing your arm and directing you to the massive, plush bed pushed against the back wall. “Y/N? Y/N, are you okay? What are you doing up so soon after the accident?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Stop saying that.” He presses a hand to your cheek, tilting your head up so he can get a better view of your eyes. “God, you look like you're about to keel over. Let me go grab my mother and she will-”

   You latch onto his wrist when he tries to stand. “We need to leave, Draco.”

  He pauses. Beneath your fingers, his pulse quickens. Slowly, he turns his head and narrows his eyes, inspecting your face for any sign of humour, any sign that you're just telling a joke to ease the tension forever in the air.

  “We need to leave,” you repeat, quieter this time. “Now. Or – or as soon as we can. I won't be able to Disapparate, but you-”

  Draco shakes his head. “What are you going on about?”

  “We need to leave!” you bark. “He thinks we're both useful, but he wants us under his thumb. He wants to control us, Draco, and we need to leave before he gets that control.”

  You're not making any sense. You know that. You can see in the tilt of Draco's head and the paleness of his face that he has absolutely no idea where all of this is coming from, why you have suddenly changed sides.

  You close your eyes, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I will explain everything,” you mumble. “I promise, I will explain every single thing, but we have to get out of here first. It won't be long before he sees I'm not in the dungeon any more, and he'll know immediately where I've gone – and then it's not just me he's going to be angry at.”

  Slowly, Draco lowers himself onto the bed, his eyes never leaving your face. “O-okay.”

  Your head whips around. “Really?”

  “When do you want to leave?”

  You shake your head dumbly, still struggling to process his quick agreement. “As – As soon as-”

  “You're too weak to Disapparate.” He stands, grabbing your hand. “I'll do it, but we've got to be quiet. My father knows when anyone is making moves in or out of the house – it will only take seconds for him to notify Voldemort someone is gone.”

  You stand on trembling legs; Draco notices your struggle and wraps a secure arm around your waist, dragging you into his side.

  “Are you sure you're going to be okay?”

  “I didn't expect you to agree so quickly,” you whisper.

  Draco purses his lips, sending a final glance towards the door. “I – I think I may have marched into this life a bit too soon. I didn't fully understand what I was getting myself into.” He glances at you, faces inches apart. “But if you say we need to leave, we're leaving.”

  Something jolts in your chest, something you haven't felt in a very, very long time – if ever. Draco doesn't seem to notice the effect his words have on you as he tightens his hold on your waist and says, “Now, I'm new to this Apparating business, so just bare with me. Are you ready?”

  “Let's go.”

  Draco inhales deeply, closes his eyes and you watch the world shift around him. Suddenly, Draco is the driving force; your body goes numb, his fingers tightening against your flesh. Your own eyes slip closed of their own accord, your body tipping and screaming and aching – but it all lasts for only a second, and then your feet are slamming against grass and you're slipping out of Draco's grip and crumbling to your knees in the middle of an area you cannot place when your head is hurting so bad.

  You groan, falling to your elbows. Draco slips to the ground and grabs you, pulling you into him. “It's okay. It's over, it's over. We made it. We've just got to keep going a little bit further.”

  “Where are we?” you grumble.

  “Hogwarts.”

  Your head snaps up. “Draco, no.”

   He grabs your arm and pulls you up; he looks just as ruffled as you, his hair still sticking on end, his hands trembling. He bites his lower lip before responding. “We'll figure it out. They won't come to Hogwarts tonight – not with the security. We'll be safe for tonight, and tomorrow we can – we can figure it all out.”

  You resist the temptation to argue; there's really no point. Neither of you are fit enough to go wandering through Hogsmeade, anyway – staying the night in Hogwarts is your best bet whether you want to admit it or not.

  In truth, you know your discomfort with being back at Hogwarts has little to do with the fact that Voldemort will know this is the place you and Draco escaped to. You don't care about that; you can deal with Voldemort when the time comes, when Draco is safe, but the memories latched onto this place make you hesitant when crossing through the gates you were once so familiar with.

  You remember these hallways. You remember the sneers, people glaring purely because you were Slytherin. You remember hearing Death Eaters in your head, their screams for mercy in the cells of Azkaban before Voldemort rose again and freed them all. You remember sitting in the Great Hall, deciding once and for all that you weren't supposed to be a normal wizard – you weren't normal, were never going to be considered normal. You had no other choice in that moment – at fourteen years old – than to join the dark side.

  What more could you lose?

  Before you know it, you're slipping your hand into Draco's. He glances down, shocked by your timid actions, but does nothing more than give your hand a comforting squeeze. Together, the two of you walk through the doors of the castle.

  And are immediately greeted by wands pointed directly at your faces.

  Draco pulls back, raising your joined hands in a sign of surrender. His breathing is ragged, and if you listen closely, you can almost hear a rattle emerging with every breath, like he's getting some kind of sickness.

  McGonagall slowly lowers her wand, staring at you, and it's only then do you remember – these people thought you had died.

  You offer a bow. “Ma'am.”

  “Y/N L/N,” McGonagall whispers. “Is this real?”

   “It is, ma'am,” you respond. “And I've brought a little guest with me along the way. You might recognise him?”

  Draco scowls. “I'm meant to be making the-”

   McGonagall rushes forward and embraces you before Draco can finish; his hand unwinds from your own as you wrap your arms around the frail waist of your old Transfiguration teacher.

  “Thank god you're safe! Thank god!”

  You awkwardly pat her back; this kind of affection has been lost on you for many, many years, and you're not entirely sure how to reciprocate it. “Yes. Thank them.”

  She pulls away, holding you at arms length. “Goodness, you must be starved. The both of you!”

  “No, actually.” Draco steps forward and takes your hand again. “We just need a room, Professor. A room is all we're here for.”

  McGonagall raises a brow, glancing at your joined hands. “I'm assuming there will be no explanation for us tonight?”

  You smile lightly. “Soon, ma'am. But for now, we need – we need rest.” Your head thumps at the mention of rest, making you wince.

  McGonagall sighs and nods. “Very well. Argus – lead these two students up to the Slytherin dormitories. Make sure they're well settled.”

  Filch appears from behind the tall woman and starts towards the staircase leading from the main entry hall. Hand-in-hand, you and Draco follow.

  “I wasn't expecting her to be so lenient with letting me back in,” Draco whispers.

  “Why not?”

  He glances over at Filch before lowering his voice even further. “She's not exactly too keen on my father.”

  “Lucius?”

  “He's a Death Eater, Y/N. I can bet you that all the teachers in this damn school think I'm going the same way.”

  You raise a brow. Draco glances at you, blushes and rolls his eyes.

  “I guess they're not exactly wrong...”

  Filch leads the two of you directly to the Slytherin dormitories. He says the password, gives you and Draco a final once-over before the door swings open, granting you access. The common room is almost entirely empty, meaning you and Draco are free to make a direct cross to the guests quarters without being bothered.

  As soon as the door to the room closes, you fall to the floor.

  Not in pain or discomfort, but in relief; your brain is working at a million miles per hour, so many things to concentrate on flooding your system in the two seconds it takes for the door to shut behind you. Draco follows your lead, sliding to the floor and leaning his head back against the emerald green wall.

  You stare at him. Just him, sitting there with his eyes closed, the column of his throat on show. Around his neck is an array of silver necklaces. On his wrist is the Dark Mark.

  Subconsciously, you find yourself rubbing your own brand, engraved into your skin forever. It burns sometimes. You wonder if Draco's does, too.

  As if sensing you staring at him, he opens his eyes and looks back at you. “We're out of there.”

  You nod. “We are.”

   “How do you feel?”

  “Lost. I don't know what to do with myself.”

  Draco hums like he understands, and maybe he does; he might not have bore the Dark Mark for as long as you have, but he was raised in a family of believers, a family of Death Eaters that brainwashed him into thinking evil was the only way forward.

  He sighs and tilts his head back again. You could stare at him in this position forever, comfortable and content. You don't recall there ever being a time in which he possessed such human emotions.

  “Why did you warn me?”

  You blink. “What?”

  “You came to my room and warned me about what he was planning. Why?”

  “He told me he was going to kill you.” You say it so simply, and Draco takes it as such; he doesn't flinch, doesn't look at you in horror. He just nods, eyes slipping closed again.

  “Makes sense. You were clearly the more powerful one.”

  You scoff, crossing your feet at the ankles. “Oh, yes. Me collapsing really showed my true strength.”

   “You're still young. You have magic that no other wizard possesses – I can see why he wanted to keep you around and not me.” He shrugs, eyes still closed. “Maybe you should have just let him get on with it.”

   Your heart judders. “What do you mean?”

   “You could have stayed, Y/N. Let him kill me. You would have been his right-hand man after that. Love him or hate him, he would have given you the world if it meant he could use your magic for himself.”

   For a moment, you're convinced he's joking; you have to believe he's joking. You're aware you are powerful, that Voldemort would kill for the chance to use you as his own, but Draco surely can't believe you would just let him get murdered so you could live a better life?

  “Did you not see the dungeon he kept me locked in?” The question is out before you can stop it. Draco opens his eyes, lifts his head to check if you're actually angry or not.

  You're not even sure how you feel. Your clenched fists and furrowed brows, however, must convince Draco that he's said the wrong thing, as he immediately sits up straight and grabs your hands in his own. You flinch back, pulling your hands back to your chest.

  “I didn't mean it like that,” he says quickly. “I shouldn't have said anything. I was just. . . I'm tired, okay? Very, very tired.”

  You slowly lower your hands. “Yes, well, today has been a stressful day. We're probably better off going to sleep.”

  Draco nods, pulling both of you up from the floor. Neither of you speak as you strip off your clothes and get into one of the single beds pressed against either wall; Draco turns the light off, drowning you both in darkness almost immediately.

  ----

  It's been a while since your mind was free to have a nightmare.

  The magic Voldemort puts you under has always suppressed dreams; most of the time, you wouldn't even count yourself as asleep. More knocked out. Perhaps unconscious. It's very rare you're in control enough to have a nightmare, and maybe that's for the best.

  Tonight, however, the magic is gone and the nightmares take its place.

  They're flashes, but they're bad. Bad, and gory, and they take the shape of memories because you see his face in every single one. You see his smile, those blood red eyes and that pale skin, a human destroyed by the power he craved for so many years. You know his story, and it replays in your head on a loop. You watch people scream, mouths open and eyes wide as his magic blasts them to pieces. You watch the Potters die on a loop. You watch an alternative ending where Harry himself is blown to smithereens, a child so innocent, taken so soon for a reason so selfish.

  Everyone is screaming. It ricochets in your brain, echoing the horrors over and over again until you feel yourself screaming, too. It's the only way to beat them. You want to rip your throat out. You want to rip everyone elses throats out. You want this to end, please make it stop, you'll do anything-

  “Y/N!”

  Your eyes snap open.

  There are no dramatics to waking up from a nightmare, not like they show in the movies. Your eyes snap open, and that is all; the sheets are tangled round your legs and Draco is standing over you, but you don't scream, don't lurch forward, don't gasp for air.

  No. What they show in the films isn't real – it's all on the inside.

  A thundering heart, sweat dripping down your face despite the night time chill. Once you're conscious, you reach for Draco's hands and drag them into your chest without explanation or warning, just needing to feel something, proof that you are out of that world and back in your own.

  Draco leans forward, brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face. “Are you alright?”

  It's such a simple question, and yet the answer is too complicated to contemplate right now; you simply look at him, lower lip trembling until he gets the message. His exhausted features soften, and it's with hesitant, shy steps that he peels the covers back and crawls into bed beside you.

  He tugs the covers to your chin, but you grab them and pull them over your heads. Draco laughs softly, his breath fanning your face, calming you down. You close your eyes and curl against him, feeling his arms wrap around you despite you never telling him to do so.

  And maybe that's what has you so enamoured by this boy; you have lived many years being the one everyone is afraid of. Death Eaters – genuine, real life criminals – were terrified to even talk to you without you talking to them first. They saw you as an attachment of the man they were supposed to fear, and so that instantly made them fear you, too. Nobody touched you. Nobody cared for you. Nobody dared go near you without permission first.

  But Draco is here, bundling you in his arms purely because he can see that's what you need. He doesn't ask permission; he just looks in your eyes and he sees the tiny, helpless human that made a bad choice at a young age, and he doesn't feel the need to waste time asking.

  In the darkness, his fingers tap at your wrist. You close your eyes, breath trembling when he slowly starts to roll your sleeve up until the area where your Dark Mark is engraved becomes exposed. He cannot see the mark in the darkness, but he doesn't need to see it to know it's there. He has no doubt looked at his own Dark Mark thousands upon thousands of times, can probably outline it from memory at this point.

  He runs a finger along the skin, goosebumps following in his wake.

  “Did it hurt?” he whispers.

  “You know it did.”

  He pauses. “Did you know then?”

   And even though he has not specified what he means, you know he is talking about the regret – did you know then, as you were being pinned down, as the wand dug into your skin and make the mark now permanently etched into your flesh, that you were never meant to live that kind of life.

  You nod against his chest, feel his breath leave him in one clean swoop.

  “You got out of there, though,” he whispers. “I'm proud of you.”

  That single phrase pushes you off the edge.

  You lift your head from his chest, tipping the covers off you both. He opens his eyes just as you whisper “Lumos,” and the headache that strikes you is nothing when the light suddenly crackles to life and you look down and Draco is there, and he's just said he's proud of you, a sentence nobody has ever, ever said to you in your entire life.

  It breaks your heart and mends it all at the same time.

  He looks up at you, eyes wide. “Y/N? Are you-”

  “Say that again.”

  He pauses. “S-say what?” But he's slowly starting to grin, knowing full well what bit you want him to repeat, what part of his sentence was like music to your ears.

  You sit up fully, bouncing just a tiny bit on your knees. God, you're like an excited schoolkid, an experience you were robbed of. “Please just say that again.”

   Draco pushes himself up onto his elbows. “I'm proud of you.”

  Your smile grows. “And again.”

   Draco pushes himself up a little bit more, his own smile spreading. “I'm proud of you.”

  You wrap your arms around his neck. “One more time.”

  He pushes himself up entirely, face inches from your own. “I'm proud of you.”

  You kiss him.

  You don't know how it works, how any of this works, but it feels right nonetheless. Your lips against his, hands tightening around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. He laughs gently against your mouth, his own hands rising so his fingertips tickle the edges of your throat.

  It's easy to lose yourself in this, in him.

  He is the first to pull away, his swollen, bright red lips taking the shape of a grin. You laugh, cupping his chin and swiping your thumb along his lower lip; he pretends to bite you.

  “Where the bloody hell did that come from?” he asks breathlessly.

  You shake your head. “I have no idea.”

  “Are you going to keep doing it?”

  You falter, smile fading just a bit. “D-do you want me to?”

  Draco scoffs, and in response, he kisses you again.

  The world is falling apart. Nothing is right and everything is wrong and Voldemort will never, ever be happy with this outcome, but for this moment, you can forget about all of that. Right now, it is just you and Draco, the captives finally set free.

[cafecitowriter]

I wish you would write a fic where they assign Peggy to protect Steve on the USO circuit as one of the USO dancers. If she likes it or not is up to you :)

Hi okay first of all thank you so much for this! 

Second, sorry this took a hot second, but this absolutely got away from me. I hope you like it!!!

...

No matter how Peggy spun it, this new assignment was nothing more than glorified babysitting.

She knew full well that her skills would be better suited to continue working under Colonel Phillips, going undercover and gathering crucial intel for the Allied cause. That’s exactly what she had been doing - successfully, she might add - for months now. She could do more damage to Hydra and the Nazis if she was out in the field.

Colonel Phillips knew it too. At least, that’s what Peggy assumed, seeing as he put up more of a fight than she’d expected when he learned that she was being transferred from the front lines to join the USO circuit to take care of Steve Rogers.

Now known as Captain America.

Or at least, that’s what he was being called in the USO tour.

Peggy had studied his file as part of her research, and she’d heard she grumblings from the other men in camp about Project Rebirth and its “failure”, as they chose to phrase it.

Truthfully - and silently - Peggy thought his transformation was nothing short of a miracle. He went from being 5’4”, 90 pounds with a novel of ailments to being what could only be described as a super soldier.

Why he was being relegated to show business, with her as his undercover bodyguard, Peggy couldn’t understand. He could be so much more, if they’d let him.

That at least, she could sympathize with.

“This is your cover,” Phillips told her gruffly, handing her a thin file. “I hope you’ve been practicing your American accent.”

“Betty Carver?” she scoffed incredulously as she read the name on the page.

At least she wouldn’t have to dye her hair.

...

Peggy took a bus with the rest of the USO girls to their hotel in Brooklyn. They were to have a few days of rehearsals, and then they would run for two weeks here before moving on to their next stop.

One woman in particular, Beth, had taken an instant liking to Betty. When Beth asked Betty if this was her first tour, she had sheepishly admitted it was her first gig ever. Beth spent the rest of the bus ride talking her ear off, giving her advice, telling her stories of performances gone right and wrong, and most importantly, assuring her that she had an entire support system of women if she ever needed help.

They were sisters now, Beth had told her.

Though Peggy was miles from where she wanted to be, she could begin to see the some slight silver lining to the whole ordeal.

Luckily enough, Betty and Beth are paired up to share a room - and Peggy was almost certain that Beth had something to do with that, which made her respect for the women grow tenfold.

“You coming, Bet?” Beth asked, looking more than ready to head down to dinner.

“I’ll be down in just a minute,” she smiled. “I like to unpack first.”

Peggy waited for Beth to exit before taking a deep breath. She then set to work, checking the room for any hearing devices, seeing what vantage points she had to work with, and double checking the gun in her thigh holster that she’d made herself, just for the occasion.

She then unpacked her entire suitcase, since that’s what she told Beth she was currently up to.

A knock at the door startled her. Peggy straightened up and slowly approached the door. She left her hand close to where her gun was hidden underneath her skirt, knowing that she might need to draw it at a moment’s notice.

“Hi. I’m Steve Rogers.”

Now, Peggy had read everything there was to know about Steve Rogers.

What her reading hadn't prepared her for, was how boyishly handsome he was, the intensity of his blue eyes, or his disarming smile.

"Hi," she said simply, her brain managing to forget all other words in existence.

Get a grip, Carter.

“Betty Carver,” she added quickly.

“Nice to meet you ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” she asked, raising her eyebrow at him. “I can’t tell if you’re overly polite, or if I look that much older than I actually am.”

“Just how I was raised,” he shrugged sheepishly.

“Betty’s just fine, Captain,” she told him, giving him a reassuring smile.

The tips of his ears went pink at the title.

“Betty, then,” he conceded, rubbing the back of his neck, though Peggy couldn’t help but notice that his smile never faltered.

“I thought we were meeting you at dinner,” she asked curiously.

“I was there,” he told her. “One of them - Beth - told me you were still up here, but it’s been a while and I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” she said, softer than she’d intended.

“And as I can see, you’re doing just fine,” he said, looking suddenly awkward, as though he thought he was intruding on her space. “So I’ll uh, I’ll see you down there, Betty.”

“We can walk down together,” she offered before he could turn to leave.

It would be easier to protect him if she made friends with him, and there was no time like the present to begin forming that relationship.

“I’d like that,” he smiled, offering her his arm.

Peggy suppressed a smile, but accepted his arm.

“Seems like you were raised right, Captain.”

…

As assignments went, Peggy had to (begrudgingly) admit it wasn’t flat out terrible.

The choreography was simple enough that with her limited dance experience, Peggy could get through it, and there were enough women around that she could sing mostly under her breath.

Betty had made a very close friend in Beth, as as a few of the other women as well - Guadalupe and Gwen in particular.

Then there was Steve.

He and Betty had gotten along well since he’d walked her to dinner the first night.

Peggy really liked him, too.

He was nothing like what she’d imagined. Though she’d tried not to make any judgements before meeting him, she had had enough experience with soldiers letting their newly appointed rank go to their head.

Steve however, kept surprising her. He was incredibly gentle for someone so large and strong, kind despite the fact that he was handsome enough that he could get on without having to be.

He also liked to take walks at night, as she’d accidentally learned when she’d encountered him one evening while doing a perimeter check of their latest hotel. He had too much energy, and couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time.

Something that he’d gained from the serum, he’d told her.

She’d lied and said she always had trouble sleeping in different places, and would take a walk to ease her mind.

He frowned at the idea of her being out alone at night, and offered to take walks with her.

While Peggy was more than capable of protecting herself, Betty was relieved and took him up on his offer eagerly.

Besides, if he was up and out in the middle of the night anyway, it would do well for Peggy to be with him should trouble crop up.

Most nights, they would now both sneak away from their rooms and take a walk together. They would designate a meeting place, and afterward, Steve would always walk her right back to her door.

As the weeks wore on, so did their walks get longer, and the more Peggy learned about Steve Rogers.

He talked of his mother, how she had worked so hard to care for him, how much he loved and missed her.

She learned of his best friend, who stood by his side no matter how many alley fights he got into. Who was finally shipped off, leaving Steve alone.

Steve eventually confided to her that he had only ever wanted to serve his country, that he wanted to be a soldier and help the little guy. That with each passing city they performed in, he felt more lost and useless.

“You were meant for more than this,” Peggy found herself telling him one night, as they were both seated on a park bench.

“How do you know?” he asked, starting out at the moon.

“You’re a good man Steve, and with your abilities…” Peggy trailed off, not wanting to give away just how much she knew about Project Rebirth.

“You really think I can make a difference?” he asked, voice quiet and shy and so vulnerable that Peggy had a strong urge to wrap him in her arms.

She settled for resting her hand on top of his.

“I know you can. Call it faith,” she told him sincerely.

They held hands all the way back to her hotel room.

…

What Peggy found particularly endearing about Steve - but would never dare say it out loud - was how, no matter how many times they’d all change in front of him (as there was normally only one dressing room wherever they went), he was still ever the gentleman.

Steve would always help with patching up their costumes, zipping them up, and sometimes even applying make up, but he never stared or lingered.

On this particular night, a few weeks after they held hands during their walk (a detail that hadn’t happened on their nightly strolls again), Peggy was running late and was the last one in the dressing room. She was in the middle of pulling up her left stocking and clipping it in place - leg perched on the dressing table in front of her when someone walked in.

"Oh I - sorry, sorry,” Steve apologized profusely.

Peggy looked up just in time to see his wide-eyed expression and his cheeks turn pink. From the look on his face, one would assume he’d walked in on her half-naked, rather than fully dressed with only one stocking left to be fixed into places.

"Lose something, Captain?" she asked, quirking her eyebrow up in amusement.

"No," he said quickly, averting his gaze to look at the ceiling. "I mean, yes. I can't find the um, my head - my cowl, I mean."

Peggy took pity on him and lowered her leg.

“I’ll help you find it. Curtain’s in five minutes, after all.”

“Thanks, Betty,” he said, letting out a small breath of relief.

She smirked and took a few steps closer to him.

"You mustn't worry, though, Captain. I don't have any devious plans to ruin your pristine reputation," she teased.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” he murmured, clearly without thinking.

Peggy's eyes widened slightly. Other than the night they’d held hands (which Peggy had to keep reminding herself was only a comfort between friends) this is the first time he’d actually done anything close to what could be considered flirting.

She tried to ignore how much she liked it.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she told him, her voice slightly breathless.

Steve’s eyes flicked down for her lips, and he began to lean in.

Or was it her that was leaning in?

Either way, their lips were now less than an inch away from each other and-

“Two minutes to curtain!”

They startled apart, and Steve cleared his throat.

“We should get-”

“Yes,” she agreed dashing out of the dressing room and toward the wings.

She fumbled to get her last clip in place with how much her hands were shaking.

Peggy leaned against the closest wall and tried to control her breathing and hammering heart.

What the hell was that?

...

Something was wrong.

To be fair, Peggy didn’t have any reason to believe that there was any threat near. She’d taken all her normal precautions before the show, and hadn’t made any threats close to them.

But there were goosebumps on her arms, and Peggy knew better than to ignore her instincts.

“Don’t lift the motorcycle,” she whispered into Steve’s ear as she danced by him.

Though her voice was quiet, she knew his enhanced hearing could pick it up.

While she didn’t know what the threat was, his final pose left him far too vulnerable for her liking, and if he went down, so would Sybil, Beth, and Gwen.

Steve gave her a confused look.

His head then snapped to look at the audience. Peggy followed his gaze and noticed the man who had just stood up in the middle of the song.

He began to raise his hand, and Peggy launched into action.

She broke formation and tackled Steve out of the way. She felt two bullets lodge in the back of her right shoulder and she let out a small cry of pain.

Chaos broke out among the crowd and onstage as everyone screamed and began to disperse.

Peggy used her left hand to pull her carefully concealed gun out of its holster and aimed it toward the group of men now charging toward Steve.

“What the hell is going on, Betty?” he asked as he saw the blood coming out of her shoulder.

“Hydra,” she told him, hissing in pain as he scooped her up and began carrying her toward safety.

“How do you know about Hydra?”

“My name is Peggy Carter,” she explained, returning to her natural dialect. “I’m with the Strategic Scientific Reserve. I was sent to protect you.”

“What?” he asked tightly, his eyes rife with hurt and betrayal.

The pain in her shoulder was now rivalled by the ache she felt in her heart.

“Steve, I-”

The sound of a gunshot behind them brought Peggy back to reality.

“Look,” she told Steve. “I know this is confusing and you’re unhappy with me right now, but we need to get out of here.”

“I can’t just leave everyone else,” he said defiantly his eyes flicking around the half-empty auditorium as everyone scrambled to get out of harm’s way.

“They’re after you. The best chance we can give them is by leading you away from here,” she reasoned, growing increasingly frustrated with him.

“Fine,” he agreed. “But you owe me an explanation.”

“If we live, I’ll tell you anything you like,” she agreed.

[supraveng]

We are friends

Summary:  Friends with benefits works fine for everyone, right?  But what happens when Sam is injured and your true feelings come out?

Word Count:3222

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is my first time writing about Sam, but I just love him so much!

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling you decide to give up on trying to sleep.   It’s useless at this point, you are too worried for your brain to shut off and try to get any sleep.   You make your way into the kitchen and decide to make some coffee, the Quinjet should be back in about an hour, and you knew if you poured yourself a drink, you could finish the bottle before they got back.  

Sitting down in the common room, you see Bucky coming out of his room with his phone in hand.  You perk up hoping for an update on when they are returning from the mission. Bucky grabs a water bottle from the fridge before plopping down on the couch next to you.  “So, any update?” you ask hoping for some better news.  “They are about 30 minutes out, Cho arrived a few minutes ago and will take Sam into surgery right away.  Don’t worry, your teammate will be fine” he states with a suspicious look on his face.  You nod your head and swallow the lump in your throat, 

“Sam’s not just a teammate, he’s my friend” you respond while sipping your coffee.  The truth was, the two of you had been sneaking around for the past four months, and what started out as a friendly hook up turned more serious than you realized before hearing Sam was shot on the mission.   “Oh, so you are just friends?” he asks trying to get you to fess up to what’s really going on.   Everyone suspected something, but you both decided that it was no one else’s business what you did behind closed doors.  

“We are friends, Bucky, and I’m really scared” your voice trembling now.   Bucky puts his arm around you and tugs you closer “hey, it’s going to be ok, you don’t usually get this worked up when I get hurt on a mission” he smirks trying to lighten the situation. You look up at him with unshed tears in your eyes “yea, well, he doesn’t have super soldier healing like you, and he’s a big baby whenever he gets hurt or sick” you smirk remembering him acting like he was going to die when he got the flu last month.  “And we are friends….. I just happen to be falling in love with him, so if he doesn’t make it, I don’t know what I’m gonna do” you start weeping and clinging to Bucky’s shirt.   

“Oh doll, don’t cry….I didn’t know it was serious, I just thought you guys were fooling around, shh, shh.  It’s gonna be ok, Sam’s to damn stubborn to die.” Bucky strokes your back trying to calm you down.  Your tears slow down just as Bucky’s phone rings “yea Steve, ok, we’ll be right there. Come on, doll, let’s go get your man.” Bucky stands and heads towards the elevators.  Bucky requests the hanger and you turn toward him.  “Thanks Bucky, for everything tonight, but can I ask a favor? Um, don’t mention what I said to Sam? He doesn’t know” you state as your gaze drops to the floor.  Bucky stares at you with a smirk on his face, he doesn’t want to lose your trust, but he knows if you don’t tell Sam how you really feel, he’s going to have to step in. He’s seen the change in Sam over the last few months and knew it was more than just releasing tension, but Sam wouldn’t say a word.  

The doors open and you are frozen in your spot, seeing the hatch on the quinjet start to open.  Your holding your breath hoping to see Sam come walking out with Steve, but instead the medical team goes rushing to the jet with a gurney.  “Hey, he’s got the best team working on him, he’s going to be fine, I promise you” Bucky states taking your hand and pulling you closer to the jet.  “And if he’s not fine?  What do I do then?” you look up at Bucky hoping for some form of reassurance. “Then I’m gonna kick his ass for putting you through all this” he smirks and pulls you further towards the medical team as they start coming off the jet with Sam on the gurney.  

You gasp and cover your mouth when you see him, there’s blood everywhere and he looks like he must have passed out from the pain, there’s an oxygen mask over his face and they’ve started an IV already.  Steve comes off the jet and heads towards you and Bucky to give you more details.  “He was hit a few times, 2 of the bullets went through his thigh, but there’s one in his abdomen without an exit wound.   He lost a lot of blood, but once Cho gets that bullet out, he’ll be good as new” Steve explains as you follow them through to the medical bay. “Y/N, he’ll be in surgery for an hour or so, why don’t you get some rest and I’ll call you when their done” he offers but you just shake your head.  “I’d prefer to wait here, if that’s ok Captain?” you ask looking up at the super soldier for hope that this will all be over soon.  “Of course, I’m going to get cleaned up, then I’ll be back down, ok? I don’t want him waking up and complaining that I abandoned him” he smirks.  

Sitting and waiting for the surgery to finish felt like hours, you hadn’t even realized Steve had returned until he handed you a cup of coffee.  “I figured you might be staying here while he’s in recovery too, this might help.”   You nodded a thank you and stared down at your feet.  “He’s going to be ok, I promised him that he could talk to you when we got back, and I always keep my promises.”  “What?” you look at him confused “what did he want you to tell me?” “I don’t know, Y/N.  He started saying that if he didn’t make it I needed to tell you, but I didn’t let him finish, I told him he was going to see you soon and tell you himself” 

 You take a deep breath and nod, you are overwhelmed with everything going on and you just want to cuddle up with Sam, but instead you just sit there and think of the worst case scenario if the surgery doesn’t go well.   What if he doesn’t make it, he lost too much blood. What if he has spinal damage and can’t walk. 

 You started going through a spiral of what if’s when the door opened and Dr. Cho stepped out. “The surgery went better than expected, no serious damage other than the sever blood loss.  We are moving him to the cradle to get him healed up as quickly as possible” she smiles at you and Steve.  “That’s great news, thank you.  When can we see him?”  “The anesthesia is just starting to wear off, but you can see him.  He might be a little confused from the sedative, so don’t worry if he starts talking and not making much sense” she tries to reassure you. “It’s Sam, he never makes any damn sense” Bucky grumbles from behind you.  Turning to glare at him, but you just start to giggle “you’re right, he says some of the weirdest stuff, especially when he’s tired.”   “See Steve, it’s not just me!” he exclaims as you all head into the room.   

You run to the other side of the bed, wrap yours around him and bury your face into his neck as you start to sob all over again.  “I was so worried……I thought I lost you’ you stutter out between breaths.  Wrapping his arms around you as best he can, he strokes your back “you can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m too stubborn to die” he tells you.  You lift your head and giggle “that’s what Bucky said too” before leaning into kiss him.  Bucky and Steve gave each other a look before clearing their throats, “we will let you to have some time” “get some rest” as they started towards the door.  

You stop in the doorway when you see him lying there, so still and calm, it’s almost eerie.  Steve and Bucky go next to the bed as Sam starts to rise in a seated position, but you are frozen.  Unsure if he wants you there, unsure if you can stop from crying anymore and just watch the man you love lie there.  Your thoughts are interrupted when Sam looks over at you with a small smile on his face. “Cupcake? Come here” he rasps at you, and your heart leaps.  He only uses that nickname when the two of you are alone, it’s always Y/N when the team is around or just L/N during a mission.  

You pulled away from Sam, face flushed and trying to catch your breath.  “I love you, Sam Wilson, and if you ever scare me like that again, I’m gonna kick your ass” “I love you too, Cupcake, and you like this ass too much to do any serious harm” he responded as he kissed you again.  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to get you to the cradle for a few hours so you can get out of here sooner rather than later” Dr. Cho announced as she walked back in the room.  “You go get some rest and I’ll see you for breakfast, ok Cupcake?”  You smiled at him and nodded as they wheeled him out.   

Back in your room you took a long bath and grabbed Sam’s favorite hoodie to sleep in, knowing he was safe and being wrapped in his scent was the only way you would be able to get a full nights sleep.   And sleep you did, it was past 10am when you finally woke up and headed to the kitchen for coffee.  “Someone slept in this morning, that’s not like you, Y/N, everything ok?” Natasha asked as she eyed you from the kitchen table.  “I’m great Nat, just up late checking on Sam after surgery so I decided to sleep in.  I’m gonna go see how he’s doing after I make some breakfast; do you want anything?”  you asked, trying to sound casual but knowing full well the spy could see right through you.  With a smirk she stood up and crossed over to the kitchen and deposited her cup in the sink, “no, thanks.  And for the record, I’m glad he has you Y/N, you two are good for each other” as she left the room.  

You carried the breakfast you made to the med bay and headed toward Sam’s room, but when you arrived it was empty.  Looking around you spotted a nurse and cleared your throat before asking “excuse me? Has Sam Wilson been moved to another room?  Or is he still in the cradle?”  “No, he was released this morning and left with Captain Rogers about an hour and a half ago.”  Starring at him in disbelief, you mumbled a thanks and headed back upstairs.  Making your way from the elevators to Sam’s room was quicker than usual, you were too anxious to get your arms wrapped around him to walk at a normal pace.  But that came to an abrupt stop when you investigated his empty room.  He’s been out of medical for over an hour and you hadn’t even seen him, you tried to calm down when your heart started to race, there had to be a reasonable explanation.

“FRIDAY, can you please tell me where Sam is?”  “Mr. Wilson left the tower about an hour ago” the AI responded.  “He left, do you know where he went?” you knew she wouldn’t have an answer, but your brain was racing a mile a minute and after your reunion and confession last night, none of this made any sense.  “I am unaware of where Mr. Wilson has gone, only that he was accompanied by Sergeant Barnes.”  “Oh, okay, thanks” you mumbled leaving his room and heading towards the kitchen in the common area.   

After dumping the breakfast you made into the trash, you cleaned up the dishes and made your way back to your room.  Sitting on your bed you rethink the entire conversation you had with Sam last night, it felt like things were moving forward, the two of you love each other, it’s not just friends with benefits, then it hits you like a bucket of ice water. Cho mentioned the sedative would make him a bit off and not make any sense, you confessed you love him, and he said it back, but it wasn’t real it was the medication.  “How could I be so stupid” you growl and then decide you are better than this, you can reel in your feelings and put your anxiety to good use. 

 You quickly change into a pair of leggings, sports bra and your favorite tank top (I run on caffeine, chaos and curse words) before heading down to the gym.  Climbing on the treadmill, you popped your earbuds in and decided a bit of running and some Metallica would be the best way to keep yourself occupied and not overthinking everything.   As hard as you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.  So, what now?  He doesn’t feel the same way so do we continue what we’ve had these last few months, or do I break things off?  Knowing he might never feel the same way is only going to make this hurt worse when it all blows up in my face.  The stress of the situation makes you push yourself harder than normal and speed up the treadmill trying to relieve some tension by torturing your legs in the process. After another 20 minutes of running you are ready to collapse or scream, you're not sure which would feel better but you decide to make your way to your room, shower and leave the tower for the rest of the day.  

A change in scenery can only help you at this point, right?  You still have your earbuds in and playlist at full volume when you come off the elevator and trek through the common area heading toward your hallway and your room.  Hoping if anyone is in here, they are too busy to notice you and you can sneak by without anyone talking to you, knowing the minute you open your mouth you will probably just start crying.   Luck as not on your side today, it seemed like almost everyone was gathered around and Sam was right in the middle with a big smile on his face.  The smile that usually made you melt, was now making you feel like the biggest idiot in Manhattan.  Why would a man like him be in love with you, you were obviously delusional.  “There you are!  I was beginning to worry about you” he says as he stands up and makes his way towards you. You look around and realize everyone is staring at you, did Steve and Bucky tell everyone what happened last night? Oh, this is only going to get worse, can I make a run for it without looking like a fool? Probably not, am I going to try it anyway? Absolutely.  

You nod toward Sam and offer a small smile, knowing that your voice would betray your emotional state if you tried to speak at this point.   Lowering your gaze and pretending to be looking for something on your phone, you didn’t realize how close Sam was now and almost run into him.  He grabs you by your elbows and smiles down at you, with so much adoration in his eyes you are completely overwhelmed.  “I’m sorry I missed breakfast this morning, I came by your room after I left medical and you looked so cute and peaceful all snuggled up in my hoodie that I didn’t have the heart to wake you” he stated as he leaned in and kissed your forehead. He didn’t forget about breakfast.  He a came to you, and you slept through it.  Looking up at him in shock “I thought you didn’t remember what we discussed last night and decided to spend the day with Bucky” you reply almost ashamed that you let your mind tell you that you had been replaced so quickly and easily.  

“Hang out with Tin Man instead of you?  Not a chance, Cupcake, he could never replace you, even if he tried.”  You looked up at him at the use of the nickname with a huge smile on your face and exhaled “Sam.”  “But he did help me with something that I needed to pick up this morning, that’s why we took off before you were up.   I hope you forgive me” he said sliding his hands down your arms so that his hands were holding yours and takes a deep breath.  

“You are the most amazing person I have ever known and these last few months together have been better than I could have hoped for.”  What is he saying? Is this how we are announcing our relationship to the team?  He’s so dramatic sometimes, but this is too sweet to ask him to stop, I can suffer through a little embarrassment.  

“You are strong and funny and so much smarter than you give yourself credit for.  My life would be boring without you in it. And while we are friends, I want us to be more.”  You're caught off guard as he lets go of your hands and pulls something from his pocket. Looking up at Bucky in confusion, you turn back to see that Sam is now kneeling before you with a black velvet box in one hand. Your eyes must have bugged out of their socket as you hear most of the team start to giggle at you.  “Y/N L/N, my cupcake, will you marry me?”  he looks up with that same smile that mad you fall in love with him.   

“Holy Shit!” you exclaim as your mind catches up with what was going on.  “Yes!  Yes!  Sam, of course, I’ll marry you!” you scream as you throw yourself at him, making you both fall to the floor.  As you are coming up for air, Sam laughs at you “you didn’t even look at the ring!”   “I don’t need a ring Sam, I just need you.”    At that you can hear the team cheering and champagne corks popping, of course Tony has champagne ready for any occasion.  Bucky helps you off the floor and pulls you into a hug “Congrat, Y/N, you deserve better, but it looks like he actually makes you happy” he jokes as you hug him back. 

 “Hands off Barnes, that’s my fiancé” you hear Sam say from behind you.  Turning towards him you smile and he grabs your left hand and gently slides the ring onto your finger.  “It’s beautiful” you whisper, still in shock at what had just happened.  “It doesn’t even begin to compare you to” Sam replied and leaned down for a perfect kiss that quieted all those thoughts that had been plaquing all day.  You were in love with Sam Wilson and couldn’t wait to marry him and begin your lives together.

[stormyweaver]

Borrowed Time || Chp. 1

So my latest hyperfixation has been this show on Netflix called ‘Swee/t Home’. It’s a live-action South Korean adaption of a webtoon comic, and seriously if you’ve never heard of it before, at least watch the first episode. If you aren’t hooked, gosh, I don’t know what could make a person want more! But you don’t have to have seen the show to enjoy this I think, but again I’d highly reccommend checking the series out. I adore every single character and I’ll probably be writing more about them all, but for now I’m focusing on Pyeon San/g-wook because h-he’s my fave... He’s basically a mysterious drifter who dolls out justice in his own badass way, and he’s amazing and a super complex character. 

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR EPISODE FIVE, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED:

This is after Sang-wook kills the pedophile he was hired to find, and then drags his body outside while bringing two other victims who had died to a monster inside the apartment building. It was pouring raining and my brain instantly went: how can you have a out-in-the-rain scene without sickness? BLASPHEMY! Anyway hope y’all enjoy!

The timing might have been slightly comical if he didn't have a splitting headache. Or, was it a concussion? That... nurse had mentioned something similar, but he truly hadn't paid her any mind. Why would he give someone so prying the time of day in the first place? He hated being touched without his permission, no matter the reason; maybe she had simply been trying to help, but there was absolutely no way in hell he was going to let her continue treating him as if he was some weakling.

No, he only... felt weak, due to all of the stress. He would bounce back eventually - he inevitably did. Though he could never fully comprehend why, his body had an uncanny ability to heal faster than most, and bestowed him with a strength that most people only ever imagined themselves possessing. It had served him well over the years, made him capable of surviving on his own for as long as he'd needed to, aided him in carrying out the tasks others simply didn't have the stomach for. It had of course, had it's downsides - there were injuries and ailments he simply couldn't knock in a matter of hours, and those instances where he'd been forced to finally allow his body to rest were intensely irritating.

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he staggered through the dirtied hallway and, sensing that he was finally alone, allowed himself to lean bodily against a flyer-littered wall. His breath was coming in short, harsh pants, almost bordering on wheezing, though his teeth instantly grit at the idea. He wasn't weak-- damn it, if Jae-heon had just left him out there to die, he wouldn't be feeling like utter, completely useless shit right now. The zealot likely loathed him just like the rest, if not fear then at the very least an intense dislike. Only his 'vows' or whatever meaningless word of God had made him keep the gate open. He swallowed- or rather, made an attempt to, and was unsurprised to find that the action was mildly painful. Pair that was the throbbing near his sinuses, the malaise, and the general feeling of being lethargic, it wouldn't take a medical professional to inform him that he was unwell. What was that old saying? Something about only fools catching a chill from standing out in the rain? Nonsense. But... well, he wasn't about to start pondering old proverbs with a pounding headache. At least he wasn't getting a nose bleed. Just a stuffy one. It took Sang-wook longer than he would have preferred to stand up straight again and continue limping down the walkway, but eventually he did, coming to a stop on the corner of a vacant room. He could practically hear his limbs creak as he perched himself on the edge of a step, and one hand automatically slipped into his jacket pocket. Some habits were harder to break than others. And if ever there a time he truly needed a smoke... With the lit cigarette between his lips, he began to ponder what his next move would be. He had technically finished his business there; no other reason to remain other than the fact that fucking monsters were roaming the city. Of all the positively inconvenient bullshit - monsters. Not that he had any real plans after taking care of matters. He never did. Being a drifter meant not making attachments, not allowing himself to get roped into anything unless it was related to his main task. And yet there he was, with an apartment full of people who either saw him as a thug or a threat or, for some irritatingly insane reason, a person to be pardoned. A laughable concept at best. He didn't even want to be pardoned - he didn't regret the things he had done, to begin with. And wasn't that one of the key steps to getting into heaven? Being repentant for your sins? Well, that was already one big strike against him. Just how did that damned nosey priest expect him to continue on, then? Why had he been so adamant about "saving" him? Why? A trail of smoke filtered past his nostrils, nose absently wrinkling as the thoughts only served to frustrate him all the more. What the hell was he going to do... He brought the stick to his lips again, but his breath caught pre-inhale, mouth forming a deeper frown than normal. A small pin-prick had been stinging the back of his nose ever since he'd woken up, but so far he'd been able to ignore it. Until now. He sniffed harshly, once, twice and, thinking that was that, but the moment he closed his lips around the cigarette, he inhaled harshly through his nose. "hH'KGSHHh!" The sneeze jerked his head down sharply, though he managed to keep it relatively quiet. The last thing he needed was some passerby hearing and having the guts to try and approach him. Though containing it hadn't done his headache any favors, and his teeth had nearly snapped the cigarette in half. Hell, he couldn't even smoke in peace. What was the point of still being alive, again? "You shouldn't be smoking," Ah, there it was. Sang-wook didn't need to glance up in order to place the voice - he could smell the self-righteousness from a mile away. Or, he would have, had he been able to smell anything at the moment.

Resisting the urge to sniffle, he made no attempt at offering even a semblance of acknowledgement towards the other. Not that it would stop him from poking his nose where it didn't belong, so it came as no surprise when Jae-heon stood directly in front of him, gradually lowering himself until he was seated similarly to the other with a soft grunt. Sighing, Sang-wook plucked the useless cigarette from his lips and tossed it to the floor, swiftly crunching it beneath his boot. "I'm not,"

Jae-heon hummed in acknowledgement. "I don't say it to judge," Sang-wook wasn't sure why he felt the need to clarify, but his gaze did flit over to the other's general direction for a moment. He could see the glint his blade gave off out of the corner of his eye. Curious. Although he didn't doubt the other's skill, he just didn't see a point in taking it with him everywhere. But that was ultimately his choice, and he didn't have the mental capacity to bother pondering why he did so. "How are you feeling?" The scarred man barely lifted his eyes to Jae-heon, who gestured with his chin towards the direction Sang-wook had originally walked from. "Yu-ri took a look at your head injury, right? Is it serious?"

The only response he gave was a meager shrug. Sang-wook wouldn't willingly give information about how he was feeling when it didn't matter in the long run. Whether he was fine or slowly bleeding out, what difference would it make? You shouldn't be alive in the first place; why does he care? God, thinking made his head throb. Couldn't he just be alone in this god forsaken complex for more than a solid minute?

He heard Jae-heon sigh, noted him shift slightly, but still kept his gaze glued to the floor. "What you did... I can't agree with your actions," Sang-wook almost scoffed aloud. Was he really expected to listen to a lecture about right and wrong? His attention was already split, anyway. The itch sparked in his sinuses still burned, not having been satisfied with the weak excuse for a sneeze, and every facial muscle was tensed as he worked to smother the sensation into submission. At least he always happened to look stoic, so he doubted the other would notice. Still, hearing Jae-heon gear up for a sermon of sorts didn't bode well for his waning resolve. "But I do understand why you did what you did. The others might not - they might still see you as something that you're not-" "What would you know about what I am?" Sang-wook interjected sharply, a scowl evident on his features. Admittedly, it hurt to talk, and he internally cringed at the trace of hoarseness in his voice. But he didn't like anyone thinking of him as some misunderstood wretch worthy of some kind of redemption. He wasn't a hero, he wasn't a villain, not good or evil - he simply was, and he never needed to be more or less than that, didn't need to satisfy anyone's opinion of him. Jae-heon glanced down momentarily, looking as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. Speaking could come as easily as breathing at certain times, and yet there were moments were every point of diction managed to fail him. "I'm not here to pity you. And I wouldn't claim to understand you. Every person has their reasons for what they do - and every person has to stand with those reasons before the almighty. I'm not here to judge," The scarred skin beneath Sang-wook's eye jumped slightly. "Then what are you here to do? Whatever it is, you're wasting your..." He had to pause, throat constricting momentarily before he sighed unevenly through his nose, "... breath. You should be more concerned about yourself," Jae-heon couldn't help but quirk a miniscule smile at that. "That isn't God's way. Besides, I wouldn't still be alive if I had decided to be selfish," His thoughts shifted to Hyun-su, Mr. Han, Ms. Im and Ji-su - he had all of them to thank for his life, for making it this far. People who, while they may not have shared the same faith as himself, had believed that sticking together and looking after each other was the way to survive - was the right path. No matter their differences, they chose to be selfless, and that was what had led them to finding the other survivors. Sang-wook didn't reply, mainly due to the fact that he wasn't sure he could safely do so without breaking his concentration. Though it didn't matter - Jae-heon continued anyway. "You didn't have to bring back Min-Ju and Su-ung. I won't ask you why, because to me, what matters is that you did. That means something," When Sang-wook didn't respond again, Jae-heon opened his mouth to continue, only to be silenced when the other opposite him took in a sharp inhale and twisted off to the side. "hH'GKxnt! h'HCHGnt!" Jae-heon blinked for a moment, not really startled by the sneezes but seeming to examine Sang-wook with a little more scrutiny, to which the the other flashed him a glare. Unfazed, he continued to gaze at the other. "You look pale. You should be resting," Sang-wook simply scoffed, cringing at the phlegm lining his throat. He desperately needed to sniff back the moisture threatening to breach his nostrils, but his pride held the action back as Jae-heon continued to press the issue. "You're up and about after having passed out - and you were in the rain for a good while. You might be getting sick," And if he was? What the hell did it matter? Sang-wook wanted to press both heels of his palms against his eyes and grind until the pressure behind them lessened at least a little. He was exhausted, and fatigue suddenly swept over him like the storm clouds still raging outside. Everything felt heavy and sluggish which, for someone with normally such sharp senses, was more than off-putting. It felt wrong. He felt wrong. Why was the good Christian wasting time worrying about whether or not he was ill when there were literal monsters still roaming the apartment? As if sensing his turmoil, Jae-heon finally moved to stand back up, katana blade resting by his side. "You should go see Yu-ri - at the very least she can give you something for your head," He began to turn away, paused, then uttered something that made the skin on the back of Song-wook's neck prickle uncomfortably.

"Take care of yourself," Jae-heon’s retreating footsteps seemed to echo unusually loud, and it wasn't until he could no longer hear them any longer that Sang-wook finally indulged in a thick, pitiful sniffle and allowed his head to drop into his waiting hands.

[beelsnack]

Hey there! Love your Writing!! Can I request Some HC/Drabbles on the brothers and Diavolo comforting a Mc(GN) That Struggles with Migraines? (Thank you in advance if you do!)

Aw, thanks Nonnie!

I get migraines pretty frequently, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got headcanons lined up already, lol.

Content Warning: Mild description of vomit. Nothing graphic, but migraines be nasty.

(Side note: I guess these are kind of a mix between headcanons and drabbles, huh? Maybe I should combine them. Drabcanons? Headrabbles? I kind of like headrabbles.)

Lucifer: They hadn’t come down for dinner.

Usually, if they were planning on skipping dinner, they let at least one of the brothers know. But nobody had heard a sound from them after they had finished up their classes at RAD, and they weren’t answering texts or calls.

Lucifer climbed up the stairs leading to the second floor, already formulating a lecture. Tardiness would not be tolerated, neither at RAD or at home, it would reflect poorly on Diavolo if the exchange student suddenly developed a habit of skipping out of obligations, how dare they make him worry - 

He was just about to knock on their door when he heard a soft noise from inside. It sounded like a whimper.

He stilled, pressing his ear against the wood of the door. There it was again. Definitely a whimper, longer this time, laced with pain. His heart seized at the sound, and without thinking he stepped inside.

The human had burrowed beneath their blankets and had pressed a pillow over their head.If it wasn’t for the lights strung up along their headboard, Lucifer would have just assumed the human hadn’t made their bed.

They whined again, spurring Lucifer in to action.

He called out their name. “What’s wrong?”

A pathetic whimper was his only response, and he swallowed down the lump of panic that was beginning to rise in his throat. He crossed the room in three big strides before kneeling beside their bed. There was a small gap between the blankets and pillow, and he could see the way their brow was furrowed, how their eyes were squeezed shut, the thin sheen of sweat that shined over their skin.

As though they could feel his gaze, they cracked open eye and managed to groan, “Too bright.”

Lucifer flicked his gaze over to the soft lights strung up along their headboard. They were so low that even he had a hard time seeing anything in detail. If they thought those were to bright...ah.

“A migraine, huh?”

He didn’t bother waiting for the human’s strained “Mhm,” before reaching behind the night stand where the outlet was. Suddenly, what little light there had been was gone, leaving only the slight glow from the hallway.

“Better?” he asked softly, gently reaching beneath the pillow to wipe their sweat-drenched hair away from their face. 

“...Yeah...” they sighed, the crease in their brow easing slightly. “Thank you...”

“Of course.” Their eyes were already beginning to slip closed as he stood. “I’ll get you some water and let you rest.”

He was pretty sure they had passed out before he finished speaking. Which is why he allowed himself the small indulgence of placing a kiss on their forehead before he left.

Mammon: It seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute, they were walking through the halls at RAD killing time until their next class. The next, they were crying out like they had been stabbed, falling to their knees and clutching their head.

Immediately, he was beside them. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

They were trying to respond, he could tell, but all that was coming out were short, staccato breaths that ended on a pained moan. He could see tears welling up in the corner of their eyes.

A crowd was beginning to form around them. Curious whispers and hushed gossiping echoed through the hall, and Mammon instinctively scratched his claws along the marble floor to attempt to keep his cool.

They had mentioned something like this before, hadn’t they? That sometimes they got these blinding headaches that left them completely incapacitated for at least the rest of the day? 

“Hey,” he took their face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly along their jaw. Damn all the demons that had gathered around them, he had his priorities. “It’s okay, I’m right here, I gotcha.” 

He vaguely remembered them saying something about light sensitivity. Honestly, this probably wasn’t going to do anything, but he plucked his sunglasses from where they were hung on his uniform and slipped them over their face. “I’m going to get you to the Student Council lounge, okay? Can you walk?”

After a few deep, shuddering breaths, they managed to stand. Mammon didn’t liek the way they were swaying on their feet, however, so, with a click on his tongue, he scooped them up bridal style. The buried their face against the column of his neck without complaint, and that was when he knew they were really in pain.

“Everything’s okay, your first man’s gonna take care of ya.”

Levi: It was obvious the human wasn’t feeling well. They had their right eye squeezed shut, just barely watching the anime through their left. Every time Luminous-chan started her transformation scene, they were cringe at the sudden flash. He swore he even heard them whimper a little bit.

“Why are you still here?” wait, no, that came out wrong. “I-I mean, like, if you feel sick or something, we can watch it later. You’re not even really paying attention!”

They winced at the volume of his voice, and Levi internally cursed himself. “Seriously, go lie down if you feel sick. I don’t want your normie germs.”

Another bright, intensely colorful scene started, and Levi belatedly realized that he probably should at least pause it. 

They slumped their head against the back of the couch. They seemed to relax just a little bit without the noise. “Being in your room helps.”

“Eh?” Levi looked at them incredulously. “Why would it help?”

“The blue lights don’t hurt as much, and it’s nice and cool in here.” they muttered. “But I can leave if you really want me to.”

“N-No!” this time, both of them winced at his volume.

“You can stay here.” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll just...use my headphones or whatever. You take a nap.”

Satan: With all the things that can go wrong with the human body, the species should have died out a millennia ago.

They were currently holed up in their room, trying to stave off the throbbing headache with Excedrin and sheer willpower. Satan, feeling particularly useless, was doing what he did best - research.

Obviously there were no books on human medical conditions in the Devildom, so that had led him to the internet.

“Aura? Migraines can affect your vision?” he muttered to himself, scrolling down further. “They can cause nausea? ‘May last up to 72 hours?!’“ 

No wonder the human wanted to be left alone. He would be in a foul mood too.

Asmo: “You know, I’m usually thrilled when my partner wakes up looking like they spent the night tumbling around, but something tells me this wasn’t nearly as enjoyable.”

They were a hot mess. Their usually neat uniform was rumpled, and they hadn’t quite been able to get the last button done right. Harsh, almost bruise-like bags stood out against their skin, which had taken on a sickly pallor. 

Joking aside, Asmo didn’t like how the human looked. “What’s the matter, darling?”

They plopped down on Asmo’s bed next to him, letting him fuss with their hair. “I definitely feel a migraine coming on.”

His fingers paused in their ministrations before beginning to massage gently at their scalp. “Poor thing, why are you even up?”

“Because Lucifer will flay me alive and use my pelt to decorate his office if I skip classes.” they shot back, and Asmo was glad to see they still had their snark even though they looked dead on their feet.

“Darling, it’s not skipping if your brain in trying to escape your skull.” he stood, running his long fingers through their hair one more time and quite enjoying how they leaned into the touch. “Now, let me take care of Lucifer, you get some rest.”

“Can I stay here?” they asked, rubbing at their temple. Asmo giggled.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to turn you away from my bed.” he flicked the lights off on his way out. “There’s an eye mask in the drawer next to the lube.”

Beelzebub: The two of them had a routine. Friday night, Beel would go to the gym, come home, and they would hang out in their room and watch so-bad-they’re-good horror movies until they fell asleep.

Since this was an every week thing, Beel didn’t even think to text them and tell them he was coming over. They usually left their door unlocked when they were home anyway.

There was no answer when he knocked, which seemed strange. They were usually here at this point. Maybe something had come up? But they would have let him know, surely. A frown tugged at his lips as he tested the doorknob. Unlocked.

Slowly, he opened the door, calling out to them. “Are you in here?”

A few seconds of silence ticked by. Beel was about to call again when he heard a gagging noise coming from their bathroom. He peered a little farther in and saw the light from the bathroom spilling into the room. They hadn’t even been able to close the door.

Concern washed over him, but he was pretty sure barging into the bathroom while they were sick wouldn’t help matters. He carefully shut the bedroom door behind him. “I’m coming in okay?”

“N-No, don’t -” another gag cut them off. Beel winced in sympathy as he entered the bathroom.

The sight made him want to cry. They were clinging onto the toilet, half slumped to the floor. Their pajama shorts were all twisted around, and Beel could see red marks from where the human had been kneeling against the floor tiles. Tears were streaming down their cheeks as they took deep breaths in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

Beel knelt down next to them, and they didn’t even have the energy to protest when he swept some of their sweaty hair out of their face. “Did you eat something bad?”

They shook their head, then squeezed their eyes shut. “No...it’s a migraine.”

Beel frowned. “I thought migraines were headaches.”

“They make you nauseated, too.” they muttered, reaching up to flush the contents of their stomach down the toilet. “Sorry, I should have let you know...”

He placed a large hand on their back and they sighed, letting his presence stabilize them. 

“It’s okay.” he said, rubbing small circles along their spine. “Isn’t there a drink that helps with upset stomachs?”

“Ginger ale.” they supplied, voice going a bit hoarse. “I’m pretty sure they don’t have it in the Devildom, though.”

“There might be some at that convenience store near The Fall. I could go check.” he stood up, almost instinctively reaching down to scoop them up before pausing. “Do you still feel sick?”

“No, it’s passing. I’m just super tired.” they reached out towards Beel, and he proceeded with the scooping.

“I won’t be long.” he promised as he deposited them on the bed.

“Don’t get distracted by all of the yummy snacks, okay?” they teased, and he smiled a little.

“I make no guarantees.”

Belphegor: He could practically see the irritation rolling off of them.

Movie night was always a garbage fire, but tonight was particularly bad. It had been nearly an hour and they were still arguing over what movie to watch, Mammon and Asmo had nearly come to blows, and Beel was sitting on his own island of pop cans and empty bags of popcorn.

Usually, they found the brothers’ antics amusing, but tonight, Belphegor saw murder in their eyes. And as much as he would delight in seeing his big brothers get fucking wrecked by a human, dealing with the cleanup would be a complete hassle.

“Are you feeling okay?” he leaned in to whisper. They blinked hard a few times, trying to clear their vision.

“I already felt like I was going to get a migraine,” they gritted their teeth as they spoke. “But this definitely isn’t helped.”

Belphie hummed in agreement. “Yeah, I can’t imagine it is. Think they’ll notice if we bow out?”

There was the sound of glass shattering as someone threw a couch pillow and either missed horrendously or hit precisely what they were aiming at. It was hard to tell.

“I think we’ll be fine.”

Chuckling, Belphie grabbed their hand and led them out of the living room. Of course the only one who saw them was Beel, and Belphie merely made a shushing gesture and nodded his head towards the staircase. The older twin nodded and went back to his munching without any fuss, bless his big, fluffy heart.

The human trudged after Belphie, already worn out. They walked past their room, so they assumed they were going to the twins’ room. But they passed that too. 

“Belphie, where are we going?”

He stopped them at the base of the attic stairs. “Someone will just barge in if we go to one of our rooms. Nobody will think about up here, though.”

If their head wasn’t pounding, they would have asked if Belphie was okay going back into the room that had basically been his prison cell for a year. But, their head was pounding, and they didn’t have the energy to question his logic. So up to the attic they went.

It was blissfully dark in the attic. Belphie yawned as he made his way over to the bed and flopped down.

“Come on, I think we both need a nap.”

“It’s late, isn’t this just going to bed at this point?” they wiggled into bed next to Belphie anyway, snuggling deeper into the blankets as he hugged them close.

“The human doth protest too much. Shut up and go to sleep.”

Diavolo: It was irrational, he knew. The human had a migraine, not the Black Death. But still, worry and uncertainty chased each other around his skull like rabid beasts until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer looked shocked to see him as he entered. “Did we have a meeting for tonight?”

“No, no, don’t worry.” he grinned. “I heard our little human friend had to leave RAD early due to a migraine, and I wanted to see how they were feeling, is all.”

Lucifer raised one delicate eyebrow, and Diavolo knew he was blushing. He had grown rather attached to the human, probably more than he should have, considering the circumstances.

“They’re resting right now.” he nodded towards the stairs. “I’m not sure it would be wise to disturb them.”

“Disturb who?”

Both demons turned to look as the human came out of the hallway that led to the kitchen. Aside from their sleep-heavy eyes and the occasional roll of their neck, they looked just fine.

“Oh, Lord Diavolo!” they smiled.

“Well, you look much better than this afternoon.” he hoped the relief in his voice wasn’t too obvious. Based on the look Lucifer shot him, it was.

They nodded. “That medicine you gave me worked wonders! Better than anything I ever took in the human world. Thank you so much.”

“Think nothing of it.” his grin softened into something warm, something he knew was professionally inappropriate to feel towards a human exchange student. “I’m glad I could help.”