#self reblogging as a reminder to PLEASE write ANYTHING down. staring myself down in the mirror

[zeldasadork]

can't believe op said this and dipped this is so sad,

mounders space au save me mounders space au

[kalimagik]

Notice

Based off of the song “Notice” by Thomas Rhett

Fred Weasley x Reader

~4,500

Warnings: None – LOTS of Fluff

A/N: This is my first time posting a fic on here and I’m just now deciding to take a stab at sharing them! I write a lot for the HP fandom and then also for the Marvel Fandom and Tom Holland, so be on the look out for fics later. Please like, comment, or reblog if you enjoy this fic so I can decide whether I want to post more of my work! Happy Reading <3 

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Fred’s head had been in the clouds recently. He and George had been focusing so much on their booming business that he hadn’t focused on much else. That being said, his girlfriend was feeling a little left out.

“Fred, can’t we just hang out today? No business stuff?” Y/N asked with big, pleading eyes.

“Y/N/N, this is really important. Everyone is wanting our products and I can’t just leave George to send them out by himself. I’ve got to go!”

“Fred, can I talk to you for five minutes without your mind on business? Can you give me that time?” Y/N conceded.

“I can do 5 minutes,” Fred smirked. He reached out to pull her in, assuming they would spend that 5 minutes snogging. Y/N put a quick stop to it.

“No, Fred. I want to talk to you.”

 “Oh, okay. I’m listening.”

“Are you though? You’re spaced out in every conversation we have. I tell you this almost every year. But, you don’t seem to hear all the words I say, let alone spend time with me and it makes me miss you even when I’m sitting next to you. You’ve been acting so easily distracted. I just wish you could focus. I love you, Fred and I’ll always support you, but it’s been a hard year already without you nowhere around.”

Fred watched her eyes, he wished he could say all the ways he did see her and notice her, but he didn’t know how. He knew having Umbridge around was not easy for anyone, but he hadn’t realized how tough it must’ve been on Y/N while he was trying to lift everyone else’s spirits with that toad around.

“That’s all I have to say. Go help George now.”

Y/N stood up and left Fred’s room. She probably was going to find her friends, Angelina and Alicia. It wasn’t until she shut the door that Fred spoke. “No, wait, don’t go!” She didn’t hear him though.

Fred dropped face down onto his bed. He must’ve been like that for too long because George burst into the room looking for him.

“Oi! Freddie! You were supposed to meet me at the Honeydukes passageway 15 minutes ago! I couldn’t sneak all that contraband in by myself!”

Fred just groaned in response.

“What’s up with you, mate?” George asked.

“Y/N was in here.”

“Don’t you, oh, I don’t know, like her? So her being in here is a good thing?”

“It is. I love her, you know that Georgie.”

“I do know that. I just like to think I’m the only one you love,” George snickered.

“Well, she feels as though I haven’t been paying attention to her. Which now that I think about it, I haven’t. But when I’m with her, there are just all these amazing little things about her.” Fred threw his hands over his face.

“There are little things about Y/N other than just her being Y/N?” George asked in a stupid sarcastic manner.

“Of course there are you, git!” Fred threw a pillow at George.

“Mhmmm, I’m not sure.” George rubbed his chin. “She’s been one of our best friends since childhood. I can’t look at her without thinking about her running around the Burrow with a gnome biting her finger.”

 George’s memory made Fred laugh at the image now in his head.

“You’re blind then. Have you ever noticed how she brushes her hair out of her E/C eyes or the way she blushes when she drinks red wine. Then there’s the way that she smiles whenever she tries to bend the truth. That’s why we never let her make up the lies. She definitely doesn’t think I notice all of those muggle songs she sings underneath her breath and how she tears up whenever we all hide in the Astronomy Tower and watch the sunset. Of course there’s that super cute way at parties when she dances just like she’s the only one in the room. She doesn’t think I see all those beautiful things, but I do.”

“Why don’t you tell her that? Doesn’t seem that hard. It’s not like it’s when you were first trying to ask her out. You’ve already been dating for 3 years,” George pointed out.

“But I already blew her off today and told her I had to help you.”

“You idiot, go find her. I’ll get Lee to help me. He doesn’t have a girlfriend and obviously isn’t doing anything.”

“You sure? I told you I’d help you today,” Fred reminded him.

“Dude. I had to come find you after you left me hanging for 15 minutes. Go get your girl.”

 Fred didn’t need anything else. He bolted from the room and out to find his girlfriend. Unfortunately, it was a nice spring day, so students were all over the castle, inside and outside. Fred checked the courtyard, the library, the Great Hall, near Hagrid’s hut, everywhere. Where the heck were they? Where was she?

 “Angelina! That’s horrible!”

 Fred’s head ripped around towards the sound of Y/N’s voice. Her laugh was so angelic as she giggled at whatever Angelina was doing. That’s when he saw her. Sitting beneath a tree near Black Lake with her two best friends. They had their books, but obviously weren’t studying. She was smart enough though, Fred thought, she didn’t really need to study.

“Fred?” Y/N questioned when she saw him.

He must’ve been standing and staring for a good minute before she noticed him and he started to move towards her.

“I thought you were busy with George today?” Y/N asked as Fred sat next to her.

“He decided he could handle it by himself. What’s going on here?”

As Angelina and Alicia filled Fred in on what they had been talking about, Fred pulled Y/N in next to him. He sat with the conversation and let the other two go on a tangent before whispering into Y/N’s ear.

“You know, babe. I don’t know why I forgot to mention to you, but at that party last night you were looking drop-dead.”

He saw a small flush of pink on her cheeks as she tried to seem still interested in the conversation.

Fred continued, “If I’m being honest, it wasn’t even a contest. You were the center of attention.”

“Don’t you think so too Y/N?” Alicia asked suddenly.

“What? Oh– oh yeah!” She had no idea what she was agreeing too.

“But you know, I’m such a jokester that if I had to say every time you looked amazing, you’d think I was joking.”

Alicia and Angelina both broke out laughing, so Y/N quickly joined in with a flush still across her cheeks at Fred’s words. Fred chuckled too, but not with Angelina and Alicia. He chuckled because Y/N was so cute.

The conversation picked up again and so did Fred’s whispers. “I brag about you when I’m not around you and you don’t even know it. Every time you catch  me staring at you, I was probably just gushing about you, love. Honest.”

Y/N had felt herself getting more antsy the entire time. What could she even say back to this right now!

Angelina stopped Alicia in the middle of her sentence. She then looked over at the cozy Fred and Y/N.

“You seem quite uninterested in our conversation.”

 “I’m sorry, Ang. I can pay attention.”

Angelina and Alicia looked at Y/N with knowing eyes. They knew how distracted Fred had been and how hurt Y/N had been by it.

“No, you two go spend some time together,” Alicia chuckled. “Ang and I are just enough company with each other. Go,” she pushed.

“Why thank you ladies!” Fred smirked as he stood up and offered his hand to Y/N so that she could stand up. Fred took her hand and pulled her away to a different end of Black Lake.

“Okay, sit here. I’m going to be right back!” Fred told her.

“What? You’re leaving me here? We just got away!” Y/N was surprised but still laughing. She always was when it came to Fred.

“Just trust me, okay?” Fred asked gently.

“Okay…But you better come back!”

“I will, love. I couldn’t just leave your beautiful self here!” He leaned down to kiss her lips before walking away.

Fred rushed up to the castle and in through the doors of the Great Hall. He was on a mission for something spontaneous.

He made his way to the entrance of the kitchens and tickled the pear that opened the portrait.

“Hello Hogwarts elves! It’s your favorite Weasley!”

All of the little house elves rushed forward.

“Hello! Master Weasley! How can we help you! Can we get some food for you? What would you like?” The questions were being flown at him and the food was already being prepared.

“I could use some food, but not the usual for Georgie and I! I need a picnic basket and a romantic meal. I’m doing something romantic for my girlfriend and need the best!”

The elves all gave a little squeal of excitement and starting chattering. Dobby walked up to Fred and started speaking in his high voice.

“Mister Fred is a very sweet boyfriend for Miss Y/N. She’s a very nice girl Dobby thinks.”

“Thank you Dobby! She’s the best girl!” the red head grinned, throwing a wink at the elf.

“Here you go, Mister Weasley!” another elf piped up, handing a basket to Fred.

“Thank you very much, tiny elves! As always, it is much appreciated!” Fred waved as he rushed back to the portrait.

Emerging back onto the grounds, Fred looked to the spot where he left Y/N. She sat there, obviously in a day dream. She was sprawled out on the grass, looking at the sky and playing with a flower in her hand.

But, Fred’s footsteps must’ve made some noise because she sat up on her elbows as he made his way over to her.

“I was starting to think you’d left me out here to go help George or something,” she laughed.

He knew she was joking, but her words did feel like a stab for a moment. He forgot that she was feeling unattended to at the moment.

“I could never just leave you hanging like that. And I come bearing gifts!” He was pushing through. He was making this all up to her.

“Whatcha got there stud?” she giggled.

“I brought food. In a picnic basket!” 

“All of this for me?” she threw up her hands in the air as Fred sat down next to her and pulled him close to peck his lips. “How sweet of you!”

“What can I say, the house elves really out did themselves this time! It’s a surprise opening!”

“They really love you down there,” Y/N chuckled as she opened the basket to pull out plates and forks. “They put everything in here!”

“You should have seen them when I told them it was for you. They got all excited and went right to work,” Fred laughed loudly as he pulled out and started to serve food. “I even watched one of my favorite elves put some red wine in there.”

The house elves really out did themselves this time. They put in a tart for dessert. The main meal was a pot pie with broccoli, rolls, and fruit. 

“I’m so full that I could burst!” Y/N stretched out and laid on the grass. “Ohhh! Freddie! Look at the stars! They’re so beautiful!”

Fred smiled widely as he looked over at her before laying down beside her.

“I think I can find something more beautiful,” Fred egged.

Y/N turned to him, a grin large on her face. Her E/C eyes sparkled in the moonlight and Fred was so glad that George convinced him to play hooky today.

“You’re more beautiful than any stars,” Fred said softly.

“Oh shush. There are millions of stars up there and they’ve been burning for years!” Y/N explained.

“I don’t think I will ever understand why you know so much muggle science.”

“It’s interesting! That’s why!” Y/N playfully hit him as she turned on her side.

 “Do you want any more wine, love?” Fred sat up, getting the bottle.

“Yes please! That house elf threw in my favorite,” Y/N smiled, handing him her glass. She really couldn’t stop smiling.

Fred poured a proper amount into the glass. Finally, he was doing what his mother had been teaching him all these years. 

“Y/N/N?” 

“Yes, Freddie?” Y/N giggled, taking a sip. He watched as her cheeks turned slightly pinker while she sipped.

“I’m sorry that I’ve not given you the proper attention for the last few months.”

“It’s okay. I overreacted. You are doing so well and I am so proud of you! You know that right, so proud. I still love all of this though,” she giggled as she motioned over to the leftovers of the picnic.

“You’re blushing,” Fred said softly. He didn’t mean to change the subject. He just couldn’t stop thinking about all those little things. 

“Merlin! It’s this wine. It always does this to me!”

“Each time your H/C hair gets in your E/C eyes, you push it away in this very specific way. You blush every time you drink red wine, you blush. It doesn’t happen with white wine, just red wine. I’ve realized after all these years that you always smile when you try to bend the truth, so you never are the one who can cover for us during a prank. It doesn’t even matter if you were the mastermind. I’ve also noticed all the songs you sing underneath your breath and the fact that you still tear up at the sunset over Black Lake.”

“Freddie? Why are you saying all these things?” 

“Wait, wait. My favorite is definitely how you always dance like you’re the only one in the room. We could have been studying, but if your favorite song comes on, you’re always up dancing. It doesn’t matter who else is there. It’s just you in your own little world. It’s perfect.”

Fred watched as Y/N’s eyes began to water, but she was still smiling and doing that lip biting thing that drove him crazy.

“I see all those things and I keep on falling for you every night, over and over again. It’s all my fault that I don’t remind you every day of your life. You’re perfect to me.”

“I love you, Fred.”

“I love you so, so much, Y/N. So much.” Fred felt the need to whisper so that his words were only for her.

 Fred sat there, feeling content, Y/N’s hand in his own.

“I’m really happy right now,” Y/N said, breaking the silence.

“Let’s do something crazy,” Fred said suddenly. 

“Crazy?”

“Out of this world. No one would see it coming, but it’s just right.”

“What are you talking about Fred? You’re talking nonsense,” Y/N laughed, sitting up to look at the boy straight on.

“We’re almost done at Hogwarts.”

“Yes? Good observation there!”

“We should get married,” Fred said bluntly.

“Married?! Fred, we’re so young. We haven’t even graduated yet!” Y/N blurted.

“We will be soon. George and I’s business is doing well. We have enough money to start a shop, I can get you a ring! We’ll do everything right!”

“That’s crazy!” Y/N couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking.

“That’s the point! It’s spontaneous. It’s what our whole relationship has been! It’s perfect!” Fred argued.

They weren’t fighting, but they weren’t having a calm conversation. Fred’s heart was pounding and Y/N’s head was spinning.

“Think about it. I could get you a ring. We can tell everyone over Easter Break. You’re still coming to my house for Easter Break right?”

“Fred. Slow down. Do you hear yourself? What would our parents say?”

“My mother would expect something like this of me. Plus, she loves you. Always says you are the best thing that could happen to me,” Fred shrugged. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“Of course you do, you’re the crazy one that is suggesting this. Do I have to remind you? We are seventeen?”

“I do know that. Look at you being the smart one. We are seventeen, which means we’re of age and old enough to apparate, so in my opinion, that means we’re old enough to get married! We’re adults,” Fred didn’t even stop to think.

As crazy as this was, Fred knew that it was what he wanted. It’s what he’s wanted for a long time even if he didn’t know it until he said it.

 “Obviously if you don’t want to do it, but I will still be buying a ring. I do have the money for it.”

 Fred watched Y/N’s thinking face form. Her brow creased, her lips were puckered, and her nose was scrunched. It was precious. It only appeared when she was making important decisions. Her studying face was different.

“Okay,” Y/N said finally.

“What?’ Fred wasn’t sure if he heard his ears correctly.

“I said okay. Let’s do it. Let’s be crazy. We already are pretty crazy, but let’s top every other bit of crazy.”

“Really?” Fred still wasn’t sure. She didn’t normally go along with his wilder ideas.

“Do you want me to change my mind?” Y/N chuckled.

“No! Not at all. We’re getting married. We’re getting…married.” Fred was repeating.

 “You still have to ask me when you get a ring though.”

“Of course I will! I would propose to you a million times.” Fred jumped up to one knee.

“You don’t need to propose now, love. Let’s wait until you have that ring you keep talking about,” she winked.

“I love you,” Fred breathed out.

“I love you too, Freddie. We’re going to be crazy together!” Y/N squealed.

Fred couldn’t stop smiling. He picked Y/N up off the grass and brought her into his arms.

“You’re a goon, you know that?” Y/N whispered.

“I’m your goon though!” He laughed as he placed his lips on her. It was pure bliss.

“We’re getting married,” Y/N spoke when she pulled away. 

“We’re getting married.” Fred agreed.

“One condition. Don’t tell anyone until we get truly engaged. Not even George. Can you do that?”

“It’s our secret!” Fred crossed his heart to show his promise.

_______________________________________________________________________

 Three months had passed and Fred was packing his bags for the Burrow. All the Weasleys were going to be there in addition to Harry and Hermione, and of course, Y/N.

 He had ordered Y/N’s ring through owl service a month earlier. He was all secret about getting the catalogue and ordering it. He wanted it to be a surprise. She only wore it sometimes because they hadn’t told too many people. They wanted the families to know first.

George did know however. Fred spilled it nearly 3 days after the couple had decided. When Fred broke the news to Y/N that George knew, George had already made enough hints that Y/N knew that George knew. She figured he would be the first to find out.

“Hey love, you almost ready?” Y/N bounded into the boys’ room without knocking. It had become a habit of hers. She was not afraid of seeing anything.

“I am. Just a few more things for the week.”

“Go get them and I’ll finish with your bag!” Y/N moved over to the bed and picked up Fred’s clothes to place in the bag.

“That’s a shiny rock you got there,” Fred smirked when he caught a look at her finger.

 “Isn’t it pretty?” Y/N beamed. She was so excited about this even though she was so unsure when he had first asked.

“I think your fiancé has pretty good taste if I do say so myself…”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the comment before responding with a sarcastic one of her own. “I think so, but I’m not sure if he picked it out or if his brother did,” she winked.

Fred was soon packed and the group piled as many people as possible into a train car. Y/N put her ring away again, but it was nearby for their arrival. 

When the whole crew arrived at the Burrow, everyone rushed inside. Mrs. Weasley was so excited to have everyone home. She hated having the empty house. Even Charlie and Bill made their way there. Percy didn’t, but that was something the family didn’t talk about.

Y/N and Fred stood outside the door. Fred took Y/N’s hand into his own and squeezed it lightly. “Are you ready for this, love?” 

“I’m more excited to be your wife eventually, but telling the family is a close second.” Y/N took her hand back from Fred’s for just a moment to pull the engagement ring out of her pocket and slip it onto her finger. Fred took her left hand back the moment she was done.

“What is taking you two so long?” Ron called, coming up to the door. “Mum refuses to serve dinner until everyone is at the table and I’m starving!”

“Ready?” Fred asked.

“As I’ll ever be!” Y/N beamed.

The moment they walked in the door, Mrs. Weasley was on the couple.

“Ohhh! Y/N! I’m so happy you’re here! You do not visit us enough!” Mrs. Weasley wrapped the girl in a big hug.

 “It’s not like I’m your son and am coming home for the first time in months too.” Fred rolled his eyes.

“Of course I’m happy to see you too, Fred, but you keep this girl too far from us. We must see her more often.”

“Mum, you have other guests too, not just Y/N.”

“Oh, pish posh. Now, come in your two! Dinner is ready.”

Fred pulled out the chair for Y/N so she could sit next to him. He was truly surprised that no one had noticed the ring yet.

“Now, everyone fill me in on the last few months,” Mr. Weasley stated as everyone began putting food on their plates.

“School is boring. Umbridge is a toad. Nothing totally new.” Ron droned as Harry nodded in agreement.

“Oi, I think Fred and Y/N should go next,” George piped up when Ginny opened her mouth to speak. She immediately shut it.

“What has been new with the two of you?” Mrs. Weasley asked, extremely interested. She was finally sitting down with the rest of them.

“Well, we sort of have an announcement,” Y/N started, glaring at George for bringing it up already. “Fred? Do you want to finish?” Y/N pleaded. She had no idea what she wanted to say and Fred could tell. He didn’t quite know what he was going to say, but he would figure it out.

“We do. Thank you Georgie for that grand introduction. If everyone would just let me finish and not interrupt, this will go smoothly.”

Fred looked around to make sure that everyone nodded in agreement. 

“A few months ago, we decided to do something crazy. It was my idea, the craziest ones usually are, but I decided to marry Y/N and she concurred!”

Y/N bashfully smiled as she lifted her left hand to show off the ring. There were quiet gasps mixed in with the overwhelming silence. Y/N broke the silence effectively.

“We know we’re young. At least I know we’re young,” she giggled, “but, we don’t have to get married now or anytime soon–”

“Hopefully sooner than later,” Fred interrupted. 

“Frrred,” Y/N emphasized, “just thought this was a good idea and I’m apparently crazy enough to happily go along with it!”

“It’s a great idea!” Fred broke in. “What does everyone think?” he asked.

“You mean that you two are engaged?” Ron’s mouth was hung open.

 “You’ve been engaged for over a month?” Charlie followed.

 “How didn’t we know?!” Ginny squealed. At least she was smiling.

“You’re still in school though. Where will you live?” Hermione piped up. She seemed concerned.

“You mean…” Mrs. Weasley began. She was silent for a moment before she continued. Fred felt Y/N grab his hand quickly. She squeezed so hard that he knew she was nervous.

“Mum? Could you finish that thought?” Fred asked.

“Oh, sorry! You mean that Y/N is going to be my daughter? Oh! This is so fantastic!” she yelled. The blur that was Molly Weasley was out of her seat and descending on the couple quicker than anyone else could move.

“It’s good to see who Mum’s favorite child is, even though she didn’t even give birth to Y/N,” George mumbled. Everyone laughed and followed Molly in congratulating the couple.

Easter Break was going to be a great one. Fred could now tell the world he was engaged to the most perfect girl in the world. He got excited when Arthur pulled out the red wine. He’d just to see that cute way that Y/N blushed when she drank it. He noticed it. And now that they were going to get married, he would get to notice even more little things about her.

Looking around at his family and the girl he loved, this moment would be ingrained in his mind forever. It was perfect. He glanced over at her hugging each person in the room and caught her eye. When she smiled, her E/C eyes twinkled. Fred melted inside. That was one more thing to add to the list of the little things about her. Her in all her perfection.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 11: You Don’t Come Around No More]

A/N: I apologize profusely for the long wait. Thank you all so, so, so much for your support. Every single reblog, message, comment, emotional rant, and/or screech of despair makes my day, and I couldn’t do this without you. 💜 Only THREE more chapters left!!!

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “More To Life Than Baseball” by Petey. 

Chapter Warnings: Language, angsttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

Word Count: 7.5k. 

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​​​​ @bramblesforbreakfast​​​​​​​ @maggieroseevans​​​​​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​​​​​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​​​​​ @escabell​​​​​ @im-an-adult-ish​​​​​​ @queenlover05​​​​​ @someforeigntragedy​​​​​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​​​​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​​​​ @deacyblues​​​​​ ​ @tensecondvacation​​​​ @brianssixpence​​​​​ @some-major-ishues​​​​ @haileymorelikestupid​​​​ @youngpastafanmug​​​​ @simonedk​

The Rain

I wish I felt empty.

I’m supposed to feel empty, right? I’m supposed to feel steeped in grey, oceanic misery; I’m supposed to dip in and out of depressive naps all day and sob delicately over creased photos and fading, wistful memories. I always envisioned heartbreak as a soft and inherently feminine sort of affliction: the hems of nightgowns and bathrobes sweeping along hardwood floors, Kleenex boxes and concave couch cushions, weepy phone calls to friends and aunts and mothers, Queen Victoria wearing black for the rest of her life after Prince Albert’s death, Mary Todd Lincoln sinking into dark and hushed obscurity. Women, hollowed out by despair, cross the history of the earth like lines of latitude.

I don’t feel empty at all. I don’t even feel sad. I feel razored by sharp, red, ceaseless anxiety. I am consumed by thoughts of what I did wrong, what I said that started the wheels of doubt spinning in his mind, if he had known how it would end from the start. I dream of white, clawed hands dragging me down through cold waves. I hear words scream to me as I toss at night in my suddenly too-spacious bed, words that now hit me like knuckles to the gut: Shhh, hey, it’s just me, don’t get up, as Joe slipped beneath the Arizonan blankets, wrapped an arm around my waist, kissed my collarbone as I tumbled back into sleep; I love you to death, as his Subaru idled in Charlie’s driveway; Baby Swan, listen to me, nothing is supposed to hurt, okay, so if anything hurts, ever, at all, you tell me and we stop, deal? as we stood in the doorway of our hotel room at the Four Seasons in Chicago. And now...and now...

And now everything fucking hurts.

It doesn’t make any sense; and yet it does. Look at him. Look at me.

The Polaroid photo from Homecoming was still taped to the top of my full-length mirror. I peeled it free like a layer of translucent, friable reptilian skin, tore it straight down the center, burned both halves over a brand new three-wicked, lemon-scented Bath And Body Works candle—a gift from Renee and Paul—and closed my eyes like a child casting a wish over her birthday cake like a spell. I wished for my memories to vanish with the photograph. I wished to get hit by a truck and wake up in the hospital with no recollection of the past two and a half months. I wanted the Lees to dissolve into distant, enigmatic mystery; I wanted to join the rest of Forks in believing that they were nothing more than bewildering and yet harmless freaks, barely worth noticing, one of those glitches of the matrix that were better off ignored like liminal seconds of déjà vu. I wished to carve out every part of myself that they had ever touched.

And Joe’s voice came rushing back from where we stood by that star-lit fountain outside the Church of Saint Lawrence, accompanied by falling raindrops and a crooked grin: I can make wishes come true.

The three tiny flames flickered in the breeze that sighed through my open window. The bright, citrusy scent of the candle reminded me of Lucy. I couldn’t fucking win. What else is new?

I turned back to the mirror. I flinched when my gaze snagged on my reflection: bloodshot-eyed, swollen-faced, utterly unbeautiful, restless like a caged animal. Look at him. Look at me.

I ripped the last memento off the mirror—Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!!—and watched the yellow square of paper catch fire, curl up around the edges, become unrecognizable, turn to ash. And I wished over and over again, like a poem, like a prayer: Let me forget, oh god please let me forget.

Charlie keeps asking if I’m okay. The answer, of course, is no; but I can’t tell him that. So I wear a serene smile like clip-on fangs, a cheap polyester cloak, crimson smudges of lipstick like trails of spilled blood down the side of my neck. Every day is Halloween for me now. I dress up as someone who isn’t haunted, who hasn’t become a ghost.

And when Charlie turns up the World Series or I’d Do Anything For Love on his geriatric, staticky kitchen radio—the same radio he’s had since my mother was the one joining him for daybreak coffee and Pop-Tarts—I choke back tears like dragonfire.

Missing In Action (Revisited)

Joe wasn’t here. Neither was Ben.

Lucy, Rami, and Scarlett were sipping cups of tea at the Lees’ usual table, their eyes downcast, their voices low and murmuring, their pristine lunches neglected. Lucy and Rami were dressed in matching charcoal grey turtleneck sweaters; Scarlett had come from Fencing Club and was wearing royal purple yoga pants and a black tank top, her duffle bag of gear on the floor by her sneakered feet. Her hair was in a long fishtail braid. Archer hadn’t mentioned her since Joe broke up with me. That either meant that it was going blissfully and he didn’t want to injure me further, or that Scarlett had ended things as well.

Since Joe broke up with me. That sounds so fucking pedestrian.

I stared at the three present Lees, almost leered, commanding them to see me, to acknowledge me, to admit that I had once meant something to them, that this hadn’t all been some transitory delusion to fill the cavernous void of losing my home, my life as I knew it in Arizona. They took no notice whatsoever.

Jess kicked me beneath the lunch table. My attention snapped back to her.

“Sorry, what?”

“You want to go shopping with me and Angela tonight?” Jessica’s hands were folded just beneath her chin, her voice gentle, her eyes large and sympathetic and watery. This was her version of being supportive. I appreciated it...in a perpetually tormented and preoccupied sort of way.

“No thanks.” I forked my cold, sauceless spaghetti listlessly. I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I didn’t have an appetite anyway. I had deleted the GrubHub app from my iPhone and had no intention of using it ever again in my comparatively short and calamitous human life.

“You could come to temple this weekend,” Jessica pressed.

“Uh.” Mingling with a churchful of sociable, wholesome, marriage-obsessed adolescent Mormons sounded like the absolute last thing I’d want to spend my evening doing. “That’s a really generous offer, but I’ll pass.”

“Well you have to do something,” Angela said. “You can’t just sit in your bedroom alone all weekend and stare at the wall and wallow in self-pity.”

We’ll see about that. I turned to Jess. “How’s Vodka Boy from your Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class? Did he ever reappear? What’s his name again, Elmo? Ellington? El Chapo?”

“Ellsworth.” She frowned as she slurped her patron-drink-of-Mormons Sprite. “And no, he definitely failed out or overdosed or something, because he never came back.”

“Tragic,” I noted.

“But I’m pretty sure Mike’s coming over this weekend, so we’ll see if I can get some Netflix and chill action going.”

“Jess,” Angela chastised, widening her eyes and nodding to me subtly (but not quite subtly enough). No talking about getting lucky in front of the heartbroken single loser, that look said.

“I think I can be emotionally supportive without taking a goddamn vow of chastity, Angela!” Jessica hurled back.

“I gotta go.” I stood, threw on my backpack, discarded my nearly untouched lunch.

“You’ve barely eaten anything!” Angela protested. “You’ve barely eaten for a week!”

“I’ll live.” I picked my umbrella up off the slippery tile floor—peppered with muddy shoeprints and pearlescent drops of water fallen from coats and limp, sopping locks of hair—and headed out into the pouring rain. I hated the rain. I hated it. Maybe I had forgotten that for a while, but it all came hurtling back now like a hurricane, like a hand cracking across my face. I ached for the desert, for blatant and unapologetic heat, for palm trees and cacti and naked stars in the night sky. I had been researching marine biology graduate programs in the Southwest. There were good ones at UC San Diego, UC Santa Barbara, Texas A&M, the University of Southern California, UCLA. I would miss Charlie and Archer—and maybe Jessica and Angela on occasion—and absolutely nothing else about Forks. At least, that’s what I promised myself.

This is a no-giving-a-fuck-about-Lee-boys zone, I thought morosely.

Ben was brooding at our table in Professor Belvin’s classroom. It was the first time he’d shown up to Chemistry since that day Joe met me on the beach at La Push, since the place I’d once occupied in his universe had closed like a wound. I took my seat beside Ben. The window was shut today, the downpour outside torrential. Ben recoiled, just enough for me to notice; he was wearing his oversized black hoodie and practicing his Welsh, his handwriting messy and unbalanced.

“You could have warned me,” I said.

Ben didn’t glance up from his notebook. “Would that have made it any easier?”

“No,” I realized in defeat. I guess it wouldn’t have. I pulled my own notebook, my favorite pen, and a can of Diet Coke out of my backpack.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ben said. “You really need to know that. It had nothing to do with you. And none of us are happy with the current situation. None of us.”

None of them. That included Joe. “Interestingly, that didn’t stop him from creating it.”

Ben was thoughtful, debating his next words. “We’re probably going to be moving soon.”

“What?” I startled; my turquoise blue pen dropped out of my grasp and rolled across the table. Ben snatched it up and returned it to me. “Really?”    

“Yeah.”

“And what, just redo this whole college thing?”

Ben shrugged. “We’ll probably start our junior years over again. Gwil will say there was some horrible family tragedy and we needed a few semesters off. I could use the extra time to figure out Calc anyway. Parametric equations make me want to kill myself.”

I just stared at him. It didn’t make any sense. “But...why would the whole family leave Forks? Because of me? One pathetic, aggrieved human? Do you all pack up and relocate every time Joe fucks and dumps someone? That must be exhausting.”

“It’s better for everyone if we get some distance. Put more space between our world and yours.”

“But...” I tried to imagine never seeing any of them again: no Mercy humming merrily as she tossed handfuls of homegrown carrots to the alpacas, no Dr. Lee dabbing away my blood with an ageless sort of patience, no Scarlett or Lucy or Rami, no brief glimpses of Joe as he avoided me in the campus library. It’s exactly what I wanted; and yet it wasn’t. It so, so, so, so wasn’t. It keeps getting worse. How is that possible? My voice was flimsy and quivering, absolutely pitiful. Disgustingly pitiful. “Who will be my lab partner?”

Ben peered over at me with wide, confused green eyes. And then—gingerly, awkwardly, like holding an acquaintance’s baby for the first time—he laid his hand over mine. “I’ll miss you too.”

Professor Belvin lectured about coordinate covalent bonds. I didn’t absorb a word. I conjugated Italian verbs with my turquoise blue pen, sketched disordered whirlpools of ink, tried not to think about whether this was my last-ever Chemistry class with Ben, whether it was my last-ever weekend sharing Forks with the Lees. Those rageful, frantic thoughts were back. What did I do wrong? What didn’t I do right? Why did he have to leave?

My nomadic gaze caught on a flier on the wall next to our misted window. I had assumed it was a leaflet for some club or protest or seasonal dance that I would definitely not attend, but it wasn’t. It was a missing poster.

Have you seen this student? the flier asked in bold, businesslike black font. It was urgent, but not quite despairing; not yet, anyway. I could hear a Dean of Student Affairs cajoling some affluent, strings-of-pearls-adorned mother over the phone: Yes ma’am, you have my full attention and I can assure you that we’re very concerned, but I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding...he’s probably gone backpacking or sailing with some friends and forgotten to call home. You know how college students can be. Beneath a large photo of a grinning blond kid—pink polo, flushed cheeks, clever crop job to nix a can of Natty Light clutched in one fist—was a name: Ellsworth Jonathan Griffin.

Ellsworth, I thought, my stomach plummeting. The guy from Jessica’s Indigenous Peoples of the Arctic class. He hadn’t failed out. He was missing. Missing like a 20/20 episode or a true crime podcast, missing like the pregnant stillness before a murder is confessed in some glaringly florescent-lit interrogation room, before a distended and bloodless corpse washes up on shore.

I turned to Ben. He noticed me eventually, crinkled his brow, shrugged in that way that seemed so petulant if you didn’t know him well enough to not be offended.

I pointed to the flier and raised my eyebrows. Ben twisted around in his chair to look. Then he sighed, scribbled a sentence in the corner of a piece of notebook paper, tore it free, and slid it across the table.

Ben’s note read, in atrocious penmanship: Are you seriously asking me if I ate that guy?

Maybe, I wrote back after a moment’s hesitation. Maybe that wasn’t exactly what I was asking; maybe I just wondered if he knew anything about it.

In either case, Ben’s reply was swift and resounding, and underlined three times: No.

Sorry, I wrote, abruptly remorseful. I am a jerk. And I added a frowny face for good measure. Ben chuckled when he saw it, shook his head, gave me a drawn little smirk. His words tiptoed around in my skull, leaving searing imprints like footprints in the sand. I’ll miss you too.

I have to forget about them. I drummed my turquoise blue pen against my notebook as Professor Belvin drew families of molecules on the whiteboard with squealing dry erase markers. I have to find a way to make myself forget.

Jessica was waiting for me in the hallway after class. It was part of her convince-Baby-Swan-not-to-jump-off-a-cliff initiative. “Hey.”

“Okay,” I told her with steely resolve. “I’m ready for you to set me up with one of those guys from your church or temple or whatever. I’m ready to be a nice wholesome wife, pop out like six kids, learn how to scrapbook, give up caffeine and horror movies, do the whole white picket fence thing. Sign me up.”

Jessica blinked at me. There were flecks of fallen mascara on her cheekbones like ashes. “What?”

“You’re a Mormon, right?”

“Girl, I’m not a Mormon,” Jessica said, puzzled. “I’m a witch.”

Lucille

I found Joe where he usually was these days: sprawled on the sofa, engulfed in the same blue Snuggie he’d been wearing for thirty-six uninterrupted hours, gazing catatonically at the big-screen tv. A 90 Day Fiancé marathon was on. Some rodentish guy named Colt was apologizing to his gorgeous, aspiring-green-card-holding Brazilian love interest for calling the cops on her during their last screaming match. He was also apologizing for the fact that they lived in a two-bedroom apartment with his mother. I didn’t need clairvoyance to see where their future was headed.

“Hey,” Ben said when he spotted me. He was sitting next to Joe and occasionally tried to shove pieces of popcorn into his mouth, which Joe accepted passively like coins plinked into a gumball machine. Ben had been his shadow for the past week; he was perhaps the best equipped of us to understand this degree of melancholy, of hopelessness.  

“Ciao.” And then, to Joe: “How are you?”

“Terrible,” he replied, not tearing his eyes from the tv.

“I figured.” I squeezed between them on the couch, curled up next to Joe, rested my chin on his shoulder. He ignored me completely. I could hear Mercy tapping at her laptop keyboard out in the dining room; she was browsing through Zillow listings in Portland, Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Cleveland. Dear god, please don’t let us end up in fucking Cleveland. “Guess what.”

Joe stared at the tv for a long time before he answered. “What.”

“I had a vision of you. Just now, as I was doing laundry. Crystal clear and very scenic too, I might add.”

“Fascinating,” Joe said flatly.

“What happened in this vision?” Ben asked, far more invested, which I was thankful for.

“It was pretty far away, maybe a year from now. I saw you in the desert at night, under a full moon. There were cacti everywhere. The shadow of the Milky Way was threaded through the sky, and the stars were very bright. I could make out the constellations Pegasus and Cassiopeia. You were filling up a tiny glass bottle with dirt.”

“That’s remarkably helpful,” Joe said.

“It is, a little bit,” I insisted. “It means you get through this. That you have a future. I get nervous when I go too long without a vision of someone in the family. But now I know you’re going to be okay.”

The reflections of the feuding 90 Day Fiancé couples danced in his glassy eyes. “Being alive doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

“That’s dark,” Ben said. “Even I think that’s too dark.” He pushed a handful of popcorn into Joe’s mouth. “Are you gonna hunt at some point or what?”

“No.”

“You’re just gonna sit on this couch and waste away?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to bring you anything? Grizzly bear? Brown bear? Fuck it, I’ll get you a polar bear if that’s what you want. There’s probably some on the black market. Rami would know.”

“He what?” Mercy called from the kitchen. Her typing had stopped.

“Nothing, Mom!” I shot back.

“I don’t want anything,” Joe said. That was a lie, of course. We all knew what he wanted. Rami couldn’t stand to be around him; the thoughts were relentless, smothering.

I linked my arms around Joe’s neck, laid my head against his chest, sighed deeply and mournfully. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know that doesn’t fix anything. But I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll help however I can. We all will.”

And I had accepted that Joe wasn’t going to respond at all when he finally whispered: “I just wish I could forget.”

Cato

My rolling suitcase snagged on the cobblestone driveway. The tiny spinning wheels bashed against concrete as I scaled the front steps. As the taxi pulled away, I dug around in my suit pocket for my keys, found them, unlocked the enormous front door, stepped inside the palace as my suitcase trolled along the marble floor.

“Cato’s back!” Charity announced as she breezed down the nearest staircase, beaming and embracing me. She was a lovely, innately warm woman from Pointe-Noire, Congo; she still wore the silver cross necklace her mother had once given her around her neck. “Did you have a nice flight? Wait, let me check.” She pressed the fingertips of her right hand to my cheek. I felt the memories rush up like blood to a flushed face: the bite of sipped champagne against my tongue, the thin semi-transparent newspaper pages gliding between my fingers, the husky voice of the bearded, bearish naval officer who sat in the seat beside me, the misted silhouette of Vladivostok as it rose up out of the Pacific Ocean. “Uneventful, but pleasant enough. You flew commercial?”

“The jets were otherwise occupied, apparently.” Charity could see things with the predictability and precision that Lucy so often lacked, but only the past. I pushed her hand away. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re not mad,” Charity declared, confident, impish, helping me shed my suit jacket and draping it over her arm. “You’re never mad.”

She was very nearly correct. “Where are the rest of the kids?”

“In the kitchen. Go say hello, they’ve missed you dreadfully.”

“I know the feeling.” I kicked off my Berlutis, ran a palm over the wiry fur of the Irish Wolfhounds that appeared to greet me before they resumed padding watchfully around the palace, and went to the kitchen, my black socks slipping a bit on the marble floors.

I could hear their voices before I reached the door: laughter, teasing, complaints, requests. The scents of pancakes and cold butter and maple syrup were thick in the air. Charity was one of our four newest recruits, and they all still had that energetic lightness of being human, a youthful enthusiasm, a relative normalness. I spent quite a lot of time with them. It was my job—to help with the transition, to keep them happy, to facilitate the welding of their individual parts into the beastly machine that was the Draghi—but oftentimes it felt more like a reprieve. Some would stay close to me as they matured, others would grow in different directions, like ambitious vines climbing the skeleton of a garden trellis. I usually missed them when they ‘grew up,’ so to speak...although there were exceptions. I had never liked Liesl. I had always liked Ben. I opened the door.

“Ah, you are home!” Ksenia cried from where she stood over the stove, a spatula in her right hand, bouncing excitedly in place on her small bare feet.

“Hey!” Max and Austin called together. They were both sitting with their shoes propped up on the unglamorous kitchen table. There was a massive formal dining room that could accommodate up to twenty-five guests, but we rarely used it.

“Good morning,” I said, aware that I was smiling for the first time in days.

Max groaned as he scrolled through his Google search results on a burner phone. “What the fuck. My name is one of the top five dog names again. I think I’m gonna have to change it.”

I ruffled his long blond hair, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate. Max had grown up a trust fund kid in Perth, Australia. His mother was old money; his father was a professional surfer. “Your name is fine.”

“Really, Kato Kaelin? Is it really? How am I supposed to intimidate people when I have a fucking dog name?”

“So make them call you Maximilian,” offered Ksenia in a heavy Ukrainian accent. She’d only been with us for eight months, but her English was coming along swimmingly. She flipped a massive A-shaped pancake on the sizzling griddle. That one was for Austin.

“Seriously?” Max said. “That is just way too many syllables. They’ll be halfway down the block by the time I’m done introducing myself. ‘Hey, come back mate, I haven’t killed ya yet.’”

“At least you aren’t stuck with a basic-white-boy-circa-1992 name for all of eternity,” said Austin Tyler McInerny, originally of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. He was chomping on a multicolored Fruit Roll-Up, which swung from his mouth like a lizard’s tongue. He’d been working at an ailing skatepark when Larkin found him. He still enjoyed showing off his kickflips, and kept insisting that he was going to teach me how to ollie. I didn’t have the faintest idea what an ollie was.

“Do you want a pancake, Cato?” Ksenia asked, passing Austin his plate and wiping her hands on her pink apron. Her black hair was tied in a high ponytail with a matching rose-colored ribbon. She looked so young. She was so young, actually. Nineteen. And she would be forever.

“No, thank you dear. I’m alright.”

“I like Alaric,” Max decided. “First king of the Visigoths. Alaric is a name fit for a vampire. Creepy, yet dignified. Or maybe Silas. Or Draco.”

Austin shook his head as he swirled a river of viscous maple syrup over his A-shaped pancake. “Definitely not Draco.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the Harry Potter connection is unfortunate. People will hear Draco and think of that obnoxious white-haired kid from the evil snake-people house or whatever.”

“Oh, right,” Max sighed. “Like I said. Alaric would work.”

“So many A-shaped pancakes!” Ksenia poured a K on the griddle for herself.

“It’s good for you,” Austin replied, pointing at her with his fork. “We’re practicing English.”

“Alaric Luther,” Max mused, scrolling through his phone. I didn’t think he’d find that on any list of trendy dog names. “Alaric Lothaire...Alaric Lucian...”

“I like your name, Max,” Larkin said from the doorway. None of us had heard him arrive. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, wearing a deep maroon suit and a ring on every finger, grinning hugely. He was exactly as I remembered him: stunning, captivating, terrifying. The kitchen fell quiet. I could smell Ksenia’s pancake beginning to burn.

At last Max chuckled nervously, pushing soggy pancake hunks around on his plate with his fork, averting his gaze. “Guess I’ll keep it then.”

“I thought I heard you come in,” Larkin told me.

“It’s always a pleasure to be home.”

He nodded out towards the hallway. “Come. Regale me with the stories of your travels.” Then his eyes flicked down to my socks, and he grimaced—slightly, briefly—before turning away. “And find your shoes.”

I followed him through the hallway, the living room, the grand front foyer with the crystal chandelier, into the elevator. Larkin did not speak, but he hummed as we ascended: House Of The Rising Sun.

It hadn’t always been like this. It was difficult for me to pick out the details of what had changed—the tone of his voice, the proportion of wonder and gratitude I associated with him versus fear, the way this palace (or the one in Reykjavik, or Juneau, or Ivalo, or Murmansk, or any of the others) felt when I stepped inside it—but I knew something had. It had begun before Ben left. It was much worse now. Older vampires, in my fairly learned opinion, are something like the stars. They mellow as they age, temper their character flaws, grow wise and patient like Nikolai or Honora or Gwilym Lee; or they rage until they burn away every last atom of humanity, until they destroy themselves and take entire solar systems down with them. Increasingly, I harbored fears that Larkin was a vampire of the latter variety. And we were all his planets.

In his study, Larkin dropped into the chair behind his desk, brought a hand to his forehead, surveyed a disarrayed flurry of papers: letters, notices, deeds and titles, meticulously managed accounts of finances and disciplinary actions. Larkin had a laptop and burner phone, of course, as we all did; but he liked to work in paper as much as possible. That’s how he’d done things for centuries, since long before the name of the inventor of the internet (or harnessed electricity, for that matter) was a whisper on his parents’ lips. The sky outside was clouded and seeping soft rain.

“Things have been busy?” I ventured.

He frowned, gesturing to the cluttered desk. “I’m in purgatory.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that. Can I help?”

“The Lancaster coven says they’ll need an extension for their dues. That’s the second year in a row, now it’s not just an exception, it’s a precedent. If you let one coven bend the rules, others will follow. So something will have to be done. Then there’s Stockholm. Anders’ coven has eaten a few too many locals—including the mayor’s favorite niece—and now the city is launching an investigation. Fucking idiots. They’ll probably all have to relocate. There’s some new territory dispute in Lima between Alejandro’s coven and a group of strangers that just came out of the Andes. We’ll have to make their acquaintance, of course. And as if all that weren’t enough, Rigel accidentally fed on a heroin addict and he’s currently detoxing in a cell in the basement. Would you check on him for me? I’m sure your presence will be a...” He waved his hand distractedly, almost dismissively, searching for the words. “A comfort to him.”

“Of course.”

“How are the Lees?”

“Fine. Typical. Gwil’s putting in a lot of hours at the hospital. Rami’s planning to get another law degree. Ben is, uh, adjusting. Slowly, very slowly. He’s not particularly content. But he hasn’t murdered anyone that I’m aware of.”

“How nice.” Now his eyes darted up to catch mine: focused, luminous, unreadable. “Nothing new at all?”

And instantly, I wanted to tell him everything. I forgot why I had ever planned to blunt the girl’s existence, to conceal her talent entirely; I felt her name rising in my throat. And then I remembered again. I’m doing this for Gwil, for Ben.

I pretended to ponder Larkin’s question, as if it was so difficult to remember, as if there was nothing left to sift through but a trunkful of mundane details from the trip like a grandfather’s tattered correspondence and tarnished war relics. That was something an average family might have squirreled away in their attic, I assumed; I’d never met my own grandfather, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have had anything to leave me if I had. “Joe’s got some new girlfriend, but I don’t think it’s serious. I doubt she’ll be around long. You know how Joe is. Scarlett’s seeing someone too, actually. A Quileute kid.”

“Poor boy.” And Larkin grinned like a shark beneath burning eyes. “He’s in for a lifetime of disappointment. Who will ever be able to hold a candle to those memories?”

Larkin had a moderate preoccupation with Scarlett’s beauty, her...tenacity. Her lack of talent was a great disappointment to him, a somehow more egregious fault than Joe or Gwil or Mercy’s. What a shame, Larkin often said. And I believed I knew what came after in his mind, although never aloud: What a partner she could have been.

He was still grinning at me. His expression was hollow, vacuous. A shiver clawed down my spine. He was waiting for something. No, he was searching. I stared back, and I willed for that intangible, contagious harmony I carried around like a wedding ring to hit him like carbon monoxide or bromine: undetected and yet inexorable, knocking him off his path of inquisition.

What does he suspect? What does he already know?

“Anyway,” Larkin continued abruptly, turning his attention back to his paperwork. “I’m glad there’s nothing to worry about in Forks. Liesl will be back in the next few days, Rigel will be ready to work again, I’ll come up with a plan to handle all this and my mood will improve tremendously.”

And where has Liesl been? I almost asked; and then I didn’t. It was a good sign that she was coming home. I had looked for her once while I was in Forks. When I made up my mind to find someone—when that switch flipped in my skull or in the tangle of nerves of my solar plexus or wherever it lived—it wasn’t like poking around on Google Earth: zooming in here, scrolling over there. A goldish trail lit up on the floor, a ‘Yellow Brick Road’ Honora and I sometimes joked, and I followed it. And I had no way of knowing how far that trail might lead. A route heading dead east from the palace might stop in the next town over or continue across the Pacific Ocean; my search might last one day or a hundred. In Forks—as I perched in a soaring western hemlock tree in the forest outside the Lee residence on a cool October evening—Liesl’s trail had led north. North to Vancouver, to Victoria, to Dawson, to Alaska? Who the fuck knew. I was just relieved it hadn’t led to the tree next to mine.

“Well, as always, I’m happy to assist however I can,” I told Larkin. “Just let me know and I’ll be on the next flight out of Vladivostok.”

“I appreciate that, Cato.” He smiled, paternally this time. And then he spun his chair around to peer out the window into the episodic flares of lightning that illuminated great dark clouds like neurons in a celestial brain. I hate thunderstorms. They remind me of South Carolina. “But I think you’ve earned a rest.”

After checking in on Rigel—irritable, frenetic, pacing, and yet predictably pacified somewhat by my visit—I trotted up the main staircase to the second floor of the palace. I found her in our bedroom: sitting at her easel, a paintbrush held in one graceful hand, an image like a photograph on the canvas. I promptly pried off my Berlutis for the second time today and tossed them into the closet.

“Ciao, amore,” I said.

“Ciao!” Honora replied, beaming. Her curly brunette hair was pinned up and away from her face; wayward tendrils spiraled down to brush her bare shoulder blades, the back of her neck. “Just give me five minutes...I have to finish the shadow of this tree...”

There weren’t many in the Draghi who survived the transition from Nikolai’s leadership to Larkin’s, but Honora had. She was gentle to a fault, a hopeless warrior, turned into an immortal on her forty-fourth birthday when Rome was still an empire; and she was without any talents whatsoever, except for one which was useless in combat. Her paintings, drawings, and sculptures adorned every palace the Draghi owned. Each year, Larkin would ask her to paint all of us together, incorporating any new faces, erasing the memories of those who had proven themselves unworthy. One such portrait, I knew, hung in Gwilym Lee’s home office.

I went to the woman I called my wife, laid my palms on her shoulders, leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Take your time, love.”

“Everything’s alright?” Honora asked, looking hopefully up at me with large, wide-set jade eyes. No, not just hopefully. Trustingly.

“Everything’s alright,” I agreed, not knowing if I believed it.

Shadows And Spells

“He just...just...disappeared?!” Jessica sputtered, scandalized, gaping at me as she held a Styrofoam cup of spiked apple cider in her clasped hands.

We were on a quilt near the outskirts of the sea of beach towels and blankets that circled the bonfire. Women—wearing flowing dresses or robes or tunics or not very much at all—flounced around the flames banging tambourines and reciting chants that I didn’t know the words to. Some carried torches, beacons of heat and light in the darkness. Jessica was wearing a short black shirt, fishnet tights, and a black crop-top turtleneck sweater; I had opted for a bohemian blue dress patterned with stars, an old thrift shop find and the closest thing I owned to Wiccan festivities apparel. I had a cup of hot apple cider as well, enhanced with a generous splash of Captain Morgan, but hadn’t quite conjured up the rebelliousness to drink it yet.

I suddenly recalled Mercy bringing me an endless supply of virgin autumnal sangrias as Joe and I swam in the hot tub on the Lees’ back porch. As soon as you turn twenty-one, you can have the real thing. I frowned, shuddered, took a bitter and burning sip.

“Yeah,” I replied. “He told his roommate he was going to a frat party or something and never showed up and never made it back home either. The parents are blaming the university, the university is insisting he must be off with a girlfriend or on some hipster soul-searching nature adventure or whatever, it’s a mess.”

“Jesus,” she murmured. “What does your dad say?”

“He’s been helping the state police with the investigation. There’s really no evidence of anything. No witnesses, no footprints, no surveillance footage, no handy anonymous tips...”

“No body,” Jessica finished.

“That’s morbid.” I downed the rest of my cider. Was the world already beginning to list like a ship on choppy waves, or was that just my imagination? I guess it would be possible. I’d barely eaten all day.

“You were thinking it.”

“Well, one’s mind does tend to wander towards homicide under such circumstances.”

“It is the season of the dead.” She grinned wickedly, then took my empty cup. “He’s probably fine. I bet he wants to drop out to become a weed farmer and hasn’t worked up the guts to tell his parents yet. You want another?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” Jess rose to balance on black boots with five-inch heels and staggered off to the foldable table piled high with cans and bottles and snacks. I was getting the impression that her Wiccanism was more of a novelty than a spiritual commitment.

The season of the dead. Now that’s VERY morbid.

There were some guys laughing, smoking home-rolled cigarettes, and toasting glasses of red wine on a nearby mandala blanket, bespectacled intellectual types who were probably getting PhDs in Anthropology or Medieval Studies at the University of Washington. One of them—curly-haired, pale-eyed, wearing a sweater vest and a cautious smile—raised his wine glass in my direction. I waved back without much enthusiasm.

“He’s cute, right?” Jessica asked, plopping back down onto our quilt and shoving a full cup of spiked cider into my grasp. She motioned for me to drink. I did. “That’s Sebastian, but he likes to be called Bash. He’s twenty-three and speaks fluent German.”

“Charming.”

“He’s very...uh...gifted. I’m not saying I know from personal experience, but I’ve heard it from a very reliable source. And his parents own a beach house in Monterey. You could go skinny-dipping.”  

“In the ocean?” The world was definitely wobbling now. I was warm all over, numbed, fuzzy; it was becoming difficult to picture Joe’s face, to hear his voice. This was good. I kept drinking. “No thanks. Too many sharks. They have great whites down there.”

Jess tossed her long, loose hair and sighed impatiently. “I’m just saying that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. So you should pursue that.”

“I’ll totally consider it.” I lied. I would not consider it.

She smiled, sympathetically, fondly. “I can’t believe you thought I was a Mormon.”

“I can’t believe I’m out in the Washington wilderness commemorating the Gaelic festival of Samhain, but here we all are.”

Jess glanced over my shoulder. “Oh my god. He’s coming over here.”

“Ugh.” I craned my neck to see. Sebastian—whoops, my mistake, Bash—was approaching. “Please distract him. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Also I’m pretty sure I’m getting drunk and I don’t want to do anything humiliating, like sob uncontrollably about how much I miss my ex-boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry. I gotchu, Baby Swan.”

“Hey Jess,” Bash said, but he was looking at me. He pitched his cigarette off into the trees. What the fuck, who does that?

“Only you can prevent forest fires,” I told him in a woozy, mock-Smokey Bear voice.

“What?” he asked, baffled.

“Ignore her, she’s drunk,” Jess said quickly. “So what’s up? Come on, sit with me. Keep me toasty. Teach me some German...”

As they chatted and giggled and snuggled closer together—I’m starting to think that Jessica might have been her own reliable source—I studied the forest, watching to make sure the cigarette didn’t begin to smolder in the damp brush. The voices and crackling of the bonfire and sharp ringing of the tambourines faded into one muted, uniform drone. The trees reeled in the haze of the spiked cider; the cool wind moaned through them. And then, for only a second: a glimpse of something impossibly quick, something silvery and reedy and sunless.

What was that?

I blinked. It was gone. I blinked again, staring penetratingly. The swarming heat from the cider evaporated from my skin, my blood. There were goosebumps rising all over me.

What the hell was that?

I remembered how Calawah University students sometimes reacted to Ben: flinching, withdrawing, autonomically fearing him on some primal, evolutionary level. They knew he was a predator. They knew they were prey. It was chillingly similar to what I was feeling now.

I have to get out of here. I have to go home.

I shot to my feet. Oh, wrong move, that was too quick. I swayed, and Jessica reached up to steady me. “Are you—?!”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I gotta go home now.”

“What?! We just got here! Look, chill out, let me get you some vegan samosas or something—”

“No, seriously, I have to go.”

“Okay, okay,” Jessica conceded. “I’ll finish my drink and we’ll call an Uber, alright?”

“Really?” Bash asked, crestfallen.

“I’ll call an Uber,” I told Jess. “You stay, I’ll go.” Maybe she shouldn’t stay, I thought foggily, irrationally. Maybe it’s not safe.

“I can’t let you go alone. I got you drunk and now you’re a mess and if you end up murdered it would be my fault. There are unsolved mysteries going around, you know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Girl, there’s no way I’m gonna—”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get in the Uber and I’ll stay on until I’m physically inside my house, okay?”

Jessica considered this. Bash leaned in to nibble her ear. I could smell the red wine and nicotine and animalistic lust sweating out of his pores. And unexpectedly, agonizingly: a biting flare, a muscle memory, Joe’s fingertips skimming down the small of my back and his scent like winter nights saturating the capillary beds of my lungs. Stop, stop, stop. “Okay,” Jess agreed at last.

“Awesome.” I was already opening the Uber app on my iPhone.

My driver was a Pacific Northwestern version of Santa Claus: wild grey beard, red flannel, L.L.Bean boots, rambling about his upcoming trip to hunt caribou in British Columbia. I honored my promise to Jessica and kept her on speakerphone for the duration of the twenty-minute drive. I rested my whirling head against the seat, let my eyes dip closed, watched the intermittent streetlights appear and disappear through my eyelids. I let myself into Charlie’s house when I arrived, wished Jessica goodnight (and reminded her not to get pregnant), and meandered clumsily into the kitchen for a glass of water and a cookie dough Pop-Tart to ward off a possible hangover. Charlie was snoring quietly on the living room couch. I watched him for a while, smiling and achingly grateful, before heading upstairs to my bedroom.

My window was wide open; that’s the first thing I noticed. I didn’t remember leaving it that way. I was always neglecting to lock the window, sure—I kept forgetting that there was no one to leave it unlocked for anymore—but I hadn’t left it open when I went to meet Jessica this evening. Icy night air flooded in. The stars were bright and furious in an uncommonly clear sky.

“You trying to give me pneumonia, old man?” I muttered, thinking of Charlie. I tossed my iPhone down onto my bed and crossed the room to close the window. And as it creaked and collided with the sill, I heard my closet door open behind me.

Someone’s here. Someone’s in this room with me.

I turned, very slowly; it felt like it took a lifetime. She was standing in the doorway of my closet, sinuous and white-haired, wearing black leather pants and stiletto heels and a long-sleeved lace blouse the color of blood, the color of her eyes. And she was harrowingly beautiful; not like Lucy or Mercy, not like Scarlett. She was beautiful like a prehistoric jawbone, like a serrated crescent moon, like a blade.

The owl. The goddamn albino owl.

I recognized her immediately. I heard Joe’s words as he introduced each vampire in the immense painting hanging in Dr. Lee’s upstairs office to me, though I desperately didn’t want to: She’s literally Satan, only blonder.

Her name tumbled from my trembling lips. “Liesl.”

“Wonderful, we can skip the introductions.” Her voice was like windchimes, cutting and brisk, with a hint of an Austrian accent like a shadow. Now she was at my bedside and picking up my phone, scrolling through it with lightning-quick and dexterous thumbs. “Hm. No texts from any of the Lees in the past week. So we don’t have to worry about them dropping by, I suppose. Joe got bored with you already, huh?”

“Evidently.” My own voice was brittle, anemic, weak; just like my ineffectual human body.

“That’s quick, even for him. How sad.” She sighed, tucking my iPhone into her red Chanel purse. “There’s a private jet waiting at the Forks Airport. Pack a bag. You have five minutes.”

“Please don’t hurt my dad,” I whispered, scalding tears brimming in my eyes.

“Of course not,” Liesl replied with a savage, saccharine smile. “Not yet, anyway.”

[thewritepages]

The Diary of the Older Collegiate (#TheFreshman Series) (1)

Synopsis : Annabelle Green is somewhat in a situation no thirty year woman would want to find herself in : (Un) Happily divorced, childless and with a job worth peanuts and migraine. The downward spiral of her life doesn't seem to end anytime soon until her sister reminds her of her most cherished dream.

College.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

MAY 3, 2019

3.30 A.M.

----------------------------------------------------

I hate myself.

No, really. I may have called it once or twice in the past due to mild anger or frustration, but this.

This is real.

I mean, I may be the only person who would:

A) Cry over a failed marriage during an interview

B) Scratch that, cry over a failed marriage in midst of the most IMPORTANT interview in my entire career!

C) Go straight to the pub later to drown my sorrows when I know perfectly well what would happen if I do get drunk.

D) Do what would be obvious to a broken-hearted, career destroyed, thirty year old drunk woman: Leave a string of carefully selected profanities on the voice mail of my beloved ex-husband.

E) Waking up several hours later on the side of god-knows-what street staring in horror at the drunken messages I've sent to everyone in my cell's contact list- which would also include my parents.

And to think of it, I managed it all in little less than 12 hours last night.

I think I'll just dig a burrow in my apartment and never come out of it. Wait a minute...

That's it! I'm never leaving my apartment again. It'll be perfect- I'll take up one of those work-at-home jobs they always advertise on the internet, eat ramen noodles for sustenance and stay protected from the world outside throughout my life.

In fact, I'll tip off my doorman to tell my family that I've left to pursue my inner self and I may never come back again. As many years pass by, my family would mourn over my presumed death while I get a plastic surgery done and change my name to something untraceable like Ronal Wallis.

Oh, jolly good! A brilliant idea. Why didn't I ever think of this before?

MAY 3, 2019.

13.30 P.M.

---------------------------------------------------

Err; maybe the whole change-my-identity-and-live-happily plan didn't exactly work.

Don't get me wrong, it didn't totally blow up or anything. My doorman, Steve did his job perfectly, informing my sister that I have indeed joined Deepak Chopra on a journey to find myself in a tiny village in the Himalayan Valleys. He narrated the story in such a sober tone that even I found myself believing him for a moment.

But Steve and I didn't realize that in order to leave the country, I would actually need my passport- The passport which is still in my ex-husband's apartment along with the rest of the stuff I was going to pick up this week.

Unfortunately, my sister was very much aware of this piece of information.

"Anna, it's been two months. You've got to get your shit together. You cannot stay dep-" I gave my sister a warning glance.

Not the D-word. Definitely not the D-word.

"I'm completely fine."I mumbled, looking down at the dregs of my empty coffee mug.

"No, you're not completely fine Annabelle Green. You've stopped calling, stop visiting all of us. Hell, nowadays you don't even get your ass out of the bed. Now, I know what Luc-"she stopped short, taking in my pained expression.

Another word I do not want to hear – Luc- Lucas.

Lucas .Lucas. Lucas.

"I'm sorry," Kat, my sister, bowed her head down low. "I shouldn't have brought him up."

"Yeah, you shouldn't have." My eyes closed from exhaustion. "Kat, why are you here?"

"Well, last night you-"

"I KNOW. It was a mistake. And I think I sent an explanatory text earlier this morning."

"That won't stop me from checking up on you, Anna. I'm bloody worried about you."

My eyes descend down to her enormous belly. She shouldn't worry about me right now- I'm not the one who is due for two bouncing baby boys in less than two months.

Did I just say bouncing? Oh, Lord.

"How're the boys kickin'?" I pat her belly gently, forcing myself to smile.

Her face instantly relaxes. "Oh, they're kickin', all right," she smiles at me, "Didn't give me a wink of sleep last week."

Well, that makes the two of us.

"I can't wait for little John and Paul to meet their ol' Aunt Anna." At least this was true. The arrival of my twin nephews is the only thing keeping me up for the past couple of months.

"Anna, we have talked about this. I'm not naming the kids after The Beatles."

"Why not? I recommend you have another set of twin boys so we'll have the entire boy band in our family."

"And have four crazy boys running around the household? No thanks. Phil and I would probably die of insanity."

Sigh. Phil and Kat. Their story is the closest you'd ever get to a fairytale- childhood sweethearts; they were two young teenagers wildly in love but were painfully separated to colleges at the opposite ends of the country. When it looked like it was truly over between them, they reconciled during the summer after college. It was literally The Notebook all over again, leaving out all the letter writing and the crazy house building. I don't think Phil is capable of fixing a broken lock, let alone build an entire house.

Suddenly, I felt someone holding my hand tightly. I look up to see Kat's eyes filled with tears. "Annie, come home. Mum and Dad miss you. I miss you. We want to stay with you in these difficult times. A few days away from Seattle will do you good. "She gets up. "Mum, Dad and Phil are waiting for us in the car downstairs. I'll help you pack up."

My heart softens, but I raise my eyebrows in sarcasm. "So, they sent you to emotionally blackmail me, right? Well, it's working, Mommy –in-waiting."

She tweaks my nose playfully. "It always does, baby sis."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N :

Hi there, thank you for taking the time to read my new diary styled new ChickLit series:

"The Diaries of an Older Collegiate"(#TheFreshman).

If this chapter ignited an interest for this series, please let me by reblogging or sending me a message. I'm very new to Tumblr writing so it'll really help me calm my nerves :")

Lastly, I'm tagging a few lovely authors here whose works I've been binge reading and they've really inspired me to put out my work out here. Authors, if you like this chapter, I'd be very grateful if you could share it among your network and let me know :)))))

@go1denjeon, @ladyartemesia,@noteguk,@junghelioseok

[finleyjayne]

EXTRA

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hey guys, I know y’all don’t know me but I’m going to be trying to post some of my fan-fiction. It’s both exciting and scary, please reblog, share. I’m going to be trying to write a little blurb every day for the month of April. If you have any requests please send them my way and I’ll try my best. Thank you in advance. If you want to follow me for ONLY writings my writing blog is @finleyjaynewriting. 

Warnings: Angst, Panic Attack, Self-deprecating thoughts

Summary: You are a part of the Avengers family but it’s sometimes hard to keep yourself from falling into bad habits that you thought you kicked when an essay question from your last college English class causes you to backslide. It’s a good thing your boyfriend Bucky is there to rally the troops and remind you that you are loved, even when you decide to run around the tower in a cape. 

picture credit goes to: Marwan & Khaled Couture Fall/Winter 2019 

Originally blogged by @fashion-runways​

You had been sitting here, staring at your outline notes, grading rubric, and notebook for over an hour. And you still hadn't a scrap of what to write. The list of adjectives on the page getting fuzzier as you tried to decide whether or not they fit you. Or if they were something that your friends, team-members, or family would use to describe you.

 If there was one word to describe you, you'd like to think that it was intelligent. But seeing as you live in a tower with not one but two geniuses and three supersoldiers who have heightened cognitive functions, it was terrifying how stupid you feel on the daily. Even with your triple-majored ass, you were on the lower end of intelligence. 

 Okay, so the people around you wouldn't call you the smart one in the group. What about determined. I mean, it takes a substantial amount of determination to get three master's degrees at the same time in five years. Tapping your pen against your chin as you think, you shake your head. Yeah, no, not when compared to Mr. I-can-do-this-all-day. 

 Sam is the compassionate and supportive one.

 Natasha is independent and fearless.

 Bucky is strong and loyal.

 Bruce is sweet and patient. 

 Wanda is attentive and courageous.

 Tony is eccentric and a genius.

 Steve is gentle and determined.

 Clint is funny and hardworking (even if he tries to play it off).

 Gods, this assignment is going to be the downfall of my perfect 4.0 GPA. You think to yourself, slamming your head onto your notebooks. Why did you have to take English? None of your majors were English oriented. Music, Engineering, and Chemistry. No  English, no need to know how to write a complete sentence. No need to write 2 pages on what your friends consider you using one word. You should know, you've made it 97% of the way through all three majors without taking a single English class. The most writing I had to do was my dissertations, which had nothing to do with this useless "self-expression piece."  The prompt doesn't even make sense! Write 1000+ words on a single word. How is that logically not just busy-work? 

 Just as your eyes and sinuses start filling with the feeling of hopelessness, Bucky comes waltzing into the tower's library with his book of the week. 

 "Heya dollface. Taking a nap?" He calls, the chuckle entwining into his voice in that perfect way it does. 

 And that's all it takes for your body to unleash the body-shaking sobs. The soulful wail that tore through your chest and out your trembling lips was nothing like you'd ever let anyone see. Especially not your team. You were already the weak one. You didn't need them to think anything less, but after comparing yourself to them for the last two and a half hours, you couldn't keep your self-deprecation locked in its cage anymore. 

 Seeing you this way was terrifying for Bucky. He had never seen you cry anywhere besides on stage. Not when you had been on the Mission from Hell. Not when you were hormonal, and Clint stole your heating stuffy. Not even when you were grieving the loss of your ex-girlfriend. So now having your usually bubbly, determined, happy-go-lucky self in a full breakdown was new territory for him. 

 "Woah," he said, eyes widening as he stared. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, doll. If anybody deserves a nap, it's you." He comforted as he took giant steps to your chair. Lifting you effortlessly and positioning you into the cradle of his arms as he took a seat in the large Papasan chair to the side of your chosen workspace. Holding you in a tight embrace like you did when he was having a hard time with his anxiety. 

 He focused on breathing evenly and keeping his heartbeat in check, knowing that if he didn't stay calm, the situation would escalate into something worse. Shushing you and rocking you as he observed the table for anything that could give away why you were crying. Bucky knew better than most about your anxiety and depression. He had asked you once how you knew so much about helping him during one of your many cuddle sessions. You had just said that you were working from your own encounters before you changed the subject.

 Though he didn't know everything, Bucky did try to help you as much as he could, especially as your friendship turned into something more. Still, he couldn't see anything that would cause you to become this upset. Usually, you would complain about your English assignments as you hyper-focused on them. Giving up on figuring it himself, he turned back to his distraught girlfriend, who was fighting to control her emotions in his arms. 

 "Babygirl, can you match your breaths to mine? Come on. Breathe in, hold, breathe out." He whispered, holding her tighter to him as she shakily followed him through the exercise a few more times. "Good, now what has my BAMF girlfriend distressed. Who do I need to take care of?" 

 You could feel the seriousness in his voice before you could see him through your tears. "Nobody, it's not a big deal. Just a stupid essay for English."

 "Don't give me that shit, Y/F/N Y/L/N." Bucky cuts off your excuses sternly. "You rarely cry, which, no matter how much you fight it, is unhealthy." Before you could even open your mouth to argue, he had a gentle, calloused finger on your lips. "Not going to remonstrate this. You are clearly upset, you are not okay, and that is okay. I just want to know why so I can help you more fully." He says, lifting his finger from your lips to tuck a few strands of your hair from your face.

 Sighing, you look down. "It's just this essay, I have to write about one word that my friends use to describe me. I ended up spiraling while trying to find a word that would be mine when all the ones I usually consider myself are more aptly displayed by somebody else. Honestly, I don't know why you keep me around. I'm pretty average." you admit, curling in on yourself as your tears gather again. 

 "Hey, none of that printsessa." He scolded you softly. "You are important to us. You are smart, fun, and inspirational. You are the reason we aren't at each other's throats. You are the instigator of too many of our team-building exercises. You single-handedly instigated the reconciliation between Steve and Tony." He started, giving you a smirk as you begin to scrunch your nose up. Tears were forgotten.

 You really didn't like it when he made sense when you were upset. It made feeling bad really hard. The worst part; Bucky damned well knew it. "But, you're biased, Bucky."

 "Maybe I am, but I also know you. And if I heard you correctly: It doesn't say one word YOU would choose to call yourself, but one word WE would define you as. Therefore, you shouldn't be wondering what words we would use. You should have gotten up and asked us. Or even better, you should've texted the group chat and asked! Then you wouldn't be here sending yourself into a hate-spiral, doll." Bucky reprimands softly. Determined to get rid of the lies that your mind is spewing at you, just like you do for him. 

 "I don't wanna bother you guys with my stupid homework. You guys didn't sign up to be pestered by my lack of self-mediation." You grumble huffily, knowing full well you are acting stubborn.

 "If you won't help yourself. I guess it's up to me to help you." Bucky states, standing up with you still cradled snugly in his arms. 

 "BUCKY!" You admonish, clinging to him at his sudden movement. "At least let me walk. I'm overwhelmed and sad, not crippled."

 "What's to say, I don't just wanna carry you? Huh? Also, you're holding me just as tightly love." He smiles brightly at you, kissing you briefly before turning back to the exit. Book, schoolwork, and his original objective forgotten for his new mission. He was going to find his doll her confidence again, with all the positive affirmations that should've been her first thoughts.

 Once settled in the elevator, Bucky looks up, "Hey, Friday, can you take us to Tony, please?" After confirmation from the resident AI, he sets your feet on the ground from the bridal carry he's holding you in but keeping you close to him. "So you need one word? What is your plan?" 

 Keeping your arms in their place around his neck, you lean your head against his secure warmth. "I don't really know, Buck. I kinda got stuck on the first step. If it was an analytical or critical styled piece, it would be a breeze, but it is supposed to be a descriptive essay. I don't know what to do with that. If it was a song, I'd be cuddled with you and my ukelele by now, putting finishing touches on the finished product. But no, there isn't any room for incomplete sentences. Maybe I'll make it a song just to spite the evil bat."

 "Hey, dollface, it's okay, I'm here to help you. Does it just have to be one word, or can it be structured for each person you know to have a different word? Remember what Peter said that one time he was working with you on Formatting? Your thesis could be something like 'I am many things to many different people and therefore have many different words that can be used to describe me. These things are A, B, C, and D. Then, you can use each term for a paragraph of fluff."

 Taking a deep breath, your lip twitches somewhere between a smile and a deep frown. "That does sound like a good idea. I don't really want to track down everyone, though. Can we get everyone into the same room and ask them as a group? It would be less hassle, and maybe we can decide on reasoning and stories to use to explain why? I really don't know how to do this without being really pessimistic and cynical about the whole thing."

 "Mr. Stark is in his lab, he is recommended that he is brought down to the commons, where I will page everyone else." Came Friday's disembodied voice. 

 "Thank you, Friday," you whispered. You weren't really sure that you were ready for this, but you know that this is the best way to finish this essay without spiraling into your self-pity again. It has to get done. Procrastination is not an option. After all, these are your friends. They don't have to know that you were bawling your eyes out about this stupid assignment. 

 Taking another steadying breath, you wipe the remainder of your tears off your make-up-less face onto Bucky's soft T-shirt, before turning out of his embrace to march confidently into Tony's Lab. "Hey Tones, your presence is required in the Commons." You call as you walk in the door. Knowing that Friday would've warned you if Tony had been in the middle of something delicate. 

 "What is it for? I want to get this sequence reconfigured. Can it wait?" Tony said, his full attention on a large display of Smalltalk equational programming floating off of his Holotable. 

 "Nope, if you don't come now, you don't get to participate, let Friday do the reconfiguration code. It will be done by the time you get back. If you come and keep your attitude to a minimum, I'll let you use me as a scapegoat for your next prank." You try to bribe when he looked offended that I'd suggest such a thing.

 "Any prank? Even if it's against loverboy?" Tony perked, throwing a truly roguish smirk over your shoulder. 

 "As long as no one is injured or harmed. But to make sure that I can cover your ass, you need to fill me in on the joke BEFORE you pull it." You say herding him away from the endless rows of code while he is occupied with his next plot. 

  When you finally make it to the Commons, The rest of the Avengers are gathered on the couches. All seemed to be in a decent enough mood. Taking a deep breath, you look to Bucky for direction on how to implement this plan of his. 

 He gives your hand a squeeze as he guides you to the middle of the sectional. Holding you from behind, he clears his throat. "Hey, guys. Thanks for coming to this impromptu meeting. I know you guys were probably doing nothing, anyway, but I appreciate you coming down here. Doll, here, needs some help from us. Well, you guys, since apparently, I am biased." His tone is light as he brings attention to us.

 You can't help but feel that knot of uncertainty come back as he speaks, though. You try your best to hide the shaking of your hands by holding onto Bucky's forarms that rest tightly around your middle, grounding you into the moment. Please just let this be quick. 

 "You are biased," you grumble. "You have to say the best things because you are my boyfriend. It makes for a skewed view on what my friends think of me." 

 "She does have a point, Buck. You tend to have neverending heart-eyes whenever anything is about her. Though that is reasonable, seeing as she is your girl. I'd be more concerned if you didn't have a shade or two of rose to your glasses." Steve said from his station in on the nearest end of the couch to the door. 

 "If his glasses are tinted any pinker, they won't be able to be seen through." Scoffed Sam from the other end of the couch. 

 "Doesn't matter," Bucky cut in before there could be any more railroading. "Y/N has an essay that she has to write but couldn't find the right inspiration for the prompt. Seeing as it pertains to our views on her, I felt it necessary to bring our expertise into the mix."

 "Oh, What's the prompt?" Bruce asked from the corner of the window seat. 

 "It's stupid, It's an essay on the word that your friends and family would use to describe you. Well, in this case, describe me." You say to the oak coffee table that separated the majority of them from you and Bucky. 

 "Doll, stop hating, and just accept the help." He whispered into your 

 "Well, you've definitely come to the right place. Come on, guys, what words describe Y/N?" Tony said enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together from the place he found next to Natasha.

 "Friday, can you make a list on the monitor, so we don't forget any?" Steve asked the AI helpfully.

 "Good idea, I'll start with eccentric," Nat stated.

 "Bubbly."

 "Funny."

 "Smart."

 "Out-going."

 "Playful."

 "Creative."

 "Hardworking."

 "resourceful, Multi-talented, Impressive."

 "Badass."

 "Stubborn." 

 Words just kept coming at incredible speed before there was a ding at the elevator. "Mrs. (Y/L/N), The package you ordered last night needs to be signed for if you wouldn't mind." Friday cut in. 

 As more words were being piled onto the TV screen, you turned toward the elevator. "It's here already??" you asked, making your way to the waiting delivery man. I quickly signed for the package before coming back to the group. Ripping into the box without care as Tony and Clint argued over positive and negative words on the list.

 Letting out an excited squeal while you pulled the long, sky-blue cape out of the box and swishing it over your shoulders, clasping it easily, and spinning in a circle to make it swish out. It was just as you imagined. Silky, soft, and absolutely perfect for everything. When you finally came back to the conversation you found yourself at the center of attention, everyone's eyes were on you in different mixes of amusement and exasperation. 

 "Where you going, Miss Bennet?" Tony laughed out.

 "What do you mean, where am I going? This is my house cape. Don't you have one? It's the latest fashion." You bite back, raising your head in indignation. "I love it, I am going to wear it. EVERYWHERE."

 As everyone's faces split into the biggest smiles, Peter walked into the room, tossing his backpack onto the floor as he took a seat between Sam and Steve. 

 "No Capes!" He said, lovingly referencing the Incredibles. Sending a ripple of laughs through the group of superheroes. "So what has you so Extra today, Y/N?"  

 "Nothing, I just saw this for sale while I was doing research for my recital dress and thought it would be nice." You respond fondly, feeling invincible in the cape. 

 "THAT'S IT! YOUR WORD IS EXTRA!" Clint said, springing from his perch. Everyone looked contemplative for a moment before nodding. 

 "Agreed. It's perfect. You give extra in everything you do." Steve said, not really getting the modern connotation.

 Even though it isn't any of the words that you thought they would choose, you can't really complain. Especially when it gives you the privilege of wearing your Couture Cape around the tower, just because you want to.

 Smiling at Bucky, you raised slightly on your toes to kiss his cheek, whispering a thank you. And with that, you whooshed off to write the worst essay in your academic career. Leaving the bickering and astounded Avengers in your wake.

[flokive]

lie to me II - Youngblood

description: part two of my internet bff au featuring ashton irwin // the fight between james and elisabeth left liz feeling lonely and numb. it doesn’t really help that her best friend, fletcher, really wants to know what happened and wants to help, even though he lives in australia and liz lives in europe...  writers note: yay! in honor of soft!ashton thursdays here’s the second chapter of lie to me :) don’t really have a lot to say, just a quick thank you to my loves @ashtonsos​ and @easierlftv​ for proof reading this <3 // enjoy! hope y’all like it, and, please, don’t worry... fletcher will be more prominent in the story soon...  wordcount: 1358

++

“Remember the words you told me, love me 'til the day I die Surrender my everything 'cause you made me believe you're mine Yeah, you used to call me baby, now you calling me by name Takes one to know one You beat me at my own damn game”

---

                                                                                fletchersthoughts

liz? hello? well, you sure know how to get a man eager with anticipation…

...

umm, earth to liz? where are you?

…

ok, i’m starting to get worried. liz???

… 

liz, please just message me back. i have got to get some sleep, it’s almost 3am here… love you!!! bye

Liz has been sitting on the floor, numb and empty until her thoughts are interrupted by the smell of burning sauce. As quick as she possibly can, she jumps to her feet and turns off the stove, watching the steam escaping the now blackened pasta sauce. Too tired from the fight to clean up the kitchen mess, she leaves the saucepan on the stove, cracks the window to let the bad smell escape the kitchen, and plumps down on the couch, feeling numb and unable to do anything else. 

Liz jolts awake, the sudden movement making her wince. A quick glance at the clock informs her it’s 3 am, the outside world is dark and cold, apart from the spots on the street that are lit up by the street lights. The house is quiet, Liz calls for James, her voice echoes in their empty apartment, and no one responds. He’s still gone and she’s all alone again. A lonely yet guilty feeling washes over Liz as she closes her eyes and rubs her neck, trying to ease the pain caused by the weird sleeping position on the couch. As she slowly rises to her feet, a sad sob leaves her throat when she looks at the kitchen mess. Quickly she turns off the kitchen lights, trying to ignore the mess and the guilt that comes with it. If she just did something else this night, if she just ignored Fletcher this one time, none of this would’ve happened. In the dark, the apartment feels even colder than it did before, maybe even more terrifying than before. Liz rests her head against the doorframe that separates the kitchen with the hallway to their, maybe now only her, bedroom. When she slowly opens the door to the master, her eyes meet the mess James created. Clothes are flung everywhere, a picture frame lies on the ground, the glass shattered and James’ bedside table is cleared. With tears burning in her eyes she tries to pick up the pieces of the picture frame, carefully to let the sharp glass cut her hands, a sad sigh leaves her mouth when she puts the glass shards on her bedside table. She slowly seats herself down on the bed, holding her head between her hands. Salty tears stream down her face when she thinks about everything that’s been said and done. The thoughts if she could’ve done anything different re-enter her mind as she lays down, dragging her blanket over her head, trying to just forget the world for a moment. 

The first thing Liz does when she wakes up is checking her phone, wondering if James has sent any messages since their fight last night. Her inbox is empty, apart from Fletcher’s seven un-read messages she chose to ignore last night. She clicks on the bolded notification and reads them slowly, after staring at the words for a while she decides to not reply yet, not wanting to talk about the events of last night. Since it’s Saturday and Liz doesn’t have anywhere to go she ends up scrolling through her Tumblr dashboard. Reblogging every sad quote she reads. A small smile appears on Liz's face, remembering how her 17-year-old self would’ve been doing the exact same thing, laying in bed, scrolling endlessly through the same site, using it as some sort of coping mechanism. Her phone chimes and on top of her screen a new message from Fletcher appears. Liz closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and decides to finally reply.

                                                                                fletchersthoughts liz?? i see you reblogging, i know you read my messages so i KNOW you’re awake.  please just give me some sort of sign of life, please?

queenliz hey fletch im sorry busy night, james didn’t feel good returning from work we fell asleep early

The lies are bad and Liz feels guilty for lying to her closest friend but she just can’t handle talking and thinking about the events of last night. Her phone chimes again, knowing it’s Fletcher, she decides to ignore him once again. Hoping he would get the hint and leave her alone today. A rumbling sound from her tummy interrupts her thoughts, reminding her she hasn't eaten a thing since last night. Liz changes yesterday's clothes for some comfy leggings and a black crewneck sweater. Before leaving to get some breakfast, she washes the mascara stained tears away, grabs her wallet, and leaves the damned apartment. 

Liz makes her way to the local coffee shop, orders a big iced coffee, a freshly baked croissant and strolls back home. Whilst munching down on her breakfast she looks at the city waking up. The events from last night fresh in her brain Liz decides to take the long way home, through the park, trying to clear her brain and understand everything that happened last night.

Halfway home, Liz plumps down on a wooden bench and starts to pick apart the last bit of her croissant, throwing some it at some doves in front of her. The peaceful sounds of the park finally give her time to process the events of last night. Every word, every action that happens plays in slow-motion in her head, it’s like she’s watching a really bad movie but she can’t find the remote to switch the channels. A feeling of guilt and sadness gnaws in her brain when she thinks how badly she treated her best friend. How bad her lies were, how she bluntly ignored the man who has always been there for her. Slowly she takes her phone out of her pocket and opens the last unread message Fletcher send her, saying he doesn’t quite believe her, and she starts writing an apology.

queenliz so... you’re right, i kind of lied to you this morning… we didn’t really fell asleep early last night we had a fight, a horrible one, i might add i think  god fletch, i think we broke up.. 

Liz looks up from her screen, tears forming in her eyes, making her vision blur. She quickly wipes away the tears before they spill over her cheeks. With shaking hands, she continues explaining what happened the night before. As per usual, Fletcher doesn't take longer than a minute to reply. 

                                                                                  fletchersthoughts he did WHAT?! he threw a fucking glass at your head? what the fuck was this guy thinking?? liz... fuck… 

queenliz i’m okay fletch, really don’t worry about me, i didn’t get hurt so it’s fine

                                                                                fletchersthoughts you didn’t get hurt so it’s all fine?! that’s fucking bullshit liz and you know it HOW am i supposed to not worry about you liz? fuck.

Liz huffs annoyed, re-reading the message Fletcher just send her. Her fingers fly over the keyboard when she writes her response.

queenliz please fletcher, don’t be so fucking dramatic i fucking said i was fine, so i am doing fine leave me be and please stop worrying about me, it’s getting on my fucking nerves  idk if you know this, but i can take care of myself.

Liz’s fingers hover above the keyboard, debating whether or not telling Fletcher to leave her alone, to stick his nose into someone else’s business. Her bottom lip rolls back and forth between her teeth, a metallic flavor reminding her she should probably stop nibbling on her lips and make a decision. Her thumb lays on top of the lock button and her other thumb hovering back and forth over the backspace and send button. Her phone buzzes in her hands, letting her know that Fletcher is sorry for being so protective and that he understands Liz might not be ready to talk about things today. A soft smile appears on her lips for the first time in, what feels like ages. Quickly she deletes the message and sends him a brief thank you, before locking her phone and standing up to head home again.

++

taglist: @cthofficial​ - @calmlftv​ - @kingcals​ - @spicycal​ - @another-lonely-heart​

send me a message if you wanna be added to my taglist!

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Oh my gosh don't even worry about it! Take your time! (Let's not forget I took like, a month to respond last time...)

BUT GINA!!! I JUST SAW YOU HIT A NEW MILESTONE! THAT'S SO EXCITING! 😄 CONGRATS!!!

Oh my gosh, I'm glad you're all healthy again. I have to get tested constantly at my school which is kind of nice even though it's a pain. 😕

Geez. I hope that now with the vaccine out we can get more people vaccinated quickly and slowly return back to our lives.

Ok so I see you reblog stuff with him all the time and I have a confession to make: I don't think I've ever seen him in anything. 🙈 I will definitely have to check out Jackie & Ryan though! (I just have to find it first, haha)

4 assignments on day one!? I think I got 2 in one class, but that's it. That's crazy!

Ooh... keeping myself hydrated? Uh... About that... 😬 Ok, put the slippers down, and I'll go drink some water. 😉

I've been reading mostly fics. Some fanfics some original plots people post online. And I have about a million books in my dorm room I have yet to read so I keep staring at them and trying to decide which one I'll read next before giving up and reading fanfic instead. 😅 There may or may not have been a research study thrown in there yesterday but shhh.

Haha, honestly I don't mind if you figure out who I am. I just enjoy being a little anon and spreading joy sometimes. 😄 Perhaps one day I'll tell you or you'll figure it out, but until then it's kind of fun to be a mystery isn't it? I feel like a spy! 😉

Lol, no I promise I'm not an AI. 😂 I'm majoring in a science field and I've found that I really like the testing and analyzation aspect of it. (Maybe not so much the prior background research part, but unfortunately that part comes with it too. 🤷‍♀️) Omg please don't feel dumb, you're smart too! I just have a particular interest in the topic and am considering a career in research one day, plus it'll be a HUGE benefit on my grad school applications. -⭐

Hahah you only took a month? Seemed longer xD

Thank you so much ^^ I really don’t understand why people follow me. My schedule is horrible and I take ages in replying some of the asks xD

Oh, that’s actually good. Here they only test essential workers. Students and such don’t count as essential so if you are sick you just have to self-isolate or pay for a test which is £120.

Hahah I’m trying to be intimidating mother figure offering advice, but do you really think I take my own advices? The only water I drink is my tea xD So I guess this time I give you a pass but only because you finally came back after a month :D

I don’t know if you have seen that video on tiktok where the girl says she has x hundred books but only 40% read. That reminds me of you and me. We really want to read and we do have the physical books to do it, but at the end of the day we choose fanfic xD

Have we talked off anon? The way you said you have never watched a Ben Barnes movie and the fact that you study science reminds me of someone, I just can’t put my hand on it. I’m so in detective mode that I literally started going through all the dms I have and searched for people who mentioned what they were studying just so I can figure it out, but I got nothing xD And of course, in no way I am trying to analyse every word you write :D

I know I’m smart, but like compared to you dumb xD My Business Management course is nothing compared to your science. Are you planning to build a rocket and leave the earth xD

[ciarawritesmarvel]

number five - steve rogers x reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: A lot of language, I’m sorry, it just really fit with the character I was writing! Also, pregnancy ands kids and all that with some fluffity Steve

A/N: This is my entry for @teamcap4bucky‘s 2K Celebration! Congrats on 2K lovely, you absolutely deserve it and seem like a wonderful person! I had a lot of fun writing this, as I don’t often write about our faves having kids...couldn’t help myself this time though. And don’t forget, on Wednesday we begin Hello Spring! Anyway, without further ado...

Prompt: “Turn around for me baby, I want to see you.”

masterlist is in my bio and tags will be in a reblog...enjoy!

---

“Keep that man away from me!” you shout, storming off the quinjet with purposeful steps into the compound.

“Sweetheart, please!” Steve called out to you, a desperate note in his voice that tugged at your heart strings and would have sent you back into his arms had your mind not been swirling. Instead, you ignored him and continued the way you were going, getting inside, rounding the corner and putting as much distance between you and the bastard as possible.

As soon as you were well away from him you stopped walking and let out a guttural screech, punching the wall before you knew what you were doing. You’d hardly punched it hard, your self-preservation instincts kicking in to stop you but the sting in your knuckles stopped you from doing it again, even if you really, really wanted to. You let out a shaky exhale, closing your eyes as you leant your head against the wall, your body giving in to the exhaustion as all the adrenaline leaked out of your body.

“Y/N?”

The voice behind you put you back on edge, but the fact that it wasn’t Steve’s at least meant you weren’t going to run away. You turned your head, still leaving it against the wall and looked at the intruder on your private moment. “What do you want, Romanoff?”

“Just checking on you,” she walked over with her hands held up in surrender, coming to stand next to you against the wall. She stared at the wall opposite as she spoke, “Any reason you’re more pissed than I’ve ever seen you and punching the walls of the compound corridor?”

You groaned, clutching your hand and closing your eyes, tilting your head to the ceiling as you breathed deeply.

“My husband,” you began, not even being able to bring yourself to say his name, “Has done something unspeakable. Unforgivable.” Nat quickly looked at you instead of the opposite wall, surprise written all over her face.

“Are you being serious right now? I can’t tell if you’re-”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Natasha?” you cut through her words and she pressed her lips together. You could tell she was trying to stop herself, but it didn’t last long.

“What’s he done?”

Another groan from you. Whether it was the pain of your hand or the pain of the question, Nat wasn’t sure.

“Don’t ask.”

“I kinda feel like I already have,” Nat murmured and you opened your eyes just to glare at her. You sighed. You hadn’t wanted this to go this way at all.

“Okay,” you conceded, “So you know how we were separated during the mission? All on different sides of the building, when comms were down-”

“You saw Steve and Bucky kiss?!” Nat interrupted and you balked. She had always thought they would go for each other, but that view was not at all helpful right at that moment. Or ever, really, seeing as you and Steve had been married for 6 years.

“No! Why is that always your go-to? Would you let me finish? I was just about to enter the building, gun cocked and foot poised to kick down the door when-”

“When what!”

“When I threw up, Nat. I threw up!”

Nat’s brow furrowed of its own accord. You stood and waited with an unamused expression on your face as you waited for her to catch on. It took a few seconds, but soon her face was opening up in understanding, her mouth forming an ‘o’ as she worked it out. “No…”

“Yes. He’s gotten me pregnant. Again!” you covered your mouth as your words sank in, “Oh my god!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air and pushing yourself away from the wall.

“Okay, stay calm, it’ll-”

“Stay calm? Stay fucking calm? Nat, I’ve got four kids. That’s more than enough. I mean three of those four were mistakes, for fuck’s sake!”

Nat raised a brow at you.

“Mistakes that I treasure more than anything, of course,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. To you it was, of course. Your kids were the best things in your life, even if you hadn’t been intending to have four. Five, you reminded yourself. You were going to have five kids. You basically already did. Your hand came up to rub your stomach absentmindedly.

“I think you’re happy about this,” Nat deduced suddenly and you looked at her, with a clearly false look of disgust on your face.

“That’s absurd…”

“No, it isn’t. You’re happy about having five kids and you’re terrified that Steve won’t be. That’s why you were so angry with him. He doesn’t even know yet, does he?”

You stared down at the floor.

“...he thinks I’m angry because he accidentally threw his shield vaguely near me during the fight.”

“Oh Y/N,” Nat sighed and you wondered when the two of you had started pacing up and down the corridor.

“I mean, it wasn’t even that near me, I just panicked when he started talking to me on the flight back so I used that as an excuse to be mad.”

“Oh, Y/N!”

“Would you stop acting like a disapproving aunt for two seconds!” you took Nat by the shoulders as you spoke loudly and the two of you stopped your pacing. A few seconds went by as you stared at each other.

“You’re pregnant,” Nat whispered, the hints of a smile just beginning to blossom on her face and you couldn’t help but give in, a grin overtaking your face as you pulled her in for a tight hug, wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

“I’m pregnant!” you whisper-shouted excitedly, feeling the tears building in your eyes as you stood swaying in other’s hug.

“Shut up! You’re pregnant?” came a sudden extra voice in the corridor and your eyes widened as you turned your head in the hug to see the excitable puppy of Clint Barton sticking his head around the wall, eyes alight with joy. You pushed out of the hug.

“Nat fill him in, would you? I need to find Steve!” you were already running down the corridor, planting a quick kiss on Clint’s cheek and calling out again, “And don’t tell anyone!”

---

You found him in your shared mission room, standing at his wardrobe, staring into space. He’d changed out of mission gear, instead in jeans and a button up but he was wringing his hands together, anything but relaxed. It was his typical worried pose. You frowned. You’d been so unfair; just because you’d panicked in the moment didn’t mean he deserved such harshness, such cold looks and words. The guilt weighed heavy on top of you and you felt the tears prick your eyes again. The hormones had arrived already, you noted.

Without much thought, you strode over to your husband and wrapped your arms around his middle from behind, squeezing tight, resting your cheek on the muscles of his back and squishing into him. You winced when he tensed in your grip but relaxed when he did, feeling him melt into your arms, his hands resting on your own.

“I’m so so sorry, honey,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his back through the fabric of his shirt, “I was such a bitch.”

“You’re never a bitch,” Steve assured you firmly and you smiled at the protectiveness in his voice, “But you did have me worried.”

His admission made your heart sink.

“I know, and I have no excuse.”

“I’m really sorry for throwing my shield near-” Steve began but you squeezed him impossibly tighter as you interrupted.

“Oh god, please don’t apologise! Your shield was nowhere near me and you damn well know it!”

He chuckled and you felt the vibrations run right from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You leaned upwards and pressed another kiss, this time to the nape of his neck. His arms wrapped more firmly around your own.

“Well, I was pretty sure it was nowhere near you,” he said between chuckles, but once his laughter died down his tone became more serious, “Is there something else wrong, sweetheart? Not like you to snap for no reason.”

You steadied yourself. This was it. No time like the present.

“Turn around for me baby, I want to see you,” you said softly and Steve was quick to turn, your arms falling from him. The concern in his eyes was palpable.

“That sounds serious,” he said, half-jokingly but all jokes fell away from his expression when you just gave him a watery smile. He took your hands in his, “Okay, you’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared,” you reassured him, rubbing circles into his knuckles with the pads of thumbs, either to ground him or yourself, you weren’t sure, “I mean maybe be a little scared. But not too much. Or maybe not at all, it just depends-”

“Y/N.”

You took a breath.

“I threw up, on the mission.”

A pause. A long, lengthy, heart-wrenching pause.

“But you never throw up.”

Steve’s voice was barely there and you could tell he’d worked it out. He was slightly quicker on the uptake that Nat was on things such as these. Emotional matters. Still, he seemed in disbelief.

“I never throw up,” you agreed, “Other than when I’m…”

You trailed off, unable to quite finish your sentence as you felt the tears yet again, knowing that crying was a surefire sign too. As a pretty enhanced human being, throwing up was not a regular occurrence for you but for some reason, when pregnant, you threw up whenever and wherever you were, especially in the first trimester. So you didn’t even need to take a test. You knew.

Steve’s face was a picture, one that you wanted committed to your memory for the rest of your life and beyond. Tears welled in his eyes, grin splitting his face in half. He moved his hand, still holding yours, so that both of your hands were resting against your stomach. Your tears began to fall. It was all so surreal.

“You’re pregnant, doll?”

You nodded happily, a little burst of a giggle set free and Steve joined in the sound, laughing as he swept you up into an embrace, lifting you off the ground and into his arms. Your hands flew to his neck to keep steady, still giggling, legs flailing about above the ground. He places you down carefully, like you’re fragile, could break any moment. Hands find their way to your hair, cup your face lightly, hold you so that your foreheads rest together.

He leans in and steals a kiss, followed by another before he’s quickly kissing your whole face, forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, kissing your tears away and kissing the corners of your grin.

“I take it you’re not mad, then,” you concluded and Steve pulled back, looking at you agape.

“Mad? Why the hell would I be mad?”

He genuinely sounded puzzled and you felt stupid. Of course he wasn’t mad. You really were hormonal.

“I don’t know,” you admitted sheepishly, “I convinced myself earlier that you’d be mad or upset or something which is why I panicked when you came to talk on the jet and made up that shit about the shield.”

The pity came off him in waves and he tugged you in close again, hands rubbing shoulders, upper arms, shoulders again.

“Our family’s growing. That’s never going to be a bad thing,” he says succinctly, sure of himself and you’re sure too then. You believe him, trust him. And though you never planned on four, you couldn’t imagine it any other way. This would be exactly the same.

“I love you so much, Steve,” you said it as if it were a secret known only to the two of you, a special thing to be kept away, kept safe. He held your words to his heart.

“I love you too,” he replied, lungs all out of breath, “More than I can ever tell you.”

You stand for a few moments, basking in each other’s company, his hand and yours somehow weaving down to your stomach once again, yours resting atop his, fingers linked.

“It’s a girl,” you say certainly.

“Not this again!”

“I can feel it this time!”

“You could feel it last time,” he said, and though he might have sounded exasperated, you could tell by the glimmer in his eye that he wasn’t, not at all.

“How should we tell the others?” you asked, suddenly remembering that you’d have to break the news to your other kids, who you were 60% sure would be incredibly happy for you. Currently, they were deep in the left wing of the compound, far from the incoming/outgoing missions, business meetings and bloodied new recruits. The far left wing belonged solely to the Stark family and the Rogers family and was known as a strictly family friendly area, no mission gear allowed, no swearing, no shop talk. Tony, Steve and you took turns to go on missions when you were needed, so that there was always a grown up in charge. This time, with you and Steve required for a slightly more difficult raid, Tony was left with the six of them and you thanked your lucky stars that Pepper had been available too.

Apart from the fact that it was almost definite that Tony was teaching your kids how to make lasers or something right now. They always knew something new when you got back. Sometimes something good, sometimes something slightly worrying.

“Well, we took them to Disneyland for James, did the whole “What’s in the Box’ nonsense for Margie...what did we do for Alice again?”

“I think we just told Claudia that I was pregnant normally,” you answered, moving over to your wardrobe and changing out of your gear in record time, stepping into a cotton sundress perfect for the unexpected good spring weather, “I mean she was like two at the time.”

“Wasn’t that the most successful though? The box one was a disaster, you remember?”

“I remember,” you said grimly, shuddering as you thought about it, brushing your hair in the mirror and wiping any remaining dirt and blood from your face,  “Maybe we should just tell them.”

“What, now?”

“Well, no time like the present! I know you only really tell people at 12 weeks but that doesn’t count for family right?”

“Of course not! We’ll just tell the family for now, oh, I’m so excited!”

You bit your lip.

“Ah, well, if we’re just telling the kids then-”

“Who knows?” Steve asked suddenly, shaking his head at you fondly and you were just glad he wasn’t annoyed that you’d already told some people.

“Nat,” you admitted and Steve nodded as if that made sense, “And Clint, but that’s cause the little shit was eavesdropping.”

“Well that was on you, if you talk to Nat you know Clint’s listening, it’s how those two work. But I said we were telling family - that’s the kids and the others. They’re family, right?”

You grinned.

“Let’s go tell them!” you squealed excitedly, looking as if you’d never been on a mission in your life, rushing over and pulling on his hand as you began to skip out of the room, but his hand tugged you back and into his arms. One hand firmly on your back and the other holding your face, he dipped you and you yelped, but then he kissed you like he never had before and you lost yourself in him. Your own hand reached up into his hair and found its place on the back of his neck, the other holding onto his arm for dear life.

He pulled away slowly, guiding you back upright and keeping his hold, noticing your shaky legs with a smug grin.

“Now let’s go,” he muttered softly and you stared up to him wide-eyed, still in slight shock. His hand wound around your own as he pulled you with him and when you came to your senses once more, you caught up to him and swung your hands between you as you walked rather quickly down the corridor and towards the kids’ section of the compound.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you murmured as you walked, trying to look as nonchalant as possible to people passing you.

“Watched a YouTube video,” he admitted, a cute blush spreading up his neck that made you sidle up closer to him, “I dropped Sam like fifteen times when we practiced.”

You held back a snort.

“You’re lucky we’ve got bigger things to do right now, Rogers, cause otherwise I’d be teasing your ass so hard right now.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

[canumoveurseatup-no]

Myself - (Steve x Black!Reader)

Summary: You loved Steve more than you loved yourself. But was that enough?

Pairing: Steve x Black!Fem!Reader

WC: 3.2k

Warnings: Angst, Emotional and verbal abuse (I am in no way condoning or romanticizing it. I just recently got out of an emotionally abusive situation and I’m just coping) Feelings of inadequacy, heartbreak. BUT THERE IS HOPE.

Here’s to a New Year. Here’s to leaving toxic things behind. It’s time for a fresh, healthy start.

A/N: I know Steve wouldn’t really act like this so don’t come for me. It is fiction.

A/N pt.2: Hi, just want to say y’alls reblogs and comments mean so damn much. Keep it up <3 

IF YOU WANT A PART 2 PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

       You don’t know where things went wrong. This past year had been amazing with Steve. All the trips you’d taken, the dates you’d went on. The memories created, the love made. You couldn’t ask for a better year with someone you loved with your entire being. You gave him all of you, even parts that you hated and he swore up and down that he loved them. The words slipped so beautifully from his lips that you couldn’t even tell it was a lie, or when it became one that is.

He’d talk to you less, the sex barely happened and when it did you could tell there was no passion involved, it was just happening so he could get his rocks off.

There was no cuddling, no good night or good morning kisses. He wasn’t there for dinner when you cooked. No dates, nothing.

It was like living with a stranger. Like doing an Uberpool with a bitter old man who didn’t want to ride with you. 

You were tearing yourself apart trying to figure out what you did. You loved this man unconditionally all the while not saving any of that love for yourself. 

You couldn’t live like this anymore. No one wants to spend their days questioning their worth. It’s a recipe for self-destruction.

-----------------

You stared at yourself in the mirror, analyzing your figure. You’ve told yourself you weren’t good enough because that’s what Steve made you feel. You were constantly questioning yourself. That’s no way to live. That’s no way to live in a relationship and survive.

He used to pine after you, he wanted you so bad yet here you guys are one year and a few months into the relationship and suddenly he seemed to stop trying so hard. He fought to get you, but he stopped fighting to keep you.

You racked your mind of all your counterparts that he’s flirted with and you were brought back to analyzing your figure in the mirror.

He’d always remind you how beautiful you were, but lately it’s like he was repulsed by you. You weren’t the one that caught and kept his attention anymore.

He wanted perfect. You weren’t perfect so that figures.

In the midst of an argument he said you guys had “moved too fast”. He said it was your fault. He didn’t take a single crumb of blame.

It was my fault, you blamed yourself, I fell in love too hard.

He’d gotten in your head so bad. He knew your weak points. He played all of his cards right, with the poker face of America’s golden boy.

He was one of the best things to be brought into your life. Even with him acting like this, you still loved that man more than you loved yourself. You would never be the same after this. He’d rocked you so hard it felt like you were dying. You guys would spend days arguing with each other. Days of silent treatment.

He’d walk in the door without saying “hi” and Steve couldn’t bear not greeting people. It was a pet peeve of his for someone else to walk in and not acknowledge the presence of others so he made sure he did, until it came to you.

He’d walk out the door and not a single mumble of a “bye” would be uttered. Steve would always make sure you knew where he was going and when he’d be back. Nowadays you wouldn’t know if he was leaving for good.

He only got that way when things didn’t go his way. He could be so immature. 

“How could you tell me you love me and behave this way?,” you called out, voice trembling and muscles tensed.

“Behave what way, Y/N?” he’d gotten so used to dismissing you that he didn’t seem phased as he sat at the dinner table finishing paperwork and reading up on files on new recruits.

“Like a child, Steve. Talk to me, I’m still a part of your life you know. You could at least acknowledge me.” You stood in the doorway, cowering away from him.

“There’s nothing to acknowledge, Y/N.”

You hated hearing your name leave his mouth. He’d always call you your favorite pet name, even before you guys started dating. It wasn’t until recently that he did start using your real name. It sounded so wrong coming from him, you wished it wasn’t your given name. He made you hate it.

He made you feel alone even when he was around. You despised that feeling. You wanted your old Steve back. You don’t know what changed. At the beginning, it felt like he threw you up in the sky and for the entirety of your relationship you were floating in the air. But things got awry and you started to fall. He wasn’t even there to catch you or even help pick you up, no. He let you hit the ground, full force.

“Are you serious? There’s a lot to acknowledge. Maybe tell me why you’ve been acting like a completely different person for no reason. I don’t even know you, anymore,”

“I’m the same man I’ve always been.” he said plainly.

“No, no you’re not.” you shook your head so fast it could’ve fallen off, “Talk to me, Steve. I’m your girlfriend for crying out loud!” you lightly hiccupped and wrapped your arms around yourself.

He slammed his had on the table causing you to jump and take a step back.

“Jesus, Y/N. Give me a break!, Would you be quiet for just a minute?,”

The way he looked at you... it was almost like he was possessed. You didn’t know this man in front of you.

He will never know how you felt, because he didn’t care to know, he was smart enough to not wear his heart on his sleeve like you and that’s exactly where he got you.

~~~~~~~

“You didn’t have to lie to me, Steve!”

Another argument ensued and it drained every ounce of your being

“So you mean to tell me had I told you the truth, you’d have been okay with it?,” He let out an airy chuckle and shook his head at how unbelievably naïve you were.

“Of course not, Steve!,” you sat on your shared bed and looked up at him, you felt so lost, you had no idea how you survived this toxicity for so long, “It’s like you’re embarrassed to be seen with me now. You really had to ask Sharon Carter, your first love’s niece, to a S.H.I.E.L.D black tie event rather than just take me? Your girlfriend for Christ’s sake, am I that embarrassing to you?,”

You didn’t want him to answer and he knew you didn’t want him to, but he controlled your mind with his words and he knew that.

“Is it that obvious?,”

Moments like this he had you wishing you would just die. These mind games, this emotional abuse. It left you feeling like roadkill, feeling abandoned, unloved, unwanted, it was too much. Yet you still had hope that your Steve was in there.

Your Steve would never yell at you in your face like this.

“You’re so damn suffocating, Y/N. Being away from you was such a breath of fresh air. Yet coming back here had me feeling like I needed a damn oxygen tank,” his laugh was humorless.

He towered over you as you just looked at him in the eyes as he spoke these Earth-shattering words.

“I used to think you were the best thing to ever happen to me but, God, you’re the worst headache ever. You’re the human embodiment of an aneurysm.”

His words had a whimper leave your throat. You’ve tried your entire life to not be a burden and here Steve is laying it all out for you, that even though you tried, it wasn’t good enough. E for effort.

“I don't even do anything,” you tried to defend yourself.

“Oh really? Because calling me in groups of ten when I’m away is doing nothing? Because asking to put you first over any night with the team is nothing? You’re not the center of my life, Y/N. I have more important things to worry about than your episodes of feeling alone,”

“They’re not episodes and you know that,”

“Well excuse me for not using the politically correct term, your highness. It’s all in your head, Y/N,” he tapped his temple as he got in your face.

“Well no shit, Steve!,” you stood in his face but your stature was no comparison to his, “Where the fuck else would it be? my pancreas? Or maybe in my damn rectal cavity. I get that it’s in my head. I have to live with it all day, everyday. not you,”

“We live together so technically I do,” He rolled his eyes and turned away from you to stalk toward the bathroom.

“You’re never even here anymore,” you blurt out.

“Because you’re so mentally exhausting that I felt my own mental stability deteriorating,”

You had no words to say, He’d gotten too comfortable with talking down on you. You wiped your tears and got in bed. There was no rebuttal from you. He won.

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

Being with Steve taught you one of the biggest lessons you’ll learn in life. The whole experience was a bless in a way.

He taught you patience. You had to be patient with him and his melt downs. You had to be patient with yourself as you tried to put yourself back together and build your walls back up. Patient to understand love doesn’t come easy.

Steve only wanted you for the sensation of having you.

He was away and you cried as you packed your bags into the car. This would be the last night you cried over him. You’ve spent too many nights crying over him, spent too many nights with him messing with your mind but no more.

Once everything was packed, you sat on his side of the bed writing him words you weren’t able to say to his face. You were relieved he wasn’t here because had he been, you probably wouldn’t have gotten the guts to leave.

You signed the note with x’s and o’s before setting the paper down by his lamp and walking out the bedroom door and turning the lights off. You’d miss this place, more than anyone will ever know.

You had your first movie date here, Your first breakfast in bed. Your first time. Your first “I love you’s” and... your last. 

You left the key on the key ring by the door and took one last look at the tidy, comfy apartment that you called home. But you realized this wasn’t a home. A home wouldn’t house people to hurt you the way Steve did. It was just a place to lay your head and make your bed.

You sniffled as you locked the door from the inside and rushed to your car. You found a place weeks ago and that’s where you’re headed. 

Maybe this could be home. Where your heart could be set in stone, a place where you can rest your bones and be alone without fear of your personalized dread coming through the bedroom door.

 Being on your own would take some getting used to but you took pride in finally having your own thoughts, that you created, thoughts that weren’t force fed to you. You took pride in mumbling the simple words of  “I can do this. I can do this. I can make it by myself.”

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

Steve walked in late that night. The clock read a quarter two. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet, he wasn’t used to it.

He didn’t the TV in your shared bedroom. You always had it on when he was gone to simulate the feeling of having someone there so you didn’t feel completely alone, to drive away your thoughts.

He didn’t see the nightlight in the kitchen. He looked around and saw how tidy the apartment was. Too tidy.

He went into the bedroom to see the room dark and when he switched the light on his stomach dropped.

Your clothes hamper wasn’t there, your shoes weren’t haphazardly lined up by the closet. Your perfumes weren’t sitting on his dresser. Your night stand didn’t house you guys’ picture from your favorite date. 

That picture was on his night stand, faced down on a piece of paper.

He inched toward it as if it’d jump out and attack him. Little did he know it would, just not physically. He sat on the edge of his bed and flipped the picture up to see you were cut out of it and it just left him smiling down at nothing.

He saw your neat handwriting scribbled across the paper in a warning red and his chest felt tight. He picked it up and wanted to just throw it away. but he had to read it. He had to know what this was. 

Dear Steve, he read, He saw the dried droplets of your tears on the paper and cursed to himself.

Dear Steve,

               You know I loved you. Hell, you know I love you. But whatever is happening right now is not love. I don’t know what you’re going through, or what you’ve been through in the past for you to treat me like this but here’s something you need to live by-

             Pretending you don’t have a heart isn’t going to protect yours.-

        My love for you was insurmountable, I loved you when I didn’t love myself. You would always say you loved me but I’ve come to see you only love yourself. I loved you with all of me and didn’t save any of that for me.You played with my heart and my mind and I don’t know how I survived as long as I did. I remember feeling like I wasn’t good enough, you had me questioning myself, I wasn’t sure enough.

       You always put me in a bad place and that’s not love, Steve. It’s mental warfare. I spent too much time blaming myself and tearing myself down because I believed your words and would reiterate them thinking it would make me change... make me better for you so I could make you happy. 

        But I can’t make you happy. All in all this experience was a blessing. I now know how to guard myself walking into what I think might be love next time.

      I’m not quite sure which is worse- How many times you broke me or how many times I let you. But I can’t kill myself trying to stay in your life. I used to think of you as somebody that would never, ever hurt me.

        I don’t know if moving on will make it better, but there’s no harm in trying, no matter how hard it is, how long it’s going to take or how bad it’s going to hurt. 

       Almost every night for the past few months I’d sit on the edge of this very bed with my heart in my hands, as you’d yell right in my face, stained with the blood that ran through my veins for you. Feeling my heart beat for you. Yet each time you’d take it from my grasp and step on it creating the worst chest tightening feeling I’ve ever felt. It’s time to remove your foot, Steve. It’s time to mold the marks of your footprints away, put my heart back in my chest and have it beat for me. It’s time to take my heart and keep it for myself.

      You were the love of my life, Steve. I guess I just thought I was yours too.

   I gave my all to you, my love was real. 

                                              But you didn’t love me

       -Y/N xo,”

Steve sat on the bed just staring at the letter. He crumbled it up before throwing it at the wall before yelling a loud “Fuck” and knocking the lamp over in the process.

He sat on the bed and felt his face heat up.

How did he allow himself to ruin something that was good for him? Something that was healthy, that he later turned toxic?

Why did he let his stressors and insecurities get the best of him so bad that he broke his best girl?

That phrase “You don’t know what you have ‘til it’s gone” is bullshit, he thought.

Steve knew what he had... he just didn’t think he’d lose it.

~~~~~~~~

*Four Months Later*

It was hard. Getting used to not having someone. Coming home to an empty house. Yet you were able to stay strong and move forward. For the first time in your life you didn’t feel guilty for putting yourself first and taking care of yourself.

You were rolling on your roller skates, doing your last round of cleaning the café before taking your break and sitting down at the diner bar. You had your co-worker cut you a piece of your favorite pie, it was seasonal and you had to have a slice before too many people found out you guys had it in.

“You guys make an exceptional pie,” a man sat down beside you and smiled.

You were in the middle of stuffing your face, he chuckled at you as you felt your face heat up and eyes widen in embarrassment.

You turn to look and see an attractive man smiling over at you. His trimmed beard was immaculate, so clean and sharp. His hair, splashes of grey against the dark brown. His eyes, so green, so vibrant, reminded you of the Northern lights.

“It’s okay, I’ll let you finish so you don’t choke,” He laughed lightly.

You swallowed your pie while drinking down a gulp of almond milk.

“Credits to the head chef. He only bakes it during the autumn season. It’s a hot commodity. It’s his specialty,” you smiled at him as he had his own piece of that pie.

“And the cute waitress sitting beside me. What’s her specialty?,”

You giggled at his compliment. It was good to hear a compliment from a man who didn’t creep you out. 

“I do this rare thing that’s unheard of around these parts of New York,” you whisper.

“Oh yeah? and what’s that?,” he leaned in and whispered right back, entertaining your game of secrecy.

“I heard only the well raised ones know what it is. But I clean up after people who are too much of simpleton slobs to do it themselves,” you snorted and he shook his head at you before laughing along at your slightly terrible joke.

“Well I certainly won’t be adding to your list of simpleton slobs,” he smirked at you and took another bite of his pie.

“What list will you be adding to then,?” you took another sip from your cup and eyed him over the rim.

“Hopefully the list that makes the cut of being able to take you out,“

His boldness made droplets of your milk slip out of your mouth as you damn near choked.

“Me?!,” you looked around and eyed the diner, seeing if maybe he was possibly talking to someone else.

“Yes, you, Miss? Miss right? No, Mrs?,”

You giggled at his uncertainty.

“Y/N. And yes, Miss. No Mrs. Not even close. And who might you be, mister mysterious?,”

He turned to you fully in his chair before extending his hand.

“Strange. Dr. Stephen Strange and I would like to take you, Miss Y/N, out on a date.”

*The End*

----------------------------

If you guys would like a part two with Doctor Strange then let me know!

Don’t forget feedback, it means a lot!<3

Storyline inspired by the song Myself by Layton Greene.

Tags- @sideeffectsofyou @chonisberonica @coonflix @cliffordasparagus​ @disaster-rose 

[kryptsune]

🌼Yes I know I said I needed a break but here is my proof that I love what I do. I spent today and yesterday crafting a little drabble for Felldritch. I am unsure if this is going to be exactly how this story is going to go but it’s a general idea. If it becomes a proper fic then I will elaborate more. Hope you enjoy it C: Tell me what you think and if you would like to see more.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙If you want more of these just let me know! It’s the only way I can gauge interest!

FELLDRITCH DRABBLE {1/3}: The Madhouse

Chocolate colored walls surrounded her day in, day out, though chocolate was something one would associate with something pleasant. This room. Was not. All appearances led one to believe in the fastidious nature of this place. This containment. This prison of foul-smelling chemicals of an unknown substance. The scent of something burning followed by screams for mercy. No…they never heard that. No. This was not a place one would associate with something sweet. 

It was a facade. A simple show for those that did not know any better. A dull green leather sofa sat along the wall. The rivets bolting it down were just hidden by an ornate rug of ghastly reds and browns. Some unknown crimson stain that was never able to be washed out was just covered by a wooden table. A few books here and there slightly worn decorated its surface. They were books one would not make an effort to pick up. The Nature of the Mind, An Essay on the Success of Electrostimulation, CareGiving, A Safe Haven. All books that might lure one into a false sense of security about this place. This madhouse of screaming lunatics and suffering patients. Ruttledge Asylum… The home for the Mentally Tortured and Disturbed.   

A large wooden desk, a full coat rack, a diploma hanging just over some gaudy floral cream-colored wallpaper. Giant books filled with fancy penmanship. A ledger and a quill. Meaningless. Small details that had no value or purpose other than to be eye candy. A pale face watched it all from above surrounded in a golden frame, “Frisk… are you even listening?” Chocolate eyes flecked with ruby stared down from that pale face. Its lips moved expressing a lack of thoughtfulness. A dull tone of acceptance, “I’m sorry Dr. Ruttledge. I will pay more attention.”

The voice that came from that pale face was soft, almost a whisper. One would question if they were truly there, to begin with. A kind of lifelessness that illuminated the tribulations of the past, present, and future. The face that stared back, mahogany hair cut in places haphazardly sticking out, a bandage around a pale throat, eyebrows furrowed with despair. This was her… 

A young woman lay on a lounge staring up into the mirror that the nurses and doctor had placed there. They had claimed it was a means of self-reflection. To be able to see one's own progress and health improving. To her, however, it was a wraith. Every time she stared back at that girl she could see herself being whittled away.  Every question asked left her more and more hollow. No one believed her and why should they? Her experience was something out of a fairytale. Something that only the mad would conjure up, “Frisk I am going to ask you once more and I want you to respond honestly. Do you understand?” 

Dr. W. D. Silias Ruttledge owned this madhouse. He was the presiding caregiver and psychologist to those that did not have violent tendencies. The rest were thrown in solitary beating their empty skulls against dirty white padding. Only hearing the voices of others through a bolted latch in the door. At night she would hear them pacing or talking to themselves. 

He had a suspicious voice. One that was soothing in understanding but he didn’t take that tone with everyone. She always felt he was hiding something. Of course, he would just add paranoia to her list of ailments if she even exhibited such an accusation. His black hair was neatly combed where she could just see a streak or two of grey by the side of his skull. A crooked nose had a pair of golden spectacles perched lightly. She noticed it was a habit of his to pull them off and clean them with this handkerchief when he was beginning to grow irritable. A faint scar ran from the bottom of his left eye and she could have sworn also the top of his right. He was properly groomed, a high white starched collar resting below his chin. An ebony and cream waistcoat showed how successful he had been in his career. The finery of a medical professional.

A set of hazel eyes were kept focused on the clipboard he had resting on one leg dressed in black slacks. A lapel pin of a deer rested on the fabric standing out very minimally. It must have been his lineage she guessed just from his British accent, “Yes sir, I understand.” He tapped the quill he was using to write against the inkwell gently ready to write down any notes that may implicate her level of delusion. It was hopeless.    

“Frisk, can you explain to me how you got here?” He replied, moving in his chair to find a more comfortable position before reaching for his usual cup of tea and taking a sip, “I want a full and complete answer, no one-word responses today.” 

She just turned her attention back up at the doppelganger in the mirror, watching it speak but not feeling anything about what it was saying. It could have been a doll or a dead body for all she cared. That was how hollow she had become. Was there even a soul left within her? Her eyes fell closed before he even asked. It was a typical procedure. Everyday, “Yes, Dr. Ruttledge. I promise I will answer completely and honestly.” Even answering fully wouldn’t put any emotion behind it. A soft sigh escaped her, “I was found wandering the woods late at night nearly seven years ago.

He nodded his head, never once looking up at her, “Yes and why is it you have found yourself in our care?” His quill scribbled something down as she responded, “I was confused trying to remember what had happened to leave me there. Alone in the woods...” The writing stopped, soft scratching absent from crumpled parchment, “You were found exclaiming that you came from a world of monsters. That you needed to help and that you made a promise. A promise to free them from their underground prison.”

Frisk swallowed thickly, “Dr. Ruttledge please I-” He cut her off, listing off her supposed illness calmly. She didn’t want to hear it anymore, “You became hysterical and physically aggressive when you were found and brought here. You begged to be released. So that you could return to them. You continued to talk about these demons… skeletons, fish people, dragons, and goat beasts.” He removed his spectacles and set them down on his clipboard, folding his hands in front of him, “Now tell me, is this due to some trauma or hallucination that you have had? Do you still believe in these fabrications?” 

Her eyes fluttered open to look off to the side, “Frisk? Did you not hear my question?” She took a breath but did not respond to the question. She could just hear that soft sound of metal folding upon metal, “I see. We shall skip that question for now. Now... tell me about these friends that you talk about. That you confide in.” 

She stared as he sat calmly looking down at her. He never seemed to move positions except for maybe switching the leg he crossed. His attention was back on his notes, but only for a second, “Let’s start with your ‘Best Friend’. You seem to talk about him quite a bit.” Frisk felt her body stiffen. Of course, he would ask about him, “Frisk, I want you to talk about him.” She didn’t want to. She never wanted to because she knew what would happen when she did. 

“He was one of the first monsters I met. He helped me and watched over me… protected me. We became close friends. He saved me. I would have had to sacrifice myself to save them all. They all told me that it wouldn’t be the same if I was gone. He begged me to leave my mission behind. Save myself.” 

Dr. Ruttledge just nodded his head, “Yes, as we have discussed before. I must ask if your analysis of this… situation is correct. To me, it sounds as though you possibly had feelings for this demon. Which concerns me greatly.” Frisk shook her head before bolting upright, “He is not a demon!” He raised a brow before shaking his head, “Is? As in present tense. Oh, Frisk, I thought we had made progress today. We will continue tomorrow. Rest up, I will see you in the morning.” He rose from his chair, setting the clipboard down on his desk with a soft sigh and opening the door. His gaze was locked on her, just waiting for her to leave his office, or the most likely reason: waiting for the nurse to “escort” her out. 

Of course, she was upset. He just called her best friend a demon. He was nothing of the sort, even if he was skeletal in appearance. His brother was not that way either. As much as she wanted to play the game to get out of here she wasn’t going to agree to that. Sans and Pap. They were her friends and family. Nothing would ever change that. Even as the nurse glared at her, grabbing her arm and leading her down the hall. 

She didn’t even bother to look around the room she was in. It was the room she had been in for nearly seven years. The soft clink of the lock reminded her that she was still a prisoner, regardless of her “ailments.” At least she had a small window to look out over the grounds. It was sad, really, to think that such a small thing was even worth mentioning. It was dark outside with the fire of the lanterns flickering back and forth.

Her hand slipped from the wooden frame only to make her way to the small bed she knew. All she could think of was her bed back in Snowdin. How she would cuddle under those warm covers, snuggled up with the boy's pet dog. Well, more like a wolf. Now she just laid there cuddling a plush she kept close to her. It was a rabbit. A white stuffed rabbit with little button eyes. She had painted them green one day with some of the paint from the rec room. A place she was apparently forbidden from for it would “worsen” her delusions. 

All she could do was close her eyes and try to rest, all while slipping into her memories of a better time. One that she wanted to return to. A place where she was loved and accepted. A place that withheld judgment. Home. She buried her face gently against the plush in her arms, her whole body shaking from the thoughts that clawed at her mind. It was at that moment she felt terribly alone and hopeless.   

Frisk could feel the tears slipping down her cheeks as she curled into a ball on top of the thin blankets. A few soft sobs caused her to choke on what little words she could get out, “I want to go home.” Would they even recognize her anymore? She was broken. A fragile thing putting up a smiling face in the jaws of adversity. That tightness was starting to constrict her chest before she let it out. Trails of tears poured from her eyes as she fell apart, slowly struggling to take in proper oxygen. This place was breaking her. If she just admitted that they didn’t exist maybe they would let her leave. Maybe she could live a normal life, but that wasn’t the one she wanted.

A few hours later and she was shaken awake only to be greeted by an old frowning face. The nurse. Frisk didn’t bother to remember her name. She was a crotchety old crone that treated the patients like dogs. The cup in her hand found its way into her cheek, squishing against her face and forcing her to take it from those leathery hands. It was her medicine. The kind that would make her sleepy. It was a feeling she hated; not being in control of herself properly. She took the pills and hid them under her tongue as the nurse walked away. Normally they checked to see if they were swallowed, but they had never caught her not taking them before. 

She spit them out before tossing them through the bars of the window. There were worse things here then not taking ones medication. Tortures she had been subjected to even though she was not supposed to. That was when she noticed a sliver of light coming from the hallway. The nurse had forgotten to shut the door. 

All that was running through her mind was that she could be free. She could escape this place. Adrenaline was coursing through her as her feet flew toward the crack in the metal. A promise of freedom and escape. There was no one in the hallway. 

She grabbed some of her clothing. The same ones that she had been found in and threw them on. The striped shirt that she wore in the Underworld for so long they had thrown away a long time ago. Now all she was left with was the patient clothing now hanging on her shoulders and a pair of boots and socks. She hated being stuck in that sterile smock, but she couldn’t waste any time. 

She grabbed what she found valuable from her room before creeping down the hallway, passing a security guard easily. The spare keys were kept in the office as she snagged one from the drawer before rushing toward the door. That soft click of the key being inserted into the lock caused her heart to jump, as she stumbled out into the night. Where was the mountain? She could just faintly make out the silhouette of Ebott from where she was. 

Frisk ran as hard as she could and as fast as she could, stumbling through the trees, climbing rocks, and doing everything in her power to reach the summit. She knew where she had fallen; it was all rushing back. A branch caught at her cheek, causing a thin line of crimson to bead from the wound. Just a little bit more. 'Seven years ago she had been here,' she thought as she stared down into the open mouth of the mountain. So long ago. 

It didn’t matter… she was going home.

A simple jump and she had flung herself into the darkness once more. Only this time she knew what awaited her. At least… she thought she did….

[yzssie]

OCEAN EYES pt. 2

Characters: Loki/Reader(Y/N)

Chapters: 2/7

Warnings: smut and smut (dominant Loki), mentions of self-harm, a little angst (added some fluff to compensate it)

Short summary: You find yourself in the midst of another attack by Loki, but little did both of you knew that things will get complicated, a strange attraction to each other will change everything.

Words: 2.7k

Disclaimer: I DO NOT ROMANTICIZE OR ENCOURAGE SELF HARMING! Mental health problems are very serious and real. If you have any struggles and you want to talk with someone, I am right here and I truly wish to help you!

A/N: I am incredibly thankful to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged and even sent me asks (ugly cry) ❤ ❤ ❤ . I am so happy that you guys liked and read my work, though I still lack, I will try to get better. Since I have received so many kind reactions, I have started to write the third part. And I also have written an episode which will probably be around part 5 if I get to it. (Hint: “There’s no Thor without Loki and there’s no Loki without Thor.”)

So all the support is welcomed and appreciated. I will probably make a tag list if you want to be tagged.

*part 7 is out, check Masterlist*

He acts indifferent, but he's aware it's only to hide the fact that he’s also longing for your touch. Although he is interested to hear about your troubles, he cannot postpone the need to become one with you. For a second there he had the impression you were going to back off and he couldn't live with the thought that he forces himself upon you, because he never did and never will. He will get so frustrated and annoyed with you if you won't do something. But in a second you start kissing his neck; your lips touch his skin softly. You trace a line of butterfly kisses down his neck when you decide to graze your teeth upon a spot, to which he grabs your hair.

“No bites. I can’t get myself so low as to be marked by a mere mortal.”

Your heart flips a little. He was right when he said that this means nothing to him. But you care so much that you cannot really think your actions through.

“Really? Have my words really sadden you?” he rolls his eyes and you trace your fingers down his chest, hoping that this matter will be forgotten. “Humans and…” he inhales as you lick his well-built chest and abs. “Sentiments,” he moans.

You lower and stop at the band of his boxers. His bulge is throbbing painfully, asking for release and attention. You bite your lip as his voice draws your attention to his face.

“Three minutes have passed,” he raises and takes you away from the bed. “Kneel!” his eyes darken and you comply looking straight to him while a satisfied grin appears on his face. “Finally,” he steps closer forcing his bulge in front of you.

“I… I had never done this,” you quiver while you take off his boxers and free his whole length. You gawk as its standing tall with precum already dripping from his tip. You touch him gently and he inhales deeply. You rub his shaft with one of your hands and look up to see his satisfied face. He closes his eyes and his eyebrows furrow while his lips are slightly parted. You will definitely not forget that look upon his face and his irregular breaths while you fasten your pace. Ever. Seeing how pleased he is by your actions, you decide to be witty and lick his tip before going down his length and then back to the tip as if you want to trace every vein on his sex.

“Y/N,” he moans. Something in his voice makes you tremble and you finally take him in your mouth.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he breathes and opens his eyes to watch you gracefully sucking and licking his dick. You want to break the eye contact but he grabs your hair: “Look at me,” he grits his teeth more because of the bliss he is in.

“This will be the biggest mistake you ever did in your life,” he groans and tugs on your head, trying to fit his whole manhood into your mouth. He throws his head back in pleasure and you try your best to deepthroat him but you start to gag. He doesn’t seem to mind it and still maneuvers your head faster and faster. Your saliva is messily going down your chin from the speed and you feel that you might become breathless soon. The sounds you make turn him on more and after two more thrusts, he comes inside your mouth, a throaty groan following his orgasm.

You cough after the intrusion because of the lack of air but swallow his cum anyways. You try to steady your breath; you feel that all the air from your lungs is gone. He pats your hair and pulls you back on your feet only to quickly throw you on the bed. He hovers over you and captures your lips again as his fingers travel down to your damp part. He plays again with your clit, approving with a nod that you’re still as wet as ever and ready to take him in. His teeth graze your neck again but this time he travels down to your breasts and starts kissing, licking and gently biting your sensitive bud, enticing moans from you. Your hands search for his hair again, slowly massaging his scalp as he leaves more hickeys on your body. You want to stop him just like he did but then you’re reminded of your unworthiness. Not just for him, but for everyone… everything… He stops:

“Are you serious?” he asks and you look at him confused.

“What?”

“Can you stop thinking about anything else but this and enjoy yourself?”

“I am enjoying this Loki,” you pant.

He bites the inside of your thigh and you shriek.

“I'm going to take you so hard that everything you will think about will be just me,” he growls as he places his tip at your entrance.

“Wait!” you quiver. “Can you… go gentle at first?”

As soon as those words came out your mouth you seriously felt like punching yourself.  It was such a stupid and awkward question.

His ocean blue eyes search again for yours.

“I knew it.”

That was his only reply as his lips found yours. You messily kiss him back as his tip slowly penetrates you. You inhale into the kiss and arch your back to meet his chest. He embraces you and whispers into your ear, “Relax.”

The pain is there, you can feel it as he fully enters you and you bury your head into the crook of his neck. He waits a little bit, then moves again and a short pained sound hits his ears.

“Breathe pet,” he notices you’re holding your breath and kisses your shoulder. He moves again, this time his thrust is met only with a shaky breath. “You’re so tight,” he moans as he tries to keep himself composed and not pound into you like there’s no tomorrow. He pushes himself slowly but he makes sure to fill you up each time. Even if he wants to go faster, this pace allows him to feel everything, your inside clutching onto him and his shaft going in inch by inch.

“Loki, my King,” you moan as a sign that the pain faded.

“Oh love, you will have my name on your tongue for a long time tonight," he says with a smirk.

You moan again at the other nickname he uses. His thrusts start picking up in strength and pace as a slapping sound fills the whole room. You almost yelp at a particularly strong one before he loses it all and starts ramming into you fast. Your legs wrap over his waist, urgently looking for more contact. Your hips start to roll in order to meet his assault. His hands move from your hips to pin your wrists above your head.

“Open your eyes Y/N.”

You open your eyes to meet his. How deep you have fallen into those ocean blue eyes, so deep that it scares you. You are scared of the aftermath, of losing them after you had them looking only at you. They would make you cry for sure, because of pain, pleasure, happiness maybe. It is not fair, you think. But you can’t do anything regarding this matter. This pair of blue eyes is forever engraved into your memory now. A wave of ecstasy hits you and you feel your second orgasm forming into your lower pit.

“Oh no,” he chuckles darkly. “You won’t cum until I say so,” he thrusts deeply, making you mewl.

“I need to,” you barely whisper and he stops. “No!” you whine in disapproval.

“Turn on your fours pet.”

You comply more or less happy since you do not want to be left hanging.

“Higher!” he orders and hits your buttocks. You obey.

“Loki!” you groan feeling some of his juices streaming down your thighs as he stares at you. You’re getting embarrassed.

Loki is still in denial. He is fucking you, a mortal, a fragile human. Moreover, he let you touch him and softened for you when you weren’t confident. And he now stands in front of you who begs for contact. He even hugs you, whispers sweet words and calls you love, a nickname he used to say only in the past, before he became aware of his nature as a Frost Giant.

He moans as he fills you up once more. You had felt so good in his presence, even if he thought that your aroused scent and this whole frustrating tension is because you are a virgin. He expected this to end as soon as he pounded into you but it was exactly the opposite. You are more tempting, more endearing to him now. Your hands give in and you collapse, barely being able to hold your lower body as high as he wants. He can feel you tighten even more around his shaft. You consume him and he is eager to let you do so. But then his cocky and proud attitude wakes him up.

“No.” he pulls out again and you scream this time.

“Please, don’t! Let me cum please Loki! My King!” he grins at the desperate state he put you in.

His fingers enter your pussy and you sigh. How bad you need this orgasm, your whole energy is sucked by him and if you don’t cum you will blackout. His fingers slowly move inside, making sure to don’t trigger your orgasm too quickly. He wants to tease you, make you cry his name out, beg. However, he feels his cock throbbing for release and your cries are making it harder for him to hold it in. He stops again.

“Loki!” you yelp, annoyed that he cannot make up his mind.

He turns you around and makes you straddle his lap. You look at him and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and kisses your shoulder.

You flinch as his lips move on your arms but he stops when he hears your loud heartbeat. He kisses you once more as he enters again and you both moan in each other’s mouths. Your hands wrap around his neck though you were hesitating at first when you saw him move uncomfortably, but he also wraps his hands around your waist and you both go quicker. His fingers once again yank your head to look at him and you feel lost into him, with no escape.

“Let it go love.” He smirks and you arch your back, your eyes closing when you feel your orgasm finally hitting you. Your walls clench around his length and he feels it too, immediately filling you up with his cum. Ecstasy makes your whole body shake into his embrace as your legs shiver uncontrollably. He nuzzles his nose in your shoulder as he empties himself into you.

“Easy.” He kisses your neck as you both calm down.

Once you're relaxed and breathe normally you slowly get out from his grasp and anticipate what will happen next. Will he dispose of you? Really kill you? Or just leave without saying anything?

“I don’t regret it,” you manage to say. He smirks and gets up for the bathroom.

You stay there as you hear water dripping down and you feel bad. He probably feels dirty after this, maybe you really stained him or whatever he said when you wanted to bite him.

“For some reason, I can easily read your emotions,” he replies as he comes back shortly.

You finally take in his whole frame. He has broad shoulders, as you did notice before, but seeing him naked now is more than you imagined. His chest looks so strong and sturdy, his muscles and eight-pack flex deliciously while he walks. You shift your glance from his lower part, feeling your cheeks redden despite the fact that you want to see those voluptuous thighs ready to ride. And then you become aware that he might not be as pleased by your appearance as you are by his.

“It’s like a roller-coaster.” He remarks before he throws you on your back and spreads your legs. “You should be in a constant fucking mode to get rid of them.” You’re taken aback as he starts to wipe your thighs with a wet towel. You feel embarrassed by the position he put you in and close your legs.

“I will do it.” You get up and try to take the towel from his hand but his stoic gaze stops you.

“You’re continuously disobeying me and it won’t help you from now on.”

You gulp. His stare drops again on your scars and you feel so exposed to him now. You grab the sheets and cover up, guilty of what you are.

“Again.” He sighs and tears away the blanket from your body.

“Loki!”

“Y/N! I think I might have not been clear with you!” he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer, his breath ghosting on your lips. “You’re dead. Everyone saw me killing you. And you will stay dead until I say so. I can’t afford someone finding out my cheap trick to keep a weak Midgardian alive for unknown reasons,” he says, his voice stern and dominant. “You are stuck with me now. And you will do what I say and if you try once more to hide anything from me, starting with your body, you will see how merciless I can be,” he tightens his hold on you and you shiver.

“I am glad that you’re feeling aroused again. I assumed you are tired and want to rest but…” he starts as he hovers over you. “I have to keep my promise and get those annoying thoughts out of your mind.”

“First, you won’t kneel!” he slammed into you, and you jerk your body. “Then you call me by my name without my permission,” he thrusts again and your sensitive womanhood is still not recovered after the massive orgasm you had five minutes ago. “Then you lie to me,” another slam.

“Assume you can have any effect on me,” the third thrust shakes the whole bed.

“Well, physically it was not that hard,” again.

“Lie to me,” and again.

“Try to touch me,” another one.

“Touched me in the end,” seventh.

“Hide yourself from me,” eight.

“Cum without my permission,” ninth.

“I didn’t!” you retort and he plunges even harder.

“TALK BACK TO ME!” eleventh.

“Feelings getting in the way because you think too much,” twelfth.

“Telling me what to do,” thirteenth.

“Swearing,” fourteenth.

“Refusing to be cleaned by me,” fifteenth.

“Telling me not to look at you,” sixteenth.

“Trying to leave a hickey on my neck,” seventeenth.

“And finally did it even if I said no,” eighteenth.

Your eyes open and fall on his neck where you can now see the faint trace of a bite. When? Was it when you had your orgasm? That’s the only moment when you were in so much pleasure that you don’t remember what you did.

He thrusts again and you feel your third orgasm on its way.

“Pet, you have to be very obedient if you don’t want me to punish you,” he snaps. “Understood?” he slams and you both cum, juices mixing again. Your bodies fall onto the bed and you go limp.

“Yes,” you breathe and weakly turn over to find his body and rest against his. He freezes for a moment. This would be the first time he would stay in the same bed with somebody after satisfying his needs. It would be the first time only if he stays. He won't. But then his thoughts are interrupted by your delicate fingers caressing his chest.

“You can punish me later for this.” You smile and close your eyes.

His look is alarming. Will he do this? Now? With this… Midgardian? He inhales your scent again and finds his mind giving in. After a few minutes of being still, questioning his intentions, his hands start to unconsciously trace your scars softly. What could happen anyways? You are both fucked up and he already risked a lot by faking your death. What in the nine realms was in his mind? But he has already thrown himself headfirst into something too big to escape from. So he has to handle this.

[war-sword]

easter break (part 2)

summary: Draco invites you to Malfoy Manor for Easter break during your last year at Hogwarts. What ypu’d hoped would be a fine visit to Draco’s house with his family is anything but. Now, you’re back at Hogwarts for the rest of the term. What will happen? warnings: cursing words: 5,948 A/N: thank you SO much to everyone who showed interest in this fic and asked for a part 2!! this is for everyone who reblogged, liked, or commented on the original story. that being said, there will be no more parts after this because i am out of ideas, haha. if you are interested in any more of my writing, please head to my ask box or send me a message to be added to my taglist for all future posts. tags: @clockworkherondale @paigeyisme // read part 1 here

You woke up to the feeling of Draco’s hot breath on your neck and sweat between your legs. You couldn’t feel your entire left arm, as Draco was lying on it. As the events of yesterday came back to you, you felt your chest constrict with anxiety. Immediately you wished for the void of sleep again. As gently as you could, you slid your arm from beneath Draco’s torso, gently rubbing it to get the feeling back. Your neck was sore- you and Draco hadn’t moved in your sleep all night.

Despite how you tried not to move very much, Draco stirred, blinking his eyes sleepily as he woke. The sight of his slate-grey eyes looking so sad first thing in the morning made you want to start crying all over again.

Today there were no ‘good morning’s’. Instead, Draco just opened his arms back up and you held each other again, this time in a more comfortable position.

After being awake for a while, you heard the telltale sound of a house elf apparating into a room. “Master Draco, I apologize for the intrusion, but your presence is required downstairs at once,” the elf growled from somewhere at the foot of the bed, disapparating without further comment.

“For the love of Merlin,” Draco muttered. He kicked off the blankets and you unattached yourselves, and Draco slipped on some pants and a robe.

You sat up, pulling the sheets around your shoulders. Draco lifts your face to his for a quick kiss. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t take too long,” he says. “I hate to leave you alone.”

You put your hand over his and lift his fingers up to your lips. “I’ll be okay,” you whisper against his hand.

Draco lets go of your hand and disappears before your eyes. You lay back on the pillows and stare out across the gardens. Today, it is sunny.

“It was mother… she said I’m not to go back to school for the rest of the term. I’m not supposed to be telling you this, any of this actually. She said I was to ask you where your loyalties lie and to make a decision about joining our family or not, but I can’t do that to you.” Draco lay flat on the bed, gaze locked on the canopy above as you stroked his fine blonde hair.

“Why? Why can’t you come back to school?” You have a sick feeling you already know.

“Father and Aunt Bella think the time is drawing near. I don’t know what Potter and the others are up to but I think we’re about at the end of the line, y/n.” He turns his head to look at you. “The war.”

Your heart catches in your throat, and your hand stills on Draco’s hair. He shoots into a sitting position and puts his hands on your cheeks. “Listen to me, y/n. I love you so, so much. I’ve already failed once. If I don’t do what my parents want, what he wants, we could all die. I can’t let anything happen to you, and I won’t. If something happens, I’ll come for you, I swear it.”

“I know,” you sigh, leaning into his hand. “Will you tell me what’s going on? Will you write?”

“I’ll tell you everything I know. I refuse to let anything like yesterday happen again,” Draco says feverently.

You spend the rest of the day in your shared room, packing and eating a small lunch. In the late afternoon, you dress in your uniform. Draco watches you in the mirror as you tie your colored tie. “Should I say goodbye to your parents?” You sort of hope the answer is no.

“Maybe we should just go downstairs as usual and hope we don’t encounter them.” Draco deadpans. It makes you smile a little.

You walk down the stairs, your trunk levitating behind you. “I’m sorry about your wand,” you say again.

“It’s fine,” he says, but you know it’s not. Draco was very attached to his first wand. “I’ll get it back.”

Outside in the manor’s driveway, your trunk gently settles to the ground. You give Draco one last hug. “I’ll miss you,” you breath into the crook of his neck.

“I’ll miss you so much,” he replies, one hand curling up into your hair to pull you closer. “Please stay safe.”

“I can handle myself,” you remind him.

“I know.” You can feel Draco’s smile against your temple. You pull away, and he kisses your forehead. One small wave goodbye, and you clutch your bag and apparate to the street outside of Kings Cross.

When you finally arrive back at Hogwarts, you try to be your normal positive self. “How was break, y/n?” Fine. “Do any of your homework?” Of course not. “Did you and Draco have lots of alone time?”, with a wink. Enough, also with a wink. “Where is he?” Still at home, he had family visiting. But as you laid in your bed back in your dorm, you couldn’t shake the cold feeling of the sheets around you, missing having a certain someone to cuddle up with.

The first few weeks back passed without much incident, but every time you heard whispers of Ron, Harry, and Hermione’s names, you would shiver. You would still listen though, just to make sure they weren’t dead.

Students from all years were being punished daily, and it seemed the only upside so far of Draco not being at school with you was no longer needing to sneak out under the noses of the Carrow twins to meet in the nighttime. You sent him a letter every other day, making sure to send your owl in the early hours of afternoon so Draco would receive them in the nighttime to reduce their chances of being intercepted. He’d write back at least bi-weekly, making sure to fill you in on any happenings. However, it seemed since the failed capture at the Manor over Easter break, Bellatrix had left and Lucius had not heard any new news from the Dark Lord. Neither of you were sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

The first evening in May, you were sitting in your dorm common room, when none other than Neville Longbottom burst in. “Neville, how in the bloody hell-”

“No time to explain,” he huffed, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “One of your dorm mates told me… that you… taught yourself how to heal?” He asked.

“Um, yes, I can. Why?”

“Come with me. Please?” He held out a hand.

You followed Neville up the staircases to the fourth floor, where he paces back and forth in front of a blank wall. “Neville, will you please-” but to words died on your lips was a small, thin door materialized out of the wall. Neville motioned for you to follow him inside.

The room was big, but almost every available spaces was crowded with hammocks strung from the walls, and mattresses on the floors. At the back of the room there was a fireplace, and in front of it were several third years who had horrible slashes up and down their arms. Instantly, your mind transported you back to the Manor, and you saw the evil glint of Bellatrix’s knife, heard Hermione’s screams.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” Neville grasped your shoulders as your fought back a gag. “I, maybe should’ve warned you. But, I can’t heal them myself, not without the right plants. I was hoping you could help.”

You steadied your breathing. “No, no… it’s fine Neville. I can do it.” You gave him what you hoped was an encouraging smile.

One by one, you healed the cuts on the third years. Your work by now was nearly perfect, and only the deep ones ended in scars. After the last student was healed, you slumped against the wall, utterly exhausted.

“Thank you so much, I knew I could count on you,” Neville said, sounding relieved.

“Of course,” you replied, but inwardly you cringed. Neville shouldn’t trust you. No one should. “What is this place?”

“We’re hiding here, from the mess outside.” Neville explained. “We figured the war is coming. We’re searching for news about Harry and the others everyday, trying to keep morale up. This room is the only safe one in Hogwarts right now.”

“Are they alive?” You can’t help but ask. “Harry? Ron and Hermione?”

“We think so,” Neville says. “I think we would hear if they’d been killed, but no ones seen or heard from them since the start of the year.”

You gulp. “No news is good news, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Neville agrees.

He offers to walk you back to your common room, but you insist you’ll be fine. The guilt of your knowledge about the trio gnaws at you, but you try to tamp it down. When you get back to your dorm, you go straight to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Sitting under the hot rain, you try to relax, but in the end your hot tears run right down the drain alongside the hot water and flecks of dried blood stuck to your hands. You miss Draco too much to think, and you lean against the wall, crying with your constellation necklace clutched in one fist and your lips pressed on your ring, hoping to Merlin he’s okay.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sat there, but you get broken out of your stupor by one of your dorm mates yelling your name.

“Y/n! Get out of there! We’ve got to go down to the Great Hall right away, robes on!”

Shit. You shut the water off and dry as quick as you can, throwing on your uniform from earlier in the day. As you troop down to the common room with your dorm mates, you dry your hair with a wave of your wand. The Great Hall is cleared of it’s tables, and you all stand in your proper lines with the rest of your house. Complete silence envelopes the Hall as Headmaster Snape turns to address everyone The tension is palpable.

“I’m sure many of you are wondering why I summoned you at this hour,” Snape begins. “It’s come to my attention that earlier this evening, Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmead.”

You gasp. A wave of murmurs sweeps through everyone in the room. He’s alive, he’s okay, Harry’s okay.

“Now,” Snape said loudly, cutting everyone off. “Should anyone, student or staff, attempt to aid mister Potter, they will be punished. Anyone with knowledge of these events will be treated as equally guilty.

“Now then, has anyone had any knowledge of mister Potter’s activities this evening?” Snape steps down from the front of the room, ready to walk through your rows. The only sound in the room is the tapping of Snape’s shoes, and the drag of his robes on the floor. “If so, I invite you to step forward, now.”

Three rows back on your right, you hear someone get out of line. Astonished, you whip your head around, only to see no one other than Harry standing in the aisle, dressed in a Gryffindor robe. “It seems, despite your exhaustive defensive measures, you still have a slight breach in security, headmaster.”

The doors at the back of the Hall open, and in walks a group of people you don’t recognize, except for Ron and Hermione. But Harry isn’t finished. “How dare you stand where he stood!” He yells. “Tell them! Tell them how it happened that night! How you killed Dumbledore!”

Another gasp ripples through the students. You must be the only other person in this room who knew what happened that evening on the Astronomy tower.

With one smooth movement, Snape draws his wand. Immediately, everyone backs away, and you’re nearly crushed by the wave of people moving out of the way. Harry doesn’t even have time to draw his wand, before Professor McGonagall steps in front of him. Your dorm mate reaches out and grabs your hand. You squeeze back.

Snape and McGonagall begin trading spells. Your eyes are wide as your teachers fight. You’ve never seen grown adults fight like this, and both have a face of sheer determination. But the duel only lasts a moment, when Snape suddenly disapparates in a cloud of black, bursting through the window of the Great Hall. Everyone erupts into cheers. Everyone, except for you.

Your dorm mate tries to cling onto your hand, but you’re running. Running out of the hall and up the stairs, taking them two at a time, desperate to get to your room. As you sprint down the corridors, you can see outside: a iridescent veil is criss-crossing the sky, forming a dome around the castle. Statues in the courtyard come to life, drawing stone weapons.

It’s happening, and neither you nor Draco were ready for it.

You burst into your dorm and begin ripping through your belongings. You frantically shuffle through Draco’s letters with shaky hands, searching for the one you’re looking for. But you’re hyperventilating, and your vision is getting fuzzy, and oh God, did you dream it? Did Draco not tell you a place to go that was safe in the castle? You can’t remember anymore, you can’t read the words on the page that are in Draco’s elegant, looping handwriting. You strip off your uniform cloak and try to get a hold of yourself.

You’re strong. You can fight, one of the top duelists of your year. You can fight and stay safe, and you will find Draco.

None of your roommates come back. You sit in front of the window that overlooks the east side of the school, and you wait. You wait for hours. You feel like coward, sitting in your room, watching the window, but you’re waiting, staying safe just like Draco told you to do.

You almost think for a moment that you were wrong, when you see a small part of the dome turn red, then grow larger, as if it’s almost burning away. A piece of the magical dome flutters past your window, and you know it’s time.

Outside, the corridors are chaos. Everyone is running, yelling, going to someplace they think is most safe. People are crowded in corners, bawling their eyes out. You run down the stairs, wand clutched at the ready. Down on the lower floors, you can hear jinxes hitting walls and people screaming, you pass by people laying on the floor. You try not to look too closely.

You weave in and out of familiar corridors, trying to think. Where should you go? Back to your dorm? Are Neville and the rest of those kids still in the room of requirement? Was Draco even here? You retrace your steps back the the main staircase, following a wave of students. You branch off, headed toward a corridor you know is a good shortcut to the dungeons, when you feel a hand close around the back of your collar and pull you off to the side of the corridor.

Fear takes over, and you twist out of the person’s grasp, wand at the ready. But you’re stopped by a pair of familiar lips crashing into yours, a clean scent that smells like home enveloping you as a pair of arms tug you close. As soon as the realization hits you, you push his jaw away, your eyes flying open. “Draco?”

Soft, grey eyes lock with yours. Draco runs his fingers along your jaw. “I told you I would come for you.”

You kiss him again, deeply this time. You cling to each other with desperate need, and for a moment, the sounds and feeling of the rushing people around you fade away. Draco pulls away first this time.

“Come, hurry. I need to get my wand from Potter.” You lace your fingers together as you sprint through the halls.

“How do you know where he is?” You yell as you run.

“I overheard them on the first floor, they’re headed to the Room of Requirement.”

Sure enough, as you reach the empty fourth floor, the door to the Room of Requirement is vanishing back into nothing. For the first time, you look down and notice a wand in Draco’s hand. “Who’s is that?”

“Mother’s,” Draco says, striding towards the wall. “The Dark Lord took father’s some months ago, and Mother gave me this to defend myself with tonight.” Draco spins and faces you. “I can’t leave her defenseless like that. I need to get mine back, and return this to her, then we can all get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay,” you say, your mind spinning as the large doors appear on the wall again. “But let me talk to him-- Harry. You two don’t exactly get on. Maybe I can convince him.”

Draco nods. “Okay.”

The doors open, and you step into the room for Hiding. You’d come here before with Draco to watch him work with the vanishing cabinet. As the two of you walk between the towering stacks, you think about all the things you done with Draco which could possibly be categorized into ‘The Dark Lord’s Unknowing Bidding’. It terrified you.

The two of you freeze, when you hear a clatter around a corner, and then a curse that sounds like Harry’s voice. You turn to Draco, a finger to your lips, and he nods. You go off in the direction of the noise.

You turn the corner ahead of you, and there is Harry, holding what looks like a tiara. He looks up, eyes wide, and for a moment neither of you say anything.

“Harry,” your voice comes out with a crack. “You… you’re okay.”

"Y/n." Harry’s lip twitches. “I’ve been better, I suppose.”

You stand there awkwardly for another beat. “Listen, about that day-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry cuts you off. “You did what you could. But, why? You two knew it was me. Why did Malfoy lie?”

“I… I dunno. I guess only he could answer that. He never told me,” you say, looking down at your feet. “Listen, Harry… I know you have Draco’s wand. He really needs it back.” You spare a glance at the piece of Hawthorn wood clutched in Harry’s hand.

Harry’s face takes on it’s usual look of arrogance. “Well, I sort of need it probably a little more than he does. Now if you don’t mind I’ll…”

Harry trails off, and you feel Draco’s presence behind you. You turn, and see Draco glaring at Harry, wand raised. You turn back in a huff. “Bloody fuck, Draco.”

“Malfoy,” Harry spits.

“You heard her. If you would, hand over my property,” Draco sneers. You can’t help but roll your eyes at their usual bickering, despite the circumstances.

One of them seems likely to spit another insult, when Ron and Hermione come barreling around the corner. “A SPRITE!” Ron cries, “A DUST SPRITE SET THE BLOODY PLACE ON FIRE!”

Hermione grabs Harry’s hand as she runs past, and the three disappear down the aisle next to them. You hear the fire before you see it, but the wall of orange flame quickly proceeds the crackling sound. “Oh, fucking hell!”

You grab Draco’s hand and you quickly start sprinting back the way you came. At least you think it’s the way you came, but the fire starts coming from all sides, and you don’t which way to go. Next to you, Draco looks terrified.

“Climb!” You yell. If you can get to the top of a stack and locate the door, maybe you can use a water spell to get through the fire. You and Draco frantically scramble up a pile of chairs and tables, but the smoke is getting too thick to see through. Everywhere around you is flames of orange, and they’re already starting to lick up the sides of the pile.

Both of you desperately cast water charms to fend off the fire, but it’s almost no use. You’re beginning to think you’re going to die in the Room, when you spot movement out of the corner of your eye-- It’s the trio, on brooms, headed straight towards you. As the pass overhead, Ron reaches down and grabs you by the arm, jerking you up and into the air with him.

You clamber on behind him, one hand gripping your wand and the other the broom for dear life. You look around Ron’s torso to see Hermione cast a water charm that hold back the flames just long enough for the three of you to fly through. The moment the broom exits the door, you and Ron bail, the broom hitting the far wall of the corridor and splintering. Next to you, Hermione nearly crashes as well, and Draco and Harry land beside you to your left. You curl up on your side, coughing uncontrollably. The smoke is still stinging your eyes, and they water.

“Harry, the Horcrux!” Hermione screeches. You barely have time to wipe your eyes as the trio sits up, also coughing. Harry rolls away from Draco and tosses the tiara he was holding earlier onto the floor, and Ron, who’s the only one on his feet, gives it a hard kick. It flies into the fire, emitting a horrible screech and black smoke before the doors to the Room slam shut.

“Bloody Hell,” Ron swears, putting his hands on his knees before breaking into another coughing fit.

Harry scrambles to his feet. “The cup? Is it gone?”

Hermione produces a small, blackened goblet from inside her jacket. Ron pulls her to her feet, and the three of them take off down the hall at a remarkable speed. You’re just now regaining your ability to breathe. “Hey, Dray?” You stretch your your hand to feel for Draco’s, and you’re able to hook the tips of your fingers together and you lay on the floor, catching your breath.

“What’s up, sweets?” He manages.

“I said, let me do the talking.”

Draco lets out a raspy laugh, and you turn your head to look at him. He’s got a smudge of soot on his cheek and ash in his platinum hair. “I know, I’m sorry.”

You both get up slowly. Draco still has Narcissa’s wand clutched firmly in his hand. “What do we do now?”

“We need to find a place to hide,” says Draco. “I can’t find my parents now. It’s too difficult.” He swallows thickly. “Come on, I know a place we can go.”

You take off down the halls again, this time at a slower pace. Draco leads you to a corridor you’ve ever been to before, and at the end there’s a small alcove, that leads to a tiny nook behind the wall. One skinny window offers a view to the forest side of the castle, and moonlight streams though it. Draco slumps against the wall and removes his jacket. You waste no time settling into his lap, your arms around his neck. You both smell like fire and are covered in soot, but it's the safest you've felt in weeks.

“My heart is still beating so fast,” you whisper.

“I know,” Draco replies. “Mine, too.”

After a while, the adrenaline leaves you, and you feel utterly exhausted. That combined with being back in Draco’s strong arms, it’s enough for you to fall asleep for a little while.

You wake in the same position, Draco gently stroking your hair. “Hi.”

“Hey,” you say, you voice still a bit raspy.

“You, um, you missed it. He spoke.” You don’t need to ask to know who ‘he’ is.

“How? What did he say?”

“I don’t know, but it was like his voice was everywhere.” Draco’s grip on your shoulder tightens ever so slightly when he says that. “He’s called everyone off. To let people gather the dead. Potter has one hour to turn himself over, or they’ll all come back.”

You digest what Draco has just said. “What time is it?”

“It’s just past four in the morning, I reckon.”

“Draco, I don’t want to go.” Your voice sounds small in the tiny space.

“I don’t want to go either.” He whispers.

So you don’t. You stay in the tiny room at the end of the corridor for a little while longer. Draco tells you how lonely he was at home without you, and you tell him about your equally empty-feeling month at school.

“I can’t live without you again, y/n.”

“I can’t either,” you reply immediately, grasping Draco’s hand.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“...will you be my girlfriend?”

You lift your head off Draco’s chest to look him in the eye, feeling shocked..

Draco starts again. “I’m only asking because I think it would be inappropriate to ask for your hand if we aren't officially togeth-”

You cut off his words with a kiss, not like your one in the hall hours ago, but a softer one, that reminded you of a time before, two years ago in a broom closet similar to the nook you were in now. Your lips part gently. “Of course, love,” you whisper against his mouth. “You think I wear this ring for no reason?”

Draco looks up at you. “Merlin, I don’t know how I made it one day without you.”

“I’m not sure either.”

Your limbs are tangled together, lips moving in tandem, when your attention is caught by a bright flash of red and white from outside the small window. Sparks are coming up from somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. You can Draco look for a moment before his hands tighten at your clothes. “We have to go.” Draco says.

You make your way through the empty halls, most of which are full of rubble. A whole side of the main staircase has been obviated. You near the Great Hall, and you hear voices. The two of you peek around the corner, and your breath catches. Laid in neat rows along the floor of the great hall are at least thirty bodies; students, teachers, people you don’t recognize. You pull back from around the corner, crashing into Draco’s chest. He pulls you against him instantly. “Hey, hey it’s okay. Just breathe,” he soothes.

“Draco… there’s so many. We didn’t do anything to help.” Tears spring to your eyes.

To this, Draco says nothing. You pull away and rub your eyes with the back of your hand, forcing yourself to pull it together. You peer around the corner again, your eyes sweeping the bodies quickly to see if there’s anyone you know. The only person you recognize is Ron Weasley’s older brother. His whole family is here, and Ron is sat on the ground near him, one of Hermione’s arms across his shoulders.

You’re still watching the scene in the Hall when feel Draco’s arm stiffen against your back. You turn back to ask him what’s wrong, when you your eyes catch on what he’s looking at. Through the crumbling entrance to the courtyard, you see a large group of people dressed in black making their way across the main bridge to Hogwarts. A familiar looming figure rises above the rest, a smaller body clutched in his arms.

You’re not the only person who’s noticed. People gather near you and Draco at the entrance to the Great Hall, watching the horrible procession grow closer. You and Draco both feel rooted to the spot as everyone comes closer into view-- Voldemort, live and in the flesh, stands barefoot  as his Death Eaters fiil the courtyard behind him, a massive python slithering around his legs. Hagrid stands just behind him, holding a limp Harry in his arms. You feel like you can’t breath. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny push their way out of the Great Hall and run down the stairs. Other students and adults follow them.

Hagrid is sobbing, clutching Harry close to his chest. Voldemort raises his hands. “Harry Potter… is dead!”

Ginny screams in anguish, and Ron holds her back from lunging at him. She sinks to the ground with her brother, sobbing. You and Draco inch towards to the courtyard doorway, looking across the crowd. You finally get a good look at Harry laying lifeless in Hagrid’s embrace, and you put a hand over your mouth.

“Stupid girl,” Voldemort drawls. “Harry Potter is dead. From this day forward, you put your faith, in me.” He turns away from Ginny’s hunched form, and turns to the Death Eaters behind him. “Harry Potter is dead!”

They all chorus their laughs, Draco’s aunt Bellatrix’s high-pitched cackle rising over all the rest. She skips forward with glee, balancing herself on a piece of rubble to better survey the scene below. But you notice one figure in the front who is not laughing like the rest. With a jolt, you recognize her across the courtyard as Narcissa, standing next to Lucius. She’s scanning the crowd, looking for her son.

“Draco,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t dare glance over to see his reaction, but Draco squeezes your hand in acknowledgement.

“Now is the time to declare yourself!” Voldemort decrees. “Come forward and join us, or die.”

No one moves.

Then, softly across the silent courtyard, Lucius calls. “Draco.”

Your heart clamps in your chest. You didn’t know they’d spotted him.

“Draco,” he says again, this time with more desperation.

You spare a glance up at your boyfriend. His eyes aren’t even on his parents, instead they’re focused on the ground in front of him. He’s gripping your hand so hard it’s almost painful. Your eyes dart back across the courtyard, and you see his parents standing there with absolute desperation painted all over their faces. Everyone around you has turned to look, to see what Draco does. Voldemort is looking right at him.

“Draco, come.” This time it’s Narcissa. Draco squeezes his eyes shut.

You try to loosen your grip in Draco’s hand, to tell him to just go, to leave you, but he just holds on tighter. Draco gives the smallest shake of his head.

Voldemort tilts his head to the side, taking in the exchange with interest. “Well, Lucius, it seems your son is still just as insubordinate and… lovestruck as the last time we spoke.” Lucius, mortified, steps back into the crowd of Death Eaters behind him. Narcissa looks stricken by Draco’s betrayal. “Draco, it’s such a pity. Your aunt was always quick to vouch for your skills.”

Indeed, Bellatrix looks confused by the scene unfolding in front of her, arms crossed but a look of confusion on her face. She doesn’t try to plead with Draco as his parents had, however.

“Not to worry, we’ll sort this out,” Voldemort assures. He raises his hand, his knobby wand pointed at Draco.

You move on instinct, stepping in front of Draco as the spell sparks from the tip of Voldemort’s wand. You swipe your wand in front of you and Draco, effectively blocking the green killing curse. Assorted gasps rise up from both sides of the courtyard. Voldemort has a look of genuine shock on his face.

“He is not going to be the one to die today.” You say with as much confidence as you can muster.

In the silent moment hanging in the air after your declaration, Neville moves forward, a slight limp in his step. He clutches the tattered sorting hat in one of his hands. “She’s right, you know.”

Voldemort slowly lowers his wand, looking at Neville with fascination.

“Yes, Harry is dead. But he’s still with us, in here.” Neville points to his heart. “And so is everyone else lying in that Hall right now. None of them died in vain, but you will! Because you’re wrong! Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us!” Neville reaches into the sorting hat, pulling the gleaming sword of Gryffindor from it’s depths. At that precise moment, Harry rolls from Hagrid’s arms, very much alive. All the students and teachers erupt into cheers.

It’s chaos again. Harry shoots a fire spell at the snake around Voldemort’s feet, and Death Eaters fly away into the sky in clouds of black. Neville runs forward, the sword in hand, slashing at the snake. You pull Draco with you as you run down the side of the stairs, headed towards the hall that goes around the courtyard. “Come on, we have to get to your parents!”

Draco, the stronger one, pulls you behind a pillar instead. “Why did you do that?” He cries, nearly hysterical. “If you’d been hit I would’ve-”

“Been alive! That’s what matters to me!” You screech over the noise of battle. “Too many of my classmates died today because we didn’t help them, and I sure as hell was not going to let you join them!”

You’re not sure if Draco’s about to argue back or kiss you, but he doesn’t get the chance. Two people are running down the hall, screaming his name. His parents.

Draco lets go of your hand somewhat reluctantly, but collapses into his mother’s arms. She holds onto him tightly while Lucius stands awkwardly to the side. She pulls back and Draco puts her wand in her hands. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

“Don’t apologize, Draco. You made the right decision.” Narcissa grips Draco’s wrists, and gives him a kiss on his cheek. She catches your gaze over his shoulder and lets go of her son.

She takes a few steps towards you and takes you into a tight embrace. “Thank you. Thank you for saving him,” she whispers into your ear. In the moment, all you can do his hug her back.

Narcissa holds you at arm’s length, and turns back to her family. “We need to leave, right now,” she says.

Narcissa is still holding onto you, intending for all four of you to make your escape. But you stand firm, catching her and Lucius by surprise. “I can’t leave,” you say. “My friends are here. I won’t stand by again and do nothing while they protect our school.”

“Then I’m staying, too,” Draco says firmly.

“Draco, stop this. You made your statement, you chose her once, but now we need to leave.” Lucius almost growls.

“I’m done doing what you want, father.” Draco spits.

Lucius eyes are nearly aflame, but Narcissa steps between them. “Enough.” She turns to Draco one last time. “Please, be safe. Come back to us in one piece.” She grabs her husband’s arm, and the two of them disappear in a cloud of black smoke.

When the dust finally settles, there is only one body lying on the ground. And this time, it isn’t Harry’s. The Boy Who Lived had finally prevailed, the wizarding world safe from his thirst for absolute power. There is celebration, but it’s somber. You and Draco sit in the corner of the great hall, holding each other close. No one really comes near you two. Across the Great Hall, you make eye contact with Harry. You exchange a look of mutual understanding, and a nod. That’s all.

In time, you heal. You still wake often, in a cold sweat, Draco’s lifeless face imprinted onto the back of your eyelids, or the feeling of near death gripping your own chest. But he is always right beside you in the bed, breathing and alive.

You go with him to his parents trials, holding his hand as you listen to the minister give his father a life sentence. Dry his tears when you finally return home. His mother visits the two of you frequently.

You move the ring from your right hand to your left. You’re missing a lot of things, but at least he’s not one of them.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Animal (11)

Chadwick Boseman X Black Reader “Sianna”

 Chapter Warning: Cursing, angst,

 Word Count: 5k

 Note: How long’s it been? Wow, I’m sorry guys. Anyway, here we are. Hope you guys enjoy this one. As always thank you for reading, I appreciate you!

 **Loosely edited/Proofread***

**Interactive Chapter**

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, REBLOG, COMMENT. ❤️ ❤️

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

Three Weeks Later

 -Chadwick-

 “Chad!” Shouted Tye trying to get his attention. Chadwick snapped out of it with a shake of his head.

 “Yo.”

 “I been calling your name for a straight minute. Where the hell were you?”

 “Right here, man. What’s up?”

 “Nah, you’re not here. If you were here you would have objected to that salary for the next role, especially given how bankable you are now,” Tye added.

 “12 mill is abysmal especially given the immediate success of Black Panther. Don’t worry I’m going to hardball for 20,” Tye finished closing the folder on his desk before putting it back into his desk drawer. Once finished Tye looked at him.

 “Now tell me what the hell is going on with you. The last few weeks since you came back from what was to be a relaxing vacation your ass looked dazed as hell like you didn’t know shit. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said you met some fine Jamaican ting, and she put it on you. Now for the last 3 ½ weeks at least you’ve been wandering around here completely not there. You’re physically there but your head man; your head’s not in the game. What the fuck is up?”

 Tye had been his agent/manager since he did his role in “The Kill Hole,” since then they’d been through all the ups and downs of the agency, and he’d always had his back professionally, hell he considered Tye a good friend at this point. He hadn’t told anyone of the shit going on, but his boys and he was reluctant to tell anyone else. He knew what Tye would say. He would make it a huge deal that he hadn’t used protection and that he was even in the situation. Then Tye would say it was for the best because his career was taking off and the complication of a “baby mama” was not something he needed at the time. So, he didn’t say anything.

 “Just tired,” he lied.

 If he were frank with himself, it wasn’t a lie. He was tired. In the last 3 ½ weeks since finding out he was going to be a father with a woman he actually wanted to be with, then fucking it up with said woman, then finding out he wasn’t going to be a father because the woman he wanted to be with ended the pregnancy because of him he hadn’t slept. He roamed around his house at night thinking, painting and writing. In the last few months, he’d gotten further on his screenplay than he had in the last year. He’d created more pieces than he’d ever done on his leisure time. After Tye studied him most likely thinking he was a lying bastard he nodded.

 “Okay. I’ll be in touch when I have some news on the salary negotiations.”

 Chadwick stood preparing to leave; he was supposed to meet Kareem at Urthe for lunch.

 “Don’t forget the Q&A with the BP cast,” Tye reminded. He nodded and gave him a pound and left.

 On the drive to Urthe, he passed Sianna’s store and just like that his mind went right back to her. He scoffed, shook his head and focused on forgetting her. What choice did he have?

“My man!” Kareem greeted pulling him into a quick half hug.

 “What’s up?”

 Chadwick looked around to make sure no paps were around. Nothing ruined a low-key lunch like the damn flashing of a camera. When they sat down and got comfortable, they ordered their meals.

 “So, what’s new? You’ve been MIA for the last three weeks. What’s up with that?” Kareem asked sitting back in his chair waiting for an explanation.

 Out of all his friends, Kareem seemed to get him the best. He never needed the extra words; they were like brothers from different mothers.

 “Nothing much, just taking some time to—decompress.”

 “Decompress, is that code for find some balls to talk to that girl?”

 Chadwick laughed and shook his head.

 “Man, if you only knew.”

 “Well tell me then.”

 He took a deep breath and with that, spilled it all. He started from the beginning in Jamaica, rounded to Barbados, the fashion line premier, the club, the park, the crash, and the burn. He didn’t leave a single detail out. He was even honest about how he felt for her and his regret with how he handled the whole situation. After he’d explained it all to Kareem, they sat there silent with their plates in front of them. Kareem looked stunned, and Chadwick didn’t blame him. Telling the whole story out loud for the first time, he heard how much this was. After a few more minutes of silence, Kareem finally spoke.

 “So, you met a beautiful, sexy woman on vacation that you fell for, got her pregnant and then called her a slut pretty much? Does that bout’ sum it up?”

 “I mean I didn’t call her a slut…” Chadwick trailed off before looking at Kareem’s “nigga why you lyin” face.

 “Yep, I pretty much called her slut, yep.” He admitted with shame.

 “Wow, nigga. I thought Deron was a whole asshole but you, that was an asshole move.” Kareem chastised. It wasn’t anything Chadwick hadn’t thought, so he stayed silent and nodded.

 “Yeah.”

 “For months you’ve been saying how Simone didn’t feel right. Saying things weren’t the way you wanted, she didn’t make you feel the way you wanted. Now here you met a woman on vacation; said woman made you feel everything that was lacking and then some in one night and every day since and you let her slip by?”

 “I didn’t mean to. Honestly, after the park, I expected to see more of her, get to know her better, build something. I was caught off guard. You know Simone tried that trapping shit. Remember.”

 “Yeah I remember, but she’s not Simone. From what you’ve told me she’s a successful designer. Why trap you when her career was just starting to take off. That’d mean less opportunity for her to build her brand.”

 “I know, I wasn’t thinking. All the blood was literally pounding in my head; all I kept hearing was the word pregnant over and over and then flashing through every time we had sex.”

 “That too, in a club nigga? You a freak if I’ve ever seen one.” Kareem teased. They both laughed for a few moments because it was true.

 Since meeting Sianna, he’d turned into the world’s horniest teenager, and he was a grown ass man. A grown ass man who had self-control, but with her that self-control was obsolete. He sighed out and finished his iced tea.

 “So now she had an abortion, and you’re in your feelings because why? Is it because you really underneath your asshole stint wanted the baby or because she told you to lose her number and stay away from her and that means no more amazing sex?”

 “This was never about the sex. I can get sex anywhere.” Chadwick quickly dismissed, to a pleased-looking Kareem. He asked on purpose because he already knew the answer.

 “I’ve always wanted a family; you know that.”

 “I do,” Kareem confirmed.

 “She’s amazing; smart, funny, ambitious, talented, kind, quick-witted, sexy as hell and equally as beautiful.” Chadwick listed off staring out into the sunny afternoon.

 “I don’t know if I can forgive myself for being the reason she terminated.”

 “You’re going to have to because there is no changing that fact. The past is the past. The question is what are you going to do about the future?”

 “What can I do? She told me to leave her alone.”

 “You remember when we were in college and that girl Cassie said she had a man and there was no way she was ever going to leave him? You said wanna bet. She told you that if you were smart and knew what was good for you that you’d leave her alone cause her man was on the football team and crazy as fuck?”

 Chadwick smiled. He remembered this story.

 “Hell, even her man told you to stay away from her. So, color me fucking shocked when I walk in the dorm room and see her getting pounded out by you. Then her man shows up because everyone on campus loves to talk. So, there you are almost getting knocked out because you couldn’t listen.”

 Chadwick laughed loudly as he fully recollected the situation from sophomore year.

 “Oh man.”

 “You didn’t listen then. Are you the same guy from then?”

 “Hell naw, I’m not gonna go pounding out some other man’s lady on my bedroom floor.”

 They laughed again.

 “But your ass still don’t listen. You always end up doing what you wanna do. What do you wanna do?” Kareem finished.

 Chadwick knew what he wanted to do.

 “She never seems like she’s in. She always comes off like I’m entertainment for her.”

 “Then maybe you should make your intentions clear, that would endear her to opening up to you. You’re a Hollywood actor man, actors have reputations, and they’re not good ones. You have all of Hollywood working against you. What’s she supposed to do; wear her heart on her sleeve?”

 Chadwick hadn’t thought of it that way. He sighed again fully feeling his idiocy.  He’d been not only a world-class asshole but also the biggest idiot. He never laid it out for her that he was interested and wanted to be with her. He never made it that far. Whenever he was around her, it was a matter of minutes before they were both naked and completely wrapped up in each other’s pleasure. Another mistake on his part probably, he should have practiced stronger restraints than he did. He would in the future.

 “It’s not a Gmat exam man; what do you wanna do?” Kareem asked again finishing his glass of Pepsi.

 “I want the chance to make things right. I want the chance to show her who I really am,” voiced.

 “Still not saying nothin man. What do you want?” Kareem continued to badger.

 “I want her. I want her man,” he finally verbally admitted. Kareem sat back, and a wide grin spread across his face.

 “Then make it happen, man. You’re the most persistent man I know professionally speaking, translate all that to your personal life. If she’s anything like I’m imagining, then she’s worth it, and you owe it to yourself.”

 Chadwick nodded his head allowing Kareem’s pep talk to fuel him. He knew he was right, he’d known it for weeks. If he was candid, he knew it the first night his lips touched hers.

 “Nigga why you still sitting here with my ass? Go get her!” Kareem further pushed.

 He laughed, and the two of them wrapped up lunch. Chadwick paid the bill, and the two of them said their byes at their cars. Once he sat in the driver’s seat, he was at a loss. He had no idea what to do to get what he wanted.

 He drove around L.A for what seemed like hours just brainstorming ideas. Every idea he came up with he either found to be too extra or not enough, or too close to throwing his money around to impress her. He didn’t want her to think any worse about him. He didn’t want her to think that he thought she was only about the money or how someone could wine or dine her. He needed to connect with her apart from financial expressions and sex. He needed to show his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~

-Sianna-

 “Thump-thump, Thump-thump, Thump-thump, Thump-thump”

 The sound loudly filled the room, wrapping around you. You smiled and stared at the monitor watching as Dr. Dubois video graphically traveled the space of your womb. The rapid beating of the heartbeats unexpectedly filled you with worry.

 “That sounds fast. Are they okay?” you asked.

 “Yes, they’re good. It’s normal for it to be so fast. Once they’re born, it’ll level out.

 Just then the image on the monitor in front of you visibly showed two small almost skeletal bodies. The second you saw it you audibly gasped and clasped your hand over your mouth.

 “There are your babies Sienna,” Dr. Dubois informed. A heavy feeling filled your chest as tears stung the backs of your eyes.

 “Oh my god.”

 You paid close attention as Dr. Dubois slowly scanned over each of their tiny bodies and tapped along the adjoining keyboard of the machine. You couldn’t believe your eyes. There they were. Your babies. Yeah, you knew you were pregnant. You felt your expanding belly, the daily growing pains that radiated through your pelvis, and your hips. You saw the changes in your body, the increase in your breasts that pushed you up two bra sizes. You were now a proud card-carrying member of the D cup squad. You spotted all the evidence of your pregnant state, but this was the first time it fully hit you. You were pregnant; you were going to have two babies. Tears streamed down your cheeks before you could stop them. You swiped the backs of your hands across them swatting away the tears.

 “Okay, these babies look and sound great. I’m officially placing you at two days shy of twenty weeks. The babies are about the size of mangos; they look to be measuring around fourteen to fifteen centimeters. Things look good,” Dr. Dubois finished. She finished her exam of the two babies and turned off the machine.

 “Okay, so while those print. How have you been feeling?”

 You sat up and sniffled.

 “Uh, fine, I get a few dizzy spells here or there, um, I get a lot of pelvic and hip cramps it’s pretty annoying. I also feel a little off balance sometimes, more tired, other than that nothing major,” you explained.

 “All right, the dizzy spells are because of the increase in your blood volume. Since conception the volume of your blood has increased and will continue to increase, you may even soon notice more leg cramps, circulation will slow down especially in a twin pregnancy. Hydration plays an important role here, do stay hydrated. As for the pelvis and hip cramps we will blame this on ligament pains. Your body is working hard to stretch to accommodate not one but two babies. Pregnancy is not a small job Sianna; you’re working hard. For ligament pains, maybe try yoga, rest, incorporate stretching through the day. It’ll help with the pain and delivery,” she recommended. You nodded.

 “Equilibrium fluctuations, again blood volume and your center is a little off with the weight of the babies, amniotic fluid, and things of that sort. Tired, rest, take days this is not a quick race, it’s a marathon, a nine-month one. I know you’re busy and trying to achieve all your dreams and I know you may feel like this pregnancy is cramping that, and you now have a deadline before you’re really limited by not only delivery but life with two newborn twins, but there is no need to rush,” your godmother hammered into your brain. You nodded. She knew everything you were going through.

“I’ll try to listen.”

 “Good. All right, so that wraps up this appointment. Again, if there is anything you can call or text me, I’ll always pick up for my favorite goddaughter. They’ll make your next appointment which I think you’re all set up until the end and by next appointment, we’ll be able to clearly figure out the sex of the babies. Okay?”

 You nodded. Dr. Dubois came to your side and kissed your cheek.

 “You’re doing great Sianna,” she reassured before leaving the room.

 Once alone with your thoughts, you took several minutes to let everything sink in. You were not prepared for the reaction you had. The way you’d been feeling since the beginning of the pregnancy made it difficult to connect. You didn’t think you’d connected but you somehow you had. You slowly dressed and gathered your belongings. Once you made your way to the front desk, the receptionist handed you six freshly printed ultrasound pictures. You looked down at them, and again the heavy feeling returned and along with it the urge to cry. You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook off the overwhelming emotions.

 “Thank you.”

 As you went down in the elevator, you couldn’t stop looking at the pictures. They were small but not nearly as alien-like as the weeks before. They looked very much human. You marveled at the fact that they were made from a part of you. You’d created them.

Once you made it back to your office, it was close to lunch time, and while your entire office took lunch, you sat behind your desk and continued to stare at the ultrasound pictures. A small smile spread across your lips, and you released a sigh. A knock at your door drew your attention. You quickly put the photos in the top drawer of your desk.

“Yes?”

 Carolina walked in carrying a vase of flowers. Your eyes widened from shock.

 “What in the hell is this?” you asked without censor.

 “They were delivered fifteen minutes ago and had been sitting out there,” she informed putting the heavy vase on your desk. You stood and stared down at the gorgeous pink and white carnation arrangement.

 “They’re beautiful,” Carolina announced. You nodded in agreement and searched the flowers or a card; there was none.

 “There’s no card.”

 After a few moments of searching to no avail, you shrugged.

 “Hm, strange,” you said before you remembered Chino and smiled.

 “Thank you, Carolina. Are we all set for the meeting?

 “Yes, everything is all set. I’ll see you in there?”

 You nodded. She walked out the door. You picked up your phone and checked your messages. You were getting ready to send Chino a message but paused remembering he was probably busy at the hospital. Instead, you gathered everything you needed the meeting and walked out.

 For the last three weeks since returning from Miami, you’d spent almost every evening with Chino. He took you to dinner when he wasn’t working into the night, lunch, sometimes breakfast when he wasn’t on the early shift at the hospital, and he called and texted you often. You enjoyed spending time with him and more time you spent with him you liked him more. He didn’t overstep your boundaries, wasn’t rude, didn’t come off as all about himself. He never tried to force you into something you weren’t ready for. Instead, he was on board with taking it snail slow, allowing you to take the lead of how often you saw each other, he always remained the perfect gentleman.

Besides holding your hand, the only other move he’d made was a cheek kiss. It was all refreshingly innocent. While this was on the opposite side of the spectrum when it came to things with you and Chadwick, you still enjoyed it. Your hormones raged during the night and often you found yourself still dreaming of Chadwick, but for the most part, you were able to keep yourself in check.

 Throughout the rest of the day as you worked ever two hours you were interrupted with yet another flower delivery. After the carnations came an arrangement of pink Hyacinths, then an arrangement of pink and white tulips, then a bouquet of white lily of the valleys, then an interesting selection of purple orchids that stole the show. You were blown away with how beautiful each display was. You almost sent Chino a message but decided you’d thank him that night when you met for dinner.

 When you were leaving for the day Carolina brought in yet another arrangement.

 Good lord, I can’t carry anything else,” you blurted out.

 “Don’t shoot the messenger. These are m favorite,” she said.

 You stared at the embarrassing display of pink, peach and white roses and smiled. You shook your head.

 “You’re one lucky girl, and that baby has a sweet daddy,” Carolina said. Her words dropped the smile from your face and filled you with a little bit of sadness.

 “Did I say something wrong?”

 “No, no. I’m fine. Can you help me to the car?”

 She nodded and gathered a few of the arrangements and walked with you out of the office. After she’d helped you pile all the flowers into the backseat of your car you made your way home. The smell of all the flowers in the car mingled together creating a new breed scent. The drive was an uneventful one filled with daydreams and smiles when the scent of the flowers filled your nostrils.

 You made it home with an hour to spare before your date with Chino. You unloaded all the flowers from the car to your living room and sat down with a bottle of well-deserved sparkling water. You heard your phone chime with a message. You took it up and saw a message from Chino.

 MSG Chino: I’m sorry, I can’t get away. Three GSW patients just rolled in, and I’m the only attending here until 2 am. I’m so sorry.

 You sighed but didn’t feel any disappointment.

 MSG Sianna: It’s fine, I understand, gunshot wounds before dates. It makes perfect sense.

 You teased.

 MSG Chino: Are you mad?

 MSG Sianna: What kind of person would I be if I were? Date with me or 3 lives?

 MSG Chino: A perfectly fine one. Matter of fact I think you're a great person.

 MSG Sianna: Well, thank you. It's okay, I understand. Save lives. Talk to you later.

 You put your phone down and decided to soak in the tub, hoping it helped with your ligament pains.

 Somehow, you’d fallen asleep in the tub and woke up to the sound of the doorbell. You looked at the clock in your haze; 10:20. You wondered who it could be then thought it was Chino stopping by to apologize again. You sparingly dried off and wrapped yourself in your robe before going downstairs. Once at the door, you opened it and saw Chadwick standing there holding another bouquet of flowers. Your jaw nearly dropped.

“Chadwick?”

 He stood there in an army green ensemble. All words escaped you for a little while before you realized what time it was and where you were.

 “What’re you doing here?” you asked.

 You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed before he spoke.

 “I know it’s late, and I’m sorry for the time, but I wanted to personally bring these to you to join the others. I also wanted to apologize to you for not only my behavior a few weeks ago, but for the things, I said to you. I was way out of line, and they were beyond disrespectful. I have no excuse for my actions, and I won’t make any, I just need you to forgive me,” he said. You opened your mouth to speak, but before words came out, he spoke again.

 “I know it will take more than a few bouquets of flowers to begin to make up for what I’ve put you through, but I can only hope you’ll let me make up for it,” he said.

 You waited a few moments to ensure he was finished.

 “Are you finished?”

 “Yes.”

 “How the hell did you find out where I lived?”

 “Um, I may have pretended to be an associate of one of your high-profile clients and coerced your assistant into giving me your address,” he casually informed. You were stunned silent.

 “Wow.”

 “I’m sorry, I can see now how you’d see that as a breach of privacy, but I had no idea what else to do, or how else to make it up to you. I haven’t been able to sleep, work or think without thinking of you and how royally I screwed things up and I’ve been wracking my brain with ways to apologize and show you what you mean to me, and I couldn’t wait another day,” he rushed out.

 You allowed his words to sink in. He looked tortured but sincere. So sincere it tugged on your heartstrings. You were tempted to forgive him, but then you remembered him practically calling you a slut and insinuating that you were trying to trap him with a pregnancy.

 “How did you screw things up? Was it by calling me a slut and accusing me of trapping you? Or was it by everything else you said?” you asked.

 “I was a major asshole Sianna, that’s clear. I’m sorry. Part of being a man is recognizing when you’ve made a mistake, acknowledging it and having the fortitude to apologize. I am here doing all three,” he said. You sighed out and looked down. He was right.

“So, you were the one who sent the flowers today?”

 “Yes, and these complete the set,” he said holding out the bouquet of peonies, your favorite.

 You smiled and took the bouquet he offered.

 “Thank you. They’re beautiful…my favorites.”

 He smiled that smile that made your stomach do backflips, your heart skip a beat, and your panties soak. You licked your bottom lip and sunk your teeth into them. His eyes dropped to your lips, and he took a step to you.

 “Does that mean you accept my apology?” Chadwick asked, his voice low. It sent chills up your spine.

 You thought for a moment. Flowers and a rinky-dink apology was not enough for the things he said about you or how he’d made you feel. This man had actually made you cry when no one else had in years. The level of how much he hurt you could not be fixed this easily, but something in you wanted nothing more than to give in to him, say yes and invite him in for the night. When you didn’t say anything, he took another step to you then placed his hand on your waist. His eyes dropped down to your stomach before confusion warped his expression. He looked back to you, and you saw the question in his eyes.

 “Shit,” you thought. Chadwick took a step back and gaped at your stomach.

 “What the--, wait--,” he trailed off. You took a step back and released a breath.

 “What’s going on Sianna?” you closed your eyes and rubbed your forehead feeling your stress level rise.

 “Okay wait.”

 “You’re still pregnant,” he said. It was a mix of a question and a statement. He scrunched up his nose and finally met your eyes waiting for an explanation — no words formed in your head.

 “You told me that you were getting an abortion, you told me that you were getting an abortion the next day. You yelled it before running off, but…you’re still pregnant.” He rose his voice a little louder.

 “You lied?”

 “Chadwick--,” you began before he cut you off.

 “Why did you lie?”

 “I—I,” you trailed off.

 “You what? Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through these last weeks thinking that I was the reason you aborted the baby, I was at fault for my own child being--, how could do that?” he asked dropping his voice down.

 Now you felt like the asshole.

 “Chadwick—,” You began before Chino’s figure approached holding a bouquet of flowers.

 “Sianna?” Chino said. Chadwick looked to the left at the man now in front of your door. He looked him up and down before he looked back to you with a tight clench to his jaw.

 “Shit,” you thought.

 “Is everything all right here?” Chino asked, authority in his voice.

 “Hi. Yeah, everything is fine,” you dismissed. He nodded and held out the bouquet of red roses to you.

 “As an apology for missing tonight, wanted to make it up to you.”

 You tried to smile, but it was a forced one because this situation was so awkward. As you took the bouquet, you chanced a look at Chadwick who looked like pure unadulterated venom. If looks could kill Chino would be dead followed by you.

 “This is why you lied. Him. Wow. Here I thought that there was something between us, something from Jamaica that traveled to Barbados, something that wouldn’t let either of us go. Then, these last few weeks I was depressing over the fact that I’d screwed up so bad that I lost you without giving this a real chance to be something and here you are. Lying about the baby and carrying on with him,” Chadwick said. His voice wasn’t filled with the venom from his face; it was just filled with sadness and disbelief.

 He nodded and looked down.

 “Okay. Have a good night.

 With that, he turned and walked away into the night. You sighed out, looked to Chino who had a deep scowl on his face.

 “I take it that’s the father.”

 You looked down and nodded.

 “I see he’s not so much out the picture as he is in it,” he said.

 Again, you were at a loss for words.

 “I thought he was.”

 Chino took a breath and rushed it out.

 “Okay, and all the things he said—where do you stand on that?” he asked. You again looked down. You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how you felt. Chino took your silence as an answer and nodded his head.

 “Okay, I’m gonna go then, I should get back to the hospital and check on my patients. Night,” he muttered as he walked away from you.

 You stood there in your door frame, dressed in your robe holding the two bouquets. You looked down at the entirely different arrangements. One was subtle, soft, yet strong and spoke of tenderness, the other was bold, commanding, but gentle and spoke of assertiveness. The flower choices did wonders describing the two men.

 “Shit! What do we do now?” you asked into the empty darkness.

  To Be Continued….

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[daisyxbuckley]

OKAY So, after being told to post this story I am. I have been OBSESSED with an OC that is  set in The 100 timeline, so I decided to write about it. I will be doing Y/N dabbles but this is something thats been running through my head so here is its. 

It’s going to be a series but PLEASE give me feedback, reblog, all that stuff. 

A/N: This is about Marcus Kane’s daughter. In this his wife is still alive and such, and she ends up being floated after taking all the blame for stealing medication and other rations for sick kids. Calliope was with her and 19 at the time. But instead of floating her, Marcus convinced Jaha to send her down with the other kids. 

Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: None as of right now  Pairings: BellamyxOC (little fluff but not a lot)

-----------------------------------

Prologue PT 1 

2 years before going to earth

The pounding sound was what woke her first. A pale, slender arm covered the eyes of Calliope Kane as she sighed trying to wake up. As the fog cleared and she started to become more coherent, the redhead heard the knocking on her door more distinctly. 

“Calliope, you need to get up and come eat. You have class.” Amara Kane said, knocking on her daughters door. “Quickly because i don’t want to hear you complain that you’re hungry again.” Callie knew her mother was waiting for an answer so she sighed and swung her legs out of bed. 

“I’ll be out in a second.” She yelled back as she threw her hair up in a ponytail. Walking over to the chair at her desk she looked down at her legs before putting them on. Rolling her eyes, Callie noticed the dark bruise blossoming against her cream colored skin. It must of come from her sparring session the day before. Her father wanted her to keep up her self defense classes by practicing with the guard cadets. Unfortunately that resulted in her getting bruises and the occasional face shot. But it also resulted in them getting their ass kicked for underestimating her. Smiling to herself, the red headed teen threw a tank top on and put a jacket over that before heading out of her room. 

Walking over to her mom, Callie gave her a kiss on the cheek and started eating what was in front of her. Amara leaned against the counter and smiled at her daughter while fixing her own brilliant red hair. Callie May look like her father but she had her mother’s hair and eyes. Watching as the girl got up, she handed her daughter her bag and brought her in for a hug. 

“I love you. Remember your father wants you to meet him later today okay?” Callie nodded as she made sure she had everything and started to head out the door. “Roger that mama. I’ll see you tonight, i love you too” she said stepping out into the hallway. 

The Kane’s lived in the nicer part of the Ark due to her father's position. Though she would be considered privileged, Callie tried to not be that way. She hated the clear divide that separated people and tried her best to not let that interfere with anything. Grabbing her book out of her bag, the redhead didn’t realize that someone had come up behind her till she felt her ponytail get yanked gently. Spinning around she came face to face with the brown eyes and olive, tan skin of Bellamy Blake. Shooting her a grin that made a small blush creep under the freckles on her face, Callie laughed when she realized who it was 

“What Blake, didn’t get enough of me when i kicked your ass sparing yesterday?” She asked as she continued walking. Bellamy was someone that didn’t treat her like glass due to her father. He was someone that actually put up a fair fight and he was that someone that gave her the bruise on her leg. “Come on cadet, I thought you would be tired of telling your friends that a girl bested you.”

The smile he gave her made Callie turn away. That damn dopey grin twisted her stomach into knots and made her want to trace the outline of his face. “Cal, I distinctly remember me going easy on you. It wouldn’t look right if i fought a girl.” The dark haired boy said. He focused on the way her tongue traced her lips as she turned back to him and laughed. Her red hair was able to shine bright under the harsh fluorescent lights and unlike everyone else that looked washed out, she managed to glow. Slowly shaking his head he smiled slightly at her laugh. He had dreams about that laugh since he met her two months ago.

 “Whatever you have to tell yourself at night Blake.” Callie said smiling at the nickname. Everyone called you Calliope or Callie. Bellamy started shortening it when you started hanging out and thigh she hated people calling her it, she didn’t mind when it rolled off his lips. Realizing he had stepped closer to her Callie’s heart started beating so fast that she thought it would jump out of his chest. Damn he smells good. She thought to herself as she slowly trailed her eyes up to his. “How about we have a rematch today? Then we can see whose the best.” He said quietly running the back of his hand up her arm. Callie’s breath caught as she noticed his smile widened. 

“Calliope there you are.” Marcus Kane’s voice boomed through the quiet hallway making the two jump apart. “Dad, hey!” Callie said turning to him, hoping the blush that was appearing on her face wasn’t too noticeable. Marcus stares at the kids and noticed that even though his daughter was beaming up at him, the Blake boy continued to look only at her.  “I wanted to speak with you before class today. I think we need to cut back on the training. Your mother noticed some big bruises on your legs this morning and was worried.” Callie rolled her eyes and sighed. 

“It’s not that big of a deal. It’s bound to happen, besides Blake over here needed to have some hits in.” She said laughing as she pushed slightly on his shoulder. Noticing the look of worry on Bellamy’s face she laughed. “Chill out pretty boy. It doesn’t hurt that much.” Walking away from him, she winked. “I’ll see you later tonight for a rematch.” 

Going over to her father, Callie stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you after class dad. Love you.” She said happily as she walked down the hallway. What she didn’t notice was the pair of eyes that followed her till she turned the corner. 

“Cadet Blake. I don’t think I need to remind you about the relationship you should be having with my daughter.” Marcus said focusing on the boy in front of him. Clearing his throat, Bellamy ran a hand through his hair. “Uh yes sir. Cal and i are just friends.” Nodding Marcus started going down the hallway before turning around with a small smile on his lips. “Try not to take it too easy on her in training. Just lay off the bruises for her mother’s sake.” 

Bellamy nodded at the retreating figure and started walking his own way. The entire time his mind was on the red headed wild girl that made him smile. 

--------------------

Calliope stood in the locker room changing into her work out clothes. It had been a long day and it turned into an even longer one after the meeting she had with her dad. Closing her eyes Callie rubbed her forehead as she remembered the talk with im. 

“Calliope, you turn 18 in seven months. You NEED to figure out what you want to do.” Marcus said looking at his daughter. Sitting in his chair with her hair falling in her face, he marveled at how grown she already looked. How did his small, little girl become a woman over night. When she raised her green eyes to his brown, he sighed. That defiance that was showing he knew well. Too well sometimes. “You mean you want me to decide to follow you with the council.” She said, her eyes narrowing as she looked back down at her book. “I’ll figure it out dad, when I know you will know.” She said finally looking back up to him. 

Callie knew her dad wanted her to follow in his footsteps. Become the next Kane on the council, but the redhead knew that she never wanted to go down that path. Going down that path meant she had to follow the rules, and she honestly thought the rules were bullshit. Throwing a baggy tank top over her sports bra, the girl pulled her hair up into a braid and started wrapping her hands. Heading out to the practice room for sparring she noticed that only a few cadets were there today. Shrugging she went over to the punching bag and started. 

She had been zoned out for about five minutes before she heard her name. “Kane, Kane….Calliope!” She finally stopped and turned towards the voice. Noticing LT Shumway standing next to her, she stopped. “Hey! Sorry, I guess I was zoning out.” She said flashing him a smile. Chuckling, he shook his head as he looked at her. “No harm no foul. Just wanted to let you know that a lot of the cadets are out today due to some other issues. So you may be on your own today.” Nodding, Callie shrugged. “Not a big deal.” She said “Thank you for telling me.” Callie watched him walk away before she went back to what she was doing. 

After about 30 minutes she decided to go and shower and head back to her room. Walking down the hallway, she noticed she had about 45 minutes till she had to be back before curfew and decided to take her time. Standing in front of a window, she looked out at the vast emptiness that expanded in front of her. Seeing earth, she wondered what it would be like to finally be back down on the ground. To be able to live and be free, instead of suffocating to death up in space. Feeling hands on her shoulders, Callie tensed up and quickly shoved whoever it was against the window. Her forearm located against their neck. Hearing the chuckle, she released and let her arm fall at her side as she stared into the eyes that made her stomach do back flips. Raising her lips in a grin, she kept her hand resting on his arm. “Sorry about that. You know you can’t just sneak up on me like that.”

Bellamy tried to ignore the heat that rushed through is body when she pinned him against the window. He tried to ignore the way her body was still pressed to his when she let go and how her touch sent his mind into a frenzy. “My bad Red. I promise I will make myself known next time. “ He said laughing a bit. Callie had finally realized how close she was to him and  stepped back. The dark haired boy tried to hide his disappointment. “How about I walk you back to your quarters. Don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.” All Callie could do was nod as they started walking that way. 

“I didn’t see you at the training area today.” Green eyes flicked over to catch the dark brown ones that she was starting to fall for. “I thought you owed me a rematch.” Callie said flashing a smile. Bell nodded and ran a hand through hair. “Yeah, I had to do some other training and shadowing, next time though. I promise.” It was a promise he intended to keep. Any way to get the feeling of her hands on his body, or her underneath him was something that he wanted to accomplish. A lot of people thought that Callie was little miss perfect. Perfect life...perfect family...perfect everything. Truth be told, he thought the same thing. Till he got to know her and everything changed. Now he can't imagine not being able to talk to the girl, even if it's just passing her in the hall and saying hi. 

“Well i’m here. Thanks Bell for walking me back. I should probably get inside before my mom has a fit.” She said. As if on cue  the door slid open and low and behold her mother was standing there with a small smile on her face. “Calliope, it’s almost curfew.” She said with knowing eyes. “Yeah mom, hence me being here ten minutes before.” The redhead said with a small smile. Looking at Bellamy, she squeezed his arm before stepping inside. “I’ll see you tomorrow for that rematch okay?” Callie smiled and the door shut. 

“It’s a date.” The dark hair boy said chuckling as he walked back down the hall. 

[phanontour]

Turning the Page

Summary: Dan gets a tattoo to cover up his old self-harm scars. Word count: 2,493 Warnings: Mentions of self-harm scars and low self confidence. Author’s Note: This fic is quite important to me as I’m most likely getting a self-harm cover-up in the next few months, and so writing this was partially my way of coming to terms with my own self-confidence issues. Most of the things Dan thinks in here are things that I myself have thought, so hopefully it should (mostly) be an accurate portrayal of what it’s like! This post is: okay to reblog if you feel like it!

It’s a big day.

Dan steels himself in front of the ornate mirror in their shared room and stares almost blankly at his right arm, clad with the black material of the hoodie he had pulled off the floor this morning and thrown on in a half-asleep haze. His collection of various jumpers, hoodies and long-sleeved shirts has grown greatly over the years, and for once specific reason.

He just can’t show his arms in public.

It seems like such a trivial problem, but it’s a major inconvenience in his life. Dan has been forced to cover up since he was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school, thrown into a life he hadn’t wanted or been prepared for. At first it was only having to wear bracelets over one wrist, but that quickly grew into jackets, long-sleeved shirts and jumpers that he wouldn’t take off no matter the temperature. He’d blame it on his aesthetic.

In truth, Dan would like to be able to wear something with short sleeves on a warm day when he doesn’t feel like melting. He’d like to be able to doodle on his arms and let a friend rest a reassuring hand there. It just isn’t feasible – not with the way his heart jumps into his throat and a queasy feeling settles in the pit of his stomach at the very thought of doing it.

Dan’s arms are covered in scars. And his waist. And his thighs, but his arms have sustained the worst of the abuse by far. Tiny little scratches that were blamed on the next-door neighbour’s cat had blossomed into huge gashes that nearly got him hospitalised and deep red cuts that had refused to heal properly.

Line after white line mar the surface of his skin; some are bigger than others, and some are raised up more. They’re all a constant reminder of the hatred he had been caught up in, the self-destruction that he had to deal with. He hates them all.

With a deep breath, Dan pulls up his right sleeve, runs fingers over the bumpy surface of the skin for the first time in what feels like forever. He normally tries to avoid even looking at it if he can, and he’s hesitant to show even Phil, preferring to keep at least a shirt on at all times when he’s with his boyfriend. Scared of that one part of him, the part that he’d done himself without realising that it would be permanent and there would be a time when he no longer wanted it.

“Dan?”

Dan pauses. Breathe in, he thinks, and out. It’s only Phil, and he’s not likely to judge, not even about this. Phil has always been far too kind, something Dan hasn’t ever deserved. Not with his faults and his anger and his stupid blind hatred.

Not with his scars.

“Yes. I’ll be out in a second,” Dan murmurs, catching sight of Phil in the mirror surface and instinctively pulling his arm toward his chest. “Just – Just a second.”

It’s all he needs, because today is the day when this all ends. He’s been improving his mental health over the last few years by seeing his therapist and taking medication and actually turning his life into one that resembles one that a functioning human being would have, and it’s helped. Drastically, in fact. He’s able to cope when a depressive episode comes on, and he no longer feels the itch to hurt or the want to stop the numbness by feeling the only thing he can feel – pain.

It’s time to close this chapter of his life, and Phil will be there supporting him through this, just like he’s done with everything else. He’s too kind. Dan still doesn’t deserve him.

He steps out into the lounge, sleeve drawn down again. It can only be described as elation when Dan realises that this is the last time he’ll have to wear long sleeves, provided that everything goes smoothly today. He grabs the nearest raincoat off the coat hanger by their door and they make their way out side by side, locking up the apartment behind them.

They don’t speak for the first half of the journey, but Dan is never unaware of Phil. He’s there – as always – offering silent support and a shoulder to lean on should Dan require one. It’s reassuring to have such a constant in his life.

“How are you feeling?” Phil whispers to him, arm brushing up against Dan’s and offering the silent reassurance that Dan has come to depend on. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? It’s not too late to cancel the appointment.”

Dan considers it, pauses for a moment. He’s come too far to back out now. The decision had been final when he had made it, and he’s sure he won’t regret it in the future, even if there are still moments in which he doubts this choice.

“I want this. I need this. I can’t live in this constant state of fear over someone seeing – or someone judging me for what I’ve done to myself,” he explains quietly, voice dropped low in case somebody around them knows them and has decided to eavesdrop. “I’m not ashamed of my mental illness, but I’m ashamed of my reaction to it and the results it left, and this will help me feel more confident displaying the scars.”

Phil only nods, and Dan knows that he can’t fully understand. As silly as it sounds, Dan envies the fact that Phil’s paler arms are unmarked, clean. Despite going through some darker times on his own, Phil had somehow always managed to find the silver lining of the situation and pull through without any lasting scars. Or, well, any visible ones anyway. Nobody can escape mental scarring.

Twenty minutes later and they’re standing in front of their destination – a tattoo shop in downtown London, hidden away amongst other busy shops and restaurants. Dan has never felt intimidated by a shop before, but this one is a little daunting all of a sudden. It’s bright tattoo design displays have Dan questioning his own tattoo idea, but he’s being steered inside before he can spend too much time thinking about it. The comforting weight of Phil’s hand on the small of his back as they go in doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Um, hi.” Dan greets the worker at the front desk, unsure of how he was supposed to act in a shop like this. It must be pitifully obvious that it’s his first time here. “I have an appointment for a tattoo around noon?”

“Name?”

“Daniel Howell,” he says quietly, glancing back over his shoulder to where Phil’s standing admiring some skull tattoos in the corner of the shop. “I made the appointment over the phone last week.”

The employee doesn’t even glance up. “Sit over there, please, and we’ll bring you over the paperwork shortly.”

He does as he’s told, sits on the mildly uncomfortable chairs in the corner, and tugs on Phil’s arm when he has the chance. Dan’s anxious now, heartbeat fluttering nervously in his chest as he waits, tries to get Phil’s attention in order to take his mind off of it. Soon enough, he’s being handed the paperwork on a clipboard and having a black ballpoint pen pushed into his other hand, and he has to brace himself before looking down, swallowing the anxiety that’s risen in him and settled in his chest.

Dan signs where he’s told to, reads over the agreement one more time. He’s not regretting the choice at all, but he does wish he could skip the painful part of it and only reap the prettier end results. By the time he’s finished reading it over, he’s been gripping the clipboard so tightly that the tips of his fingers have gone white. Dan barely blinks when Phil glances over his shoulder to skim over the words there as well, doesn’t move when Phil’s hand lays on his shoulder.

Instead, he stands and hands the clipboard back to the employee he had been talking to, before he’s being ushered over by what he can only guess is one of the establishment’s artists. Dan has already thought about what design he’ll get, and he has a vague idea, but no idea on how to bring that idea to life. He’s not artistic at all despite being fairly creative, and so he’s unimaginably thankful that he won’t have to be the one who draws up the finished product. (If he was, the tattoo would probably end up being a few messy lines.)

“So, what design were you thinking of going for today?”

Dan lays out his idea, how he wants it to be related to the things that have helped him overcome this. He wants to lay them bare, have them there as a permanent reminder that he has things to live for. That there are events in his life that have been happy. That he doesn’t need to be strong all the time, because nobody is strong all the time. He’s chosen select things in his life and career that remind him of good memories, combined them into the shape of two feathers spanning the length of his forearm. It was just an idea – and one that he had thought to be too complicated to ever be made into a reality – but once the artist has drawn it out Dan finds himself to be on the verge of tears.

He barely says anything after that, simply pulls up his sleeve and sits back on the chair when prompted, arm on the little armrest that’s pushed beside him. Dan had already specified that the tattoo would be a scar cover up when he had made the appointment, and so it seems that they’re already well-prepared for that. Deciding not to think about it, Dan leans back on the chair, closes his eyes. He wants to open them and see the scars covered, finally revel in the kind of confidence he wants. He’ll be able to wear short-sleeved shirts in videos, be able to hug fans properly and without distance between them. After all he’s been through – all the trials and the pain and the moments in which he thought he wouldn’t make it – a confidence boost is a much-needed thing. Hopefully that’s exactly what this will provide.

Dan sits there for two and a half hours straight. The tattooist offers him several short breaks, but he only braces himself and shakes his head. The buzzing of the tattoo gun has become a familiar sound by the time it’s over; the way the tattooist wipes a cloth over his arm every few seconds to clean off the spare ink a normal feeling.

The pain comes and goes. It’s not as bad as he had expected it to be, but it’s by no means a gentle procedure either. Some bits are worse than others, and the few lines across his wrist ache so much that Dan fights the urge to cry out.

Two and a half hours, and it’s over. It’s permanent. He’s done it, covered the one thing that made him ‘ugly’ in the eyes of society. The one thing that made people look and whisper and point as they weren’t sure how to react to the fact that his skin had been marred by something he’d done to himself in a moment of stupidity.

“We’re finished here,” the tattooist says, taking his foot off the pedal for the gun and placing it to the side. “Just give me a moment to wrap it up and then I’ll bring you over to the mirror, so you can see it properly.”

Dan focuses on his breathing pattern while the film is wrapped in layers around his forearm. Breathe in, breathe out. He’s okay. He’s done what he came here to do, survived doing it, and now he won’t have to worry about it anymore.

When he stands, it’s on shaky legs. It takes a minute for Dan to just calm down a little, and then he’s wandering over to the mirror that’s fixed to the wall opposite them. After years avoiding looking at his arms, it still feels rather unnatural for him to want to look. With one final moment of anxiousness, Dan pauses, bites down on his lower lip and looks into the mirror.

“Oh my god?” he squeaks, and Dan’s sure there’s a stupid smile spreading across his cheeks. “Oh my god.”

It’s stunning. Silver, black and gold swirl together on the feathers, each little strand made out of words of the things he loves. The feathers stand out proud, remind himself to take flight and keep on reaping whatever life has to offer. The scars that had haunted him – and the history that came with them – are completely covered now. The chapter has been closed, and Dan can finally move on.

“I’m assuming that’s a good ‘oh my god’?”

The tattooist is smiling as well, as though he understands just how pleased Dan is with this work of art. Perhaps he does. There must be other customers that come to get a scar cover up. In that way, Dan is only one of many who have asked him to perform this job, but he Dan doesn’t even have it in him to care.

The tattoo was already paid for, and so Dan’s quick to rush out back into the main part of the shop, practically flinging arms around Phil as soon as he’s there, breathing him in grinning into his shoulder. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, and when he does it’s only to pull away and hold out his arm for Phil to see. It’s not that Dan needs Phil’s approval (he would have still done this either way, because it’s his decision), but he would quite like it.

Phil doesn’t offer much in terms of words, only leans down to press his lips to the exposed skin of Dan’s arm, just above where the wrap over the tattoo ends. His smile only mirrors Dan’s own, and Dan feels as though he’s floating. He no longer feels like Dan Howell, the boy who hurt himself because he had no other outlet. He isn’t the person that will sulk in the corner to avoid stares and get odd looks for wearing black jumpers out in public on warm days anymore, because he doesn’t have to do that.

There are many words that have been used to describe him before. Dan Howell. Young, pretty, dark and depressed. It can only be described as euphoria when he’s finally ready to rip that page out of the book and start a new one; and for this one he’ll write the words himself. Daniel Howell. Bright, confident, and most importantly, happy.

[ouremptysinks-blog]

Star In The Dark

Chapter 1

Characters: Steve Rogers X OC (Hailey Beaumont), OC’S Mom, The Avengers, Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, Matt Murdock, A CUTE AF EMT/PARAMEDIC ( I don’t know who else for rn sooo?) Summary: A young woman with too many talents gets recruited to be a part of the Avengers. (yep that's it. I’m not spilling anything else.) Warnings: Lots of swearing, some angst, self-depreciation, eating disorders, depression, anxiety, anxiety attacks, panic attacks,  okay maybe a lot of angst, daddy issues(not the sexual kind yall!) (please lemme know if I missed something!)

Words: 2376

A/N: So I’m crying, this is my first fic and I'm so scared yallssss please reblog and comment and PLEASE JUST REEEADDD AND AHHHHHH! DM ME WITH FEEDBACK OR JUST URGHFHJH FEEDBACK PLEASE JELLIES!! Also please don’t bother requesting smut, I won’t write it

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“Honey, could you please go into my office and grab the white file in the second drawer in my desk? I need it in an hour so please could you make your way here now? I’ll give you the money you need for the tech thing you want so bad! But please hurry!” my mother hung up.

The woman was amazing at what she did but she was so forgetful, I was amazed at how she hadn't lost her position even after 25 years. My mom worked for S.H.E.I.L.D., she was high up in the ranks. That was all I knew, well actually that’s all they think I know. You see, I’m a pretty techy gal. I am so sorry, did I seriously just say ‘gal’? Okay yeah so I am very into the tech-verse and yeah I’m very aware that my mom works very closely with Coulson and whatnot but you don’t know that either okay! Now shush I have to go! Before you ask, yes I do know where they are because as her immediate and only family. I was to come to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters if anything were to ever go wrong. If you asked me, S.H.E.I.L.D. was the last place we should be at. With all the rogue agents and undercover Hydras. Shit. YOU DON'T KNOW THAT EITHER OKAY! While I was spilling dirt that only I know, you didn't notice me start the car, did you? I hated going to S.H.E.I.L.D. so much. It was such a headache to get there. The idiots made it so you had to take about 120 backroads to get to the damn place. It was so stupid.

I quickly glanced at the duffel bag behind me. I wonder if I’d be allowed to use the training room? I can’t afford to miss today's workout, one workout missed meant a whole fight lost. Not that I was getting into any fights…Okay fine, I box! Erm... and it might be illegal… No one needs to know that either by the way! Snitches get stitches! Don't you dare forget! If I ever hear that you’ve let anything slip, I’m also great with weapons. That was indeed a threat, take it to heart.

I pulled up into the reserved parking space under my name. Grabbing my duffel and the white file with the big red ‘Confidential’ stamped on it, I swiped my ID into the holder. I was welcomed with a blast of air-conditioned air. They have these set to 16 degrees, and there was an air conditioner every 4 metres. The place was probably colder than Antarctica. Smiling at the receptionist I waved the file at her and she gave me a grimace.

“Lola left the files again?” she asked in a not surprised manner.

“Yep, you know how mom is.”

“Go on up sweetheart. If anyone asks, tell ‘em Susan sent you up. They can come and fight me.”

I threw my head back a little and laughed. Trying to contain my outburst, I grinned at Susan.

“I love you, Sue! I’ll bring you down a coffee, on my way back.”

“Oh honey, you don't have to! Oh, and I didn't tell you this but the training room is free from 4 till 8, so if you wanna punch some stuff, knock yourself out.” Susan whispered.

I pulled her into a small hug and then ran over to the elevators. I punched in the code and pressed on the floor number. The doors were just about to close when a not so subtle Patriotic soldier managed to place one of his feet in between the doors. He had been awake for a few months now. 3 to be exact, not that I’ve been digging or anything. I was a tad bit uncomfortable considering I looked like shit today. I looked terrible on a daily basis considering I was a fat fuck but today I was actually shit. He had taken his stance behind me, which made me x999 times more uncomfortable than I had in the beginning. I could also feel him staring which made my nerves increase even more. I was hoping that the ride down would stay quiet but unfortunately, to my dismay, he spoke.

“Are you new here?” he asked, voice smoother than silk. Yikes.

“I think I should be the one asking you, don’t you think?”

He seemed a little shocked that I didn’t give him a straight up answer. However, he hummed in agreement.

“I guess you should, I was here just yesterday and I didn’t run into you, that’s why I asked.” he smiled, not a bit of bitchiness in his voice.

“I was off yesterday.” I lied.

As the elevator doors opened, Captain Not So Frozen stepped out and head to the direction opposite of where I needed to be. PRAISE THE LORRRDDD! Before he opened the door, he spun around and yelled out, “Hey! I guess I’ll see you around Miss?”

I contemplated giving him a fake last name but decided against it.

“Beaumont”

Giving me a small smile, he said, “I’ll see you around Miss Beaumont”

Besides, it’d be funnier if he ran into my mom, considering she was Miss Beaumont. Ahh, the laughs. I checked my watch, ‘3:47’.

“Perfect”

I knocked on the door to my mom’s office, no one came to the door so I let myself in. I left the file between the keyboard and the screen of her closed laptop and wrote her a quick note on a post-it, letting her know where I’d be.

Lazily stepping into the elevator again I punched in another code and the button for the floor. This time, the melted man didn't stop the closing doors and I was able to get to the gym peacefully.

I pulled out my laptop from my duffel and started cracking. My ‘abilities’ weren't known to S.H.E.I.L.D., mom knew I could fight and she knew I was great with tech. What I did with those things, she didn’t know, and to be frank she didn’t need to either. I was done setting up the codes, all I needed was a clear frame. So when I stepped out and opened the doors to the gym, I was relieved to see it was indeed empty.

‘4:03’ my watch read. I stepped back outside and set everything else up. I didn’t need these buffoons watching me, and enter.

“That gave me such a headache, this stupid place.”

Manoeuvering my way to the changing room I threw my bag into one of the lockers and then went straight for the treadmill. I had four hours so I could do a lot. I would run/jog for half an hour and then, squats, lunges, one legged squats, box jumps, hip raises, deadlifts, straight leg deadlifts, good mornings, step ups, overhead press, bench press, incline dumbbell press, push ups, dips, chin ups, pull ups, bodyweight rows, dumbbell rows, planks, side planks, exercise ball crunches, mountain climbers, jumping knee tucks, hanging leg raises. Then I’d work on my hapkido if I finished everything nicely. Or I could go crash at my loft. I realised if I went back home, I wouldn't do any hapkido so I decided I’d just cut some stuff out and get to the martial art.

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I finished up the leg raises and checked the time once more.

‘6:45’

That gave me a solid 5-minute break and a 10-minute shower.

The shower ended quicker than I had planned, eager to practice hapkido again. I changed into something more comfortable. Pulling out a mat I started my usual routine. But I wanted to do something a bit different today. I grabbed one of the knives. I was doing my thing and all when a stupid man decided to grab my attention. I was taken aback and grabbed the blade too hard. Blood dripping from my torn palm, Stark stares at me shocked.

“Shit, I am so sorry!” he tried to clean up my hand using the handkerchief from his pocket.

I took a step back, glaring fiercely at the idiotic billionaire.

“I can fix it myself, fuck off Stark.”

“Potty mouth, plus I apologized, didn't I?”

“Well if you weren't so fucking idiotic and ignorant, we wouldn't really be in this situation now would we?”

“Let’s get you to the infirmary.” he tugged on my arm slightly.

Pushing his money filthy hands off, I said, “I vividly remember telling you to fuck off. No?”

He merely smirked at me.

“Before I ‘fuck off’, I wanted to ask you something.”

Not being bothered to reply to the egotistical fuck, I stayed silent.

“How’d you hack into S.H.E.I.L.D.’S systems?”

Awh fuck, this is great.

“Hails, wanna tell me how?”

“Don't you dare call me that you fucking asshat! You don't deserve it.”

Grabbing all of my things I stormed out of the anxiety-filled room to be met with another fucker I hate.

“Nicholas.”

“Ah Miss Claire, you’re just the person I wanted to see.”

“Ah, Joe you flatter me, Starkies in the gym if you wanna see the fucker.”

“I assure you, you're the one I was looking for Hailey.”

Hiding my bitchy feels, I follow Joseph into the elevator.

“So what’s up Joe-man?”

“Not here.”

If Fury thought it’d be better to talk about whatever he wanted to talk about specifically in his office, it meant that this thing was big. And very confidential. If I said that it didn’t scare me, I’d be 100% lying. It scared the shit outta me. Fury and I, well we go way back. He’s known me since I was in the womb, and we’ve been super chill. So fuck yeah I was stressed.

I followed the fucker into his office and took a seat. I was not about to risk falling on my fat ass.

“Miss Beaumont-”

“Zhang.” I reminded the ignorant man.

“Miss Zhang, I know you’re aware that I know about your skills.”

“And what? Thought it was a mutual agreement where I don’t fuck your organization over and we keep my ‘skills’ a fucking secret.”

“It was until the Avengers.I’d brief you on the whole thing, but something tells me you already know way too much.”

I kept my eyes glued to him, not looking away for even a second. I was proud of my abilities and plus, he never told me to keep out of anything.

“Listen, you already have a bunch of power puffs and musketeers. What do you need me for? Plus, isn’t there some rule that you can’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D. unless you’re twenty-five plus? HA BITCH! I’m still 22!” Crossing my legs, I smirked at him.

“That rule is bullshit and I know you know it and fine. I’ll just tell your mom about your pastime activities.”

“You wouldn't dare!” I glared at him.

“I would if it meant you’d join the Avengers.”

“Cause pointing you to the Skull-topuses arent enough? Now I have to join a stupid marching band?”

“Hailey.”

That shut me up. But before he could say anything else I yelled,  “FINE! Fuck you, I’ll do it. Not like you’ve actually given me a choice.”

“Come to the meeting room in an hour”

“No”

“Agent Zhang”

“I’m not an agent bitch.”

Mentally giving myself a once over I tell him, “Tomorrow. You want me to be a part of this pep squad? Then I want the meeting tomorrow at 7.”

“Sevens a bit-”

“8:45 or else I'm out.”

Rolling his eyes he huffed out a ‘fine’.

Standing up, I grabbed my bag and pushed through the double doors. The elevator ride pissed me off. I threw myself out of the elevator when I ran into a chiselled figure and fell back. I braced for impact considering I couldn't do a double flip to save myself because I wasn't supposed to know how. But the impact never came. Instead, I felt strong arms hold up my weight. Staring into steely blue eyes I realise who’s holding me. I push him off and let myself fall to the ground. Hanging my head in shame, I stutter a sorry.

“Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine. I just need some air.”

I ignore his gaze, I push past the man and rushed out of the building. I ran to my car and turned on the engine. I couldn't breathe, fuck. I reversed and then pulled out onto the highway. I kept driving until I realised my eyes were getting clouded and I was about to throw up. I stopped on the side as soon as I exit the highway. My chest hurts, I can’t breathe. I threw myself out of the car and collapsed.

I woke up to red and blue accompanied with blaring sirens.

“Miss are you alright?”

This was embarrassing… I passed out on the road and someone had called 911. Fucking shit.

“I’m fine,” I nodded curtly.

“Alright, we’re just going to do a couple tests and if everything’s fine we’ll let you go. Is that okay with you?”

I smiled at him weakly, nodding my head.

“Are you able to stand?” she asked very politely.

As I tried to stand, I almost fell back but the woman had caught your arm before you did. You could feel your throat close up again. She sensed something was wrong and quickly let go, but only after she made sure you were steady.

After all the tests, I walked over to my car and as I put on my seatbelt, the paramedic who tended to me knocked on my window.

“Hey, if you ever want to speak to anyone about anything, here’s my number.”

“Oh no that’s- it’s- I’m fine. It’s okay!” I tried being peppy.

It clearly didn’t work as her brows furrowed deeper. Sighing I took her card and mumbled a thank you. She gave me a bright smile as I drove away from the area. I was definitely not calling her, but for some reason, I just shoved the cared into the glove compartment instead of throwing it out.