#since ive only ever drawn her from the front

[tstain-is-an-idiot]

Fruit thief

[sunnami]

❝watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me.❞

[title is from ive's accendio. gif not mine.] summary. you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

pairing/s. marauders x reader. (james potter/lily evans/remus lupin/sirius black/reader.)

wc. 24.1k.

tags. enemies to lovers, angst, hurt but the comfort is later, fluff(ish), i try slow burn for the first time (it hurts.), this is highly self-indulgent idgaf, set during goblet of fire but i decide what goes, voldemort isn't the only character who can revive from the dead, BITCH. OH, LMAO I FORGOT, THIS IS FOR THE DILF AND MILF LOVERS SDKJFHSF they're married, but remus and sirius keep their name for legal and plot reasons. adult marauders and adult reader! and i was careful this time to not use any specific pronouns or gendered terms so everyone can enjoy the pain!! every1 is hurting 2nite. proofread kind of, so we die like. . . harry potter?

cws. here we go... canon-typical violence, vivid description of injuries, pain, and blood, emotional abuse, trauma, self-destructive tendencies, minor character death (non-canon), pureblood society practices, voldemort is his own warning, brief mention of war, brief scene with abducted children, panic attacks, depictions of mental illness, suic!dal thoughts, bellatrix lestrange is also her own warning, morally-grey reader.

a/n: this is inspired by my most favorite finnick odair fic EVER! obviously, i won't ever reach that level of greatness, but i've had this idea in my head ever since i read that story. sometimes, i just want to cry at night to feel something, LMFAO. halfway through writing this story, i got insecure, so thank you to this eye-opening comment on reddit that i found that will forever change how i look at reader inserts: “for me, a reader should be faceless, but not soulless.”

to my dearest friends and readers, i hope you enjoy this world that i've written for you ueueue. (the next and final part is fluffier, i promise.) will upload to ao3 soon!

act i. dear god, please save the little man.

“RITA, DARLING, do get your wretched little quill for this one. I heard from a wee birdie that Vittoria Zabini was spotted in Rome, and not just wearing last season’s designer collection, but on her honeymoon, of all things! Can you believe it, dearest? If I remember correctly, this must be husband number five now.”

Like a wingless canary in a gilded cage, you are forced once again to sing for red-lipped witches and their grating laughter, and for wizards with their fat bellies, graying hair, and leering eyes. How kind of Narcissa Malfoy to host these decrepit creatures in her manor garden—and thrust the role of main attraction onto you. There you are, lonesome badger, dressed in the finest tulle for everyone to ogle at. A ballerina in a music box, turning, and turning, and turning.

(When will your cursed lullaby finally end?)

Isadora Bulstrode cackles. “Gold-digging wench must be at it again.”

As predicted, Rita Skeeter greedily whips out her Quick-Quotes Quill. The bloodthirsty journalist preys hungrily at your every word—and you’re more than willing to satiate the irritable, little pest. “Riveting.” She pushes her glasses upwards with a quirk of her lips. “We may have tomorrow’s front page in our hands.” 

Lavinia Nott brings the teacup to her mouth, her gaze slicing towards you. “Do tell us more. Where ever do you get your information from?”

You hide a coy smile behind the fine porcelain. “Why, Lavinia dearest, if I reveal my secret now, I might have to kill you!” The drove of ladies giggle amongst themselves as Lavinia sips her tea impassively. You play these people like a fiddle, and they’re none the wiser. But even vile women have to play their parts in the cruel world forged by mad men. Yours happens to be the most ill-fated of them all. 

“A shame you decided not to pursue the same path as your mother, but that is alright—not every one is fit to work.” The Selwyn matron raises her brow, offering you a tight-lipped smirk.

“Oh, Elinor, my love, I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a horrible thing!” Your grin grows wicked and wider. You know perfectly what the wizarding society thinks of you: the orphaned heir, the shallow socialite who only cares for gallivanting about in pureblooded extravaganzas. A status you’ve so carefully fashioned; utterly beloved and adored by these people, flowers falling at your feet with so much as a whisper from your lips. 

Your gaze drifts to a familiar crowd of people to the side. It’s the pack of lions and The-Boy-Who-Lived. There they are, the marauding bunch and their displays of loyalty and whatnot; hideously coordinated outfits, but capturing the world’s attention constantly and effortlessly. 

How repulsive.

In spite of that, you are intrigued. They are the section that plays out of tune in the orchestra you have been conducting for years.

And so you bid your goodbyes to the witches; they fawn and beg for you to stay for an hour more. You pout your lips and say with faux sympathy, hand flying to your chest.  “Oh, don’t worry, my dears! I’ll be back soon enough after greeting some of the other guests. You lovely ladies might tire of me if I stay for too long.”

Melina Traverse brushes you off. “We could never! You know you’re like family to us, pet!”

With a delighted gasp, you say, “Don’t tell Narcissa, but you’ve always been my favorite Slytherin.” The venom flows endlessly from your lips. You owe your life to only a handful of people. Narcissa Malfoy, who raised you when your mother no longer could, is one of them. Finally, you’re able to sneak away from their freshly manicured talons as they tittle-tattle amongst themselves.

Once your back is turned to the rest of them, you roll your eyes until your head begins hurting. 

What a bunch of insufferable fools. 

Still, the show curtains are wide open and the sun is yet to set. You have another audience that is awaiting your next number. 

“Oh, my, my, my! Is it truly the Chosen One in our midst?” You approach the horrid family of Gryffindors—nearly doubling over in laughter at the speed with which their faces fall at the sight of you. How refreshing, you think to yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve seen people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. “Cissa and I didn’t think you’d even respond to our invitation—but this is just brilliant! Lily, darling! How long has it been? That dress looks utterly divine! Is that Charmeuse silk? The purple simply brings out the color in your eyes! And your skin, my love! Just glowing! Tell me—have you been trying those snail facials? I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Sirius grimaces, cheeks turning ashen. “Bloody hell, I’m going to need a drink for this. A strong one, too.” 

“You’re at a garden party, Sirius darling,” you remind in jest, flamboyantly motioning to the grazing table. “The elves are serving Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, berry blends, spiced orange, silver needle, and my personal favorite, chocolate mint!” There are strings of lights wrapped around the tree branches; floating lanterns and the hydrangeas creeping on the stone walls. You put a hand over your heart, smiling knavishly. “From the Malfoy family, to yours, we sincerely hope you enjoy your brunch.” 

Lily deeply inhales as she intertwines her fingers with James’s, a polite smile on her face—an odd pang in your heart at the show of solidarity. (She questions how sincere can a Malfoy really be.) “Y-Yes, well, it’s so good to see you, too. We’re grateful for the invitation, especially since it’s for a rather honorable cause.” 

Ah, pure-hearted creatures really do get on your nerves. Lion hearts; words dripping in honey, limitless bravado. You’ve changed your mind, you’re sick of it all. A flash of vindictive glee crosses your face as you abruptly grab her hand, wrenching it away from her husband’s. “We just knew you’d see it that way! You probably see yourself in those Muggle children, eh?”

Lily recoils, as if struck by hot iron, shoulders tensing; slowly, she peels away her hand from yours, long lashes blinking away her shock.  “You and Narcissa must be raising a lot of money, then.” She eyes the marble fountain adorned in white roses, the harmonizing gnomes nearby, self-playing harps, and the scrutinizing stares from afar. “I never knew you cared so much about Muggle children.”

“Well, I suppose it must be done for all the pudgy-cheeked brats in the world,” You callously wave away her words with a sigh. Unbeknownst to most, all the charity proceeds come from your own Gringotts account. That is the one real thing left in your miserable life.  “As staff at Hogwarts, the children must come first, wouldn’t you agree, Lily flower?”

“Quite,” replies Lily, lips firmly pursed.

James enters the fray, hand snaking around Lily’s waist; jaw taut, seeming to regret ever entering the snake den. “Have you met our son, Harry, already?” He turns to the fourteen-year-old at his left side, gently patting Harry’s back with a crooked smile. “Haz, this is an old classmate of ours.” James gestures to you, and you offer the Potter spawn an amused smile as he blinks owlishly at you. The poor thing has gone frigid from the wintry cold, despite the summer sun overhead and blooming coneflowers; and you wonder if he must have run into Draco and Lucius before coming to the garden.

So this is the child the Dark Lord failed to kill, you muse. You only wish that you could have seen that monster fall to the ground lifelessly, defeated by an infant and his courageous parents. How fitting for men like Lucius Malfoy to follow in his footsteps; the blind leading the blind. Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you take his hand in yours. Clearly, he’s never held a girl’s hand before, as he limply shakes your hand, awkwardly spluttering his greetings. “What an honor it is to finally meet the savior of the wizarding world.” 

“Why, you look just like James when he was younger, always strutting around the corridors.” Your eyes drift to the lightning scar on his forehead, a testament to his and Lily’s survival against the killing curse. “And such clear-cut emerald eyes; truly your mother’s son. Tell me, Harry dearest, you must be quite the heartbreaker at Hogwarts.”

His doe-eyes harden, and your brow quirks in curiosity. (So the littlest lion can growl, after all.) “Oh. . . not really.” His hand hangs back at his side, fists coiling. The robins chirp merrily as they fly by, his parents carefully watching the scene unfold; water endlessly splashing in the fountain. Harry’s voice deepens as he continues, “I couldn’t be. My friends and I barely have time for anything else. There always seems to be something going on at the castle, apparently.”  

“How interesting—Elsie!” You bark at the quivering house elf as Harry stumbles on his words. “Get Mister Potter and his company a plate of macarons—serve them our finest tea, as well.” 

Harry winces as the elf apparates at once. “There’s r-really no need for—”

Your gaze, sharp as a knife, slices to him, as the corners of your painted lips bend contemptuously. “Have you heard the news, dearheart?”

Harry looks to his father before shrugging. “I don’t think so.”

“If Mister Lupin here has so graciously informed you,” you begin tantalizingly, eyes cutting to the rugged werewolf at Lily’s side; his back stiffening at the mention of his name, “Otherwise, keep this between you and me, Harry darling. Hogwarts will be hosting a rather important event this year—and I do love a good party—so you must have noticed the rise in appearances from the Ministry.” You gesture to the top Aurors at the DMLE towering over Harry, Sirius and James. “More than that,” you continue with a sly cant to your voice. “There will be a few new additions to Hogwarts’ staff. Among them, of course—is yours truly!”

“And to do what, exactly?” Sirius blurts out incredulously.

“Be a teacher, of course!” you feign ignorance, bashfully furrowing your brows. “Why else?”

“Brilliant!” Sirius chuckles scornfully. “So, the children will be learning about French designers and frilly dresses then, I presume?

“Is that truly all you think of me?” you ask, gasping melodramatically as you circle the rim of your empty teacup. 

“You want to know what I think? Or what everyone thought behind your back at Hogwarts?” Sirius scoffs with a cock of his head. “You’ve always been the belle of the ball, no bloody doubt about that. But I’ve always wondered if there was anything more to your head than just air.” 

He runs a hand through his dark curls, lips twisting into a sneer. “But I reckon nothing has changed since then. You’re just the same insufferable, vapid wench as you’ve always been.”

“Sirius. . .” Remus quietly calls. “That’s enough.” 

Your expression falters—but your mask cannot afford even a moment of rest. A jarring note in the lullaby plays as the ceramic ballerina stops turning. You let the minutes pass by fleetingly; it seems the self-playing chordophones have changed their tune, as well. You watch as the canary diamonds in your bracelet glint against the sunlight. (You are growing tired of the blinding show lights, unrelenting crowd, and never-ending play. Where is the reprieve, you wonder, for the tormented primadonna and her aching soul?)

The strings are now dipped in blood as your tears polish the stage. Your joints have twisted, bent, and danced. You wonder, how long must it be until you are rid of the starring role?

You muster a coy smile, fluttering your lashes at the heir of the most noble and ancient House. “Such crude language, Mister Black,” you say, albeit your voice has gone mellow; nails drumming against the table surface as the guests mingle with one another. The unbearably dull conversations buzz in your ear. You notice Draco and Astoria Greengrass heading for the glasshouse. You consider stealing her lace parasol and whacking Sirius with it, and the thought fills you with immense joy. 

Unfortunately, they are your guests, and you are nothing if not the most polite host. “Perhaps, I am not the only one who hasn’t grown out of their immature habits,” you say, eyeing his shoulder-length hair, spiky ear piercings, and leather jacket. That damned leather jacket of his. It irks you that he and his kind can show insolence freely without bearing any repercussions. (But you’d die before you ever feel envy for a man like Sirius Black.) The sun fades behind the clouds, and your mask slips perfectly into place once more.

“What is it that happened again? Between you and Severus Snape in sixth-year?” You tap your chin pensively, taking cruel satisfaction in the stutter in Sirius’s breath and Remus’s parted lips, ever stupefied. You gaze fiendishly at Remus. “Oh, silly me, I’ve gone off topic. Well, anyhow, I just wanted to say, I believe the students are in rather good hands this year. I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t accidentally let an infected beast roam the halls of Hogwarts.” 

Your eyes flash impishly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Lupin?”

Lily curls her lip viciously. “Just what exactly—?”

“Elsie has returned, master.” The house elf bows her head just as the antique bistro table is circled with macarons, cucumber sandwiches, miniature cocktail buns, and slices of pound cake. Lily retracts her hand, grinding her jaw as she swallows the words in her throat.

“You may go, Elsie, thank you.” With a guileful smirk, you levitate the teapot towards James and Harry, dutifully filling their cups; steam soon arising from the Chinese porcelain. You nod at the group. “It’s jasmine pearl,” you explain haughtily. “Carefully handcrafted tea from harvested leaves and flowers. Such exquisiteness that you won’t be able to find anywhere else.”

“Do enjoy your tea; Cissa and I made sure to spare no expense for our guests.” The teapot carefully lands back on the table. The sinfonietta ends, and so does your time with this particular audience. What misfortune, that you won’t receive your flowers for today’s performance. You pivot on your heels, flinging them a lukewarm goodbye. “Do excuse me, for I must tend to the new arrivals. I believe I see Missus Parkinson over there by the koi pond. Cissa might have my head if I neglect my responsibilities.”

You turn your head, tossing a wink at Lily. “Today, after all, is for the children.”

Alas, it is not Persephone Parkinson you head towards. 

You briefly exchange tepid pleasantries with Lavinia Greengrass before walking past the koi pond to the edges of the garden, far beyond prying eyes and ears. There, like a brooding Dementor drifting through a frozen lake, waits your true target. Sadly, it is only a dour-faced professor, a long time confrère of yours, to be precise. There are only a handful of people to whom you are indebted. Severus Tobias Snape is one of those few. 

With a flick of your wand, you covertly cast the silencing charm upon the elusive spot Severus had chosen. There is no need for these edacious vultures to prey on your conversation. They are better off with their tête-à-têtes and syrupy pikelets. You drown out the chamber orchestra’s symphony, the clinking of champagne glasses, the rustling leaves and ringing wind chimes. “Severus darling,” you say liltingly, feet shuffling to his side as you playfully ghost your palm against his nape. He barely spares you a glance as a breeze courses through the rippling lake water. “You’re missing out on the festivities, you know.”

“Have you finally finished tormenting Narcissa’s visitors?” he drawls, at long last acknowledging your presence and sharply raising a brow at your saccharine-sweet smile.

“Why, I’d never dare to do such a thing,” you reply with a theatrical sway of your head. “I simply conversed with the ladies and had a delightful run-in with your old flame, Lily. Do you remember her, my sweet? Ghastly red hair, pale skin, and, oh, those green eyes. It must be infuriating to look like that,” you rattle away to the only entity willing to listen to you in his company: the wind.

“Spare me,” he drones, lips curved impatiently.

You moue. “Ever the bore, you are, Severus. Shall I fetch you a platter of brandy snaps?”

“Shall I sit around while I wait?” Snape’s lips contort into a sour grimace, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “The Dark Lord himself might even find time to rise from his grave.”

“Severus dear, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something.” You eye him slyly, mouth tipping into a smirk as a dragonfly hovers by the waterline, avidly stalked by the dwarf frog on a lily pad. “So,” you pry, “did you have something important to tell me? I promised Mister Goyle I’d have a drink with him.”

The frog splashes into the lake, and the dragonfly flutters away without a care. Severus clandestinely slips a piece of paper into your palm as he swivels around, dark cloak billowing. “Ensure that nothing traces back to you,” he snarls. “Clearly I do know better, Severus.” You toy with the paper between your fingers, a sense of exhilaration running up your spine. “Not to worry,” you say with a clipped smile, a serpentine glare in your eyes, “I always do as I am told.”

(Severus, not for the first time in his life, wonders if the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it sorted you into Hufflepuff.) 

act ii. tonight, let’s start the masquerade.

THE NIGHT GROWS weary, and so do the alleys of Knockturn; neglected as your hooded figure navigates through the brick road, only the caged owls and flickering stars to notice your presence. You fainly traipse amongst the shadows, a moment of surrender from the spotlight and malignant eyes; a brief interlude in the performance. Past the hanging doll heads in the windows of Borgin & Burkes, you find a lonely shop. Inside the locket of your ring, lies a slip of paper that had been given to you earlier this afternoon. Well, Severus, you think to yourself, idly twisting the ring on your finger, let’s see where you sent me to this time.

And so, the stage actor calls for a costume change. “Alohomora.”

With one last glance at the dimly-lit passage, you enter the boutique. The brass shop bell accompanies your entrance, but no owner appears to greet you—and if there was, well, you have quite a unique way of saying hello. Your fingers feather across the dusty bookshelves, eyes raking through the broken staircase, the faint scent of ginger, rosemary, and mugwort pervades the room; a shattered crystal ball sits in the center of the shop desk, ripped paintings on the wall. A grimace pulls at your lips as you come across a familiar ivory mask. A Death Eater mask—it’s warm to touch; recently worn, perchance. You bury the strong urge to set it on fire. 

There’s a shift in the air, a creak in the floorboards—in an instant, you whip your wand out from its leather holster. 

“Reveal yourself,” you whisper curtly.

To the naked eye, there is only one intruder in the dingy parlor. To you, however, there is an obscure silhouette of a stranger covered by a glimmering veil. You hold onto your wand resolutely. If it was an enemy, you’d be blown into the walls by now. “This isn’t an ensemble stage, you know,” you chuff impatiently, “I’m not fond of sharing the spotlight with lineless extras.” 

The disillusionment charm slowly unveils, and you wait unblinking, until you see a familiar face standing before you. Mid-length curly hair that falls over gray, dagger-like eyes, the irksome scent of tobacco, and a frightening similarity to his elder brother. 

There are exactly five people you’d risk your life for, and right now, you’re digging the tip of your wand into their neck.

“Mister Regulus Black,” you greet with a playful edge to your voice, eyes narrowing. “Severus didn’t mention we’d be running into each other tonight.” 

“That’s because I didn’t tell Sev I’d be here,” says Regulus, dimples poking out as he swats your wand away from his throat. “I might go mad if I have to stay inside for another bloody week, there’s only so many times I can re-read Good Omens—and by the way, did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you are? Lineless extras, really?” 

You hide a fond smile with a roll of your eyes, whirling around to browse the glass cabinets and leather journals on the table, returning to the task at hand. “And so you thought going outside and risking someone seeing you in the open was a good idea? Reggie darling, I often think about the possibility of Walburga dropping you on the head as an infant.” 

Regulus shoves his hands inside his trouser pockets as he hovers over your shoulders like a lost, overgrown duckling. “Wasn’t it Cissa’s soirée today? Did you jinx the statues like I told you to?” 

“Who do you think I am?” you say haughtily, pausing in your search to half-heartedly glare at him. And after a moment’s pause, you jerk your shoulder and coyly respond with a side-smirk, “Of course I did. The young Mister Flint nearly screamed his head off.” You hum reminiscently, “truthfully, it’s been quite a while since I heard Draco laugh like that these days. For breakfast, I hear about the Granger girl, and then for lunch, I hear about the Weasley children, and for dinner, it’s an hour-long spiel on the famed Harry Potter.” 

Regulus chortles in amusement as he hops onto the shop counter, kicking back his chunky boots. “And, then? Did you see my brother?” 

“Oh, darling, I did more than that,” you mutter offhandedly, leafing through the paraphernalias and foul-smelling potion flasks. 

“How was he? Is he doing well? Merlin, I think it’s been so long since I saw his face.” There’s a lapse of silence between you and Regulus. A lizard scurries across the room, chasing after a line of ants. The younger wizard taints the quietude with a long, frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I just. . .” He slumps his shoulders in resignation. “I wouldn’t have to ask so many questions if. . . if I could just. . .”

“I don’t understand why I have to hide from my own family.” With a jagged whisper, he says, “I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t believe that I’m really here, I don’t even know if I exist sometimes.” 

You grimace as you turn to look at him, hand flinching as if wanting to reach out to him. Instead, you avert your gaze and continue scouring the room. “It’s for—”

“My own good, I know,” Regulus blows a strand of hair away from his forehead. He jumps off the counter with a hardened stare. You glance at his back as he bends to pick at the marks on the floor. At times like this, you remember how small and young Regulus had been when you found him moribund from lake inferis. What a cruel price to pay in exchange for his survival, you think. 

For Regulus Black has to remain dead to the wizarding world, stuck in an interminable masquerade, waiting until the hour is up for his performance. 

All the world’s a stage, and for the best of the actors and actresses, it seems the production never ends. 

“How long do you think it’s going to stay like this? For you, me, Sev? For Cissa?” As he stands on his toes to inspect the top of a dusty cupboard, Regulus veers his head to peek at your expression, frowning when he finds none. (You’ve no answers for him, after all; the entirety of your life was spent wondering that exact same question. All you know is that the show must go on until the audience tires of the starving artist.) “Never mind, let’s just focus on finding whatever you were trying to find here.” He walks past his reflection in the vintage carved mirror. “What are we looking for, anyway?” 

You wish to offer solace to a cherished friend, but duties are meant to be fulfilled. For now, to do what is right must come first. Your fingers slither up the side of a bookcase, a wooden ladder resting against the shelves. The mahogany is freshly varnished, the stench of glue is prominent, and deep scratches indent the floor. It’s an empty treasure cove, barely anything displayed on the racks. You grit your teeth as you realize it’s been well-maintained compared to the obsolete state of the room. “Here,” you rasp, abruptly snapping your head to look back at him.

He furrows his brow. “What?” 

You beckon him to the corner of the room from where you stand, wooden planks creaking as you push at the bookcase. “Help me with this, Regulus. There could be something behind it.” You clench your jaw as you lean your weight onto the cabinet frame.

“Why don’t we just, I don’t know,” Regulus cocks his head as he waves his wand in the air. “Use magic?” he offers discreetly, as though divulging a century-old secret. “I suggest Bombarda for maximum efficiency.” 

You stare at him vacantly. “Regulus dearheart, I hold a stupendous amount of tolerance for you, but there is absolutely no way we are drawing attention to ourselves via explosion spells in the dead of the night.” 

He grins boyishly before ushering you away. “Alright, alright, I was only taking the mickey out of you.” Soon after, Regulus deftly mutters a levitation charm, his wand steadfast as the bookcase slowly detaches from the floor. You take a couple of steps backward, lips pursed as you observe Regulus concentrate on his work. 

You note to yourself to have a conversation about Regulus’s restlessness with Severus. It could pose a liability and pull the curtains on the entire pasquinade. “Careful,” you keep a tight watch on Regulus’s pinched brows, his hovering wand, and the steadily moving bookshelf. 

“Like taking jelly slugs from a first-year,” he says flippantly, beaming at you as his dark curls sweep over his eyes. 

You give him an exasperated scowl before side-stepping his quip as you descry a faint outline of a door in the plastered wall. You feel a rumble in the ground, muffled noises behind the shrouded entrance.  “Ready your wand, Regulus,” you say grimly, hand reaching for the doorknob, looking back in time to catch his smirk fade into a distant expression, “I believe what awaits won’t be as simple as that.” 

A grave tenor disquiets the room, your free hand already grasping for your wand. Regulus stands at your side, nodding as you take a sharp breath. He offers his back to you, in spite of the looming danger. (A sadistic part of you finds comfort in his presence tonight, but neither of you can truly share the burdens of your harrowing façades. Tomorrow, you play the lone star once more; and he, the dead brother and son. But today, you must simply share the stage.) 

You twist the knob until a click pierces the heavy silence.

You wait with a bated breath, expecting creatures and spells to come hurling in your direction. The room ahead is enshrouded with darkness. You share a terse nod with Regulus as a ball of light appears at the tip of your wands. Regulus moves to take a step forward, but you block him with your arm. “I’ll go first,” you say breathily, curtly glancing at the Death Eater Mask. “It could be cursed the moment we step inside.” Regulus presses his lips into a white line, clearly unhappy with your decision, but relents nonetheless. 

Rough, travertine flooring begins where the woodwork ends; a gust of wind howls into the dark chamber. Wordlessly, you call for your patronus to investigate inside; thin, silvery wisps floating in the air, its light hauntingly beautiful against the unilluminated dungeon. You hear heavy chains dragging across the ground and the harmony of timid footfalls. A drop of water falls onto the cracked stone. Regulus grinds down on his jaw as he readies his wand. 

After an eternity of waiting, you snap your wand to set the torches alight. 

A pronounced chill runs up your spine; a stutter in your breath. You nearly stagger at the sight unveiled before you. If you had been a weaker wizard, you’d have dropped your wand already. “This. . .” you say hoarsely, eyes wide, blood simmering in your veins. 

Children.

Little ones as young as ten-years-old, barely coming up to your stomach, staring up at you with bloodshot eyes. Their skinny arms are covered in grime and wear pathetic rags for clothes. Moss grows in every corner of the room. Emaciated mattresses on metal beds. “Bloody hell,” Regulus growls, chest heaving. “What the fuck?” 

“It’s a prison,” you whisper, horrified. There must be more than twelve children standing before you. Bile rises to your throat. You worry about your wand breaking in half, but the overwhelming sense of dread traps you in position. 

“Are. . . are you with the bad men?” A brave, young girl with owlish eyes protectively steps forward in front of her companions. “No,” you answer gently, bending down on one knee to meet her eyes. You were neither good, or bad, but there is no magic on earth that would make you harm these children. 

Regulus calls your name. “They’re Muggles,” he hisses angrily. “I don’t sense any magic from any of them.” He exhales in frustration. “What the hell are they doing with Muggle children?” 

You grind down on your teeth, nearly dizzy with anger. You forgo a response to Regulus in favor of clasping your cloak around the trembling child. Soon after, you blanket the room in a warming charm. “Tend to their wounds,” you say sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about the chains.” And you will do something about those shackles, if it’s the last thing you do. “We’re going to get you out of here, I promise,” you tell the girl, stolid as you pat her head.

Except, the brass bell rings once more and everyone stiffens in alert. The children begin whimpering amongst themselves. Slow, deliberate footsteps reverberate from the shop into the icy-cold room. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

“Move out of the way!” you yell, veins straining against your neck, just as you’re blown into the stone walls. 

Regulus screams out your name, but you barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears; through blurring vision, you see the children and Regulus unharmed. Relief floods through you as you sluggishly rise from the floor. There’s a large crater in the wall from the impact; luckily, the tethers to the chains were demolished, as well. “Get them to the safehouse,” you order, blood trickling from your lips. You hardly feel your arms and legs; there’s an ache in the back of your head, your spine feels as though it’s been snapped in half. You’re definitely going to feel this tomorrow. Regulus hesitates to leave, hands laid on the shoulders of the children as he glowers at the newcomer. “Now!” you bellow gutturally. 

A muscle ticks in Regulus’s jaw, but as he finally apparates with as many children as he can, you finally stop holding your breath. “It’s okay,” you reassure the wee boys clinging onto each other for comfort, limping to their side. “I’m rather strong, you know. Stronger than any of the bad men.”

In every duel, you allow yourself to be hit only once—driven by your inhuman desire to feel something other than the  emptiness of your unbroken charade. 

(And for years, you have waited for anyone to say these two specific words: Avada Kedavra.) 

“Go,” you instruct gently, brushing away the tendrils of hair from the little boy’s forehead. “Hide and wait until my companion comes for you.”

“And as for the ill-mannered invader,” you crane your head towards the entrance of the chamber, eyes raking over the tall figure’s bloodthirsty stance and flittering cloak. There’s a lack of silver mask, but you know well the stench of foreboding decay and malignity. At the speed of light, you aim your wand, “Confringo!”

You watch with a spiteful grin as the stranger is blasted across the room. The walls and ceilings threaten to crumble, and you can only hope that Severus won’t be too cross with you in the morning. You point your wand at the uninvited guest’s heart. Nothing will trace back to you, that much you are certain of.

After all, no one would suspect a vapid, insufferable boulevardier to be the greatest spy of the wizarding world.

A firebird caws in the distance.

And, scene.

act iii. where’s your soul? where’s your dream? do you think you’re alive?

“APPEARANCES ARE OF utmost importance.” You stand in the front of the Great Hall, sun rays streaming through the large, stained windows, wooden tables pushed to the walls; accoutered in a black velvet capelet with gold trimmings and vintage dragonhide boots.  The sleeves of your blouse are lined with handwoven, gothic lace; trousers made of the finest yellow satin. It is a testament to your House—the cete of badgers. (You seize everyone’s attention—whether the two Aurors in the corner like it or not.)

After a descanting introduction, you are given center stage before the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin. With a swing in your step and a wrest in your voice, you continue, “That is why the Headmaster, Dumbledore himself, invited me to personally facilitate this year’s Tri-Wizard Tournament. As hosts of the event, excellence is expected of us. Professor McGonagall has graciously allowed me to take charge of your lessons, particularly in the art of dancing.” Your eyes gleam as you offer the young fourth-years a graceful reverence. “And our first lesson begins straight away.”

The crowd of students transfigure into a sea of curious eyes and flabbergasted whispers. You derisively watch the chaos unfold with an amused grin. Yet, you’re not the least bit worried. You’ve charmed even a flock of Dementors before, the creatures having been drawn to your voice, ostentatious stature, and the dark depths of your soul; like a bee to a field of flowers. A class full of awkward teenagers should be more than easy for you. 

“Now, now, children,” you clap your hands as you make your way to the heart of the room, leaving a trail of softening murmurs. “The Yule Ball is a revered tradition, an exhibit of togetherness that has lasted for hundreds years.” You lift your nose up in the air as the girls look at one another, barely able to hide their giddy smiles and discreet glances across the hall. “As such, it is my venerable duty to oversee your etiquette in and out of the ballroom.”

(Sirius rolls his eyes from where he sits besides James.)

“Mister Filch, if you please.” With a flutter of your lashes and a poised smile, you beckon for the school caretaker who flounders to the gramophone. You wink at the young miss Pansy Parkinson who stares up at you in awe. Soon thereafter, you hear the soft melody of Léo Delibes’s Valse. Coppélia, you simper to yourself—a story close to your heart. (You’ve always found a winsome irony in a marionette like you dancing to the enamel-eyed girl’s song.)

“A dance, while enjoyable by one’s lonesome, is best savored with a partner,” you begin vivaciously, eyeing the gentlemen in particular. “Your date for the night must be aware that you’ve chosen them out of your own volition and undue necessity.” Your stare drifts to the coterie of young Gryffindors, tittering mischievously. “Shall we have a demonstration from the House of courage and splendor?”

“No one?” You raise a brow curiously when you’re met with silence and averted gazes. You then utter the scariest phrase a professor could say to their students: “I’ll choose the lucky student myself.” 

You survey the pack of lion cubs, drifting through the tuffs of flashing red hair; gangly boys raucously kicking and pushing at each other to volunteer for your teach-in on ballroom dancing. You flash the students a vexatious grin. “Mister Harry Potter?” you call out to the ashen-faced boy with your hand outstretched. “Why don’t we let the Chosen One set an example to his peers?” 

Hollers and cheers break out across the hall; not withholding the mirthful giggles of the doves on the other side of the room, wonderstruck by his green eyes and lightning scar. You motion for Harry to join you on the pseudo dance floor. The Weasley twins take delight in clapping and wisecracking into his ears until Harry reluctantly rises to his feet, a blooming shade of red on his neck and cheeks. 

“As you approach your partner with the grace of a majestic stag,” you acclaim to the class whilst Harry approaches you with a wry grin and hands shoved inside his robe pockets, “And not a newborn foal.” You place your hand in his, “You may now invite your lady to dance.”

“Or your beau,” you add spiritedly, eyes gleaming as Harry chokes on his saliva.

You pat his back as the music comes to a sweet-sounding crescendo. “Dancing is about connection,” you turn to the students with a stern gaze. “If your posture crumbles, there goes your confidence, as well. At all times, you must maintain eye contact,” you say sharply as you tilt Harry’s chin and correct the arch of his arms. “Remember, it’s not ballroom if there’s no trust. Lean onto one another, and then. . .” You lay your palm onto his shoulder. “The feet should follow the music.”

Unfortunately, Harry runs on two left feet and both persistently evade the music. On the umpteenth time he stumbles on your shoes, he’s appraised by snickers and low whistles from either side of the  hall. The Weasley twins in particular seem thrilled by Harry’s flailing arms and bewildered expression. Along with the two Aurors who’ve skipped their aurorly duties to patrol the castle in favor of heckling their ward. “You’re doing it wrong, James!” shouts Sirius through cupped hands, shoulders shaking in laughter. 

“Why don’t you try it, Padfoot?” Harry retorts back to him; thick hair flopping over his eyes as he grates his teeth. You’re given no warning as Harry extracts himself from your grip and stalks over to where Sirius and James sit comfortably. 

You blink, dumbfounded. “Harry dearest, I don’t believe that is necessary—!”

“Go on then,” says Harry, jerking his head. “Show us all how to do it.” 

To the side, Ron guffaws into his fist, brought nearly to tears. (Earlier he was apprehensive about the class. “We’ve got a whole new professor just for twirling around and all that girlish stuff?” he had asked in disbelief before entering the Great Hall.

“Shut your mouth, Weasley,” growls Draco Malfoy as he shoves past Harry and Hermione to head inside the hall.)

Sirius grins roguishly, having the gall to bat his eyes in confusion. “Who? Me?” He chuckles before forcibly slapping James’s back with the flat of his palm. “No, no. The honor should go to the debonair of his time.” Trenchant eyes flicker with mischief. “Have at it, James. How will the children ever learn without a proper demonstration?” 

“Go on, Sir Prongs!” exclaims one of the red-headed twins. “Show us how it’s done!” 

Alarmingly, the bespectacled man resigns to his fate, a deafening ovation as he shrugs his robes off, generously revealing his broad shoulders in a tight, black turtleneck; a leather wand holster across his chest; long legs framed by pleated trousers. You bite down on your tongue as James draws closer to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. With an unerring arch of his back, he holds out his hand for you to take, “May I have this dance?” 

Your breath stutters—if only for a moment. One cannot deny that James Potter is deviously more appealing to the eye than the dance partners you’ve had during Narcissa’s galas. Perfectly-carved cheekbones and golden hoops dangling from his ears; bright, hazel eyes girdled by rectangular glasses. “Well,” you say, pursing your lips as you slip your palm into his. “If you must.” 

In contrast to his son, James needs little-to-no guidance from you. You’d have assumed that much, considering that both James and Sirius grew up in pure-blood customs. The warmth of his hand on your back is scalding. He spins you along to the song’s aria; the two of you gliding effortlessly through the soapstone floors. Any more closer to him and you’d be able to hear his heartbeat. “There will be lifts, turns, and dips during a waltz,” you inform the class as you demonstrate a twirl vine. “You will rise and you will fall together with your partner. Understand?” 

James chuckles at the wistful sighs and horrified groans that erupt through the Great Hall. “You’re good with the children, you know,” he remarks cheekily as he gently lowers you to the ground, hand steadfast on your waist. You hear his unsaid words clearly: Sirius thought you’d be downright rubbish at it. 

“Well, Mister Potter,” you say breathlessly, clasping your arms around his neck once more. “To some of the students here, frilly dresses and French designers are their entire world.” Your chin all but perched atop James’s shoulders; the scent of his famed Sleekeazy potion and vetiver—dew on fresh grass on a warm sunny day—fills your senses. You cast a sniffy glare in Sirius’s way, to which he responds with a raised brow. 

“Bit shallow, isn’t it?” he murmurs, chest rumbling and his breath hot on your ear. 

You scoff. “One could argue the same for a young Seeker who’s been given their first ever broom.” 

James Potter has the nerve to smile at you. And as you move to extricate yourself from his hold, James mindlessly lets his hand fall from your waist to your hip—incidentally, where you’ve been nursing a heavy fracture. Sore bruises from chasing vampires the night prior as you were out hunting allies of the Dark Lord from the first wizarding war. Although you had drowned yourself in pain relief elixirs, it seems you’re more sensitive and hurt than you thought. 

Even statues of white gold chip and fade over time—you’re reminded of this fact quite painfully. You roughly push James away from you, hissing in pain as you cradle the left side of your hip. Memories of crimson-stained teeth and rotten, pale skin flash before your eyes. You remember the stench of blood, and the feel of their nails slashing into your thighs. But most of all, you remember their ear-piercing shrieks just before you drive the stake into their chests, one by one, until you have left a graveyard of vampires in the outskirts of an abandoned mansion. 

James furrows his brow immediately as you cave in on yourself. (Even Sirius surges to his feet.) “What’s wrong?”

Occlude! Occlude—you must occlude immediately! 

With a sharp inhale, you close off your emotions for anyone else to see. “It is nothing of your concern, Mister Potter,” you respond blankly, as though your soul is locked far away. “I do believe we’re done here.” You step further away from him. Your attention shifts to the students as you fold your hands behind your back, lips curling into a virulent smile. The weight of your mask is comforting; you’ve forgotten how to breathe without it. “Now, let’s have the students pair up and practice what they’ve learned so far. I’ll have no patience for dilly-dallying and nescience on my watch. You’ll dance until I tell you to stop. You’ll practice until the soles of your feet are sore and raw.”

That, after all, is how you learned.

The class goes by accordingly; you maintain a distance from Sirius and James, turning a blind eye to their burdensome sympathy. (Gryffindors and their bleeding hearts—it always unnerves you how easily the avowed Marauders get deep under your skin.) You nip at the students’ heels, righting their poor footwork; looping the music until you are certain they’d hear it in their nightmares. To your surprise, the round-cheeked Neville Longbottom takes all your instructions in stride. From the moment that you allow Filch to lift the tonearm, the students practically fall to the floor, heaving; some forsaking their long robes and tying their hair in flimsy ponytails. 

As the students retreat from the Great Hall, you slink away into the crowd of Slytherins, desperate to avoid a particular duo of Aurors—no doubt ready to probe you with questions. A numbing panic claws at your chest; black spots swallowing your vision. Emotions—how putrid. The students’ discordant chatter overwhelms your hearing, more than the ringing in your ears. The unyielding, outré stone walls feel like they’re closing in on you. Still, you keep your head above the water, enduring every staggered breath. You must. 

What’s wrong? 

The question echoes in your head. 

Ha! 

You scream inwardly, if they only knew! 

While you had been expecting either James or Sirius to ambush you, you do not expect to see Draco Malfoy shouting your name as you flee down an empty corridor. 

The miniature Lucius Malfoy stands before you, grimacing as he clenches his fists tightly. “Are. . .” Draco’s expression contorts morosely. “Are you alright? Theo and I were worried that the blood traitor upset you.” he spits his concern as if it were acid. Little snakes and their keen eyes. 

“Mind your language, Draco,” you reply cuttingly, eyes flashing as you lift your chin. And for his question, one that you’ve been asked numerous times over the years, you have only ever had one answer. Despite the scars on your back, the tremors in your hands, the aching of your heart, and the endless bruises on your limbs, you tell him: “And do not ask what is not needed to be.” 

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” he presses further, mouth pinched. “Don’t treat me like a dim-witted child because I’m not!” 

A hand lays on his shoulder, and to your chagrin, Severus makes his appearance, lips downturned and his gaze filled with subdued apathy. Your day is about to get worse. “Perhaps, it is best if you leave this discussion to the adults, Draco.” Snape drones, leaving no room for debate. He tightens his grip on the younger wizard. “I will not be inconvenienced to explain to Minerva as to why you were dawdling in the corridors.” 

In true Malfoy fashion, Draco sneers in disdain. He rips himself out of Snape’s grasp with a scoff. As he storms past you, you sigh and pat his side. 

When Draco disappears into the corner, you release a deep breath as you prepare for the onslaught to come. “Just get it over with, Severus,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, the pounding in your head growing more unbearable by the second. 

You see his nostrils flare as Severus turns to glare at you. “I wonder,” he says through gritted teeth. “If you are actually capable of following direct orders—of using that near-empty brain of yours!” His upper lip curls back into a snarl, as he scours the empty hallway for any prowling ears. “Your stunt made it to the Daily Prophet. You were asked to proceed tactfully, were you not?” 

You lean against the wall, rubbing at the temples of your head. “And I’ve done my part. Every last one of them—dead by my hands. A problem you failed to deal with for the last two months. That I settled last night. Remind me why you’re still chittering into my ear, Severus darling?”

“Do not play coy with me,” he replies brusquely. “I’ve heard the students tattling about it as though it were the most interesting event in their pathetic, insolent lives. The Embris Mansion burnt down to the ground. There are talks of a vigilante, a good-for-nothing do-gooder. You got sloppy!”

“And if I did—so what?” You retaliate, chest heaving as you step into his face. Truthfully, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with him. Over the years you have left some sort of mark on your work. Not a phoenix, but a firecrest. Wings outstretched in flames. All eyes are on the ungovernable hero, the Firebird—and never on you, the foppy socialite. “Would it be so perverse to want even a slither of recognition, Severus?” 

“Do not forget your duty,” he taunts venomously, the cords in his neck going rigid. “To the greater good you so earnestly fight for. Your duty to your mother.” 

“Do not talk about her!” you all but shout, magic sizzling in the air around you. 

“Then see to it that there are no more mistakes going forward!” Severus juts his chin, baring his teeth in contempt. 

After a few long moments, he continues with a resigned exhale, dragging his palm down his face—as though you are the perplexing one. “This. . . Moody has developed a habit of emptying my cupboards.” 

“And why, pray tell,” you retort gruffly, “should I care for this oh-so special cupboard of yours?” 

“It contains ingredients for Polyjuice potions!” he proclaims angrily. “Get to the bottom of this. I’ll not have a blithering fool like Pettigrew get to the students again. Do what you must, I have no interest in understanding the workings of your mind—as long as you do not draw unnecessary attention to yourself.” 

The sound of footfalls break you apart as Severus nimbly lifts the Notice-Me-Not charm he had cast earlier. Within seconds, you find Remus Lupin rounding the corner. He’s dressed in his usual baggy, gray jumper; jaw clean-shaved, and pinkish scars against his skin. A well-loved quilted coat over his shoulders—handmade by Lily, you presume. You notice the mismatched otter socks peeking from his loafers. Remus saunters down the hallway with tired eyes and a feeble smile as he stops right in front of you and Severus. He has a rather tall frame, slender even, despite his hunched shoulders. 

“Snape,” Remus nods to him, gaze flickering back and forth as he attempts to discern what had transpired—well, you’re certainly in no rush to tattle and cry into his arms. 

“Professor,” he says to you, an ever curious smile on his face. “You’re looking quite peaky. Is something the matter?”

“I am most certainly sound and fine, Mister Lupin,” you respond, irritated, as you wobble on your feet. You are at your wit’s end—how bothersome of it all. “Should you not be on your way to your next class, Professor?” you bite tiredly. 

Remus shrugs, hazel-eyes crinkling in amusement. “Mad-Eye is taking over my next class. I thought it would be good for the students to learn from a veteran Auror. I’m sure he has much more experience to offer than me.” 

You scowl, his humility smothering you painfully. “Well, I’ve no interest in dragging my feet around. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a prior engagement with my cat and I’m afraid I’ve left her alone for too long.” 

And as fate would have it, when you make haste for your quarters, you falter in your steps; lurching as your vision goes blurry. Your breath snags in your throat as Remus catches you by the waist. “Perhaps, we should get you to Lily,” offers Remus as he sets you upright, brows pinched worriedly, ignoring Snape’s eye roll in the background. 

“I said I was fine!” You blurt out, cradling the front of your head as you sway backwards; now seeing two Lupins and two Snapes. “Merlin, are all Gryffindors this bloody meddlesome? Must I repeat myself? I am fine—!” 

Turns out, you are not fine. 

The last thing you see before losing consciousness is a pair of brown eyes with flecks of gold, more beautiful than any full moon you’ve ever seen. 

 —

You wake up to a dry, sore throat; the bitter scent of infirmary disinfectant—a Muggle’s touch, no doubt—and concoctions of various healing potions. Your head is still pounding, but somewhat bearable. The room is small, privy to only teachers, you conclude—although, it is the very first time you have ended up in the infirmary. Remus Lupin would feel your wrath, you’d make sure of it. Your back stings as though it were doused in Dittany recently. As you nearly break the flower vase in an attempt to reach for the empty glass, the door creaks open—and in comes Lily Potter with her husbands.

“Am I in hell?” you eye them bitterly. 

“No,” says the youngest matron, dressed in her own version of the nurse’s uniform. Red vest over her white blouse, and a long, plaid skirt with pockets. Soft red hair tied back with a pink ribbon. Albeit, her expression is anything but sweet and delicate. “But you’re in my office, which means you are now under my care—therefore I’d like you to explain why you have vampire toxins in your blood.” 

“And I would like to return to my quarters now, please,” you respond haughtily, referring to the private bedroom professors were offered in the castle. “I’ve nothing to explain to someone who administers the diagnostic charm on my person without explicit permission to do so!” you exclaim, releasing a shuddery breath as your head throbs agonizingly. 

“You will listen to me—seven hours ago you were this close to paralysis!” Lily shouts right back, eyes glaring defiantly—she may have adhered to you in Malfoy’s territory, but no power holds more authority than an acclaimed healer over a patient. “If you had been a Muggle, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“Well, now that we’ve established that I’m alive and well, I suppose we have no more pleasantries to exchange, Lily darling.” You tear the flimsy blanket from your legs, grimacing at the bandages covering your skin. 

“Not before you tell us where those bruises came from,” Sirius demands, voice low and knife-like eyes on you. 

“Must have been the Nargles,” you reply sarcastically. No one would care for a bonny doll ripping apart at the seams and gathering dust on a child’s shelf. “They’re quite frisky this time of the year, didn’t you know? My good friend Xenophilius wrote about those creatures a long time ago. Good read, I’d say.” 

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” cuts Sirius with a snarl, tendrils of hair curling around his face; hints of tattoos peeking out from his leather jacket. Vermillion satin shirt clashing against his pale skin. The lingering smell of lit cigars only reminds you of Regulus, and so you tear your gaze away from Sirius. 

“Sirius, let’s not scare her off now, love,” Remus admonishes, softly resting his palm at the back of Sirius’s neck, before he stares at you with honey-dripping eyes. You have a desperate need to run away. They’re an uncharted danger that you aren’t familiar with navigating—and you figure young Harry wouldn’t appreciate you treating his parents like a rabid vampire. “We just want to know what happened, you looked worse for wear when we brought you to Lily and Madam Pomfrey,” Remus placates, treating you like a crow with its wing snapped in half. 

You sneer. “If I am not dead, then these wounds hardly matter to me.” 

Lily gasps, a sound so soft only the wind could have possibly heard it. “How could you say that?” she asks, hand flying to her lips. “Of course it matters, you had lost so much blood while we tried to get the toxins flushed from your system.” She stares at the puncture mark on your arm, before peering over at Sirius. “We nearly couldn’t find a match to your blood type. Sirius. . . Well, he’s a universal donor and he didn’t even hesitate in giving you his—”

“Giving me what?” you echo lowly. “What did Sirius give me, Lily?”

“Blood,” Lily says firmly. “He gave you his blood so you could live.”

“How dare you?” you seethe, chest rapidly rising; digging your nails firmly into your palms as you stare furiously at Lily. “You had no right!” You scream until your throat is sore; your magic overflowing until it shatters the nearby vase of butterfly weeds. 

Rage tunnels your vision; heart hammering against your ribcage as you move to carelessly rip at the bandages over your wounds. “You had no right! You had no fucking right! I would have never done the same for you! Get out! Get out!” 

“Get out!” You hurl the glass at the wall across from you, narrowly avoiding Sirius’s head; anguish tears itself from your voice and you barely notice James flinch from the intensely flickering lights. 

“You think I’d be grateful?” you scoff, a burning heat spreading across your chest. “You think I’d be indebted to any of you after this? Is that what you wanted? What a fucking joke!” You laugh irately as you gasp for air. “I’d rather die!” 

When you run out of items to throw at them—pillows, shards of glass, and crumpled flower stems—you sit on the bed, shoulders violently shaking as you cough yourself sick. 

“I. . .” Lily begins, swallowing the lump wedged in her throat. “I understand. . . But I am the castle’s nurse, as long as you are under Hogwarts’ protection, I am keeping you alive no matter what.” 

“I don’t bloody care,” you snide.

Her eyes flash to James. “We’ll leave you to rest, then.” 

You stay silent, vacantly staring at the reddened welts on your hands. It’s not until you feel James’s arms around you and his chin hovering above your head that you realize you’ve stopped shivering. “I’m sorry,” is all that James whispers into your ear as he lays you to sleep with an inaudible charm. The chill of his magic is the last thing you feel before your eyes flutter to a close. 

—

You wake up in the infirmary once more. This time, you lay stiff on the mattress, absentmindedly gazing at the plain ceiling; your chest falling and rising ever-so slowly. The stink of a Calming Draught is painstakingly familiar. A low humming sound tells you that you aren’t alone—but you barely flinch from their presence, too tired to do anything but close your eyes. “Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me. . . . something. . . they’re okay,” murmurs one Sirius Black, tapping on his thigh as he rests his back on the rustic chair. 

If Sirius wants an encore, he’d have to drag the fight out of you. You’re utterly drained from your emotional palaver earlier. “Didn’t know you were into Muggle songs, Black,” you chortle bemusedly.  

Sirius halts in his singing as a forceful silence falls over the room—you distinctly hear the moment Sirius’s hand drops to his thigh, most likely taken aback by the sound of your hoarse voice. You feel the weight of his eyes on your bandaged arms and legs. A few seconds pass before he responds, his words but a faint breath. “After today, I believe that there is much to be uncovered for the both of us.” 

You don’t bother replying—you’d have Obliviated them instantly if it wasn’t illegal to use on Aurors. 

“We know it was you,” says Sirius out of the blue—your blood turns icy-cold on command, wondering if he’s figured out about the wizard behind the Firebird. “On the first day of term, someone had left a basket of freshly-brewed Wolfsbane potions enough to last him for the entire year,” he explains further, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stares at you unwaveringly. “I almost didn’t believe it, but a Marauder has his ways.” 

(His son with an invisibility cloak and a handy, enchanted parchment.) 

“Thank you,” he says, guttural with emotions. “It means more to Remus than you think.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced, unfortunately,” you rasp, coiling your fists tightly, stubbornly intent on avoiding his eyes—not wanting to get caught in the storm within. You exhale with a ragged sigh. Severus was right, you had been sloppy. And this is what carelessness leads to. “Don’t delude yourself, Mister Black, I couldn’t care less what happens to you or your family.”

Sirius chuckles, like he’d expected such a response from you. “Well, do what you’d like with my gratitude, I don’t care, just know that you have it,” he says, rising from his seat. “It’s past midnight, by the way. Lily’s left you some dinner in case you woke up hungry.” 

Your eyes drift to the nightstand. There’s a steaming bowl of spinach rice with mushrooms, and a plate of honey cinnamon bars. But your gaze lingers on the bouquet of snapdragons and orchids placed in a ceramic vase. 

“She believes home-cooked meals help the patients heal faster,” Sirius tells you, carefully observing your reaction—but there’s none to be found. He purses his lips into a thin, white line.

As he makes his way to leave, Sirius pauses, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” he begins quietly. “The thing about magic—it can fool the best of us into thinking we’re indestructible. But, you’re not as inhumane as you’d like us to think.” Sirius veers his head to look back at you. “Take that mask of yours off sometimes, yeah? You’d see the rest of the world clearly if you did.” 

That is all you hear from him before the door clicks shut, and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

How arrogant.

How very Gryffindor of him. 

You push the flower vase closer to the edge of the bedside table, indignantly eyeing the watercolor art. The room reeks of Lily’s kindness. Lions and their constant need to see the goodness in everyone. Take off your mask? You’d give your entire Gringotts account to wear the kind of rose-colored lenses they have—they’re more pestilent than you realized. No matter, it’s high-time you reintroduced yourself to the Marauders, anyway. 

If you take off your mask, they would find nothing but a barren soul.

—

It seems your newfound parasites have forgotten who you truly are—but you have no qualms in reminding them why exactly you’re called the pureblood society’s darling. 

For the week or so, the Daily Prophet features you out in luxurious restaurants, a new partner each night hanging off your arm. International Quidditch players, foreign models, esteemed opera singers, and even Muggle celebrities. Men and women are captured in moving photographs, avidly fawning over you. 

You’ve missed three classes in favor of shopping in France; Flooing back to Hogwarts, stinking of bordeaux and rosa centifolia. Painite gems nestled around your neck, glittery sapphires lining your wrists. On more than one occasion, you’ve seen McGonagall lift her chin in distaste at your behavior. 

“Well, that’s certainly a speedy recovery,” says Lily one afternoon as the owls take the Great Hall by storm. Rita Skeeter’s new article about you is plastered on the front page, apparently you’ve gotten into a catfight with an Italian seamstress. She risks a glimpse of you from the other side of the long table, laughing away with Professor Sinistra. The sound is scraping against her ears, yet Lily can’t help but feel disappointed.

Your desk is littered with mails from admirers, invitations to galas and fundraisers. The students can’t help but notice this fact as they’re brought to the dance floor each morning. (Each day, you rewind Coppélia’s song—her wishes, and her pain—but you plan to ignore the ballad until blood trickles from your ears.)

“Mumma’s just about ready to send her a Howler,” you hear Ginevra Weasley saying in passing after class. The young red-haired girl nearly bumps into Hermione’s shoulder as Ginny dips her head low, prattling excitedly, “Called the Professor a tart, even.”

Hermione stops walking, scrunching her nose. “Really?”

“Yes, yes,” Ginny nods. “But enough about all that—have you seen the news this morning?” 

Hermione looks up, lips wrinkled in thought. “The one about the Professor being seen in Muggle London? I thought that was rather stale for a headline.”

“Not that one,” Ginny says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. “The article about the Firebird. Remember what happened during the World Cup? When You-Know-Who’s followers came and raided the entire campsite?”

“That would be pretty hard to forget, Gin,” Hermione replies softly. 

“Well, the Firebird’s gone and hunted a few of them,” Ginny tells her, eyes brimming with awe. “Found their hideout and left them half-dead for the Ministry to find. No Malfoy, though, which is a bloody shame.”

At your desk, you sip your jasmine pearl tea with a knowing smirk.

On the first of October, your previous Head of House invites you to the greenhouse for an overdue get-together. Naturally, you greet Pomona Sprout with gift baskets overflowing with glacé treats, packets of tea, scented candles, and dried berries. She huffs in fond exasperation before instructing you to grab a pair of cotton earmuffs and gardening gloves. And, well, you don’t mind playing the part of a slap happy third-year under her gentle care. It’s a role you enjoy more so than others. 

“You’ve been worrying me these days, dear,” Professor Sprout tells you earnestly as she wrestles with the Flitterblooms. Hoo-hoo chicks flutter around in their cage while the uprooted baby Mandragoras screech nearby. You feel the weight of her gaze, much like a knitted blanket draped over your shoulders on a cold, autumn noon. “The other staff have been expressing their. . . concern,  as well.” 

You busy yourself with planting the Wiggentree in its pot, allowing only a moment to raise your walls of Occlumency. You know that she couldn’t possibly be a threat, but you would not allow someone else to expose you bare for others to see. (You loathe the thought of Sirius’s blood flowing through your veins.)

You know that concern is shallow at best, forged from fear of the students being influenced by your frivolous escapades. 

At your silence, Sprout continues on, “We always tell the children that their Houses will be like their second family during their time at Hogwarts.” You hear her draw in a long breath, gingerly placing the flitter tentacles on the ground. “I hope you understand that the same is true for the professors. We take care of each other, substitute teacher or not.” Pomona’s hand is leaden on your shoulder. “After all, you were our student before anything else. The Sorting Hat gave you to me, and what a darling blessing you have been, even until today. When I look at you now, I see the same young first-year student who was afraid of everything and afraid to come out of their shell—but do not forget, I will always be on my children’s side no matter what.”

How poignant that the first person who truly welcomed you to Hogwarts, is one of the only people who can see through you despite your protective barriers.

And so, the puppet show begins—like a lifeless ragdoll, you peel the deer-leather gloves off your hands, blinking away any hints of emotion. You stand tall before Pomona, dusting flecks of soil off your dovetail skirt. “No one has been on my side. Not then, not now,” you say as you snobbishly arrange the brim of your sunhat. “But do not be mistaken, Pomona. I have been fine on my own and a change still remains to be seen.” 

In another life, you would have happily embraced her comfort and affection—but the fate of a lonely starlet is cruel. You’ve made your bed of thorns and wilted roses, and there you shall lay when there is no one left but yourself. 

“Today was lovely, Pomona, thank you.” It is one truth you’ve permitted yourself to offer—a shred of humanity in exchange for her kindness. The dirt beneath your nail beds is real; so is the ache in your back and the sweat dripping from the side of your head to your chin. But you cannot feel any more than that—you forbid yourself. The Mandrakes fall silent, and you bid your goodbyes to the professor.

The sunlight on your skin is real as you step outside, and so is the sound of clamoring students heading for the greenhouse. Sixth-year students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw hurry down the hill. Their unrestrained laughter and carefree smiles are real. And so is the unwashed blood on your hands; the killing curses that have fallen so easily from your lips, and the ghosts that haunt you as the moon arises. Perhaps, you could withstand it all if it means the children would live through a real future without the sins of people like you. 

(But why is it that every time you distance yourself. . . there always seems to be someone calling out to you?) 

Cedric Diggory, your godson, yells for you with a grin that stretches from ear-to-ear. You watch as his yellow scarf swings with each hasty step he takes. Cedric crosses the gap between you in under a minute, strands of wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glimmering eyes. It’s an unsolved mystery as to how you and him were sorted in the same House. 

“Your shirt is wrinkled, Cedric,” you tut, straightening his tie. “Do you go riding Hippogriffs in your spare time?” 

Cedric chuckles wholeheartedly. “Father told me to tell you that you’ve been invited this weekend for a dinner at Hogsmeade,” he says, cocking his head as a cheeky simper erupts across his face. “That is, if you aren’t busy.” 

You raise a brow—sly little badger, he was. Harrumphing uppishly, you swivel to turn your back to him and say, “Tell your father that I’m choosing the venue, lest he chooses some primitive pub in the village.” You draw out the distance between you and Cedric, tossing your parting words into the chilly breeze, “Tell him I’m paying for everything, too.” 

His hearty laughter cuts through the hillside as you make your way back to the castle. Thinking you have the last word, you don’t expect him to yell once more: 

“I’m going to enter the tournament this year!” 

You’re certainly taken by surprise, but you don’t slow your pace. An imperious smirk tugs at your lips—well, at least you know where you’re placing your bets. 

A day before the esteemed guests are set to arrive, you run into Sirius and James—much to your annoyance. It’s just your luck that the evening prior you were hunting down a known member of Greyback’s pack. You played a little cat-and-wolf deep in the depths of a forest, hungrily isolating him from the rest of its family. Though this lycan was unturned, you walk away with claw marks on your back. Still, you hope that Greyback licks his wounds and feels the burden of this particular loss. However, you feel that dealing with James and Sirius will be much more difficult than bringing a werewolf to its knees.

After all, this is the first time you come face-to-face with them, nearly a month after your incident in the infirmary. 

“Auror Black, Auror Potter,” you say liltingly, the rhinestone tassel clinking in your hair as you swirl to face them with a devious leer. “What can I do for you today?” 

Sirius scoffs in disbelief. “So it’s like that, then? Like nothing ever happened?” 

“Partying around, missing your bloody classes, parading all over the castle like you’re better than everyone else. We thought you changed. You know, I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that,” he punctuates his words with a harsh laugh, sneering at your blinding jewelry. “Guess we were the fools, eh?” 

James stares at Sirius, a grim expression flashing across his face, before he shakes his head. “It just doesn’t make sense. What we saw at the infirmary—that’s not something anyone forgets.” He gazes at you with grief in his eyes. “It’s like you’re two different people.” 

“It’s disappointing, really,” Sirius bites, his lips curling into a snarl.

They’ve made it all too easy for you. 

“What are you so frustrated for, darlings?” you say in faux sympathy, stalking towards them as you tap at your chin; a sickly-sweet pout on your lips. “What were you hoping for? For all of us to become friends? We’re not children anymore, my loves!” you exclaim histrionically. “Did you actually fall for my little trick at the infirmary? The care parcel I left your husband? Didn’t you know my mother drafted the anti-werewolf bill?”

Sirius staggers.

“The real me?” you giggle incredulously. “What you see is what you get, dearest—don’t go searching for what doesn’t exist. It’s not my fault you fall so easily for a pretty face.” You tilt your head, fluttering your eyes as you drag your nail up James’s chin. “Not every damsel is in distress, you know.”

Your eyes slice towards Sirius with a coy smile. “Maybe if you had followed your head more often than your naive, little lion hearts—you wouldn’t have driven Regulus to his death.” 

James recoils away from your touch just as Sirius flinches, eyes flashing with anger—Sirius digs his nails into his palms, chest heaving as he stares at you in disgust. You expect another stab in the chest from him, and so you lift your head up high, daring him to say another word. (You hope they stopped trying after this—that they would leave you alone to rot in your stage of lies and dutiful sacrifice.) But you don’t plan for James to step forward, shielding Sirius away from your gaze.

“You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen,” says James, words dripping in sincere revulsion. “Can’t believe I thought anything less than that.” 

You smile widely, despite the tightening sensation in your chest. “Are we done here now, gentlemen?”

They would learn—this is who you are beneath your masks and pretenses. 

The thirtieth of October brings about a cold you’ve never felt before. As you await the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, the outside corridors are teeming with students, eyes hungry with anticipation. You lean against the wall, exhausted physically and mentally, hugging your worn-out shawl closer to your shoulders. 

The skies are exceptionally gray today—you’ve had to drag yourself out of bed earlier this morning, limbs heavy as lead. The teacup in your grasp is scalding to the touch—you find that nothing hurts more than the ache in your heart. The children are particularly rowdy at the moment—each time you close your eyes, you see the hatred in James and Sirius’s eyes. 

Has loneliness ever felt so suffocating before? 

When winged horses make their way from the heavens, the clamoring grows louder—yet all you hear are their words. 

‘You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.’

‘I actually thought there could be something real to you under all that.’

You would not weep—not for yourself, and not certainly for them. 

Sometimes, you wondered if you were hurting too much to even be considered alive. Did your marked flesh even count as skin anymore? Worthy to be cherished with gentle touches and tender lips? How much more did you have to do until the guillotine finally fell? 

When does duty end? And when does life begin? 

Madame Maxine and her drove of Veelas descend from their carriage; awestruck gasps and intrigued murmurs echoing along the corridor. When the Beauxbatons Headmaster comes to stand before you, you instinctively sink into the role of a diplomatic host—that is, after all, why Dumbledore hired you. With a nod of your head and a pleasing smile, you greet the first of your guests to arrive. 

“What a relief that you made it safely to Hogwarts, Madame Maxime,” you tell her in a saccharine-sweet tone. “If you please, Mister Filch here will guide you to the dormitories where you’ll be staying while Hagrid will take care of your horses.” 

You want to go to sleep already. 

Finally, as a large ship emerges from the Great Lake—a sense of relief floods through you. Only one more person to greet and you’ll finally be able to return to your quarters, welcoming feast be damned—you’ve done your part for today. Igor Karkaroff and his students make their presence known; imposing statures and foreboding glares. The castle nearly crumbles from Viktor Krum’s entrance, Hogwarts’ Quidditch players eager to catch a glimpse of the prodigal Seeker—well, you could care less about such a barbaric sport. 

Karkaroff presents you a slimy leer as he presses a kiss to the back of your palm—the dig of his long nails into your skin is a pleasant feeling, to your surprise. “Dumbledore did not inform me we would be greeted by such beauty. We would have arrived earlier, otherwise.” 

You miss your cat. 

(Sirius’s eyes roll all the way to the back of his head when you giggle and melt in Karkaroff’s wretched compliments.) 

You want to die.

—

Chaos erupts the next day. The Goblet of Fire has chosen a fourth champion—Harry Potter himself. No one is more enraged than his mother, Lily. The Aurors on duty, James and Sirius, struggle to contain the students’ horror and verbal lashings. Some have taken to accusing James himself of putting Harry’s name in the goblet in the name of family prestige—predictably, it’s Draco and Pansy who lead that revolt. But you don’t expect for Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan to be swayed by the baseless gossip. So there’s a crack in the pride’s loyalty to one another, you surmise to yourself. 

Like a Niffler drawn to shiny objects, you follow the Headmasters and professors into a room, away from all the ruckus. 

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” the wise Professor Dumbledore asks calmly.

The atmosphere is beyond wintry—you note the biting criticisms in their eyes, particular between Fleur and Madame Maxime. Lily hides Harry from their scrutiny, proud and unyielding despite being shorter than the Beauxbaton champion. Across the room, you find Severus and Remus engaged in a muted, albeit wound up argument. 

Everyone looks to the morose Bartemius Crouch Sr., awaiting his decision with a bated breath. You sympathize with the man—for a fleeting moment—for if looks could kill, Sirius’s tempestuous glare would have dragged him six feet under. 

“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

Your blood runs cold.

Ludo Bagman appears to be pleased with his colleague’s decision—you see no reason why he shouldn’t be, he’s only ever put his odds in the thrill of the game. “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front!” 

Dimwitted fool.

You scoff. “In a room full of Headmasters and Ministry leaders, surely one of you can find a way to unbind young Potter’s name from the tournament.”

“Err. . .” Ludo’s gaze flickers from Dumbledore to Crouch Sr. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff nod emphatically in agreement, forcing him into a corner with a ragged chuckle. “There’s nothing to be done, the Goblet of Fire has gone out.”

“Do you or do you not have a wand, Mister Bagman?” you reply, piqued; crossing your arms over your chest. “If the rules were written by a wizard, surely it can be unwritten by a wizard. Teaching an Unforgivable to a first-year would be more difficult than that.” “It is not as simple as that, Professor!” Bagman cries. “But you are welcome to try a hand at it.”

“So we just let a child run to his death, then?” you seethe, nostrils flaring. “I never knew the Ministry was teeming with incompetent men. Shall I steal your job from under your nose, Ludo dear?”

(Harry’s brows pinch in confusion. He does not expect for you to care so much.)

“He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” says Alastor Moody as he limps across the room, flask in his hand. You fall silent, an unnerving chill slithering down your spine. Something about this man did not sit right with you. You pull the sleeves of your blouse further down your arms. 

“Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,” Moody growls in response to Fleur. “Over my dead body!” James snarls, veins rigid against the column of his throat, eyes simmering in anger. 

“Yes, yes, Potter, we all know you’d die for your son,” Moody remarks offhandedly, taking a large gulp of the liquor in his flask. 

“It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it,” Dumbledore counters in an attempt to placate the tense atmosphere. Lily’s sharp sob engulfs the outraged clamors of the two other Headmasters. “Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do. . . .”

The glass sculpture of a long-haired mermaid shatters into fragmented pieces as you bump into the table; just about ready to flee before you do anything rash like point your wand at Crouch Sr. himself. Before you exit the room, you catch sight of Cedric’s eyes—worry and uncertainty pooling within his gaze. You slam the door hard enough until the wood splinters. 

Harry Potter is imprisoned by his fate as the Chosen One—and it seems time has imprisoned everyone at Hogwarts, yourself included. 

The first task for the tournament arrives defiantly, without care for Harry and his loved ones. You have only been to the Quidditch field twice—today happens to be the second time. Everyone is bundled in their wooliest sweaters and warmest jackets; although, Hermione did have her portable bluebell flames. You stare at it with envy. 

“Oi! Professor, over here!” One freckled Weasley twin—Fred, you guess—beckons for you to sit by their swarm of red and gold. He pushes Ron away to make room for you beside Minerva. 

“Thank you, Mister Weasley,” you say quietly, sniffles falling from your frost-bitten nose. 

It’s quite odd—you’d have expected to be sitting with Professor Sprout and Amos, amongst your sett of badgers. But it’s not half-bad. You don’t erupt in flames when Minerva holds onto you, shrieking, as Fleur narrowly avoids her dragon, awoken from its trance. You don’t particularly mind either, when the Weasley twins bump their chests and holler into Ginerva’s ear when it’s time for Viktor Krum to face the Chinese Fireball.

“We got a traitor here!” George snickers when you flinch and yelp for Cedric as he fights shy of the Short Snout’s fire, and cheering breathlessly when he eventually captures the golden egg. You glare at George mirthfully, wondering where your fight and heat has gone. 

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say, rising to your feet as the judges mull over their scores for Cedric. “Minerva,” you nod to her, and she offers you a hint of a wrinkly smile. (McGonagall thinks that if anyone can talk back in the face of a Ministry chairman in defense of her students, then perhaps she’s misjudged a professor or two.) 

Your cheeks grow numb from the cold as you cross the swarm of Beauxbatons students, past the flock of Ravenclaws. Harry’s match is underscored by the deafening cheers; the stands  rumbling from the yells for his name. You’re nearing the territory of yellow banners and black insignias, trumpets blowing into your ears, when the clamor and hurrahs turn into terrified gasps; students rushing back from the edge. You don’t understand the fuss until you look back at the arena. 

Harry’s dragon has broken free from its chains. 

You join Professor Sprout and Severus in herding the students away from danger—spotting James and Sirius across the arena, hastily reinforcing the protective barriers around the stands, uttermost precision in their wandwork. While Harry dances a life-threatening waltz, you hurriedly clear out the space closest to the banisters. Your breath hitches as the Hungarian Horntail wreaks havoc below, inducing quakes and showers of fire. 

But more frightening than any dragon, you hear the bloodcurdling scream of a student.

“Daphne!” 

The Greengrass heiress, Astoria, cries vehemently as Draco holds her back from rushing to the front of the stands. 

You scour the area frantically—there, only a few feet away from you, lies a fear-stricken Daphne Greengrass, staring right into the eyes of the Horntail. Its teeth bare, growls like thunderstorms, and the rising scent of embers and ashes. 

“Daphne, get away from there!” 

You hardly hesitate—you run to her, desperation pushing at your legs, terror holding your heart captive. As the dragon screeches in preparation to breathe fire, the nearest Aurors miles away—each gasp for air is torn from your throat. In a blink of an eye, you grab Daphne into your arms and shield her from the Horntail. The crowd bellows in fright—you close your eyes, preparing for even the most excruciating of pain. 

But there is nothing. 

Just you, Daphne, the Hungarian—and Remus who’s pointed his wand at the onslaught of flames, redirecting it up into the sky as Harry grabs the Horntail’s attention, now zipping freely on his broom. 

Remus looks back at the both of you in relief, drawing his wand back in his pocket. “Are you alright?” he asks you first, a weary tenderness in his eyes. 

You tear your gaze away from him, checking on Daphne instead; cupping her pale cheeks and wiping the tears from her eyes. “Are you alright, Daphne? What do you feel? Come, darling, let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey—can you stand? Here, put your arm around my shoulder.” 

“T–Thank you, Professor,” stammers Daphne as Astoria rushes to her, the pair of sisters blubbering and crying. The blonde-haired girl nods to you and Remus, “Both of you. I–I don’t know how I’ll repay such kindness.” 

“Don’t worry, Daphne,” says Remus, smiling as he offers her a lemon-flavored treat. 

He steps back to make way for Lily to fuss over Daphne, his eyes straying to you, oozing with sincerity as he rubs his handkerchief to your cheek. He grins at you and your heart skips a beat. “My kindness is freely given.”

Has kindness ever felt so real before?

act iv. you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. 

“THE CHILDREN ARE terrified, Missus Fawley. Just last week, we had another incident. All the windows in the kitchen—shattered! The little ones couldn’t sleep for days.” 

You hear the orphanage matron’s voice behind the bedroom door. You’re allowed but a moment of playing with your ragged, plush animals, before the matron comes barging inside. (How rude, you think to yourself. Hasn’t she ever heard of knocking before?) Although, unlike all the other times, she has a lady right on her tail. This woman is much taller than Sister Thompson, certainly more beautiful-looking, too. Not that you have anything against Sister Thompson’s wrinkly face and foul smile. 

No, this woman walks with her head held up high, dressed in a burgundy leather coat that clearly costs more than the thin rag you call a shirt. This must be Mrs. Fawley, then. Her black heels click against the rusty, wooden floor; you watch impassively as she bends down to your eye level. She takes you by surprise when she grabs ahold of your chin, slowly turning your head from side to side. 

“So this is the child,” Mrs. Fawley muses, red lips quirked. Haunting blue eyes stare back at you; hair dark as ebony falling to her waist. “You may leave, Sister Thompson. I would like to get to know my future ward.”

The matron widens her eyes. “Missus Fawley, I strongly advise against—!”

“You misunderstand me, Sister Thompson,” says Fawley, a sharp edge to her voice. “That was not a request.”

A strange sense of victory fills you when Sister Thompson bows her head in response, tossing you just one sour glare before exiting the room. The rickety door clicks shut and Mrs. Fawley returns her attention to you with a low hum, eyes raking over your form once more. You wonder what she’s thinking about; wondering if it’s the vast difference between her neatly-pressed clothing and your rumpled dress shirt. Many have visited the orphanage before, but none have spared you a second glance, not with Sister Thompson scaring them all away. (You suppose there is no appeal in adopting a child with temperamental issues who can make other girls’ noses bleed.)

“Show me,” Fawley commands, breaking the quietude; her voice stern, yet hypnotic. Much like the first notes of a pied piper’s song. For a few moments, you don’t understand what she’s asking for, until realization dawns upon you. You drop the plush toy’s limbs—seconds later, the teddy bear waves its hand as though it’s gained a soul. If this had been a wooden doll with a long nose, it would be saying: ‘I’m a real boy!’

Fawley chuckles, leaning back with a pleased look. Your head falls to the side in confusion—when you had shown this little trick to Daisy Anne and Annaliese, they’d begun to throw stones at you, screaming and saying that you were a witch. You don’t try to play with the other children anymore after that. Rather than being afraid, Missus Fawley seems to be happy with you. “My name is Agatha Fawley, special adviser to the Wizengamot, daughter of the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she tells you, and you don’t have a lick of comprehension. “What do you know about witches and wizards, darling?” “I don’t know, maybe. . .” You scrunch your nose, making the stuffed elephant twirl the bear with just a glance—Fawley tilts your chin upwards, demanding your utmost attention. “That they aren’t real? Or if they are, they should be burnt at the stake?”

Agatha Fawley hisses, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine. You wonder if you’ve angered her. The toys fall back to the floor lifelessly. “Damned Muggles—! Is that what they teach these days?” She shakes her head. “No, never mind. What matters is what happens from now on.” “Are you going to adopt me?” you dare to ask, gaze falling to the floor, heart hammering against its confinements.

“I will,” she affirms and your eyes grow wide, breath stuttering in your throat. “But if we are to become family—there is one thing you must do for me.”

“Anything!” You all but scream in her ear, a plea for her to take you away from the orphanage; far, far away from hurtful words and a room that echoes your loneliness back to you. 

“Never lower your eyes.” She smiles, teeth bared into a snarl, reminiscent of a prowling fox. “You are magic, my darling. And I will be your mother. No one on this earth can make you kneel in surrender.”

You believe her.

You believe her with all your heart.

But, you would learn that even monsters can call themselves ‘mother’ and embrace you with open arms. 

The Fawley Manor is large—larger than the orphanage, and that was a place you couldn’t fully explore due to its largeness. There must be a thousand rooms, as far as the eyes can see. It’s like a princess castle coming to life—akin to the ones you’ve read about in storybooks. Missus Fawley’s home nearly touches the sky. There are tall trees, wide grassfields, and glimmering lakes. You gasp and cover your eyes with your hands as the chauffeur drives past the marble sculpture of naked ladies. (“Think of them as Goddesses bare to the mortal eye, dearest,” says Fawley when you yelp and sink into the leather seats.) Then, the family butler, maids, and chef come to greet you, all smiling at the new addition to the manor. 

You meet Elsie, the house elf—your first real encounter with magic. Well, besides Missus Fawley turning paper into crystalline butterflies in the car. Elsie is a tiny, wrinkly creature who wears five different-colored knitted hats atop her head. She can’t seem to stop shuddering while speaking, too, as if drenched in cold, invisible water. But you look into her big eyes and you decide to be her friend forever. 

“Get settled into your room, and then we’ll have you acquainted with the rest of the staff,” Fawley says after she ushers you into a room—a bedroom just for you, where you won’t have to listen to anyone else’s snoring or fight to the death for a blanket on a cold winter storm. The bed is bouncy and soft, not unlike the cardboard they’d given you at the orphanage. Your shelves are stocked with toys and books. 

Then, you remember that in exchange for all this, you must do your best in school. That is one thing you aren’t looking forward to. 

But, how bad could a school be if it’s filled with magic? 

You happily imagine smelly trolls, dashing unicorns, talking ghosts, and floating crayons. 

For your first week in the manor, you enjoy glazed desserts, fluffy pillows, and silken clothing—and on your second week, you are reminded of your duty to the family you’ve been brought into. Something bigger than studying in a faraway magic castle. Missus Fawley introduces you to her long line of ancestors. You stumble on your footing as the portraits shuffle around and gaze upon you with curiosity, some with a more heated glare than others. They call you a funny term as you walk past. Mudblood. But, Fawley tells you not to worry. You are now her child before anything else. 

The family crest is chiseled with gold; you squint your eyes to make sense of the inscription: Virtus in Arduis.

“Virtue in hardships,” Agatha explains in her dulcet tone. As you featherly trace the emblem with your fingers, Fawley leans down to your height, clearing her throat; her expression impossible for you to read. “I brought you to this family because I saw potential in you. I sensed great magic from your person. But we all have our duties. Magic gives, and magic will take.”

“The wizarding world is in grave danger,” she tells you firmly, gripping the curve of your jaw with an intensity that frightens you. “Will you help me fight for the greater good?”

You blink.

You just got here and now you have to fight for a world that you never even knew that existed?

“Greater good?” you echo in disbelief. “F-Fight? Fight who? I’ve never even fought in my life! Making Daisy Anne’s nose bleed w-was just an accident!” 

“I will be with you every step of the way,” she vows fiercely, the tips of her nails digging into your cheeks. “Tell me, do you understand? You will do what is right without any recognition at all. Think of it as a performance, my love. And I’m preparing you for your role in this world starting now.” 

The ingénue in this act you have to play involves studying endlessly, practicing your wand work until Fawley is satisfied, and familiarizing yourself with every shelf in the library from dawn until dusk. You don’t understand why you must memorize every charm and every incantation—but Missus Fawley reminds you that you are bound to her and your responsibilities. You don’t want to go back to the orphanage, cold and alone—so, you acquaint yourself with parchments and quills, swallowing the discomfort when the nib harshly rubs your skin raw. 

On your tenth birthday, Missus Fawley gifts you with a closet overflowing with chiffon, taffeta, and organza. Lace parasols, pretty shoes, and wide-brimmed sun hats. The chef surprises you with a three-layered cake, the constellation icing charmed to flicker like real stars in the night. It’s the best birthday you’ve ever had. For the first time, you feel like your life is actually celebrated. 

The next day, your adoptive mother says with utmost exigency, “This time next year, you shall be off to Hogwarts, but that means your debut in society is drawing near. The wizarding world will officially acknowledge you as my child.”

“When that happens, vultures will flock to you as though you were a corpse.” Her eyes flash dangerously. “And you will become one, unless you learn how to fend for yourself. The most ruthless of us all can be adorned in pearls and dressed in ball gowns. Appearance is everything in this world—do not let them see that you are afraid.” 

And so, you don’t tell her that she’s petrified you to the bone.

“As the sole heir to my fortune and properties, you must understand how to navigate, not only the wizarding world, but this treacherous domain, as well.” Missus Fawley straightens your back, harshly tapping you once more to spread your legs at a more acceptable distance. “To be envied by all—the perfect host must always be ready to receive their guests with attention and politeness.”

When you wince, or move to massage your sore muscles, she barks at you, “You must always be composed, even in near-death. If you crumble—if you let even a single person know what you’re truly feeling, all this will be for naught.”

The burden of her words is heavier than the textbooks she shoves in your hold. 

“Control them before they can control you,” Fawley explains as the seamstress measures your waist and arms. “Exert your influence in a conversation. Not only in words, but your stature. Present yourself accordingly. Jewelry and clothing can be your armor when you cannot draw your wand.”

You grumble under your breath when the seamstress accidentally pokes you with a needle for the nth time. 

“Smile when flattered, giggle when offered a dance, and curtsy when greeted.” Fawley glares daggers at you when you hiss in pain. “But most of all, do not let any of those cretins know that you are fully aware of the power you wield over them. Anyone can be a puppeteer if they want to be. You’ll just be the greatest of them all.”

(But even a master of puppets has someone pulling their strings from behind the curtains.)

Elsie stays up with you each night, carefully pouring ice-cold water over your head, and playing with the floating bubbles to distract you from the ache in your legs and arms. “Elsie will give Master her hat!” the young elf says one evening, pulling the topmost beanie from her head and laying it on yours. She tells you a bedtime story before tucking you beneath the covers of your queen-sized bed. You fall asleep to the sound of grasshoppers chirping and portraits murmuring to one another. 

Then, you get your first taste of a pureblood skirmish. Missus Fawley had taken you to Diagon Alley, months away from the first of September—a letter in your hand with all the materials a first-year would need for their classes. Safe to say, you’re more than excited. (“Oh, mother, look!” you exclaim, pointing to the various shops—and also remembering the rule of calling Agatha mother out in public. “A sweet shop! Fortescue’s ice cream parlor! Mother, can we go there? Please, please, please!”) Fawley smiles at your wide-eyed wonder, your hand in hers—today is a special one, she decides. You’re allowed a bit of fun. Especially since you’ve shown unfathomable progress in your studies. 

You get your very first wand at Ollivanders—and now this world of grumpy goblins and jumping chocolate frogs becomes even more real. You hardly let go of your wand, a tingle of exhilaration running through you each time you brush your fingers against the finely-carved wood. Even Missus Fawley is pleased with the wand that chooses you. Later, you’ll be given three hours to practice your charms again, but you find that you don’t mind—not when you’ve learned that you can now read books under the covers when Elsie turns the lights off.

As you exit the shop, breathless and flushed with a hunger to explore more of this world you’ve been given access to, you and Fawley run into one of her friends. This must be one of the scary people she’s warned you about. Sharp cheekbones, unfriendly gray eyes, and a stern demeanor. You immediately suck in a breath and school your face just as Agatha has taught you. 

“Walburga!” Fawley greets with a lovely smile, but you notice that it doesn’t reach her eyes, not like when she smiles at you for growing another inch taller. She brings her hand onto your shoulder. “What a pleasant surprise, my dear.” She peers at the two young boys hiding behind her, much like you were doing now. “Oh, my! Is it that time already? I’d forgotten young Sirius was set to go to Hogwarts this year. You must be overjoyed.” 

Walburga is a tall lady, taller than Agatha, even. She hums, lips quirked, chin held up high. “Fawley,” Walburga responds, rather displeased. “Talking my ear off, as usual.” Her trenchant eyes land on you and her smile curves into a sneer. “And who might this little one be?” 

You risk a glance at Missus Fawley before offering the other woman a sweet, half-curtsy. “Madam Black, how do you do?” you smile at her, gaily revealing your name and the gap in your front teeth—the two boys snicker and your eyes instantly narrow into a glare. 

Walburga stares you down harshly. “How adorable.” Her eyes slice to the two boys behind her. “Sirius, Regulus, introduce yourselves.” 

Missus Fawley laughs, a grating sound—much like warning bells—as her eyes flash dangerously at her, hand tightening on your collarbone. “What a relief to know that Sirius will at least have one friend already before they arrive at the castle.” 

“But—oh, dear, look at the time.” Agatha quickly casts the Tempus charm before looking at you aghast, eyes wide as saucers, mouth parted dramatically. “I promised the Daily Prophet a photoshoot today! It is my thirty-first birthday soon, after all. I’d give you tips on how to capture this look, but, Walburga, it seems you’re embodying the housewife fashion perfectly.”

“Ta-ta!” She plants two, airy kisses on Walburga’s cheeks before waving the three goodbye. 

“That,” Fawley whispers into your ear as she snuggles the side of your face. “—is exactly how to do it.”  

You collapse in your bed that night, wondering just what you’ve gotten yourself into and what kind of world you’re about to live in.

How confusing.

All this time, you thought that Missus Fawley had been preparing you for an intense entrance exam. Why else would she make you study twenty-five hours a day and eight days a week? But as it turns out, all you had to do was sit on a chair and have Professor McGonagall put a talking hat on your head.

“Hufflepuff!” the Sorting Hat proclaims, and the table of yellow and black welcomes you with open arms. You sit next to a boy named Amos Diggory. Later in the night, you’ll share a dormitory with a kind girl named Amelia Bones. 

(Hogwarts is the best!) 

The holidays arrive in the blink of an eye and you find yourself standing at the steps of the manor once more. Agatha Fawley waits for you by the door, engulfing you instantly in a hug that shields you from the falling snowflakes and biting winds. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and gingerbread cookies await you in the grand dining room; you even get a crotchety greeting from Isolde Fawley the Third’s portrait. Elsie crumples to the floor and sobs at your arrival. 

“So you were sorted there,” Fawley mutters to herself, a worried expression contorting her face. The fireplace crackles as a winter storm rages outside the manor. You lay on her lap as she absentmindedly pats your head. Stories of your first few months at Hogwarts fall from your lips without pause. “This would go smoother if you had been sorted in Slytherin, however; but no matter—it’s not what I expected, but we can make do. The Diggorys and Bones’ are purebloods, so maybe not all hope is lost. But you need to get more acquainted with the Greengrasses and the Malfoys, Druella Black’s daughters as well.”

You hide your frown against her legs. You really liked Amos and Susan, Bellatrix was just downright mean to everyone, even calling this one girl, Lily, a Mudblood, too. But if mother wanted you to try, you might, but only once. If Bellatrix didn’t want to be your friend, then there’s no helping that unhinged witch. (At least the Prewett twins’ pranks were funny. Bellatrix once snuck inside the Ravenclaw tower to leave a dead pig’s head in the girls’ dormitory just because.)

On the twenty-fifth of December, Agatha Fawley throws a gala just for you—masqued as a fundraiser for Muggle children in need. (None of the families cared about them, you would realize later on.) The ground nearly rumbles from the number of guests she’s invited. From your bedroom window, you spot a few familiar faces. Sirius Black, who stands out from the crowd like a pale bean sprout; his cousin, Bellatrix, who’s already taken to yelling at the staff; Lucius Malfoy, the Flints, and the Parkinsons. Your head goes dizzy. 

As long as you don’t trip during your entrance, everything should be fine, right? Right?

(You one-hundred percent trip in front of everyone as you descend the stairs. The sound of James Potter and Sirius Black’s laughter haunts you.)

But other than that, the Yule event goes by smoothly. You don’t fall flat on your face when greeting Cygnus Black and Druella Black née Rosier, and mother is thoroughly satisfied when you smile in the face of Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy. You stay in the corner after welcoming your guests, sitting in your chair like an abstract painting forbidden to touch; whilst the Prewett twins and James teased Elsie until she cried from anxiety. Sirius also goes out of his way to congratulate you for growing all your teeth in. 

You don’t understand why Mother is so scared of these people.

But you’ll understand virtue in hardships soon enough when you receive your first tutoring in ballroom dancing. Instead of sapphire earrings or a trip to France, Missus Fawley has a different gift in mind for your fifteenth birthday. She surprises you with a tutor—you’re bewildered at first, arguing that you’ve consistently been at the top of your class. (“Madam Hawthorne is not here for your academics, my darling,” Fawley explains with her red-lips stretched in a foreboding smile. “Dance is a beneficial skill for any host to have. You’ll practice until your footwork is perfect. You will dance until I say you can stop. And when your feet are aching and bleeding, you will keep dancing.”) 

Each night for your summer holiday, you go to bed, sobbing into your pillows, body trembling from Madam Hawthorne’s cane. 

Everything changes on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.

Like all the years before, Missus Fawley invites the entirety of the pureblood society to the manor. 

You stay with Narcissa and Andromeda, gently placating their concerns when they ask about your unnatural quietness—truthfully, you could no longer breathe in the flounced dress you’ve been forced to wear; the sides of your feet raw from constantly practicing with Madam Hawthorne, head aching from the lights and obnoxious perfumes; stomach gurgling. Bags under your eyes from revising endlessly for your N.E.W.T.S. 

Eyes drooping and neck craning from exhaustion, you don’t at all expect for James Potter to emerge from the crowd; wavy, brown hair sweeping over his glasses, wine-colored suit melting into his dark skin. He holds out his hand to you with a boyish grin. “May I have this dance?” 

You blink, frozen solid for a few moments until Narcissa softly nudges your side. “Y-Yes, if you must,” you splutter, placing your palm in his. 

He leads you to the dance floor as the orchestra plays a song perfect for a waltz along a flower field; your eyes glued to his back. The chandelier hangs overhead as James settles your arms around his neck in one swift motion. You almost step on his feet, spluttering your gratitude when he steadies you by the waist, the heat of his hands permeating your layers of clothing. 

“Isn’t it odd that the birthday celebrant wasn’t dancing all this time?” he says, pulling you in for a twirl. 

“I assume the others were all too afraid to deal with my mother,” you reply timidly. “She’s quite overprotective, you see.” 

“Who? That tall lady over there by Missus Black who’s currently glaring at me?” James chuckles into your ear as you step closer to hear his heartbeat. “She couldn’t possibly terrify me.”

“Lily says thank you, by the way.” 

“Oh? For what?”

“Letting her copy off your Defense Against the Dark Arts essay—she’s downright shite at the subject. Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

You laugh along with him, and you find that you could rest in his arms forever.

But, as your dance with him comes to an end, so does your wistful reverie. 

When most of the guests have left the scene, and when the lights have dimmed, Mother presents to you her real gift—your debut in the wizarding society. She leads you to a room, one where you’ve never ventured before. It’s deep past the cellars, where cobwebs and dust bunnies grow. (Before you enter, Narcissa grips your hand firmly, a look of dread and urgency in her eyes. “Be brave,” is all that she says, encasing you in her arms.) 

In this dark room, you see Abraxas and his wife, Walburga, Cygnus, the Notts, the Goyles, and more people you recognize, all dressed in their finest black cloaks—as though it were a funeral instead of a birthday. In the center of it all, is your mother, Agatha, with a man kneeling in front of her. 

“What is this?” you ask in alarm, frantically searching for answers. The man struggles against his rope, binds, screams and pleas muffled by the cloth shoved in his mouth. The sight of his bruises makes you all but retch. “Mother, what is going on?” 

Walburga is the first to step forward, her lips painted blood-red against her ashen skin, curving into an edacious smile. She cradles the back of your head to her chest. “My lovely dear, it has been the utmost privilege watching you grow. Your mother is certainly proud of you, we all are. Tonight, just as our sons and daughters before you, we offer you our blessing on this very special day.” 

“You know of the Unforgivables, right, my child?” Her voice is a sweet, ruthless cadence in your ear; her touch, like worms crawling on your skin as she places your wand in your hand. You bite down on your tongue, swallowing each breath as the walls threaten to cave in on you. Your fingers forcibly shake in terror and you worry that you might snap your wand in half if you aren’t careful. “The Cruciatus, the Imperius, and—?”

“The killing curse,” you breathe out, ever-so stiff in her hold. You watch as Abraxas kicks the man to the ground; you dig your nails deep into your palm to keep from flinching. 

“That’s right, little one,” says Walburga, tracing your jaw with a morbid sense of satisfaction. She holds your chin in place as Abraxas tears the cloth from the man’s mouth. It’s worse now. You hear his desperate begging and his guttural cries for help. “Muggles,” she spits the word out like venom. “Look at them. They’re filthy. Infecting our blood with theirs.”

“Kill him,” Walburga says, a delicate whisper, as though she had asked for a cup of tea. “Kill him and you’ll have proved your worth to us.” 

“No! No, please!” The man struggles against Abraxas’s arms. “Please! I have a family! A c-child!”

You stagger backwards, nearly losing your grip on your wand. You look to your mother for help. “I—!”

“Kill him, pet!” Bellatrix cackles from across the room, teeth bared viciously, eagerly beckoning for you to come forward. “Make sure you mean it! Otherwise it won’t hurt!”

“You know the words,” says Walburga, lifting your pliable arm—a puppeteer controlling its ragdoll. “Say it.”

The man before you is real. He’s a real person with a real family anxiously waiting for him to come home. His children worried sick for their father. How can they just stand there and expect you to kill him? “Mother, please—I can’t. I w-wont.” Your breathing grows labored, hot tears pricking your eyes; the man screams and yells, and the sound echoes ceaselessly in your ears. “I don’t. . .  I don’t understand.”

Agatha Fawley closes her eyes, and you understand perfectly. 

Each sob wrecks your body and the tears endlessly flow from your ears, you hiccup and shiver; blood pooling from the bite in your tongue. “I can’t do this—please!”

“You will.”

You close your eyes just as a flash of unforgiving green shoots from your wand. “Avada Kedavra!”

The man falls limp to the floor, and so does your wand. Walburga coos and drowns you in a sea of shallow praises, the men offer their congratulations, but all you hear is the sound of a lifeless body dropping to the ground. 

A man who you just killed by your wand, in your home. 

That night, the four walls of your bedroom bear witness to your anguish—you cry until you throw up on the floor, body lurching and quivering on the freezing red oak. 

“Do you get it now?” says Agatha as she enters your room, the faintest of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bends down and cups your face in her palms. “This is your world from now on.” 

You rip her hands away from you, gritting your teeth. “I don’t want to live in your world—not anymore! I don’t care about all this! Magic, wealth, and all these things mean nothing if I have to kill innocent people! You’re a monster!” 

“Good.” Fawley’s voice is cold as she stands up, lifting her chin as her eyes glaze impassively. “That means you’re ready for your next lesson.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I was done!” you retort, sore from crying.

“Don’t you see?” says Fawley, pausing underneath the door frame, gaze ruthlessly slicing towards you. “We will destroy them from the inside out. Walburga, Abraxas, Tom Riddle. All of them, one by one. That is our true duty.” 

As she turns to leave, she adds coldly, “Ready yourself. I’ll be teaching you Occlumency during your summer break.” Then she slams the door shut, leaving you all alone in your room. 

When you return to school after the winter holidays, you’re forced to pretend that you hadn’t taken the life of an innocent Muggle. 

‘Do not let them see you are afraid.’ 

“Unfortunately, flaming red hair and hand-me-down robes will not complement my dress—it’s crimson taffeta, you see, handcrafted only by the finest tailors in Italy,” you say dismissively to the ragtag of Gryffindors before you, Vittoria Zabini and Isadora Bulstrode giggling at your side. The Prewett boy visibly wilts and you almost give in—almost. But everyone must play their part in this world. You know that if you show a sliver of weakness, Vittoria and Isadora will be happy enough to report to their mothers—vying for the pedestal you’ve been put on by their parents. 

For the final blow, you scrunch your nose in disgust, slamming your Divination textbook close. “Can you even afford anywhere in Hogsmeade for a date, Prewett?”

(Walburga would Avada you herself if she caught you in such a place with such a wizard. You’re more terrified of what she might ask you to do to Gideon—someone she deems as a blood traitor. You refuse to utter another Unforgivable. You just won’t.) 

“Oh, you cruel wench!” Marlene McKinnon steps forward and before anyone could take another breath, she slaps you in the face. And, finally, you feel something other than the guilt of taking someone’s life.

Your cheek stings from the impact, your ears ringing with the sound of your friends asking if you’re alright and Dorcas Meadowes roaring about how you deserved it—well, you’re not about to disagree. You move your jaw about, cradling the side of your face as you sigh impassively—oh, it’s nothing compared to the etiquette lessons of Agatha Fawley. “My mother will certainly hear about this, McKinnon.”

“You and your mother can kiss my arse!” she shrieks, eyes ablaze.

“Gideon didn’t deserve that, and you know it,” Lily argues fervidly, eyes sickle-shaped as she looks back at the Prewett twin’s dejected expression. “How could you even say that?” 

“How could I not, Lily darling?” you reply off-handedly with a roll of your eyes.

Lily flinches. In her gaze, all you see looking back at you is the Muggle father who had cried out relentlessly for one last glimpse of his children. She stares at the badger emblem on your cloak with disdain, and you with a great deal of pity. “You are, without a doubt, the ugliest creature I’ve ever seen.” 

She has the softest voice you’ve ever heard, but it hurts you all the same. 

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw in the bath, hoping that you’d wash the feel of your sins off your hands—it’s all for naught. Agatha might be a monster in your eyes, but you’re the fool that played right into her act.

You get to your feet, meeting her eye-to-eye. In a low whisper, lips close to her ear, you say, “There are far worse creatures out there, Evans. You’re lucky you’ve been born only a Muggleborn.”

Fortunate that she won’t ever have to play the role that you’ve been forced to. You feel an overwhelming envy towards her—effortless beauty, pure and untainted hands, a kind heart that draws in every one and every person. Compared to her, you must be a dirtied, black swan in a lake that’s only meant for white swans like Lily Evans. 

And she will have more charming princes and truehearted fairies on her side than you could ever hope to gain. 

“Say another word and I will tear your hair from that pretty head of yours,” Marlene snarls, pushing Lily behind her.

Oh, how easy they make it for you. 

You smile in delight. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Marlene lunges.

(You are so tired of it all.)

Every night of your summer holiday, you spend it writhing on the floor, Agatha’s lessons on Occlumency taking its toll. She grows harsher, stricter, and more apathetic than the sun beating down on the manor windows. (“Again!” Fawley demands as you collapse to the ground, drenched in sweat and your head numb from her probing. “Do you think the Dark Lord will be lenient with you? Get up! We’re going again! If you want this to end, you will endure this without error!”) 

While your peers are out swimming in lakes and racing around in Quidditch brooms, you’re stuck within the confinements of your home. But you are not that naive, you’ve seen the headlines of the Daily Prophet. A coalition known as Death Eaters have begun making their mark on the wizarding society. There are rumors of a great, sinister power rising. People go missing everyday, and you worry that this might be the world that your mother has been preparing you for all this time. 

But why you? Why must you carry this burden all alone? Who will pick up the pieces of your battered soul when the weight of your burden crushes you entirely? 

There are times when you wish you never left the orphanage at all. 

A week into your summer break, you find out that your mother is dying. Violent coughing, dizzy spells, jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot, and the healer frequenting her bedroom quarters. You’re not allowed inside, of course, but you can hear her feeble voice and the doctor’s stern orders. 

You also learn that she’s absolutely insane—but that is a fact you’ve come to terms with years ago. One night, during dinner, you’d let it slip that you have your suspicions of a classmate being inflicted with a lycan’s curse. Agatha Fawley reacts just about as one would expect her to. 

“A werewolf? In Hogwarts?” Fawley staggers to her office, the tower of neatly-piled documents and research reports from the Ministry now fluttering to the floor. “No, no, no. . .” she utters to herself, panic seeping within her skin. It’s the most frazzled you have ever seen the great Agatha Fawley. You stare at her unraveling from the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. “Dumbledore has gone mad! That old loon! What was he thinking? Sheltering a beast within the castle!” 

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says Agatha as she reaches for you, a ghastly smile on her face and a near-empty look in her eyes. Your brows pinch together in confusion—you hadn’t been worried about that student at all. “I’ll have that monster out of the castle in no time. The Ministry will have no choice but to listen to me.” 

“That’s it,” she mutters, haphazardly grabbing for her feather quill and blank parchment. “Perhaps a law to forbid werewolves from ever integrating into society. School, house properties—can you imagine if they manage to infiltrate the Ministry? Everything I’ve worked so hard for!” 

“Mother?” you call out hesitantly, crossing the distance, hand outstretched as Fawley slips on her footing, a muttered profanity under her breath. The woman before you is unrecognizable, a sallow casing of a moribund soul. “Mother, please, Remus is no threat to the castle,” you plead, ripping her hand away from the quill. “You can’t do this!” 

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do!” Agatha seethes through her teeth, chest heaving as she glowers at you. “Everything I have done, I have done for you! Yet, you still continue to fight me? I should have left you in that orphanage to rot while I had the chance!” 

“Well then, why didn’t you?” you scream, pushing her away as the words force themselves out of your throat. “Maybe that Muggle father would have still been alive if you did! Maybe I wouldn’t have to suffer so much! To hell with you and your duty!” 

Fawley laughs to herself, a weak and feeble sound. At first, you think it’s in response to you, but then you watch her drag her palm down her face, unblinking when her fingers appear to be drenched in blood. You take a step forward and there’s crimson trickling down her nose, a pallid contrast against her skin. “Ha,” she chuckles once more, keeling over to the ground as she stares up at the ceiling, blood on her flesh. “Merlin, what have I done? I–I’ve gone too far—even the Gods cannot save me.”

The despair in her voice is confounding. “Come here, my love,” she croaks from the floor, reaching out to you with bloodstained hands. Reluctantly, you sink to her side, gnawing on your lower lip as she cups your face in her palms—how many times have you been in this position before? “I’m sorry,” she sobs, shoulders trembling. “Oh, my darling, I am so sorry. I’m afraid I’ve doomed the both of us.” She traces the frame of your jaw and cheekbones. “My child, my beautiful child. What have I done? Will you forgive me?” 

You realize that this must be the consequence of living in a constant lie. To be an imitation of a human person, with no room for grief, rage, fear, hope or even a semblance of love. You stay silent, drowning in the arms of your adoptive mother. “I am to die soon,” says Agatha with utmost finality, eyes boring into yours. “But you are better than me. Braver. Far stronger than I have ever been. I know this must be the heaviest burden a child can carry, but you must understand that the fate of this world is at stake. I am so sorry, my love, but I must leave this duty to you.” 

She lets her head hang limply. “I-I am tired, as well. I’ve pushed away everyone and anyone for this. To do what is right, to endure what is hard—that is what I’ve lived by all these years.”

“And so must you.” Agatha has been mourning all this time, but not for her life. 

You hate her. 

You hate her with all your heart. 

But even monsters need a heart to breathe. 

A month passes by in a blur, and you are now set to meet the ill-famed Tom Riddle. You know that he was a student of Professor Dumbledore; that Narcissa is extremely terrified of him, and that Lucius Malfoy idolizes him to a fault. (“This is the moment I have been preparing you for all these years,” your mother tells you, shields of Occlumency glimmering in her deep blue eyes. “Do not let him in no matter what.”) Soon thereafter, Missus Fawley apparates the both of you to the Malfoy manor. 

The dining room is bleak, befitting of a Malfoy; curtains drawn, fireplace idly crackling, and hushed murmurs upon your arrival. All eyes are on you, and you’re lucky to have dressed in your Sunday best. At the head of the table, you see Tom Riddle, with Abraxas and Cyprian Nott sitting on each side. You hear something large slithering across the polished floors—your breath hitches at the sight of a monstrous serpent curling around Tom Riddle’s chair. The glass chandelier chimes overhead and you wish it would fall from where he sits on his shrewd throne. 

(You find Regulus Black sitting beside Narcissa, cheeks flushed, body quivering as his skin pales to a deathly color; holding onto his left arm for dear life. And, your heart just physically breaks. You don’t understand why this is the world you must live in.) 

“Come here, my dear,” Tom Riddle hisses, urging you forward with a serpentine leer in his eyes. You feel like a circus lion forced to perform its tricks. 

Tom Riddle is handsome—you notice begrudgingly. A menacing kind of beauty that entices the weak and preys on the vulnerable. (You would not be one of his victims, you vow, raising your own walls against him.) His gaze drills into your own—instantly, you feel his magic snaking around in your head, searching for hidden truths. The sensation is staggering, dizzying, and you’re nearly brought to your knees. You clench your jaw at his Legilimency—obstinate bastard. 

“This one is lasting longer than your son, Abraxas.” Riddle chuckles, his finger tracing the curve of your jaw, as Abraxas forces a smile. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he leaves your mind. You release the breath you’ve been holding for the last thirty seconds. He finds none of your secrets, and you suppress a vindictive grin. Riddle glances at your mother. “How fascinating.” 

You wonder if his intrigue will keep you alive for another day or bring you closer to your death. 

“My Lord,” you greet windedly as you press a kiss to the cold signet of his ring. “What an honor to stand before you today. Although, I could have done with a more polite greeting from you.” 

Bellatrix snarls at you in warning. “Do not speak to the Dark Lord that way, you insolent brat!” 

“Enough, Bella,” Tom rasps, flicking her concern away, barely so much as sparing her a glance. “I’ve no need for a little girl to come to my defense.” She visibly wilts at his dismissive words and you almost feel pity for her—almost. Then, you remember this is the man who treats the Cruciatus curse like a treat to give away freely to children—now, you pity Bellatrix fully. The curly-haired girl twitches at the sight of him toying with his wand, Nagini’s forked tongue flicking in anticipation. 

“Tell me, my dear,” says Riddle, trailing his gaze down to your arm. “Has your mother arranged a marriage for you yet? Much like our dear Cissa here.”

You grow frigid in his hold. “Not at all, my Lord. Mother thought it best if I focused on my studies before anything else.” 

Tom hums in thought, eventually releasing you from his clutches. “I see. . . Then, have you considered other ways of pledging your allegiance to our cause?” 

Instinctively, you hide your left arm from his sight. “My Lord,” you begin, wondering how much longer you can address him as such without throwing up in his lap. “The only reason there isn’t much backlash to your. . . merciful endeavors is because Mother and I have ensured that the Daily Prophet’s eyes are elsewhere. The Ministry is blindsided, and no one expects a mondaine darling to be under your influence,” you say, desperation pouring from each word. 

You don’t want to carry his Mark. Not ever. You can endure it—you can endure it all so long as you aren’t eternally condemned to his name. 

“Take that away, and you’ll face significant repercussions,” you threaten boldly. “I promise you that. They look away because of me.” 

For every village and family terrorized, you had shifted the public’s attention to your facetious behavior. Throwing galas left and right, appearing out in public with various partners—you had done it all to bury the looming war. Rita Skeeter is at your beck and call. For every attack, your face is plastered on the front page. For every cry for help, the Ministry is busy dealing with trivial matters that your mother has proposed—such as anti-werewolf bills. 

And Voldemort would never notice that you’ve been thieving covert information from right under his nose and delivering it anonymously to a rising organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. 

(You’re also not pleased that they share similarities to your non de plume, the Firebird, but you suppose that is the least of your worries.) 

If Molly Weasley comes across a sealed letter on the steps of Grimmauld Place, with complete details and addresses of Death Eater hiding places, it is no one’s business but the Order’s—and yours. 

For every life taken, you remember that Muggle father in your mother’s cellar. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow—but you’ll dismantle the pureblood society yourself. All of them, one by one. 

Tom Riddle smiles, and you realize that no one threatens him and gets away with it unscathed. 

A day before you’re set to return to Hogwarts for your seventh-year, the Malfoy Manor is pervaded by your gut-wrenching screams. 

There you are, little Firebird with your wings clipped, writhing on the floor of Lucius Malfoy’s guest room—the Cruciatus curse surging through your veins like molten lava threatening to burn you from the inside out. You hear Narcissa and Missus Fawley’s voices blend into a cacophony of panic. They’re shouting for various things: warm towels, bandages, essence of Dittany, and water. Regulus’s hold on you is tight, near-suffocating, even. 

But you don’t feel anything other than the mutilated flesh of your arm. 

You scream, cry, and scream again—you feel his magic over and over again. Branding you. The ink blends into your skin—but it’s not your skin anymore. A part of you now will always belong to him. 

Bile rises to your throat. 

Tears fall from your eyes. 

(How cold is the floor? You don’t even care anymore.)

And, the worst part is that no one can see it. Riddle charmed it perfectly to coalesce against your skin tone. But you see it. You see the skull and the stupid, wriggling snake. You see Tom Riddle’s monstrous glee as he drives his wand into your arm—Abraxas and Lucius holding you down as you thrash and flail. Your only reprieve was your mother was there, cradling your head to her chest, blocking out their malignant laughter. (You can’t believe you never noticed, but your mother had been branded, too.) 

“I’ll. . . kill him,” you say to yourself, blood and saliva trickling from your lips. If it is the last thing you’ll ever do, you will have Voldemort’s head on a silver platter. 

“Don’t be foolish,” Narcissa scolds, tipping your mouth upwards to swallow the drops of Dittany. “None of us have the power to do that. We just have to make do with the life that we’re given.” 

“I promise. . .  you,” you gurgle through the searing pain, gasping for air, clawing at her arms. “I’ll destroy them all.” 

You pass out in her arms. 

When you awake, you’re on a train to Hogwarts, left arm bandaged and hidden under the sleeve of your school robes. 

You don’t bother attending your classes—seeing no more purpose in Transfiguration and Herbology when you’re just a pawn in someone’s, everyone’s plans, apparently. The professors express their concern when you no longer turn in your homework or assigned projects. Once again, you barely see the need to. Your meals during breakfast, lunch, and dinner go untouched. You stay away from Narcissa, Vittoria, Isadora, Lucius, and Regulus. Your only friends, Amos and Amelia, stay away from you, too, having seen news of your promiscuity in the Daily Prophet. You scoff internally—you’ve never even had your first kiss yet. But even that seems like a distant dream. 

You are tired. 

How much longer do you have to play this part? How much more of yourself do you have to give? 

You’re only seventeen—how can you even hope to defeat Voldemort like this? 

The castle walls have dulled, and you drift through the corridors like a wearisome ghost. The once colorful world that you have been brought into now pales in the face of curses, spilt blood, and the Mark on your arm. You wonder what would happen—if you just run away now. 

Why should you be the one to bear the burdens of this duty thrust upon you? Why do people like James Potter and Sirius Black find loyalty and a real family within Hogwarts, and there is no one willing to fight for you? 

Perhaps, you have no one else to blame but yourself. 

Rita Skeeter publishes her article on the growing rift between you and Vittoria Zabini—claiming that you had stolen her beau from her.

You toss the newspaper into the fire. 

Some nights, you don’t bother returning to the Hufflepuff dormitories anymore. You know what they think. You know what they say behind your back. 

For the third time this week, you find yourself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling from the edge of the window, eyes blankly staring at the horizon—if you run towards there, you wonder how long it will take before they find you. The cold nips at your cheeks, but you barely feel anything other than a gnawing emptiness.

Your gaze falls to the ground below, thirty, fifty meters from where you sit. 

Maybe. . . 

If you move a few inches forward. . . 

If you just fly. 

You’d be free. 

“Oh, I didn’t know this window was occupied.” You loosely turn your head to find Remus Lupin standing before you with a crooked grin, hands shoved in his pockets as he awkwardly shuffles one foot over the other. He raises his arms up in surrender. “I guess I’ll. . . find somewhere else to brood.” 

I don’t care. 

Go away. 

I want to die.

If I disappear, would you care? Would anyone? 

You rest your head back on the windowsill, hugging your legs to your chest. 

Starlings chirp and fly past you—how liberating it must be, to soar in the skies. But all you can do is watch enviously. Powerless, little songbird with no more lullabies to sing and no more wings to fly with. 

You let your weight shift over the window. 

Maybe if you fall, you could see what it’s like to fly. 

“H-Hey! Don’t—!” Remus quickly snatches your hand and pulls you into his embrace—the both of you tumbling to the floor. You feel his chest heaving, arms trembling around you, and the sound of his rapid heartbeat. His eyes are wide as he looks over your face for any injuries. “Why would you do that? Are you mad?”

You sigh. 

Maybe tomorrow, then. 

“Oi!” Remus pokes your shoulder. “Don’t just ignore me! You scared the piss out of me, you know? Bloody hell.” His shoulders slump in relief, and he takes another peek at you—just to make sure you’re still in front of him. “A-Are you okay?” he asks softly, afraid to spook you further away. “Do you want to talk about it or anything?” 

You shrug. “Nothing to talk about.”

His gaze flickers from you to the window ledge. “I think that’s a big something to talk about, honestly. B-But I get it. Really. No judgment.” 

An unwilling chortle escapes past your lips. Remus Lupin and his marauding bunch of lions would never understand the burden you have to carry each day for the rest of your life.

Remus scratches the back of his head with a wolfish grin. “Hey. . . listen. We don’t know each other all that well—so this is going to sound terribly weird. But would you like a hug?”

He opens his arms wide enough for you to fit—and you stare at him in horror. “C’mon, then. It really seems like you need it. And honestly, I kind of need it, too, especially after a scare like that.” 

You stay silent. 

He shakes his hands, beckoning you forward, golden hair flopping over his eyes. “I don’t bite. Promise. One hug and we’ll go on pretending like we don’t know each other tomorrow. Marauder’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything to deserve your kindness,” you say with a prominent sneer—certainly not kindness from him. It must be another prank of theirs. You wait for Peter Pettigrew and Sirius to jump out and spray you with garlic juice. 

Remus smiles. “I think you’ll find that my kindness is freely given.” 

You nibble on your bruised lip. 

Could you really? 

Maybe just this once. 

You’re only human, magic as you are. 

You take one step forward. 

Then another. 

Another.

Until you fall right into his arms, and you inhale the scent of honey, milk raspberry chocolate, and cedarwood. The warmth of his arms around you is real. His voice is real. He whispers cruel words into your ear, “You’re alright, love. Let it out. I’m here.” You burrow your head deep in the crook of his neck. The sound of his heartbeat is real. He tightens his hold around you, and the ground underneath feels real. For a few moments, you don’t feel like you’re floating away into oblivion. 

Maybe you’d stay alive—for a few more days. 

To do what is right. 

To endure. 

Perhaps, tomorrow will be easier—if such kindness is real, maybe you’re allowed to seek it for yourself every now and then. 

But your nightmare doesn’t end when you’re awake—it takes you by the throat when you find yourself summoned to the Malfoy Manor on Hallow’s Eve. 

You’re not the only one caught by surprise. One by one, Tom Riddle’s followers apparate into the dining room, stumbling inside with a bewildered expression. Their Dark Lord has called for them in the dead of night—it must be for something important. You stiffen, sinking into Lucius’s shadow. You search for your mother but she doesn’t appear to be anywhere in the room. Someone brushes their hands against yours—Narcissa. She stands by your side, face impassive, her pupils frantically trying to make sense of the situation. 

Then, Tom Riddle finally apparates into the room, startling you for a fraction of a second. Not far behind is Abraxas, Cyprian, the Lestranges, Bellatrix, and finally—

Your mother. 

Fawley looks worse for wear, her skin sinking into her bones, clothes tattered, and her face littered with bruises. Bellatrix drags her across the floor, hair wrapped around her hands. 

You move to stop Bellatrix, anger blinding your vision—Narcissa tightens her grip on your wrist, subtly shaking her head. You rip your hand away from her. 

“We have found a traitor in our midst!” Bellatrix cackles, throwing your mother to the ground—your fists clench, swallowing each lump in your throat with rage blinding your vision. “I caught the bitch helping the McKinnons escape!” 

“No,” you whisper, dread knocking you backwards—it just isn’t possible. The two of you had always been careful. Bellatrix hits her again, and you have to restrain yourself from marching forward and cursing her from where she stands. 

One moment of weakness, that is all Tom Riddle needs. He finds you in the crowd with ease. The crowd of Death Eaters part like the red sea, and you steel yourself with Occlumency before you are sharply pulled forward, the mark on your left arm blistering as though a hundred needles are driving into your skin repeatedly.

“If the mother is a blood traitor, the child is sure to follow!” Bellatrix hisses, spit flying into the floor, her eyes gleaming with maniacal glee.

Voldemort cruelly holds your jaw in his hand, nails digging into your flesh, threatening to break through your bones. “Is this true?” he asks, drawing blood from your skin. “Tell me!” 

“No!” you cry out, kicking and punching to get away from his hold. “It’s not—let me go! That is my mother! You’re hurting her! She’s sick!”

“That,” Riddle’s eyes flash with hostility, breath hot on your skin, “is a betrayer to our cause.” 

“She’s not!” you scream.

“How did she find out, then?” Voldemort flings you to the ground—immediately, you rush to your mother, gathering her in your arms. Tom Riddle cocks his head and you’re blasted into the walls—you feel his Legilimency trying to force its way in, exploiting your pain and shock. But you won’t let him in. He’ll have to pry your memories from your cold, dead body.

The pain is searing—you’re being torn apart from limb to limb. Your mark is burning, head throbbing from a concussion, and still fighting against Riddle’s magic. Through your blurry haze, you see Lucius holding Narcissa back from running to you. “We’re not traitors!” you cry out desperately, crawling pathetically to your mother’s listless body. “I swear!”

Voldemort sneers just before he points his wand at your mother. “Crucio!”

“No! No! Stop it! Please! Please, stop it!” you beg on the ground as your mother helplessly writhes on the floor, the Cruciatus curse reducing the once austere Agatha Fawley to a whimpering mess. “You’re killing her!”

Tom snarls, “Good.”

Bellatrix digs her claws into your neck, her laughter resounding throughout the manor—you swallow the sobs down your throat as she drives her wand into your flesh. “Your mummy over there is done for. But you—our precious jewel, you can still prove your loyalty to our Dark Lord.” 

She puts your wand and closes your fist over the wood—your eyes grow wide as you thrash in her hold, screaming as she forces you to look at Fawley. “Kill her. And you may live.” 

“Just say it,” Bellatrix whispers in your ear. “Two little words. You’ve already done this before, pet—the second time should be easy enough!”

“No!” you knock your head back into her nose, slipping away as her hold loosens and she screams profanities at you—but to your misfortune, Voldemort captures you, like a defenseless bunny running into a starving snake. 

“Mum, wake up, please!” 

You cry out helplessly, sobbing as Voldemort forces you to watch the life gradually fade away from her blue eyes. Her magic envelops you—and you remember warm holidays spent by the fire, Muggle storybooks before bed, surprising you with breakfast in bed for your birthdays. It’s a warm feeling, a stark contrast to Tom Riddle’s invasive magic. Her voice echoes in your head one last time.

“Thank you for showing me what love feels like, if not for a moment. I am sorry I could not show it as a proper mother would.”

“Kill her!” Voldemort rages into your ear. 

You watch as Fawley’s eyes drift to a close, an act of resignation. “It’s okay, my darling,” she whispers tiredly. “I. . . can rest now.”

For the second time in your life, you point your wand at someone’s heart—this time, it’s your mother’s. 

“What are you waiting for?” Bellatrix asks, twitching menacingly. “Kill her! Before I do it myself!” 

There’s a faint smile on her face. 

“I’m. . . sorry.”

Those are Agatha Fawley’s last words before you take away her life.

The incantation falls so delicately from your lips, an act of mercy for the woman you once called your mother and your greatest tormentor. 

But your eyes are on one person and one person only.

Tom Riddle. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

He will know your pain.

Not today, not tomorrow.

But you’ll destroy them all, one by one.

a/n: THERE IS KISSING IN THE NEXT SCENE I PROMISE.... AND TRUST MY LILY LOVERS WE WILL GET OUR REDEMPTION ARC SKDJHFGKJH and sirius lovers too,, but yall are well-fed every day so.. next part has the yule ball, likee,, there's no way THAT becomes angsty.. if you saw a plot-hole, no you didn't just CRY and enjoy sdhgsdf... come tell me what you thought!! (if you have any constructive criticisms, just come to my dms BUT PLS BE VERY GENTLE.... oh and don't hesitate to tell me if i accidentally wrote anything super specific like height, skin color, etc.!!) i promise to better in the final part!!!! (there's only two parts to this fic.) I LOVE YEW I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS STORY AAAAAAAAAAAA

[rvblos]

౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆ gucci dinner (blurb)

warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex (be safe pls), slight degradation, sub!reader, soft!dom (kinda) jannik, public sex(?), i went crazy sorry. this is the nastiest shit ive ever written.

notes: im ovulating so bad im so sorry i just need him FUCKED YOU IN THE BATHROOM WHEN WE WENT TO DINNER

the dinner was fantastic and the venue was wonderful, each table had a bouquet of flowers in the center and candles were scattered everywhere, creating a relaxing and intimate atmosphere. your attention had been drawn by the background music coming from the speakers, forcing you to briefly disconnect from the conversation.

“i tried to save that game, i really did. but your boyfriend’s serve is just unbelievable, right?” taylor fritz’s voice came muffled to your ears, bringing yourself back to reality. “i’m so sorry, could you repeat that?” you tried to apologize for your rudeness and jannik, sitting next to you, laughed to himself. to warn him you gave him a small pat on the shoulder gaining another light laugh from him.

“i was just talking about how good your boyfriend is at tennis.” he laughed too, taking a sip of his wine nonchalantly. you chuckled at his words, relieving the tension. “what do you think?” he asked you, morgan’s eyes following you as you drunk from your own glass. “yeah, what do you think?” you boyfriend asked you repeating taylor’s words with a shit eating smirk on his face, his hands suddenly gripping the flesh of you upper thigh under your linen skirt.

you gulped, feeling him going upwards within every second and finally reaching the hem if your panties. “yeah, i think he’s very talented.” laughing, you tried to keep your cool, even if it was nearly impossible since his digits were now circling your skin, making you shiver under his touch and getting even closer to your core.

“would you excuse me for a second?” you tried to sound calm and relaxed, but it seemed so challenging just because his fingers were so close to your folds and you couldn’t believe that he was really doing it in front of taylor and morgan. “is everything alright?” the girl in front of you asked with a concerned expression on her face. you nodded “yeah, just need to go to the bathroom.” you smiled to reassure her and disappeared into the sea of people that were roaming around.

entering the small restroom you ran to the mirror only to find your cheeks redder than ever before. he really did make you blush. you rested your arms on the small sink in front of you, leaning your head against the glass and trying to regain control of your body, inhaling deeply and not wanting to let him win over you. but before you could even notice it, the door opened.

shit. that was it.

you didn’t turn, you could see his reflection in the mirror, his body leaning against the door and that same smirk on his face. “what are you doing here?” you scoffed, now facing him. he was looking at you hungrily, like he’d never seen you before, like it was his first time. “what’s up with this attitude?” he joked, closing the door behind him and reaching you slowly.

“what were you trying to do earlier?” that was a rethorical question, you both knew very well what he was doing and even better what he wanted to do. and you could see it in his eyes that he was having fun, he was enjoying it. “what do you think, huh?” he asked you back, his lips now almost touching yours, trapping you between the wall and his own body.

“we can’t.” you placed a hand right on his face as to stop him. “what did you told them anyway?” “that i needed to park the car or something, i don’t remember.” he sounded so calm and relaxed, you hated him when he acted like that.

“c’mon, ten minutes.” smiling boldly he begged you, taking a strand of your hair in his hand, twirling it over his fingers. he was towering over your body, looking down at you while his red hair fell beautifully on his face. one of his hands found place on your hip, caressing your flesh under your skirt’s material and sending shivers down your spine.

“five.” you finally gave in, rolling your eyes back at his insistence and demanding that single word like it was a sentence. you thought he didn’t want to lose any time with you, his hands were quick as they started to undress you, leaving your top fall onto the ground, followed by your skirt as well. his lips took place on your neck, kissing and biting your skin gently, leaving some red marks that would’ve been very evident once you were going to be back to the table.

where was the bold guy, unable to wait to touch his girlfriend now? it was like he was scared to touch you even knowing damn well that since you had such little time that he should’ve made the best of it. but there he was, taking his time with you, kissing your boiling skin as you two had an eternity of time. “jan…” you tried to say, panting for air when you felt him gently nibble at your earlobe. “they’re gonna get suspicious.” your panties suddenly slipped down, now resting between your knees. the sudden contact with the cold air made you shiver and your walls clenched around nothing, looking for some sort of relief.

you could feel the wetness between your legs starting to drip down but it was finally relieved when you felt him abruptly making his way into you. a scream of surprise almost escaped your lips, if he haven’t been so quick to cover your mouth with his hand. “shhhh.” he mumbled with a broken voice from the pleasure, his lips pressed onto you shoulder as he tried to be quiet as well.

he slowly moved out of you, only for slipping inside one more time to try and find his own pace. it was all so sloppy and slow it was making you see stars. the way he looked, holding your body in his arms against the wall, his bright green pupils staring right into yours as he fucked you and the unholy noises your bodies were making, parting just to reconnect once more.

jannik was giving you slow strokes, rolling his hips against yours as your nails claws all down his back, a soft and small moan escaping your lips. he groaned as he could practically hear the sloshing of the stretch deep in your cunt. “please” you managed to say between whimpers, your back on the cold marble of the wall. “what is it?” he asked you, cheeks so red from the effort that made him look so cute.

“faster… please.” it sounded like a question cause your voice was almost giving out. “fuuuck” he panted “you look s’pretty like this, doll.” his hands gripped the flesh of your legs to sustain you better, making you squirm under his touch. he was reaching spots you didn’t even know could be reached, and as he hit one in particular you whined so loud he had to warn you again.

“look at you, begging me for more when you didn’t even wanted to be fucked in the first place.” he made fun of you, knowing it turned you on even more; there was a hint of laughter in his voice when he suddenly felt your walls tightening around his cock. but his movements didn’t stop, not even for a second: his hips were rolling against yours harder than before and you knew you were close but when he twitched inside you, you felt you could cum in that very moment.

little tears of pleasure rested at the side of your eyes while you squeezed them shut. he placed a little kiss on your cheek before saying “i know you’re close, let it go.” with one final thrust you clenched so hard around him he almost whimpered out loud. you could feel your juices dripping down your tight but you couldn’t tell if they were yours or his, since he filled you up completely, like he always did.

“fuck, that was intense.” you whispered, breathing normally again. he chuckled taking his pants from the floor and giving you your skirt. “c’mon, you don’t want to miss dessert, do you?”

tag list: @rublito @yungbludz @gogz-ee @xoxolovlies @pretty-hate-machineee @2manytabsopen @carlosalcarazlefttoe @heyitsconysstuff @ithinkimokeei @kuroppiii @dilf-daniil @ricolaviecher

[satuguro]

✧*ೃ࿐ TONGUES & TEETH

[ ACT V: AN ANGEL'S FRAGILITY ]

xavier thorpe x valkyrie! reader

#SYNOPSIS— you and xavier go for a walk, you and enid think that tyler's an uber driver, and xavier needs to figure out his feelings.

#CONTAINS— enemies to fwb to lovers, slowburn, academic rivals, intimidating and flawed reader, familial issues (will be mentioned in this part), gore, blood, death, aged up characters (everyone is 18 except for eugene), sexual content (in this part & some other parts)

#AUTHORSNOTE— this took me longer to write for some reason but it's okay. thank you for all the support lately ily all xx

ACT I, ACT II, ACT III, ACT IV, ACT V, ACT VI

xavier didn’t like hospitals.

he didn't particularly spend a lot of his time in them, but when he did, he always hated it. the florescent lights, the strong smell of sickness and cleaner intermingled in the air, and the patients he passed by on the way to your room. all of them, either awake or asleep, had someone in the room with them; holding their hand, praying, talking with them. helping them.

he had to admit, it was awkward coming to visit you with weems. but weems offered to drive him so long as he kept a low profile about your condition, so he agreed to tag along. you were finally announced as stable after five days in the hospital; he guessed that having godly blood helped.

but while everyone had people in their rooms, all of them caring for their loved one so deeply, so tenderly, your room had only a black dahlia, a bouquet of baby's breath and lavender, and one of your mugs on a table.

the dahlia was from wednesday. the bouquet was from enid. xavier had brought you one of your own mugs the day prior.

but as he and weems entered the room, there was a woman standing at your right side. her hair was long and blonde, tied into a long dutch braid that reached all the way down to her hips. she wore a white turtleneck under a black trenchcoat and was the same height as weems. in her hands was your leather jacket from the night of your attack, now neatly sewn as though it hadn't been ripped to shreds.

none of your siblings looked like each other. you all had different mothers, but you all had odin's blood.

xavier placed his own gift next to their's; a random collection of your mugs from art class, and a pot you had made in pottery with a single white orchid in it. weems placed an envelope and a 'get well soon' balloon in the corner that xavier knew you'd poke fun at.

"you're one of y/n's sisters— eir, was it?" weems asked, approaching the valkyrie.

"yes. we met on y/n's first day." eir glanced at xavier, who only stood far behind weems. he looked perturbed, his jaw clenched as he sent daggers towards eir, but eir only sent him a kind smile before focusing on you again.

"i'm truly sorry for what has happened to your sister," weems continued, clasping her hands in front of her as she observed your sleeping face. "i'm sure that y/n has told you about her adventures—"

"it's all she ever truly talks about," eir laughed softly to herself, "she has always been drawn to trouble. even as a child— i'm sure you've seen it in her old forms."

"i have." an uncomfortable silence hovered in the air. the only thing that filled the quiet was the beeping of your monitor.

usually, when xavier came to visit you, he went alone or with enid. wednesday hadn't spoken a word to him since the attack.

xavier held you for what felt like hours. he rocked you back and forth as your sobs died down into sniffles. he pressed a quivering kiss to the top of your head as he breathed heavily in the cold. your hands were still wrapped around him, gripping his shirt.

until they fell at his sides, limp and lifeless.

"y/n? fuck, y/n?" xavier pulled you away from his chest to look at you. he desperately moved your hair from your face, his hands shaking violently as he held you in his arms. your eyes were shut, your face peaceful but lacking any sign of life. panic settled into his body as he shook you gently, careful not to move your wings. "y/n, answer me, c'mon," he pleaded, feeling the burn of tears behind his eyes.

your blood was everywhere; all over his hands, all over his pants and on his shirt. but the worst thing about feeling your blood wasn't that it was warm; it was that it was turning cold.

the sound of running footsteps on fallen leaves made him look up, a small sense of relief overcoming him when he saw wednesday with thornhill close in tow.

"get away from her," wednesday seethed, and with that, every ounce of relief disappeared from his body. she ran up to the other side of your body, her eyes widening at the sight of your snapped wings. "what did you do?!"

"you can't be serious, wednesday, she's dying!" xavier yelled, his eyes pleading for help as he fixed you in his arms. "we," he sniffed harshly, "we have to get her and eugene out of here. now."

"her wings will only bring her more pain," thornhill murmured, making xavier look at her in horror. eyes were set on something glinting in the distance, and she made her way towards it quickly. she returned with your sword in her hands, the weight heavy but manageable.

"no, you can't do that to her," xavier shook his head at he held you closer to him. it was a pathetic attempt to get you away as thornhill neared. "you can't cut off her wings ms. thornhill—"

"we need to do this, xavier. it will make it easier for us to get her to the hospital quicker." thornhill huffed as she raised the sword up, the weight far too heavy in her hands. it glinted in the moonlight menacingly, shining down on its owner. "i'm sure she'll understand."

"ms. thornhill, don't—" wednesday protested, but it was already too late.

thornhill let the sword fall on the elbow of your wings with a sickening thump. the sound of your bones and skin being cut seemed to echo in the woods like a haunting whisper. when one came off, the other followed.

"i'm going to visit eugene," weems said as she passed xavier, who could only nod as she left. yet again, there was that uncomfortable silence in the air as he stood in the room with eir. quietly, he moved to your other side as he peered at you.

you were so peaceful when you slept. your hair was a mess on the hospital white pillow, but it surrounded your head like a halo. your eyes were shut gently, and it looked as though you were only sleeping.

sometimes, xavier forgot you were quite literally an angel on earth.

your wings, now cut down to what xavier assumed was its elbow, was behind your back, completely bandaged. the hospital did everything they could to stop your wings from bleeding, but you lost so much blood; not only in the forest, but under their care. rumors circulated around school that you almost died.

"the nurses told me you and some girls visited her every day." eir spoke with a soft nordic accent, but she was easy to understand. she glanced at xavier with the same irises you had; calculating, strategic, and observant.

always on guard.

"the girls were enid and wednesday, her roommates." eir's eyebrows raised at his bitter tone, but said nothing as xavier continued. "i'm xavier. her.. friend."

eir placed the jacket in her hands on a nearby chair, smoothing it out as she left it. "it's our father's jacket," eir explained, her tone gentle, "he gave it to her years ago, when he saw her last." she turned to xavier, her eyes cold but her smile warm. "thank you for visiting her, xavier. i'm sure she'd be happy to know that you have come here every day—"

"where have you been?"

"excuse me?" eir blinked as she looked at xavier, who looked at her with a dirty look.

"you're her sister. one of nine, from what i heard from enid, and yet this is the first time i've seen anyone from her family visit," xavier scoffed, shaking his head to himself, "and only one of you showed up." his voice was pained; not for himself, but for you.

xavier knew what it was like to be lonely, to exist without the presence with others. he knew better than most how it felt to roam an empty home like a ghost, how it felt to be treated as though he wasn't even there. he knew how it felt to be in a room full of people and still be seen as nothing more than someone's shadow.

and to see you, someone who quite literally lost their wings over someone else, it pained him to see that it took your family nearly a week to appear.

"where's her dad— odin?"

"elsewhere."

"he couldn't even appear for her? not even for this— a near death experience?" xavier asked with a mirthless laugh, "does he even care for her?"

a smile appeared on eir's face, like a shadow from the sun. it brought nothing but anger to xavier to see her smile at his accusations, but she knew fully well that xavier was right. odin didn't want to appear, even when his daughter was within death's grasp. her sisters were off doing their jobs in other countries, all too deep in their jobs to manage time for their little sister. eir continued to say, "are you aware that y/n is the weakest of my sisters?"

"that isn't what we're talking about—"

"she is the youngest. the first born in the modern age; the rest of us were born millennia ago," eir looked at you fondly, one of her hands reaching out to touch your face. she stroked your skin under her calloused fingertips, a small sign of love. "valkyries age slowly— we aren't goddesses, you know. but many of us become stronger the more we age," eir shook her head, laughing softly to herself, "but not y/n."

"her body is weaker than ours. her back cripples when her strength runs thin and her skin bruises when you punch it— not like the others." eir shook her head, her hair flowing like water with her movements. "my sisters and i have seen vikings fall at our feet. men and women alike have begged us for mercy," eir swallowed as her face suddenly turned cold. it was as though she was reminiscing the memory of soldiers clawing at the ground as she pulled them away from their world, their pleads still fresh in her ears. "but y/n.. she fell at the feet of others."

"why are you telling me this?" xavier couldn't help but ask, his curiosity getting the better of him as he looked between you and eir.

"because all y/n knows is survival," eir stated with a sigh, "my sisters only know war. we grew up under the safety of our father, but y/n has never been as lucky," a bitter smile tugged at her lips, "it was as though trouble was constantly in her wake. war is temporary, but for it to happen every day in nearly every home you had," she spat her words out like poison, her words gritted and forced, "is cruel. it's cruel and merciless."

"where were you?" xavier asked, his voice no louder than a whisper. her entire explanation of your history did nothing to coerce his anger; if anything, it only made him angrier. eir's eyes looked into his, shining brightly with tears as she answered.

"valhalla. odin didn't deem y/n worthy enough to be with us," eir sniffed harshly, a hand coming up to wipe her nose. the valkyrie cleared her throat, fixing her trench coat over her body. "her wings will grow back when she truly needs them. it will be a painful process, but i am sure that you will be with her, xavier thorpe."

before xavier could protest, eir already left, leaving nothing that even showed that she had arrived in the first place.

you woke up without that familiar weight on your back.

your hands shook as you reached behind you, a whimper leaving your lips when you were met with your clipped wings.

and with that, you screamed again. nurses and doctors alike rushed into your room. you fought them all off, your recuperating strength almost no match for all of them at once. like a wild animal, you shoved them all off, your cries of horror being carried out into the pale hallways of the hospital.

"who did this to me?" you demanded, "who did this to me?!" your eyes burned red with tears as you fought against their restraints. tears streamed down your face as you wailed for the wings that had been so cruelly taken from you. the one thing that provided you peace and tranquil was mercilessly torn away from your hold, like a child whose mother was ripped away from them.

you knew you were lucky enough to still have the roots of your wings intact. that meant it could grow, but you had seen how painful wing regrowth was. how the sickening crunch of a wing being forcefully regrown brought on unimaginable pain.

but wing regrowth only happened when it needed to happen.

your punches and kicks were rendered into nothing as a doctor put a syringe into your neck, and the world went black again.

you were dispatched the next day, as your wings had miraculously healed their cuts. they were small and useless now, nothing more than an ornament you held on your back. they couldn't fold into your back anymore, only folding close to your body as you walked down the hallway of the hospital.

deep eye bags hung under your eyes as you roamed the hospital like a ghost. nurses, doctors, visitors, and patients alike watched you in awe, for in their eyes, all they saw was an angel with clipped wings. but you paid them no mind, too numb and too exhausted to care as you arrived in the doorway of a patient. your hand held a singular sunflower.

eugene's room was bare, but had a small mason jar of honey that someone from nevermore had brought. it brought a smile to your face to see it, but your smile didn't last when you landed on eugene's form.

the glow was soft around him, almost barely visible in the sunlight that shone over his body through the window. but you saw the golden particles that surrounded him; the gods were still deciding whether he would stay or he would go.

"you're y/n."

you turned around, eyes widening when you saw his moms. "i.. i just wanted to visit him—" you swallowed thickly, looking back at eugene's body. the machine on his nose and mouth that helped him breathe and the scars that littered his face made those familiar tears start up again.

you did this to him. you didn't protect him.

"i'm sue, this is janet," sue said softly, placing a small beehive sculpture onto a nearby table. she looked at you with a soft smile, taking in your weakened form. "honey, are you okay?"

"i'm so," you swallowed, avoiding their gaze as you felt the tears start up again, "i'm so sorry."

wordlessly, one of his moms stepped forward and engulfed you in her arms. your arms were dead at your sides, the guilt rippling through your body like crashing waves as janet wrapped her arms around you too.

they held you so tight. so tight.

"he talks about you and wednesday all the time," sue laughed as she and janet finally pulled away from you, "he always talked about how cool he thought you were."

you smiled, shaking your head to yourself. "he reminds me a lot of the friends i made in my foster homes," you said softly, looking at eugene fondly.

he was like a little brother you never had.

"thank you."

you furrowed your brows in confusion at that, turning your head towards janet. "what for?"

"for protecting him." janet looked at your wings, nothing but empathy in her eyes.

you clenched your jaw, the words doing nothing to calm the turmoil of guilt in your mind. but after a second you forced a tight lipped smile. "i have to go— weems is waiting for me outside." you moved past them awkwardly, avoiding their gaze. "i'll visit him as often as i can."

you retrieved your things from the hospital on your way out. your leather jacket was all fixed, to your surprise, and you pulled it over yourself before you walked out to the hospital parking lot. with your items in a box— you silently wondered who had brought a variety of your mugs and the orchid, as the other gifts were obviously from your roommates— you walked out of the hospital. weems stood next to her car, her outfit, hair, and makeup as perfect as ever. but even in her usually unreadable eyes, you saw sympathy.

you didn't like sympathy.

"it's nice to see that you are strong once again, y/n," weems commented, and you only forced a tight lipped smile.

"yeah. i guess the gods didn't think it was my time yet," you said dryly, already making your way into the passenger seat of the car.

the ride to nevermore was silent, as you weren't really in the mood to socialize with anyone. you simply watched the forest pass you by from the window.

"when we return to nevermore, it will be the beginning of parent's weekend," weems interrupted your contented silence, "i suggest you keep eugene's condition under wraps as to not cause panic."

"to not cause panic?" you echoed in disbelief, turning to the principal with a skeptic look, "principal weems, he's in the icu—"

"keep it under wraps, y/n." even with such a bright smile on her face, weems was able to sound borderline threatening.

the car came to a stop outside of nevermore. the second it was parked, you were already making your way out of the car and into the quad.

the entire quad was full of students' parents and family. you swore that you had never seen the quad so full of people from all over the world. parents, grandparents, siblings, even uncles and aunts all surrounded their kids as they all talked and caught each other up.

your wings ruffled gently under the confines of your leather jacket, still fairly weak. you didn't make your entrance grand, instead opting to stay near the the side of the quad and away from others as you observed them all.

a pang of envy hit your body when you watched everyone with their families. as much as you wanted to play off that you thought parent's weekend was cheesy, you wished that some of your family would make time to show up.

a part of you wished that your father would appear, but that was just the inner child in you talking. you had only ever seen him twice in your life; once when he pulled you out of your orphanage, and the second when he left an entire empty apartment to you. he paid the expenses, but he never visited.

"y/n?" enid's voice made you jump in surprise before you were practically tackled into a hug, her werewolf strength making you hit the wall gently.

"hey, hey; i'm strong but not as strong as i usually am," you managed a laugh, gently pulling enid's arms away from where your wings were hidden.

you didn't know why you were suddenly so embarrassed to show your wings now. maybe it was because it was a huge sign that you lost a fight. maybe it showed just how weak you really were; you didn't know. but feeling enid's hand brush against your wings from over the jacket made you want to hide your wings even more.

you used to be proud of them.

"why didn't you tell us that you were back?" enid asked, almost tearful as she held your shoulders. she looked so worried your original idea of keeping to yourself was hindered for just a second.

"i didn't want to make a scene." you managed a smile as wednesday appeared behind enid. her facade fell ever so slightly, her cold eyes softening as she looked at you.

"i did not doubt that you would fully recuperate in time for this horrible weekend. you have shown yourself to be quite a sadist," wednesday stated, glancing briefly at the other parents in the quad. she swallowed thickly before nodding her head once. "thank you for being there for eugene."

your eyebrows raised at her sudden sincerity. this was the first time you had ever seen her like this, and you nudged her gently as you stood between her and enid. "don't go soft on me, addams. we still have a monster to find."

the sound of weems clearing her throat in the mic made the three of you look up at her. her warm was as bright as ever as she addressed all the family in the quad. you didn't care enough to listen to her words as enid began to talk to you.

"the monster hadn't attacked anyone for the past week," enid said, "maybe you finally scared it off, y/n."

"maybe," you mumbled, "or maybe it's just regaining its strength to finish off the job."

"i realize most of you have heard about the unfortunate incident involving two of our students," weems said into the microphone, making you look up in shock.

she better not.

"but i'm happy to report that eugene is on the mend and is expected to make a full recovery, while y/n has already arrived back from the hospital," her arm stretched out towards where you stood with enid and wednesday.

oh, how you wished you could fly away from everyone's stares. you shifted uncomfortably at the smiles you received from strangers and classmates alike, the sudden spotlight fresh from you arrival from the hospital making you nothing short of embarrassed and annoyed.

"so let's try to focus on the positive and make this weekend the best parent's weekend yet!" weems' smile grew, and claps rippled through the crowd in agreement.

"on the mend? try in a coma," wednesday grumbled under her breath, making you nod and shove your hands into your pockets.

"i'm the reason he's in the hospital," you murmured, primarily to yourself. guilt stained your tone bitterly as you forced yourself to stop pondering about your lack of action.

"that is not your fault, okay?" enid said softly, her usually bright eyes darkening with concern. she turned to wednesday, "you stop beating yourself up over it, too."

"maybe the reason why the monster hasn't been seen is because of this weekend," wednesday said dryly, her expression only darkening at the entrance of her family.

you wouldn't lie, they all fit each other's aesthetic very well.

"i knew i should have worn my plague mask," wednesday practically seethed, already dreading the upcoming socializing she would have to do.

enid tsked, nodding over to her own family. her nose scrunched in slight embarrassment. "would you look at my family?" her mom and dad stood a few feet away from their rowdy boys, who were jumping around the picnic table wildly. "talk about toxic pack mentality," enid sighed, "i give my mom 30 seconds before her judge-y claws come out."

you and wednesday looked at enid with concern, who only let out a slow exhale before forcing a smile. "let's get this over with." she looked at you with a small tilt of her head. "are your sisters coming to parents weekend, y/n?"

"no," you responded curtly, backing away from your roommates. "i'll leave you both to it, though. good luck."

you watched on from the walls of the quad, your arms crossed over each other as you watched on from your brooding corner. everyone seemed happy enough to have their family around.

your eyes drifted up to the second level of the quad, and your eyes met familiar green ones again.

his face was unreadable as he looked at you. you sent him an awkward wave that quickly fell when you noticed bianca standing next to him. but she seemed equally as down as you were, so you awkwardly waved to her as well.

you watched them both talk, bianca obviously bothered by what xavier was saying, until she turned around to a woman wearing gold reptile clothing. she looked shocked, to see her, to say the least, almost like a deer in headlights. your eyes followed xavier as he left bianca with her mom, a sigh leaving your lips as you focused your attention to the families in front of you again.

the amount of family togetherness made you want to cry and throw up all at the same time.

you began to walk away from the quad, wordlessly moving past people like a ghost. you didn't want to stop and chat no more than you already had. you didn't have the energy to force yourself to be civil when you felt nothing but self blame, guilt, and anger for what had happened over the last week.

but most of all, as you walked out to the archery range and felt the wind blow gently against you, you felt grief. because you wanted nothing more than to feel that wind under your wings.

your hands were clenching and unclenching, your chest heaving as you desperately tried to calm yourself. you found yourself too deep in your thoughts to think straight, too guilty to talk to others who obviously cared about you, too angry for feeling so weak that you wanted to do nothing but destroy. you wanted to destroy that monster for leaving a 13 year old kid in the hospital, fighting for his life. you wanted to destroy the monster the same way he destroyed your wings.

you walked towards the rack of bows, hands working on their own as you grabbed them and one of the quivers, carelessly hoisting it over your back as you stood in front of an array of targets.

you loaded a bow in and pulled it back, aiming for a mere second before you let it fly. it hit the middle of the target with a thump, but you were already loading another into the bow. you let each arrow fly carelessly, so desperate for some kind of escape from your mind. from the memories of the mauling not even a full week ago, of you being carelessly thrown around while eugene screamed for help.

how pathetic was it, that you wanted to help eugene but couldn't even help yourself?

you never wanted that to happen to anyone else again. you were so close to experiencing the pain your sisters had told you about— the pain of being too attached only to lose them moments after.

you had to stay away.

"y/n."

another arrow in the middle, cutting through the last.

"y/n, stop."

you reached for another arrow, mindlessly loading it into the bow.

"are you even listening to me?" a hand grabbed your shoulder, and you immediately walked back and turned towards the person, the arrow pointed right at their heart.

xavier raised both of his hands in surrender, worry ghosting over his face as he looked at you in concern. "it's me," he breathed, eyes trailing down to the unwavering arrow. ever so gently, he took a step towards you and pushed the arrow aside so that it pointed away from him. "it's me," he repeated, green eyes boring into yours as you swallowed thickly.

you let the bow fall at your side, the arrow easily dropping to the ground.

"don't do that," you muttered, turning your eyes away from him first, to his surprise.

" 'm sorry," xavier couldn't help but say, the apology slipping past his lips before he could exchange it with a snarky comment. he exhaled slowly, taking a step towards you as you looked at the damage you had done to the archery target. "you shouldn't be training."

"why not?" you huffed, walking away from him to place the quiver and bow back.

"you know fully well why not," xavier said in exasperation, walking quickly after you. he knew you wouldn't stupid; you were just avoiding the idea that you simply weren't strong enough. "you need to be resting."

"you need to let me be."

"i'm not going to."

"and why is that?" you snapped, that familiar glare meeting his eyes. "you think that after that night suddenly our entire relationship has changed—"

"i held you while you were bleeding," xavier seethed, and you stepped towards him, stabbing an accusatory finger at him.

"you stopped me from getting to eugene."

xavier chuckled in disbelief, your words making him shake his head. he was sure that it was just the attack speaking; you were obviously still on edge over the whole thing, but he had to admit, to hear you be so mean hurt him. "do you know how much blood you lost?"

you opened your mouth to fire back, but xavier stopped you.

"it was everywhere, y/n. and your wings.." his eyes drifted to the leather jacket that covered you, your wings hidden under them. "your wings looked horrible."

your pained gaze left his eyes as you looked up at the sky, feeling that familiar pressure behind your eyes.

"thornhill had to cut them to bring you to the hospital," xavier continued, making your sadness slip away for a moment for it to be replaced with anger. but xavier saw it. "don't blame her for it, y/n."

"i feel like blaming everything right now," you said with a joyless laugh, "i feel like.. burning everything."

xavier looked at you, observing the way your turmoil was finally shining through the cracks of the walls you had built. "do you wanna go on a walk with me? you don't need to say anything— i know that you're definitely not in the mood for a conversation but.. i don't want you committing arson."

you couldn't help the small smile that tugged on your lips at that, xavier's eyes softening when he saw the genuine smile. his heart tugged in his chest when he looked at you; not out of sympathy, but out of something else unexplainable.

the both of you began to walk around the school grounds, the ambiance of nature being the only noise between the both of you. every time you approached the woods, xavier found himself moving to the side of where the woods were, walking along the border so that you didn't have to.

"i met your sister two days ago."

"you what?" you couldn't help but say, eyebrows raising. "they actually visited?"

there it was again, that tug in xavier's chest. "why are you so surprised?" he couldn't help but ask, but he continued anyway, "it was only one of them— eir," he listened to you sigh and murmur a small, 'of course it was,' before he proceeded, "and it was the first time she visited in that entire week."

"how are you so sure?"

"because wednesday, enid, and i visited you every day." xavier could feel your eyes on him. his cheeks burned red at the small confession, but he played it off, saying, "i got mad at her."

you swatted his arm in response, making xavier wince as he rubbed your mark. "stop interfering with my family matters," you scolded coldly, and he groaned at your words.

"fine, it'll be the first and last time, but that was the first time she ever visited. your father didn't even come."

"eir has always been the one that visited. she's never visited a lot but," you sighed, "she was always there. odin would never go." your tone was bitter as you kicked at a bunch of dry leaves on the ground.

"i understand." you looked at xavier curiously, and he took it as a sign to continue. "my dad told me in a text that he wouldn't make it to this year's parent's weekend," a forced, tight lipped smile appeared on his face, "he hasn't gone to all the others, so.. i don't really know what i expected."

you stayed quiet at that. you knew how that felt, to want a parent's presence and always be turned down. it was as though you were nothing but a burden to them. but silently, you weighed your options of opening up to xavier. you didn't want to get attached.

you wouldn't get attached.

"did eir talk to you?" you asked, changing the subject quickly. you didn't want to get into the nitty-gritty about your father when you barely knew him. he existed, you knew that much, but it was as though he was a figment of your imagination. like an imaginary friend that appeared only when they wanted to.

"she did," xavier nodded, looking ahead of him. it was a particularly cloudy day today, and the sun barely shone through all the thick clouds that hung in the air.

"about?"

"you." he listened to your groan, a fond smile gracing his face at the sound. "i think i learned more about you from her than i have from you."

"eir and her big mouth," you muttered under your breath. "well? what'd she say?"

"that you were the youngest of the ten," xavier began, "that you were always attracted to trouble—" he watched as you opened your mouth to protest, only for him to interrupt you, "don't even try and argue when you know it's right."

you shut your mouth and let him continue.

"and," the words ran around in his head as he chose them carefully, knowing that it would be a sensitive subject to bring up. but he pushed himself over the edge to say it. "that every home was war for you."

your jaw clenched, the immediate subject of your various home lives making you immediately close in on yourself. it was as though you could feel all of your walls strengthen at the comment, all to fight against xavier.

"you don't need to tell me more if you don't want to," xavier stated, and with that, the walls fell again.

"good."

you both continued your walk in silence. whether it was uncomfortable or comfortable, you didn't know, but you were silently thankful for it. you didn't feel particularly conversational.

but you found yourself being more curious about xavier. if anything, he was as guarded as you were— what a hypocrite. but maybe you were a hypocrite too.

"do you still think i'm the monster?"

you couldn't look him in the eye. but you know those green eyes of his were staring at you in hope that someone believed he was innocent. you didn't look him in the eye as you responded with a, "i don't know who it is."

xavier sighed, his shoulders falling at that. he didn't know how to convince you or wednesday that he was innocent— you were both far too stubborn to even hear him out. oftentimes, he heard wednesday's accusatory voice yell at him much like she did the night of you and eugene's attack.

"i'm sure you aren't fairing too well after the attack, either," you commented, changing the subject yet again. "how do you feel?"

"honestly?" xavier sighed heavily, "i can't get the feeling of your blood on my hands."

a spark of guilt ran through your body. "i'm sorry," you mumbled, the apology barely audible. but the wind carried it to xavier's ears, to which he could only shake his head in response.

"it isn't your fault," xavier said firmly, turning his head to look at you. but your head was focused on your shoes as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. he nudged your shoulder gently. "i mean it, y/n. besides— i've been using art to cope with all of it."

your eyebrows raised in curiosity. you guessed that his primary muse was the monster; you were right, but xavier knew that he had pages full of you and only you.

if anything, you had been his muse almost as much as the monster.

"can i see some of it?" xavier's skeptical look made your eyes widen, "not for evidence! gods, i just want to see."

you looked around xavier's dorm in interest as he shut the door behind you. he had kept rowan's side of the dorm just as he had left it; it seemed as though he was stopping himself from adding items to rowan's side.

there were two easels set up near his desk; one of them was covered by a sheet, while the other was the unfinished painting of the monster. your throat dried as you peered into its crimson eyes and its long claws; the same claws that hooked under your skin as though you were nothing but a piece of meat. your fists clenched and unclenched involuntarily— a small sign of your nervousness as you continued to stare at the painting.

but your trance was broken when xavier turned the canvas so that its back side was towards you. "this is how i cope, remember that," he told you, and you found yourself nodding. "that wasn't what i wanted you to see," xavier said, his cheeks burning red as he turned to the other easel. swiftly, he pulled the blanket off of the painting. "this was."

it was you.

the sketch he had done of you prior was now alive on the easel— literally. your wings were flapping behind you as you flied high in the sky. the armor you wore shone as the nearby moon hit it, and your helmet seemed to glint under the stars. your wingspan was huge, reaching from one side of the canvas to the other side. he paid so much attention to detail that you could see the familiar pattern of brown on your feathers you looked so powerful. so mighty.

but to see it in front of you after knowing what you've lost, you couldn't help but turn around immediately. "i have to go," you managed through the lump in your throat. you moved past xavier, his face falling as he reached out to hold your shoulder before you could leave, his hand brushing against the top of your wings over your jacket.

"wait—"

you immediately pulled your shoulder away as though he had burned you. you looked almost scared as you stared at him, your eyes misting over in tears.

gods, you really needed to get yourself together.

"i.. i appreciate the painting. i really do— but when i look at it," you exhaled sharply, unable to finish your sentence. you glanced at it, taking in how powerful you looked. how your wings were a symbol for many that everything would be okay. how you looked so strong. "it reminds me that..i don't look like that anymore."

xavier's brows were furrowed as he looked at you. your words hung heavy in the air, and you were almost too ashamed to look at him.

" 'm sorry," you laughed, looking up at the ceiling as you blinked your tears away. xavier walked closer to you as you did. "you're a creep, actually, for making paintings like that. i honestly expected it to be of wednes.." your words died in your throat when you felt his hands hold your face gently, pulling your head down to look at him.

xavier didn't say anything as he used his thumbs to wipe away your tears. he touched you, someone who was so accustomed to war, as though you were delicate. his green eyes studied you as you looked at him, your eyes drifting down to his barely parted lips.

and as he held your face between his hands, he kissed you. not in the way he had before. he kissed you as though he was telling you something that only you would understand. as though every slide of his lips against yours was another promise.

but you ignored those promises, because to you, promises would only be broken. because you didn't want to promise yourself to another if it meant that you could lose them in the end.

xavier pulled away from you, his forehead pressed against yours as he looked at your features. he was looking at you like you were his favorite painting. it was as though you had been sculpted by such a tender hand that part of him couldn't believe that you were truly here in front of him.

"i want you to make me feel better." the request fell out of your lips before you could catch it. it was barely audible, like a whisper in the wind, but xavier heard all of it.

xavier only nodded, and you both met in the middle again. the kiss, once so composed and gentle, became more passionate as you felt him under your touch. his hands held your face as he kissed you over and over, as though your taste alone was addicting. and to xavier, it was.

your hands ran through under his shirt as you found yourself on his bed yet again. you pulled it over his head before the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, making him fall back. xavier quickly used his elbows to raise the upper half of his body to look at you. a frown tugged at his lips as he fully sat up, bringing you closer to him.

you sat on your knees on the space in front of him. your eyes were on his as his hands gently want to the zipper of your leather jacket. you gripped his wrist before he could pull it down, nervousness evident in your eyes. you took in a breath before you used your hand to guide his hand down to fully unzip your jacket.

his hands paused before he could fully pull it off of you. "may i?" xavier asked softly, waiting patiently for your response. when you nodded, he shook his head, murmuring, "i need you to say it. i want you to be sure."

"take off my jacket, xavier," you said, never pulling your eyes from his. your stare only fell when you felt your wings flutter out of the confines of the jacket; they were weak enough to not be as responsive as they usually were. xavier let out a slow exhale when his eyes trailed from your clipped wings to the three neatly-stitched scratches on your back, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"you're so beautiful," xavier breathed, his fingers feather light as he traced your tattoo.

if your fear for love didn't burn so strongly, then maybe you would've found yourself seeing him in a different light.

but you found yourself yearning for something else entirely.

xavier's lips met yours again as you pushed him so that his upper body was propped up against the headboard. you straddled him, his eyes looking up at you innocently. you throw your shirt over your head before leaning down to kiss him again. you rocked your hips against his, reveling in the low moan that he let out into your mouth. you felt him through his jeans, distracting him from kissing you properly as another groan left his mouth.

you lips left his, leaving a single line of saliva between you. your mouth met his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses along his skin that made him whine for more. your hand found its home at the base of his neck, squeezing ever so lightly.

"i thought i was supposed to be taking care of you," xavier said with a breathless laugh that quickly turned into a groan when he felt you press down against him again.

"you are," you mumbled, pulling at his pants.

xavier helped you take his pants off along with yours, both of you in your underwear as you kissed him again. he could feel how wet you were with every rock of your hips against his cock.

"i want you," you whispered against his mouth. you felt his hands trail down your body, mapping every inch of you under his fingertips. his fingers hooked under your underwear, stretching the elastic before letting it slap against your skin. he pulled it to the side, allowing his fingers to rub your wetness around, your small moan being swallowed by his mouth.

xavier hummed against your lips, pulling away for a second to whisper, "you have me."

another empty promise.

your eyes darkened at that. you pulled his cock out of his underwear, teasing his tip along your pussy to gather up its wetness. xavier's eyes were half lidded as he looked up at you, cheeks flushed as he bucked his hips up desperately. "patient," you scolded, before you sank fully onto his cock. the both of you gasped at the feeling, your hands on his chest as you allowed yourself to get used to his size. you shifted slowly, a low moan leaving his lips as his head fell back.

steadily, you moved up and down his dick, reveling in the feeling of being so fucking full. but you couldn't look away from him as you worked up and down; how his hands held your waist to guide you, how your body moved so fluidly against his, how his long hair framed his face so perfectly. his rosy lips were parted, letting out a whine when you slid down slowly, the pace almost unbearable but so so good.

"pretty boy," you said, your hips moving back and forth. you watched a sinful smile appear on his face at that. the glow from the sex only made him so much more beautiful under your gaze, as though he was the angel and not you. and how lewd was he to smile so sinfully as you fucked him. "so fucking pretty."

"y/n, move faster," xavier said, eyes pleading as he looked up at you. he was taking in every part of you; your heaving chest, the sweat that was misted along your skin, the way you looked at him. he was so addicted to you that it almost felt as though he felt something.

your hips followed his request, his eyes rolling back again when you began to ride him faster. your moans only spurred him to buck his hips up in time with you, the added pressure nothing short of delicious as you felt him hit that spot in you that made you see stars. "xavier," you moaned, and he fucked you harder.

"say my name again," xavier murmured, leaning forward to kiss your neck feverishly. you moaned his name again, feeling him leave marks in his wake. like water color, he painted you purple as you moved like water under his fingertips. so fluidly, your hips moved together, the friction borderline delicious as you chased your high.

the knot in your stomach was almost too much to bear, your moans raising in volume as you felt xavier bite down on your shoulder, hiding a particularly loud groan that threatened to leave him. "so beautiful," you heard him mumble, too high off of sex to make a comprehensible sentence. "gon' cum jus' for you," he continued, hands rubbing your hips and holding you close.

your head flew back as you finally came, your eyes rolling back as the pleasure surged through you. your hips continued to move as xavier's hands moved you back and forth, letting you ride him through your orgasm. xavier's lewd noises were muffled in your neck as he came right after you, spilling his cum into you and feeling it leak down.

ever so slowly, he raised you off of him, and moved you to lay down next to him. he peppered light kisses over the hickeys what decorated your skin, his fingers moving some of your hair out of the way as he allowed you to bury your head into his pillow. you looked at him, eyes unreadable as you left a lingering kiss at the corner of his lips.

and with that, you turned away from him to sleep.

by the time you woke, you felt his skin against yours. your hand had found itself holding onto his wrist gently as his arm stayed draped over your body. like a drum, his pulse thumped against the pads of your fingertips, strong and steady. you felt his soft breathing brush against the nape of your neck as he slept soundly.

you gently pushed his arm off of you, letting it fall behind you as you sat up at the edge of his bed. you looked up at the moon that shone through his window, your heart aching at the sight of it.

how you wished to fly close to the moon again.

your eyes floated over to the little details in xavier's room. the photos of him, rowan, and ajax, all smiling at the camera. an photo of a younger and enid, with enid on his back. doodles that ranges from cartoonish to realistic, all pinned up messily above his desk.

a page from his sketchbook of wednesday, playing her cello. now of all the pieces of art he had on the wall, he seemed to have paid attention to her's the most.

"why aren't you resting?" his soft voice brought you away form your thoughts, grounding you to the earth. he shifted behind you, the bed moving in his wake as he propped his head up on his arm. you were looking away from him, oblivious to the pained way he was looking at your clipped wings. the cut had already fully healed thanks to your godly blood, but the scars from the monster remained on your back.

"i have to go," you managed to say, turning back at him. xavier looked so drowsy, his eyes slowly blinking as he struggled to stay awake, but his green irises were alert as ever. your eyes followed each mark you had left on his skin like a constellation that only you knew of, the blooming purple nothing short of sinful.

"this means nothing, right?" his question was asked before he could stop it. it had been on his mind even before he had closed his eyes. he had gotten an intense feeling of deja vu as he asked you the question, knowing fully well that you had said something similar when you first slept together.

"right," you murmured in response. it was as though you were both signing a strict agreement that day. no strings. no feelings. only empty promises.

"i don't understand why i'm being invited."

"because it's a girl's night, silly!" enid smiled brightly, fixiing the snood she made for you over your head. it was an off white color; one that matched your color palette (enid's words, not yours). "and no one's seen you out of the dorm for a week unless it's for class. everyone's been worried."

for most of the week, you had kept to yourself. you didn't have the full energy to converse with others, and you hadn't been speaking to anyone for no longer than a few minutes; even xavier. but you needed time to recuperate before devoting your time to killing some monster and solving a murder.

your wings were strong enough to fully disappear into your back now. but it had been far too long since anyone had seen any sight of them. you guessed that you were forcing yourself to get used to the feeling of them being in your back forever; if you didn't have all your wings, then you might as well not have them at all.

wednesday had caught you up on what had happened during your week of rest and relaxation, telling you all about garrett gates and crackstone. in the same way she caught you up, you caught her up on what happened the night of the attack.

"i didn't get to see much before the explosion. i covered eugene with my wings because i was scared debris would fly at us."

wednesday looked down at the taxidermy kit her parents had given her. her surprise party was the night prior, and you had to say that you did a pretty good job at acting unsuspicious (though, you and enid kept sending each other excited looks all night).

enid, because she believed every birthday should be celebrated. you, because you couldn't wait to see how miserable wednesday would look when given a party.

but it was interrupted by a vision; one that wednesday had told you about moments prior.

"but someone definitely knew that we had gone in there with eugene earlier. whoever it was, they knew about the monster and was either covering for them or was covering their own tracks because they were the monster," you twirled a knife in your hands absentmindedly. fidgeting helped you think. "i think that we shouldn't rule out the possibility of there being an accomplice, but i'm gonna be honest— with weems covering for rowan's murder," your words turned bitter as you spoke about weems. the anger you had towards her for covering up a murder and not allowing rowan's friends to properly grieve still ran heavily through you. "i wouldn't be surprised if she knew something about the monster."

"besides, aren't you excited that it was wednesday's idea? i mean, she rarely does this— i guess it's because it's her birthday today." the werewolf was practically jumping on the ceiling from excitement, her hands moving passionately with her words as she walked away from you to talk to wednesday.

"wednesday's idea?" you echoed, your brows furrowing at the thought of wednesday addams planning a girl's night. you walked to your closet and grabbed your holster for your dagger.

just in case.

you knew you were smart enough to bring it, because you found yourself stopping as you opened the car to what you believed was your uber driver, only to see tyler staring at you in disbelief. "since when were you an uber driver?" you asked with furrowed brows, climbing into the car and shutting the door behind you.

"since never?" tyler responded, equally as confused as you as his eyes darted between you and enid in the backseat and wednesday sitting coldly in the passenger's seat.

"wait— you're our uber driver?" enid asked confusedly, turning to wednesday for answers.

"why do you keep asking that— i thought we were going on a date." tyler too looked at wednesday for answers.

"we thought it was a girls' night out!" enid explained, her look of disbelief slowly turning into one of realization. there was no girls' night out.

"there's been a change of plans," wednesday said curtly, not even looking at them.

"what's with the weird matching hoodie scarf things?" tyler asked, making you send him a warning glare.

"don't ask," you stated, your tone enough to make him shut up.

the gates tyler drove up to were overgrown and much too rusty; it practically screamed tetanus. fog obstructed your view of what was beyond the gate, as did the overgrown plants. you found yourself standing right at the front of the gate, looking up at the top of it.

if you had your wings, you could've just flown over.

"this isn't what i signed up for," tyler protested as wednesday began to pick the lock, his eyes nothing short of concerned as he only watched her pick the lock easily.

"ditto!" enid cried out, obviously terrified, "and i bet y/n didn't sign up for this either she's literally healing from getting attacked!"

"i'm healed," you corrected, your lips tugging into a frown as you turned to wednesday. "you should've just asked us to come along instead of getting their hopes up," you muttered to her, your tone only mildly annoyed.

"you knew that if i was planning something for my birthday, i wouldn't celebrate it with a dinner or a surprise party," wednesday said pointedly, not even fazed by tyler and enid's complaints, " if you didn't, then you wouldn't have packed your dagger. i want to do this."

"y/n's right—" tyler said with a nod, "you should've just asked us, not tricked us."

"if you want to go, you can." wednesday gave them a look before pullling out a flashlight. "i'm going to check out the garage."

the entire mansion was overgrown with ivy and vines, doing little to calm the hard beating of your heart. it looked as though there hadn't been anyone in and out of the area in years; which made sense, since supposedly all the gates family members either left or died.

"it's, uh, nice to see you're all better."

you turned to tyler, who was walking behind you. his flashlight was in his hands, illuminating the small smile on his face. but that smile quickly faltered when he saw the skepticism on your features. "wednesday told me about the wings," he added in explanation, watching as your skeptic look turned to a stone cold one. it was as though the mention of your wings left you numb once again. but tyler's eyes were still on you, observing you quietly.

"right. thanks."

the door rattled as wednesday struggled against it. she frustratedly tried to pull one last time, only to huff angrily when it refused to budge.

"let me try," enid said, walking closer and putting her flashlight in her pocket. with one strong pull, the door flew open, making enid's lips tilt upwards into a smile. but the look of shock wednesday gave her made her chuckle embarrassedly. "werewolf thing."

you reached for a nearby light switch as you entered. eerily, the light began to flicker as it illuminated the garage, focusing on a car that was parked right under it. it was covered by a sheet.

the the most confusing thing that you could see about it was that it looked spotless. even the cover looked as though it was recently used— not like the rest of the house.

wednesday pulled the cover swiftly, revealing a blue cadillac. "this is the car that ran the cadillac over," she breathed, and enid whimpered out of fear.

"this just took a horribly dark turn," the blonde said worriedly, her hand pointing towards tyler as she continued, "we need to call tyler's dad right freaking now."

"why?' wednesday asked, turning to enid, "so he an take me back to nevermore and get me expelled? it's not gonna happen." the pig tailed girl walked to the door that led into the house without another look.

"stay close," you told enid as you walked after wednesday, enid nodding as she followed behind you.

"how can she be so stubborn? i mean, all we wanted was a girls' night out!" enid's voice raised an octave due to her fear, her arm coming up to hook under your's.

the door creaked open as you entered it with enid close in tow. her flashlight moved around the abandoned hallway, the dust creating a layer of gray everywhere you looked. it was as though the house was left to rot and decay on its own. there were still photos of the gates hung up on the walls, all smiling at the camera. you let your hand run along the walls that peeled like a snake.

you found yourself in an office of sorts, decorated with an old t.v, a desk, a sofa, and a chair. the chandelier that one illuminated the room had fallen onto the desk. but what truly caught your eye was the painting of the gates. they were all positioned professionally and painted with a delicate hand; so delicate, that it seemed as though their eyes were following your every step. your eyes narrowed as enid and wednesday's flashlight focused on garret gates, who stood proudly next to his mother in front of a background of flowers.

"the tacky painting is fitting for a bunch of outcast haters," you murmured to enid, but primarily to yourself as you observed them all.

you followed wednesday as she walked into the library. cobwebs upon cobwebs covered the table like a sheet, creating multiple layers with the dust. antique items of all sorts were toppled over and rendered lifeless in what you would have considered a beautiful room. you looked at the titles of all the books, your eyes trailing up to follow wednesday's flashlight. it was shining directly on an area that had no dust and no cobwebs; the top of a mahogany wall design right between the books.

wednesday reached up and pressed on it, and the mechanisms from within the door began to click and move. one of the library shelves pressed in and moved to the side, revealing a shrine for no one other than joseph crackstone. at the sides, someone had written 'blood will rain when i rise,' in red marker; you knew that it wasn't real blood. you looked closer, frowning at the sight of multiple candles that littered the small shelf below the pilgrim's painting.

"you'd think that of all the things they'd worship, they'd worship someone that isn't a colonizer," you said with a judgmental look. but to say that you were surprised that a family who hated anyone remotely different would idolize a colonizer would be a lie.

"who doesn't have a spooky built-in alter in their family library?" enid managed out with a hesitant smile.

"our is in the living room. more seating for year-long dia de los muertos," wednesday mumbled, watching as you reached forward to press a candle wick between your fingers. you pressed another wick between your fingers. your face dropped at the heat you felt from both.

"they're still warm," you told the others, hearing enid's uncomfortable whimper.

"tyler, you search the ground floor. enid, y/n, and i will search upstairs," wednesday ordered, glaring at tyler when he looked at her skeptically. "what?"

"why can't y/n stay on the ground floor?"

"scared?" you couldn't help but ask, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms over your chest.

"she is the second person who knows the most about what is going on," wednesday said curtly, looking at tyler with narrowed eyes, "or do you need her protection?"

tyler raised his hands in surrender. "fine! jus' seems unfair, that's all."

wednesday only huffed before turning around, already making her way to the stairs.

"sad, isn't it?" you said sarcastically, moving to follow wednesday and enid as they began to walk back down the hall. you were careful not too make too much noise as you walked up the stairs, as you could hear some of the steps groan under your feet.

you walked behind wednesday and enid, looking up the walls and further up ahead to assure your temporary safety. wednesdsay came to a stop at the top of the steps, turning to the both of you. "you go left, enid and i go right."

"do you seriously want to split up? here?" enid asked frantically, her voice falling to a harsh whisper as she said, "that is literally how every best friend dies in a horror movie."

"i'll be fine. don't worry about me." you briskly turned around to search the left side of the upper floor, your hand floating over the holster of your dagger as you peeked into every room. but it seemed as though every room was rotten and decaying; bed frames were slanted off of the walls, rooms were left to the rats and spiders, and the strong smell of asbestos wafted all throughout the house.

but the longer you walkers, the more you felt as though something was wrong. something was horribly off in the house, and it wasn't the evident racism against outcasts or the fact that they had a shrine.

you peeked into the last room down the hall, your face falling at the sudden neatness of it all. it was as if every room was hit by a tornado except for this one, leaving it spotless. the pink sheets of the bed seemed washed, as did the rug that sat on the ground. not a speck of dust remained on any of the furniture, showing off how well it had been taken care of. on the side table of the bed sat a vase full of pastel pink roses.

"guys!" you called behind your shoulder, reaching out a hand to touch the roses gently. they were still fresh; not a single sign of death.

wednesday and enid ran in, their faces equally as shocked as yours as they began to poke around. enid went up next to you, gazing at the roses in thought. "these are really new," she commented, making you nod as you turned to everything else in the room.

"most of the things in here have been taken care of. even the sheets and the rug have been washed." you ran your hand down the sheets of the bed, the fabric soft under your touch.

"this is laurel gates' room," wednesday said, her eyes set on a music box. you and enid approached her, peering over her shoulders as she shone her flashlight on the embossed 'l.g.' on the outside of the box. a ballerina stood proudly inside of the open music box for all to see.

"looked like somebody moved back into their old room," enid said, her face now in what seemed like a permanent frown.

"not possible— she died 25 years ago. drowned overseas."

you placed your hand on the table where the music box sat, silently catching the attention of your roommates. you raised a finger to your lips, your hairs standing up straight as the sound of objects clattering reached all of your ears. "we have to go," you said firmly, unsheathing your dagger as you walked quickly to the doorway, peeking in both sides before motioning for them to follow.

wednesday nodded, grabbing the ballerina box as she took enid's hand and dragged her along to follow you. enid's complaint of, "this is officially the worst girls' night ever!" didn't distract you from finding a way out of the house.

"guys! get out! it's here!" tyler's panicked yell was muffled by the floors of the house. the three of you made a beeline for the stairs, fully ready to go down, until the familiar sound of claws slashing skin made you stop the other two.

the sight of the monster's shadow made your blood run cold. its claws were as sharp as you remembered it, and you found yourself gripping your dagger as hard as ever as you felt the feeling of being pierced through your back like a meat in a freezer. those long nails, sharped than daggers, were in your back only a week and a half prior.

they were the same claws that brought eugene into a coma.

and you almost found yourself giving into the impulse of revenge. the impulse that wanted you to dig your dagger into the monster just as it did to you, to give it a slow death that would allow you to watch the life die in its eyes. you wanted to tear it apart limb from limb just like it had torn apart its victims. you wanted it to experience the same pain they all felt.

but you didn't.

you pushed the dagger back into its holster. "go!" you told the others, pushing them back up the steps as you allowed yourself to turn your back to the monster, feeling the steps rattle with its every step.

"the dumbwaiter!" wednesday said, already running towards it and pushing enid inside.

it was right behind you. you could feel it walking closer and closer as you pushed wednesday into the tight space before following quickly behind her. you looked at the monster dead in its red eyes before you shut the dumbwaiter door, pushing the others back as you allowed yourself to shield them.

"oh my god, oh my god," enid whispered frantically, her hands shaky as she turned her flashlight off. you raised a finger to your lips again, your eyes wide as you looked at enid and wednesday.

they weren'y hurt. that was good.

wednesday swallowed thickly, her eyes set on the door before the dumbwaiter rattled. outside, the monster roared in anger as it tried to get to the three of you, its arms seemingly shaking the entire dumbwaiter as it only became more furious by the second. wednesday reached forward, her snood in hand as she began wrapping her snood around the two handles of the dumbwaiter to keep it shut.

"no, not your snood!" enid said desperately, her eyes pleading as she tried to stop wednesday from using the scarf she had worked so hard on.

"stop," wednesday said, her eyes stirring with something unreadable as she continued to use it to keep the handles shut. you looked at enid, who seemed close to tears, and murmured a small, 'don't worry,' that honestly didn't do as much as you hoped it would.

the sound of screeching metal reached your ears, and you turned around, your throat running dry when your eyes met bulging red ones. the monster had scratched the dumbwaiter with its three claws, allowing it to look right at the three of you. like a predator stalking its prey, it readied itself to reach inside to grab you until—

the rope snapped, sending the three of you plummeting down. enid's screams and the sound of rushing wind were all you heard before the dumbwaiter reached the basement with a loud crash, sending the three of you flying out of it.

you groaned as you landed on your back, the stinging pain pain from the healing scratches still making you wince. you prayed to the gods that the wounds didn't open up again.

you stood up, turning to enid and helping her up easily. the sound of wednesday pulling the light open made you look towards it, your heart falling at what you saw on the shelves. jars of human remains, from a foot to half a face, were neatly preserved and on display for you to see. you could feel the pain radiating off of them as you took a step closer, your face only showing your disbelief. "these body parts were taken from the monster's victims."

how could their family and friends grieve if they didn't have every part of their family member to bury as they wished?

dust fell on you with every step the monster took, the old wood practically bending under its weight as it walked slowly to where the basement door was. you rushed the two girls towards a nearby window, helping push enid up and through before pushing wednesday up.

"y/n, come on!" wednesday yelled, the monster right behind you as you forced yourself to jump up to the window, their hands grabbing you and pulling you through.

you let out a groan when you felt those familiar claws only swipe at your leg right before you were fully out of the basement. you laid on your back on the ground, your eyes set on the starless sky as you felt the pain radiate from your calf and your back. but quickly you forced yourself up, hiding your new wound with your pant leg.

"you okay?" you heard wednesday ask enid, only for her to scoff and walk away, saying 'since when do you care?' over her back.

you and enid ran down the woods, her run slowing to a jog when she saw that wednesday wasn't following her. "what the hell are you doing?!" she yelled; you had never seen her more stressed. but she had every right to be.

"we have to go back for tyler!" wednesday yelled behind her back, running quickly to the side of the house.

"we have to go with her," you told enid, who only stubbornly shook her head as she pointed in wednesday's direction.

"no! she put all of us in trouble, y/n—"

"you and i both know that you care too much about her to leave her with someone who's wounded," you hissed, making the werewolf shut her mouth immediately. "there's no place for grudges during a time like this." your words hung in the air for a few seconds, your eyes studying the discontented look on enid's face before she reluctantly nodded in agreement.

"fine."

"great." you led her back to where wednesday ran, your hand holding your dagger warily as you followed wednesday's general direction. you found wednesday knelt down next to tyler, who had three deep scratched on his chest.

she turned to enid, handing her her flashlight. "enid, hold this," she said, her voice panicked as she knelt back down to tyler. enid reluctantly held it up for her, her foot tapping impatiently on the ground.

"that thing is still inside!" enid cried, head whipping between tyler's wounded form and the area around them.

you stood by as a guard, your focus entirely on the woods and the possible areas the monster could attack. your hand held your dagger so tight that your knuckles paled, the handle's groove leaving indents on your skin. you could feel blood seep down your calf from your wound, but you refused to acknowledge it, too focused on protecting the others to even care about your own health. their panicked voices faded out into the background when you heard the crunch of nearby leaves.

your head turned quickly to the side, your dagger ready to be thrown before your muscles relaxed at the sight of xavier.

"xavier?" you asked in confusion, his face falling when he saw you.

he turned his head to the side, seeing tyler bleeding profusely from the scratched. xavier ignored wednesday's look of shock and suspicion as he tugged his scarf off of his neck, handing it to tyler. "here. take this."

tyler grunted as wednesday applied pressure to his wound, her face showing subtle signs of worry and panic as she cared for him. but she looked back at xavier in shock, her head already putting the pieces together and coming up with a conclusion for his sudden appearance.

you sat at the table next to enid and xavier, your eyes set on your fidgeting fingers as wednesday patched tyler up.

you hadn't said a word since the attack at the house, your body far too tired and your mind too spent to actually come up with meaningful words to say. you felt nothing but pain as you massaged your hands over and over; pain from the body parts you had found in the house, pain from your back hitting the ground after a week of being out of the hospital, and pain from the wound you were hiding from everyone. you were sure that your socks were now stained crimson with how the blood had seeped down, but no one had noticed that you were wounded, as your pants were black.

"thanks doc," tyler said with a weak yet lighthearted smile as wednesday placed another bandage between his scratches.

you peeked up to look at xavier after the comment. you were met with the face of jealousy and envy. clenched jaw, a subtle eye roll, a frown tugging at his lips.

he cared about her so much. it brought a small pained spark in your heart.

you nudged him from under the table with your wounded leg, ignoring the pain that shot up your calf at the action. xavier looked at you with furrowed brows, and you only mouthed, "stop being jealous."

xavier huffed at that, only turning back to look at wednesday. to say that he wasn't sure what you meant would be an understatement; he knew fully well what you meant. he liked wednesday. he wanted to tell her how he felt, but she cared so much for tyler.

of course, to you, xavier's answer seemed simple; just tell her about his feelings. but xavier was never good at words, and he was even worse at figuring out his emotions. maybe that was why he found himself sleeping with you again and again; he didn't have to deal with them if it was with you.

feeling a romantic connection with you was different from worry, in his eyes. because he found himself looking at you, fidgeting so strongly with your fingers, heavy eye bags under your eyes, the usual healthy glow of your skin now gone and replaced with something duller, and he felt nothing but worry.

now, it was his turn to nudge you. "you're quieter than usual."

"am i usually loud?"

"loud and annoying, yeah," xavier said, making you roll your eyes. you leaned back in your chair, placing your clasped hands on your chest.

"what is it?" you asked him, your voice dry as you looked at him expectedly. even your eyes didn't have the same spark in them.

"are you okay?" xavier asked, the question no bigger thna a whisper. he was looking at you with furrowed brows, his eyes tracing over your form as though he was checking for any sign of a wound.

"'m fine," you only managed out, letting out a heavy exhale through your nose. you turned your head away from him, moving your legs slightly.

but as xavier looked you over for injuries, his landed on the sock under your loose black pants. they rode up slightly as you moved— that was why you were able to get away with hiding the scratch, as the bottom of your pants had ridden up slightly while you were getting away —but your socks were white. from where xavier sat, he could see that the white cloth had been stained crimson with your blood.

he stood up abruptly. "tyler," he forced out through gritted teeth, his eyes lingering on how wednesday's hands pressed the bandages down for a second before focusing on the guy, "where's your bathroom?"

"that hallway, to the left," tyler responded, offering a small yet kind smile that xavier didn't return.

"c'mon, y/n." xavier stood next to you, offering a hand to your seated form. you looked at it with a skeptical look before looking up at xavier.

"excuse you?"

"we need to talk, y/n." xavier lied, his lie believable enough to make you groan and take his hand to stand up. he saw you wince ever so slightly when you put your weight on your wounded leg, but you played it off.

you pulled your hand away from him as you followed him into the bathroom. "what is it?" you asked confusedly as he pulled you in, shutting the door and locking it behind you.

xavier didn't respond as he set the toilet seat down to close it. "sit there," he told you, moving past you to rummage through the galpin's bathroom drawers.

you scoffed at his order, crossing your arms over your chest. "not until you tell me what was so important that you had to drag us away from them."

xavier didn't respond, pulling out a gauze pad, petroleum jelly, and a wrap around bandage. he bent down to look under their sink for clean cloths.

"gods, hello? are you even listening to me?" you asked irritatedly, your tone making xavier stand up straight and look at you.

"why didn't you tell them that you were hurt?" your look of irritation fell, confirming xavier's hunch as he sighed, shaking his head to himself. he didn't say anything as he organized the items on the floor of the bathroom, his throat moving as he swallowed. "i saw your sock when you moved. you're bleeding."

you didn't speak as you reluctantly sat on the toilet seat, relief spreading through your body at the lack of weight on your leg. you watched as he knelt down to sit on the floor in front of you, a clean cloth in his hand. he applied pressure to your wound, hearing you hiss at the feeling. "well?" he asked, looking up at you. "why didn't you?"

you clenched your jaw, wanting so deeply to avoid his gaze, but his green eyes were searching your face for some kind of answer. "it wasn't important. just a scratch."

"tyler got a scratch too."

"why are you bringing him up? you literally hate the guy."

"and how do you know that?" xavier challenged, making you scoff.

"i see the way you look at wednesday. how you want her to look at you with the same look she gives tyler," you said, sighing as you continued, "how you want her to care for you the same way she was caring for tyler. it's nice— slightly sad —but nice because all of your problems could be fixed if you just told her how you feel."

xavier looked up at you at that. his eyes were clouded with something you couldn't read, his small murmur of, "i don't think that'll work," making you groan in frustration.

"seriously, xavier. just tell her—"

"stop changing the subject, y/n." xavier's voice wasn't firm at all. he didn't even seem irritated with you as he continued to apply pressure to your calf. his voice was soft as he addressed you, only full of worry as he continued to treat you. "why didn't you tell anyone?"

you swallowed thickly. "i didn't want anyone to help me."

xavier didn't say anything. he stood up, exchanging the bloodied cloth with a clean one. he ran it under the water of the sink before sitting back down in front of you and your leg. he gently cleaned it with the wet cloth, choosing his words carefully before he asked, "why?"

your hands clenched and unclenched, showing your obvious nervousness before you replied. "because it makes me feel weak. weaker than i already am."

you expected him to laugh. to tease you for being so sensitive about meaningless acts of service. to poke at you for complaining about being weak when there were other pressing matters to worry about.

but xavier only hummed in response. he grabbed the petroleum jelly as he set the wet cloth down. he waited for a minute for your leg to air dry, taking the moment of silence to speak.

"i'll patch you up quietly, then. whenever you want me to."

he wasn't sure if there was something hidden behind that small promise of his. xavier's eyes pulled away from you as he put petroleum jelly on your wound, his touch so gentle as he spread the ointment. he feared that too much pressure you make you wince again; he didn't want you to worry about that.

but as he said that comment, that small reassuring quote that would have meant nothing if xavier wasn't an overthinker, he wasn't sure what he was promising. the thing is, xavier did overthink. he folded his thoughts over and over a lot in his head, to the point where art was his way of dealing with it all.

that was why a part of him knew that there was a hidden meaning behind that statement that even he couldn't figure out. as he sat on the floor of the bathroom, patching up your leg so tenderly, the words simply felt like more than what it was. more than those two sentences.

and while you never wanted to hold onto a promise, you could only nod in response.

ACT VI

#AUTHORSNOTE— i feel like this is the longest part i've ever done but oh well! i hope you all enjoyed it and thank you sm for all the support lately it makes me wanna write even more xx

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[iwritewhump]

"What did they do to you?" + hospital reunion

day 9 of whumptember

865 words

warnings: hospital setting

~

Villain runs into the hospital and blows past the security guard. He skids to a stop in front of the nurses’ station and takes a deep breath. “Is Hero here? I got a call that she was here. Where is she?” 

One of the nurses gets pushed to the front and she smiles anxiously.

“...You got a call?” She asks, typing something into the computer. 

Villain nods and runs a hand through his hair. “Yes. About ten minutes ago? I was told Hero was here and my number was in her wallet. Her doctor asked me to come.” 

“Are you her father?” she asks, frowning. 

Villain almost rolls his eyes. “No, I’ve only known her a few months and I don’t even know who her parents are. Do I get to see her or not?” 

After taking a moment to think, the nurse turns the monitor so he can see it, “Room 327. You’ll have to be accompanied up, her room is locked for her safety.” 

She waves over the security guard and turns the monitor back towards her. 

Villain stands next to the security guard and nods to the nurse, “Thank you so much.” 

The entire way to the elevator is silent. Neither of them speaks and Villain ignores the sideways glances the guard sends his way. It’s not until they’re in front of room 327 that the guard says anything. 

“How do you know ‘er?” He shows his badge to the officer outside Hero’s door and walks in with him. 

Villain clears his throat and walks into the room after him, “I’ve been working with her for a few months, I thought she’d finally had enough of me…oh god.” 

He cuts himself off when he sees her. She’s laying on the hospital bed, nearly disappearing in the huge blanket on top of her. There are cords everywhere, a blood pressure cuff on her arm, a pulse oximetry device on her finger, an IV feeding into her arm. 

Underneath all the tubing is Hero. Smaller than ever in a hospital gown. Bruises and cuts litter her face. 

She startles awake and looks around wildly. Thrashing in the bed, she rips the blood pressure cuff off. 

Villain hurries to the side of the bed and puts a hand on her shoulder, “Hey,” he looks at her and takes a deep breath. “You’re alright. You’re at the hospital.” 

Hero sits up and pulls the blanket around her shoulders. With her knees drawn up to her chest, she bites her cheek. “Why are you here?” 

“They didn’t know who to call, my number was in your wallet.” 

Hero shakes her head and looks at Villain. Underneath his disheveled appearance, he’s wearing a fancy suit and dress shoes. His hair probably was styled, but has since returned to its usual shaggy appearance. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t-” 

She stops and looks back at him. He’s still sitting on the edge of her bed, one hand nearly touching her. 

“You weren’t on a date were you?” she asks, almost in a teasing tone. 

Villain sighs heavily and pulls his hand back into his lap. “What did Superhero do to you?” 

Hero shakes her head, “Nothing.” 

“Hero.” 

She sniffles and shakes her head again. She picks at her nails and bites her cheek. 

“I’ll…uh…” the security guard says, “I’ll give you two a minute.” 

He walks out of the room and lets it close behind him. 

Villain stares at Hero. His eyes trace over the cuts on her face and he exhales sharply. 

“Why are you protecting them?” he asks. “I mean…you were trying to take them down and I still don’t know why you went back. What happened?” 

Hero falls back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. Hero arms cross over her chest and she scoots away from Villain. 

“What happened?” He probes again. 

She closes her eyes and takes a shuddering breath, “I went back to protect you.” 

“What?” 

She wraps the blood pressure cuff cord around her pinky and opens her eyes. Tears spill out of her eyes and fall onto the pillowcase. 

“Superhero found out about you and they were going to kill you. Unless I…” she pauses and takes a breath to gather herself. “Unless I started going on missions with them. As it turns out, they didn’t want me to succeed on the missions, they just wanted someone to stand out in the open while they do the actual work.” 

She smiles with tight lips and sniffles. 

“They made you the decoy?” Villain stands up and runs his hands over his face. “You’re here because of me?” 

Hero shakes her head, “No. I’m here because Superhero is a horrible person. Now please sit back down and wait for the doctor with me? I think they put me on drugs and I won’t remember anything they tell me.”  

And so Villain ends up laying down next to Hero, her head on his chest. He pushes the guilt down and lets himself be present, lets himself listen to her as she rattles off all the drama he’s missed out on in the past week she’d been protecting him.

[hairmetal666]

I forgot about WIP Wednesday, so here's a longer preview of Forever is the Sweetest Con chapter 7! (tw: parent death)

He's 25 when it happens. 

He and Robin are both in between jobs, and it’s a weird day and he’s been aimless in the kitchen for the last half hour, pacing around and opening cabinets, the fridge, without ever seeing anything inside. Nothing is wrong, but he’s got this buzzing in his chest, like there’s a bumblebee trapped in his ribcage. Usually, he goes for a run when this happens, but thunder rocks the windows in their panes. 

Steve checks the fridge for the 5th time as Robin walks in the front door. Her face is wrong. Her eyes too wide and her mouth doing a smile-frown that makes her look like she’s trying not to puke. 

“What happened?” he asks. He rushes towards her. “Did you get caug—”

“Steve,” she says and it’s all rough and wrong. 

“What is it?”

Instead of offering a verbal answer, she hands him her phone, already open to a news article. 

Richard Stephen Harrington IV, Dead at 67 the headline screams.

Steve can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but stare at the only picture of his father he’s seen since being kicked out almost a decade ago. He takes after his mom more, he thinks; has her eyes, hair. But the granite of his jaw and the straight lines of his nose are all from his father. 

Very vaguely, he thinks he might pass out.

He doesn’t realize he’s sank down to the floor, back against the counters, knees drawn up to his chest until Robin’s on the floor with him. 

“Steve?”

A couple tears trickle down his cheek. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I don’t care that he’s dead.” 

She wraps her arms around his knees. “You’re allowed to feel whatever you do about this, even if it’s complicated.”

He nods, presses his forehead against her fingers, and lets a few more tears fall free. They sit for a while in silence as Steve processes, but eventually his butt starts to go numb, so they unwrap and stand, stretching. 

“You want to go back?” She asks as they stretch. 

“No,” he answers without hesitation. “I don’t need to go back there.”

And he means it. Not just because their targets there, the Carvers and Hagans, are complicated, but because there isn’t anything left for him in Indianapolis. His mom sends money sometimes, still. He understands it’s her way of reaching out, of taking care, but the kind of care he needed, the kind that would have mattered, would have been her standing up to his dad all those years ago. 

He doesn’t go back for the funeral, doesn’t even think about it much. Steve did all his grieving for his father years and years ago. 

Chapter out on Saturday!

[arinbelle]

Inevitable - Part III

Summary: Nesta and Cassian mated on the night of Winter Solstice. But before they could mate properly, Cassian left soon after, leaving Nesta reeling and Cassian wanting more. When they mate under an official ceremony, with ancient magic, that mating call is renewed, and Nesta and Cassian are going to be in a frenzy. I.e. I wrote 20k fic full of smut.

Part I  | Part II  | Part III  | Part IV

~*~

Cassian awoke to dim light falling on his face, filtering into the bedroom through the dark curtains he usually kept drawn. That and a warm weight pressing into his front. Cassian kept his eyes shut, only opting to press that weight closer into him, tangling them together further. He heard a soft laugh and gentle, searching fingers rove over him.

Exploring and meandering over what he knew was likely his Illyrian marks, until she’d reached his face. Then his cheeks. Until finally a gentle hand carded lovingly through his hair. He let her explore and touch, happy to just let her be as she sorted through his hair, combing and raking through it with content.

When was the last time someone had stroked his hair? His cheek? Held him this close to them with a comforting silence. 

Not since he was a youngling with his mother, or when Rhysand’s mother had taken him in. Not in centuries. How he’d longed for someone, anyone, all those years ago, to hold him close and keep him warm. To protect him and shelter him from all the dangers of the world, the cruel hands and twisted words that would soon be flayed onto him. Too long. 

Sure he’d had his brothers. And while he gave out his affection to them willingly and freely, and they welcomed it with open arms, it wasn’t the same. To have a lover of his own, a mate to call home, hold him and comfort him…to have that was to know true peace. To just be with him and love him in the still and silent waking world of early dawn.

I’m here. I am always here. I will always be here for you. She didn’t need to say the words for him to know them to be true. Her gentle caresses did more than enough to convince him. 

He peeked a look between half-lidded eyes and nearly stopped breathing at the vision before him. Nesta’s hair shone against the early morning light, just slightly mussed from their lovemaking. Her face was radiant with a glow that seemed to come from within and the smallest of smiles had graced her face as she looked over him. Beautiful. Truly and perfectly the most beautiful creature he’d ever had the honor of coming across. He closed his eyes, happy to fall back asleep to the soft strokes through his hair.

But then her fingers left the hair at the nape of his neck and brushed the edge of his wing at his back. Cassian tried, and failed, to hold in the stutter his breath took of its own volition, hissing as the sensation sprung down to his cock.

He sprung forward, trapping her wrist in a light grip, and pulling her closer to his chest. Nesta struggled against him, pulling back and failing against his own strength, which served him well as her lush breasts pressed further into his chest.

“Someone’s getting handsy,” he murmured into her shoulder before brushing his mouth over the bruises he’d left at her neck. They’d heal soon enough but he’d likely replace them with more if the beast inside of him had anything to do with it.

Nesta only smirked, eyes alight with amusement. “I was bored.”

“Mother help us then.” She pulled against his hold once more and he relented, releasing her. And sure enough, she went back to his wings, this time her fingertips aimed for the top of the wing that was resting against the headboard.

He had half a mind to stop her but it would have taken more effort than he wanted in his still sleep-addled state. Even though her touch was featherlight, curious more than anything else, pleasure like a live wire ran through him with a dangerous current. 

He groaned, shifting their bodies so she wouldn't feel his already hardening cock underneath her. 

Alarm filled her face and she looked at him, her hand hovering a touch away from his wing, but no longer in contact with the sensitive skin.

“Does that hurt?”

”No,” he managed to bite out.

”You…it sounded like it did.”

He shook his head, reassuring her, catching his breath none too easily. “No it doesn’t. We just, Illyrians I mean, don’t allow anyone to touch the wings. I’m not very used to it.” Not that it was actually possible to ever be used to such a sensation. 

“Why not?” A tentative question, softer than her usual voice.

“It’s just tradition. Illyrians consider their wings their pride. They are sacred to us. Unless you’re a healer and there’s an injury, nobody is allowed to touch our wings. It’s considered dishonorable. In some of the Northern villages I know they cut the hands off of those who do.”

Nesta flushed, pulling her hand back completely. 

“I’m…very sorry. I didn’t know. I won’t do it again.”

Cassian only chuckled at the embarrassment flushing her face and he followed that lovely blush down her breasts. “I didn’t mean you.”

”But you said nobody is allowed.”

Cassian weighed his words. “They aren’t. To my knowledge, almost all Illyrians take it as a threat or an insult. But you’re my mate.” He added with a salacious grin, “You can touch me wherever you want.”

She scoffed at the innuendo, but mulled over his words before finally asking, “So what about mated Illyrians? Do they not allow their mates to touch their wings?”

He thought about it, shifting his wings closer inwards. “Maybe some do, but mates are rare. And of the few I know, they’re mating isn’t a very happy union so I would be surprised if there’s any trust at all between them.”

”That’s sad.”

He hummed, agreeing, but no longer wanting to dwell on other males and what they did with their mates when his own lay naked and on top of him. “You can touch. They’re just…sensitive.” 

Nesta cocked her head and her hair slid down her shoulder in a river of silken golden-brown. “Sensitive how?”

He thought about it for a moment, how best to explain it, and finally settled on loosening his grip at her waist and dipping it between her legs.

”Like this.”

He used his thumb to stroke softly upwards against her clit, knowing it would be a sharp spike of pleasure.

Nesta let out half a shriek at the sensation and he laughed at her bewildered expression.

”Seriously?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “As much as I enjoy feeling you up, I was answering your question. That’s the best I can describe it but it’s likely not exactly the same.”

Nesta leveled him with a stare he didn’t know what to make of, but he knew she was thinking something through. A moment later she pushed off of him, and he appraised her lethal curves as she knelt beside him. Her breasts practically begged him to taste them again and he lifted up on instinct alone. Only for Nesta to push him back down and hold him there.

“No. No touching,” she warned, letting her nails dig ever so slightly into his chest in warning. She gave a second warning by dragging her fingers over his mouth and he nipped softly even as she gave a small scowl. As if she knew all he wanted was to place them on her breasts and other parts of her until she was a crying, screaming mess.

But before he could argue for just one quick taste if nothing more, she was on him. Or rather, her fingers were on his wing, right at the center, dragging slowly down the vein running through it.

”Fuck,” he grunted, gasping for air while Nesta only smirked knowingly down at him.

She continued testing him, testing the sensitivity of different spots on his left wing, seeming to note his varied responses. He let her explore, let her laugh every few times when he almost shot up and screamed at the dizzying pleasure she was giving to him. But it would have to end soon because he could feel the primal urge in him to take awakening once more. And Nesta being completely undressed right beside him, curious fingers dragging over such sensitive parts of him, had him nearly blind with lust.

”Keep it up,” he warned, panting ever so slightly, “and you’ll regret it.” Nesta wasn’t even ruffled, only looking down at him quizzically before pulling the covers back off of him and exposing his painfully hard cock.

”Now that, does look like it hurts.”

”Maybe you should kiss it better,” he breathed out.

She only laughed, throaty and lazy with intent. “I will. Don’t worry.”

She let the hand that had been pushing his chest down drift south, lower and lower until she had grabbed his cock and tugged up in one fluid motion.

”Mother’s tits, Nesta. You’re going to kill me.”

”Not yet,” she promised with a dangerous smile.

He watched transfixed as she bent at her waist, hand still steadily stroking him, and licked at the head of his cock. And it was a new sort of torture, a new thing entirely, as she took him deeper in her mouth and worked the rest of his shaft with one hand, while her free hand found that spot she’d discovered on his wing that had him seeing stars, and stroked. 

He couldn’t say anything anymore except her name. No string of curses or exclamations came close. All he knew was Nesta. All he felt was Nesta. Nesta everywhere, Nesta touching him, Nesta bringing him closer and closer to that shimmering release he knew he’d kill to reach. 

Her and those damned fingers working him up just enough until pulling back. Over and over she brought him to that blessed precipice before moving away from his wing and that nefarious spot. Only to do it again. And again. 

So fucking close as he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled the strands back out of her face. Nesta’s mouth bobbed over his cock and he could see the faint outline of himself moving in and out of her throat. The sight alone nearly hurled him into climax. But he knew what would be his ruination. 

Just as he knew he was close, he grabbed her hand and placed it to the spot she hadn’t discovered. It was right at the edge of his wing, level to his chest and it was a spot he barely touched himself due to how strongly it affected him. On nights when he was stroking himself and touching his wings in tandem, he rarely could touch there since the sensation was strong enough to bring him to his knees. He couldn’t finish himself off with it, but perhaps if he wasn’t the one in control…

Nesta didn’t let up, only slightly angling her head towards him to look up through her lashes, mouth still full of his cock. And if that sight alone didn’t make him come, her hand now at the spot he’d placed it most definitely would. 

His hunch had been right, as she dragged a fingernail down and he clenched his teeth to keep in any cries as pleasure overtook his body. He saw the excitement in her eyes and how it only spurred her on. She took him faster down her throat, gripping his cock tighter in her hand just on the side of pain how he liked it. At the same time, she stroked that small hidden area on his wing and Cassian couldn't contain his moans any longer. The whimper he would swear he’d never made as she fucked him with her mouth and stroked his wing. The cries he couldn’t stop as she stroked him one more time before lowering her hand to squeeze his balls and suck him down deeper.

And then, Cassian was coming, in long, strong waves that he couldn’t think through let alone contain. He’d gone blind, seeing only stars as he kept chanting Nesta’s name over and over. Until he was so wrung out with pleasure there could be no way it was even possible.

And yet it was. It was and it had been and he would likely dream of it for years to come.

When sight and his other senses finally returned to him, he could only stare, sated, exhausted as Nesta swallowed his release. She seemed to appraise her work as she looked down at him, breathless and boneless, and he knew the smile she had meant she was quite proud of herself.

“Don’t look so smug,” he panted. “Last night you all but called me a god.”

She snickered, “I meant dog.” 

But before he could volley something back, anything to save a shred of his pride, she had thrown a leg across him, straddling him tightly before leaning over and pressing her lips to his. He gave into the kiss greedily, relishing in her taste, the feel of her so close. He could taste his own release on her tongue and fuck him but it made him want her all the more.

Nesta didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath after breaking away. She had already switched to his other wing, slowly dragging a finger down the very spot she’d learned of through him on the other side. 

He didn’t bother hiding his moan anymore, jerking his hips up into her own. He knew he’d already hardened. Nesta seemed to have noticed too.

”Now this is interesting indeed,” Nesta murmured. Her nails dragged down his chest leaving a searing path before she began grinding against his cock.

”Witch,” he muttered, watching her slide against his cock with ease. He could smell her arousal, could practically taste it, and if she hadn’t just brought him to an earth-shattering orgasm, he would have flipped them over and started another round of what they’d left unfinished the night before.

“Is that so?,” she questioned testily. “I could always leave.”

She lifted her hips up and off of him, leaving him desperate for more. Cassian reached for her hips but she pushed his hands away. He groaned unabashedly.

“Please.” 

She smirked. She was enjoying this far too much. “Please what?”

He blew out a breath, aching to be inside her, only for her to rise higher up on her knees evading his grasp.

“Nesta.” He would try and forget the desperation in his voice later on, how he’d almost begged her to fuck him. Later. Right now though, he’d settle for anything she’d give him. “Nes.”

A good choice it would seem because she gave him a feline smile. 

“I think I like you like this, Commander. Maybe consider asking nicely like this more often and I’ll treat you.” She leaned down and met his lips in a savage kiss he met with earnest. Fuck but this female had him wound around her finger, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Asking nicely? He’d beg next time if he had to.

Nesta sank down onto him without warning and Cassian couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips, nor the way his hands instinctively went to grab at her hips, digging in as she clenched around him. 

Nesta leaned down to drop a quick kiss across his lips. He lifted up to steal more but Nesta pulled away, going for his neck instead, biting down softly at its center.

“Let me hear that again,” Nesta murmured against his skin, before pulling away completely and leaving him reeling for more.

Cassian’s breath whooshed out of him and his witty retort was lost into the heated air between them as she began to ride him. 

She wasted no time, already setting a fast and brutal pace above him, both hands steadied on his chest, nails digging in sharply. He welcomed that sting. Relished in it. In all that she was.

Cassian couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t remember how to breathe, let alone speak. The only thing he knew was that this female would end him here and now, and he would gladly welcome it. If the end was in the form of Nesta Archeron riding him to ecstasy, how could a male complain?

When she slammed down onto him again, Cassian bucked his hips up to match her own and she half screamed, half moaned, her core squeezing him tighter. Her breasts shook with the impact of their vigorous fucking and Cassian waited all but a few moments before bracing himself up on arm and reaching for her with the other.

Wrapping a tight arm around her back, Cassian made sure not to hinder the delicious friction between their hips as he pulled her close. Close enough to close his mouth around one of her breasts, licking her nipple all while keeping his mouth tightly around her.

Nesta gasped at the sudden sensation and Cassian laughed as her tempo stuttered and her eyes fluttered at the distraction. Only for a moment though before she started anew, riding him quickly just as before, tangling her hand in his hair and placing the other on his braced arm on the bed. 

He felt a burn awaken anew inside him at the close contact of their chests, their hands, her very skin gliding over his own in what he could only describe as tantalizing softness. He wanted to tell her that. Tell her what she was doing to him, to his body, his mind. But words were stolen from him in that moment as she moaned his name while he grazed his teeth against her nipple and simultaneously pinched the other one.

“Harder,” he somehow panted, biting at the underside of her other breast before placing an open mouth kiss on it. “Harder,” he whispered.

Nesta smiled wickedly and leaned closer, moving his head away from her breasts and towards her face. She kissed him brutally, biting his lower lip as she pulled away, leaving it stingly sharply with her memory.

Nesta detangled her hands from his body, lifting them up instead to brace onto the headboard behind him.

 “Say please,” Nesta teased, actually slowing her movements down.

“Please,” he gasped out. “Gods please Nes. Harder.” Gods he was so close. He could feel the sensation beginning to form in his lower spine.

She let out a slow, cruel, breathy laugh before fucking him in earnest. Grinding herself onto him, thighs clenching down against his own taking him deeper than before, in flurried, frenzied movements.

“Fuck,” he laughed, his eyes rolling back in his head. “That’s my girl,” he moaned. 

Nesta moaned his name as she grinded against him and Cassian hissed at the image above him. It could have been a portrait that he would happily have framed, although he doubted Feyre could paint her sister in such a way for him. 

The light shone through Nesta’s hair, illuminating the different browns and golds as they writhed with her every move. Her skin glowed with immortal radiance- a goddess in Fae form. She cupped her full, lush breasts squeezing them, red with all the attention he’d given them. His cock slid in and out of her with ease and he nearly came to that alone.

She was beautiful, so beautiful, it nearly hurt to witness. Beautiful and fierce and wonderful and his.

Nesta clenched her inner muscles around him, once, twice and without warning his climax shot through him, impossibly strong considering all they’d done the night before. Nesta continued riding him through it all, fingers digging into his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. It was only when he’d considerably softened that she slid off of him, falling beside him on the large bed, careful of the outstretched wing she lay on.

Cassian was exhausted, and yet, it wasn't enough. None of it was enough no matter how long, how hard they kept at it. Nesta was silent and warm as she curled up into his side, and he pulled her closer with one arm. It was only after the buzzing in his brain from his explosive orgasam died down, did realization hit.

”You didn’t come,” he accused her. His fault really, but she hadn’t even complained. Not that she ever would, but still. It bothered him, so lost in the pleasure she was giving him that he’d come so easily. Too easily.

If this was Nesta from last year, she would have teased him about it. Quick off the mark indeed. 

But instead she stayed silent, eyes shut, snuggling closer into him, golden skin glistening with the after effects of their lovemaking. How could he have been so stupid? Save for that one time when she’d touched him for the first time and he’d lost control like a young male, he never came before her. Ever. It was a point he made sure to follow through on, if for no other reason than to watch her come undone, which was far more satisfying than his own release. 

“I’ll survive,” Nesta murmured into his chest. “I don’t even know how my body’s capable of having this much sex.”

Cassian snorted at that, absently carding through her hair. Neither did he but he wasn’t complaining. A few beats passed in comfortable silence before he was up again. Nesta complained quietly, missing the warmth of the makeshift pillow he’d been for her.

Cassian took his time climbing down her body, marveling in each exquisite curve, freckle and plane, kissing each wonder.

She was tired, he knew, but it hadn’t sit right with him that she had brought him to climax without any enjoyment out of it. Perhaps he’d said it out loud or maybe their bond really did work wordlessly because Nesta seemed to understand.

”I do enjoy it,” she murmured sleepily, adjusting as he spread her legs softly before placing them atop his shoulders.

”It’s different with you,” she continued on, the quiet rasp of her voice the only sound in the otherwise serene bedroom. “I don’t need to come and I usually do anyways. But I don’t need it with you. Because every time is…”

She struggled to find the words but he knew. He understood. How good it felt every time they joined their bodies in what he could only describe as a holy union. What else could be so perfect, so luxuriously wonderful, sinful and decadent, even without more guaranteed? It shouldn’t have been possible to just enjoy sex without expecting a release at the end of it, but somehow Cassian knew, it was with Nesta. And for her as well. 

Perhaps it was because they were mates, and it was never just sex. He looked up at her from between her parted thighs, tasting her sweetness in one long swipe of his tongue. Nesta watched through half-lidded eyes, drowsy satisfaction replaced with newly kindling lust. 

A goddess in Fae form, come to life, deigning to lay with him so long as he brought her pleasure. 

He wanted to draw the pleasure out he decided as he sucked on her clit and pushed two of his digits in. Nesta fluttered around his fingers, moaning softly. She was still slick with his release from earlier and it would have been all too easy to add a third finger. Instead he opted to taste her again, noting the taste of his own release with her essence, knowing she would likely enjoy such a sight. From the way her lips parted in surprise, then arousal, he was right. 

She slid her hands down her body, between the valley of her breasts, until they tangled in his hair. A gentle touch as he continued to taste her. It was a reminder to keep a softer touch, a milder pace. His mate was beginning to feel the effects of the frenzy and it was only the second day. He silenced that more primal part of him that roared to devour her, to taste her coming on his lips before ramming into her anew. It would have to wait for tomorrow, or whenever she was feeling renewed. He took his time, dragging out his work on her sex until she was mewling with contempt, hips aching and grinding against his mouth to finish her. 

And when he knew she couldn’t possibly take anymore, he did. Nesta came in waves of subdued pleasure, and he pushed her through it with a steady thrust of his two digits into her, slowly, slowly, slowly. 

Pulling a blanket up to wrap around them, Cassian carefully settled back down beside her. Just as before, Nesta curled up into his side, tangling their legs as he held her tighter, savoring the faint warmth of her breathing on his chest, the tickle of her hair over his bare skin, and her heart beating against his own, in tandem rhythm.

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[myfaveisfuckable]

Rants!

Nightmare Polycule: The cirsed creation of like. 4 people on a niche fandom discord. Polycule consisting of pretty much every adult character in the series. It's awful and somehow the best thing ever. The potential for both crack and angst is unmatched. The divorced parents energy is OFF THE CHARTS. Marcia realizes she is a morosexual and has a crisis about it. Gringe confronts his prejudices by falling for a no-good wizard. Jillie Djinn is Marcia's ex and also dead and also GHOSTING ON HER COUCH which makes it very hard to bring her boyfriends over. Marcellus tries to be dramatic about the fleetingness of human life (except his) and gets made fun of until he confronts his trauma instead. Sarah and Mrs Gringe are having tea and getting a break from the drama.

Nokia/Ami: (spoilers for the game) all the fan stuff ive seen for the game is painfully straight unless its focusing on the two ships where one character is canonically gay n in love with the other (protag of the sequel game with his gay bestie i forgot the name of n yuuko/fei) n ami is usually just drawn on her own BUT theres a lot of canon subtext between nokia n ami mostly as a result of not much actually changing based on if u play as a boy or a girl regardless nokia to some extent likes ami she flirts with her talks about their relationship as if theyre already dating theres a scene that parallels a m/f couple in the game that plays exactly the same between ami n nokia with two other characters saying something along the lines of ah young love during a mandatory side quest ami gets offered an implied sex doll that looks exactly like nokia (weird story there the quest ends with it being heavily implied that the people that take the dolls end up having their organs harvested while their minds are stuck in a digital space called eden unaware that theyre not in the real world) n she has to think about it before declining the offer nokia's character arc is working to become a strong leader n reliable friend cause she wants to stand next to ami instead of relying on her theyre childhood friends but forgot about it ok i need to explain a bit more of the story so like as kids ami n nokia along with three other characters met beta testing for eden n one of them ended up getting eden syndrome to make sure theyre all able to leave safely (theres a thing called eaters that if u get eaten by put u in a coma cause theyre storing the contents of ur brain in them) n a guy who wants to use the eaters to get to the next stage of evolution removes their memories of the incident so years later as teenagers ami nokia n arata (one of the childhood friends important to the story but not to the ship) become friends again n reunite on eden where ami ends up getting eden syndrome but in a funky way cause she was logging out as she got eaten so she has a cyber body that over the course of the game deteriorates n at the end of the game ami basically dies right as everything is being fixed all the victims of eden syndrome are no longer comatose but ami is cause yknow kind of deteriorated too much n it happened right in front of nokia's eyes as she reached out for her hand so they could go home together n nokia cries for the only time in the game cause of that but ive genuinely never seen any fan stuff of them interacting so despite them being teased romantically n built up as being really important to eachother theres nothing not even like nokia with takumi (boy protagonist) im submitting it specifically as nokia/ami just cause i like wlw ships more if u want to do it neutrally protag's surname regardless of gender is aiba sorry if this is incoherent its been like 6 months since ive played the game

[selfiecharmedlife]

RE: Guilty Queer 2: The Sequel

Way back in 2019, I wrote a piece for this blog about the Guilty Gear series and how it had played a big role in my own journey through life and gender. Guilty Gear is a franchise spotlights the character's growth and allows them to change based on the events of the storyline. I mean, just look at Ky’s transition into a thriving wifeguy and father.

Like the metal genre that inspired many of the game's motifs, Guilty Gear has always been pretty gay. The most recent installment in the series, Guilty Gear: StrIVe (get it because IV is 4), turns the volume up to 11. After the reintroductions of Testament and Bridget after a decade+ long absence, Strive has some of the best queer representation I’ve seen not just in video games but in media overall. 

(Spoiler and note: I’m going to use They/Them and She/Her to refer to Testament and Bridget respectively)

I didn’t expect that either of these characters would come back to the series. In prior installments, Testament was an antagonist turned brooding recluse. Prior to Strive, their story dealt mainly with their lingering guilt and their inability to forgive humanity for what they experienced during the crusades. Their only remaining purpose in life being to protect Dizzy who leaves on her own adventure at the end of the game. 

Fast-forward to their reintroduction and Testament is now at peace with themselves having adopted a more fluid sense of gender coupled as well as an androgynous presentation. With Dizzy gone and too much free time, they also picked up a pages long list of hobbies including streaming, failing to improve at art and building gunpla. There is even some subtext implying Testament and Johnny are more than friends. We just love to see an empty nested gay thriving.

This kind of stuff is what makes this series so special to me. Testament’s arc wasn’t just tacked on for representation points. It was earned through over two decades of storytelling. The focus on character development makes it easy to feel invested in these characters that aged and matured along with me since I picked up a copy of Guilty Gear XX.

High School was not an easy time for me. I was an effeminate kid and used to get regularly beaten up and called slurs by my peers. It got so bad that my parents pulled me out of public school and put me into a private all boys high school. During that same time, I also started to go through puberty (the first on anyway). I learned how to front machismo enough to get by in a school where the halls were permanently stained with axe body spray and the dress code required students keep short haircuts. Meanwhile, my body was changing in ways I didn’t want and didn’t understand. Some nights, I’d lay in bed imagining a different life where I had been born a girl and cry. In the morning, I’d put on a polo shirt (shirt and tie on Church days!) and go back to school.

There has never been a point in my life that I did not know I was trans. From the point I realized boys and girls were different, I knew I would rather be a girl but I resigned myself thinking that I had drawn an unfortunate lot in life. I wanted to make my parents happy and correctly assumed they would not accept a gay child. The 90's hadn't been a kind decade for trans representation either. Finding Bridget in Guilty Gear was a light bulb moment for me. Here was a story about a character pressured by her parents to present in a way she didn’t want while still striving to carve out her own form of masculinity. It wasn’t a 1:1 fit but her story got me thinking that maybe I too could find my own niche that would feel right for me. 

She was the first character I ever “mained” in a fighting game. I played her story modes over and over again trying to tease out every bit of her characterization. Through Bridget, I found and projected onto other otokonoko media, started learning about makeup/cosplay in secret and started eating a lot of soy thinking it would turn into estrogen in my body. 

Over the course of several years, I got interested in weight lifting which led to a desire to build the body to cosplay Gilgamesh from Fate. My connection to Bridget and other otokonoko characters waned as my body became more muscular but my interest in feminine things and expression never fully went away. At a fighting game tournament, my then girlfriend surprised me with a Bridget keychain knowing how much I still loved the character. That keychain has been in my wallet or hanging on my purse ever since.

It took many years, but I did it. Outwardly, I was an extremely attractive man. I looked in the mirror after hitting my goal weight but couldn't see that in myself. I had all the things I thought I wanted and the affirmation of colleagues, friends and family but it felt empty. Sure, I was fine in my day to day life, but I couldn’t envision a future for myself where I wasn’t either dead or a woman.

Fast forward and I’m now approaching my five year HRT anniversary. The endocrinologists I’ve worked with have told me that this is where most people stop seeing non-surgical changes. There have been some tough feelings coming to grips with that. My relationship with my body is better but remains complicated. One of the last things I expected over the last few days was for Bridget to come back into the Guilty Gear franchise.

Strive takes place 7 years after XX where Bridget last appeared meaning she’s probably around the same age I was when I decided to transition. Her story picks up with having the fame, wealth and affirmation she was looking for but feeling lost regardless. After soul-searching with Goldlewis (who I read as a gay man regretting denying his sexuality when he was younger) and Ky, she decides to accept herself as a woman. After having a feminine identity pushed onto her, she’s found her own sense of femininity on her own terms. I cried when I first watched her arcade ending. I cried again when I watched it a second time on stream. I’m crying while I’m writing this. 

It’s hard to express how it feels to have this character reappear at this junction in my life. In some ways it feels like meeting an old friend again and realizing you’re both girls now. On top of that, the way the voice actors, directors and writers handled this scene is incredibly nuanced and sensitive. It’s one of the last things I would have expected from a video game with such sparse dialogue, but this is Guilty Gear. 

Outside of a loud group of weirdos that don’t understand Japanese and insist Bridget being trans is a translation error, the reception I’ve seen has been gushingly positive. People with no prior interest in fighting games are thinking about learning Guilty Gear because they want to learn more about this character.

I still have a lot of feelings about this but I’m not sure how to best express them. I guess I’m just really happy to see my friend again and excited that a whole new generation of people get to meet them too.

Maybe she can be to some other people in need what she ended up being to me.

[sorryimanon]

Pairings: Bakugou x fem!Reader

Tags: 18+, dirty talk, explicit scenes, mutual masturbation, penetration, bakugou being a switch, reader is a dom, lots of back and forth between characters, slow burn

A/N: this was supposed to be divided into two parts but surprise, surprise! i got lazy :) i had so much writing this. this might be my favorite fic ive written so far! this is a loooong one. enjoy! 

P.S this is the unedited ver. I will posting the final on my AO3 account (sorryimanon)

-

Katsuki disliked her. No, he absolutely loathed her. Ever since she stepped foot into the classroom, it was destined for there to be a hostile barrier between the two of them. Granted, all she did was sweetly greet him like the rest of her fellow classmates, but Katsuki completely saw through her fading facade and ignored the kind gesture with a threatening showcase of his quirk.

"Being nice won't get you anywhere, baka," he snarled, glaring intensely at her all the while everyone watched the whole scene unfold.

He treated her like a foolish peasant after that initial encounter, disregarding her in any way shape or form as disgust shone through his eyes.

Y/N persevered the oncoming school years despite the blonde breathing down her neck consistently everyday. Katsuki's aggressive nature towards her subsided once graduation commenced, alluding to the blossoming maturity each student should have endured before branching off into hero work.

Not long after the celebratory succession, y/n bounced to several agencies that offered the same beneficial agreements for her. None caught her attention. Until one day she received a recommendation from Endeavor himself to work full time at his agency. Of course she accepted it and immediately wrote her sloppy signature down on the contract. Unbeknownst to her excitement, a separate copy of the contract was sent to another uprising hero around her age group.

So when she strutted in that morning of orientation, she never expected to see the very infamous Katsuki Bakugou slouched on one of the many chairs in the meeting room. Her throat tightened as she took a seat next to him, his height still freakishly tall even when they were just sitting. Staring straight forward to prevent from any means of eye contact with him, he lowered his head at her eye level and crooked a half smile.

"I'm gonna make you regret for even considering joining here, extra." A fleck of his spit hit the side of her face. Learning from her past encounters with Katsuki, y/n held her tongue in hopes for him to feel satisfied enough to leave her alone.

Thankfully their office hours were inconsistent to where they didn't intervene with each other, neither of them awkwardly meeting in the lobby or an elevator. However, sometimes y/n and Bakugou would desire the same craving for a caffeinated beverage and find themselves standing shoulder to shoulder by the coffee machine.

Bakugou likes his coffee black, she mentally jotted down as she intently watched his usual routine of preparing the beverage.

Like the asshole he is, Bakugou would purposely tip the mug and let a few trickles of the hot liquid burn her hand. He's done this every single time before he leaves y/n alone in the break room. Deep down, he relishes in the strained expression on her face when he inflicts the pain upon her. Thoughts danced across his head. Some involving him blasting y/n into the stratosphere to her kissing the tips of his boots for mercy. Either way, her being so submissive and, dare he say, a pussy to stand her ground sufficed him enough for the time being. But sometimes it pissed him off.

The constant harassment by the angry blonde went unnoticed by their other colleagues, including Endeavor, leaving y/n to prepare every morning to face the wrath of Katsuki Bakugou. His verbal abuse never wavered, occasionally whispering under his breath "weakling" or "stupid girl" whenever the pair were in the same room together. One time he sent her on a wild goose chase to find a missing case file that miraculously disappeared from her desk while she was copying something in the other room. Hours later, she soon discovers the said file tucked behind Katsuki's arm, snatching it from his grip and not once reprimanding him for wasting her time. Y/N eventually got used to it. Adapting to the annual insults of her work ethics and anything he could muster up from his sleeve. Both finally accepted their twisted dynamic, and became accustomed to the work lifestyle.

Months later, the dynamic soon changed when Endeavor announced an emergency meeting with everyone in the building. Apparently a new wave of villains have been reigning terror over the city, causing major damages and fatalities in a matter of weeks. Rumors started to circulate that the new generation of heroes don't have the capabilities to apprehend this group of evil doers. In the meeting, Endeavor made it clear for everyone to be partnered up before he dismisses them to patrol for the night, suggesting that pairing up with someone who is complimentary to your quirk is efficient for when dealing with these kinds of villains.

That's why y/n didn't voice her complaint when she inevitably got matched with Bakugou. His quirk alone was powerful already. With both of their quirks combined, there's no telling how the mission will go, but she surprisingly feels safe knowing he'll be sticking by her side throughout the rest of the night. It'll be a quick mission, then they'll return back to their previous mundane duties in the office. Back to Katsuki's mental and verbal torment.

"Could you move any slower?" Katsuki barked as both he and y/n were taking a quick stroll through the public park, scoping out for any signs of danger.

She was a step behind him, careful not to bump his shoulder or invade his space. She mumbled out a quick apology and fastened her pace, catching up to the man in gear. Tonight he wore his alternative hero costume, the design made specifically for when the temperature reaches an undesirable degree. The collar touched below the tip of his chin, his chiseled chest covered with the thick black material, and his arms protected from the cold with the addition of sleeves.  

"Fucking weakling..." she heard him mumble once they circled the perimeter again.

Bakugou insisted for them to scout out as many places as possible in hopes for an encounter. He desperately needs any excuse for some action, to use his quirk out of anger. Previously, they patrolled the empty plaza of Tatoone shopping center. Other heroes were there as well, but still no signs of any villains lurking in the dark. For the third time, they met up at the center of the park after making another round, both already tired of the tedious task.

"Just our fucking luck. Still no signs of those stupid villains. I guess we should patrol the outskirts of-."

A bright luminescent beam struck the middle of Bakugou's chest cavity, ricocheting him backwards to slam against the trunk of a large tree, knocking him unconscious instantly. Startled, y/n's eyes frantically searched for the perpetrator, only to meet a pair of glowing green orbs staring right back. She shifted her stance in preparation for their next attack, blocking Bakugou's lifeless body from the villains view. Another beam shot from the darkness, only this time y/n counter balanced the blow by rolling to side, the blast missing her by a couple of feet. Y/N quickly raised to her feet and ran head first towards the dark figure. Without preamble, the figure shot multiple beams at the hero, each one emitting from the void of their chest.

Y/N dodged the bright suffocating strips of light, her feet shuffling and heart racing due to the adrenaline rush. However, she miscalculated her next move which allowed the figure to strike her left shoulder when she was distracted for a split second. Pain shot throughout her shoulder blade. Eyes drawn to a close, her hand shot up to cradle the injury. The intense sensation started to spread from the upper half of her body to below. Everything suddenly became numb, including her sensors. She couldn't feel the tips of her digits nor move any part of her face. The muscles in her legs soon stopped contracting, resulting in her knees giving out. She felt the hard, coarse ground beneath her as the darkness began to swallow up her line of vision. The last thing she saw was a scuffed up Bakugou laying face flat on the drenched grass.

- Y/N stirred awake, lifting one of her half lidded eyes expecting to see the villain looming over her tired body. But all she saw was the popcorn ceiling sheltering her, an overhead fan turned on and the curtains tightly shut. She slowly inclined her body upright and peeled the covers from her clammy figure. Still in the process of waking up, she made her way to the attached bathroom by the bed and located the sink. She splashed the cold water on her face, letting the droplets drench the clothes she was currently wearing. Turning off the facet, she craned her head to view the damage on her shoulder in the mirror. But how come she couldn't recognize herself?

Tuffs of blonde spiked out from her head. Her eyes weren't the same color either. Red crimson irises replaced the ones she had before. The injury from last night on her shoulder wasn't there no more, but she took sight at how broad they became. And she wasn't wearing her typical pajama top and bottoms. This morning she was clad in a black tank top and a pair of soft sweat pants.

No, this can't be true. This has to be some sick nightmare. Jolting backwards on her heel, she let out a terrible shriek. After screaming for a good minute, she calmed down and rested her hands on the bathroom counter, transfixed on the reflection in front of her.

"I-I somehow transformed into Bakugou!" The deep timbre voice of bakugou replaced her own. She tugged on the unkept hair and knitted her eyes shut. "This is only a dream. I'm dreaming right? I can't possibly be in Bakugou's body."

A loud ringing noise alerted y/n to open her eyes again. It was coming from her bedroom. Correction, his bedroom. She glanced at herself in the mirror one more time before retrieving the phone that was stuffed in a green duffel bag. Her eyes widened. She recognized her phone number on the screen. Knowing the circumstances, she pressed answered and awaited for the receiver on the other end to speak.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!"

-

"So, we somehow switched bodies because of being struck by that villains quirk the other night. How long did they say this will last then?" Y/N questioned Bakugou the following morning once they agreed to meet up somewhere in private. Right now they were sitting across from each other on a stone bench by the lake, the morning sun peaking through the tall skyscrapers behind them.

Bakugou shrugged his shoulders, technically hers, and said, "Endeavor informed me it'll probably linger for a good week. He also wanted us to not be on duty till we recuperate from this, saying that the side effects will drain our bodies." He couldn't muster up the courage to stare at her, because all he would see is the reflection of himself. "Unfortunately the villain fled the scene before the others arrived to retrieve us. They're still out there causing havoc."

"This is freaking weird."

"Fucking."

Y/N tilted her head in confusion. Across from her, Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in frustration.

"If you're gonna be me for a whole week then you might as well not sugar coat my vocabulary-dumbass."

Right, she now has to devote her time and effort into mirroring Bakugou's explosive personality. But that also means he too has to put on a show in order to persuade everyone he was her.

"Oh, okay..." she started but tensed up when realizing Bakugou was gazing expectantly at her. "D-Dumbass?"

Katsuki groaned as he rolled his eyes at her failed attempt of portraying him.

"This is going to be a long ass week."

- Bakugou grunted in disgust as he scavenged through y/n's closet for something to wear. Every piece of clothing so far hasn't met his criteria of approval to put on his body. There was an unnecessary amount of yoga pants and the most ugliest oversized graphic tees he's ever laid his eyes upon stored in her drawer. Growing up in a household of highly praised designers, the influence shifted his taste in fashion over the years. So, he made the rational decision to make a quick trip to the mall and purchase a few outfits for himself. Considering he's going to be in this body for a whole week, maybe even more, he might as well present himself looking ten times better than she ever has.

He tittered around the mall window shopping, entering store after store leaving with a handful of clothes in plastic and paper bags. So far he bought some outfits that edged a little on the fancy side, but paid no mind to his bank account. Bakugou guesstimated y/n's size during the venture, not wanting to pry or see what's underneath these restricting fabrics. He was about to leave when a frilly-pink themed store caught his attention.

It's a lingerie store, Bakugou thought as he neared closer to the entrance.

Posters inside the displays showcased attractive half naked women clad in nothing but the delicate material. Not to mention they were all posing seductively. An involuntary image of y/n flashed across his eyes, her imitating the same lustrous pose as well as wearing the sheer lingerie like the women behind the glass. Steams of heat practically blowed out from his ears, along with the embarrassing shade of pink panting his cheeks. He clamped a hand on his mouth, eyes widen in disbelief.

The fuck did I just imagine? There's no way in hell that just happened!

He must've been loitering there for awhile because a young girl, possibly his age, was standing in the threshold of the store wearing a pastel pink apron, giving him a welcoming smile.

She spoke, "Looking to shop for something, ma'am?"

Remembering back to y/n's distasteful clothing, he noted that she also lacked having any 'pretty' undergarments. It wasn't that he intentionally raided through her underwear, he just so happen to have stumbled upon the almost empty drawer by accident. In retrospect, he's doing her a favor. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Yes actually. Can you show me your most expensive set?" - "To your left! That dudes been camping by that spot since the match. He'll snipe you in the open!" Kirishima informed y/n as they both sat criss cross on the cushioned couch.

They've been playing the same game for hours. Y/N prayed for at least one water break or grab something quick to eat since they haven't moved an inch from their spots. Kirishima promised after this match he'll order some takeout for the both of them, but he said the same thing 8 matches ago. All she could do for now was pretend to be immersed in the game, getting a couple of impressive kills here and there, subsequently ranking her to a bronze level. Her digits were beginning to cramp up due to the repetitive moments of smashing down on the labeled buttons on the wireless controller. The screen across from them suddenly went dark and flashed the scoreboard from the recent match. Another successful victory.

"BOOYAAA!!!!" Kirishima clapped his hands and did a celebratory dance. "Ah, good game Bakugou."

Y/N flinched from hearing the blondes name.

"Kirishima, it's Y/N," she reluctantly reminded him.

Kirishima's whole demeanor went south. He chucked out a dry laugh and nervously started rubbing the back of his neck.

"R-Right sorry. Couldn't help myself. I mean, I am looking at Bakugou. Same face, voice, hair, and scary eyes."

After being battered by the villains quirk, Kirishima and Sun Eater were the ones to retrieve them before law enforcement shortly arrived once the perpetrator fled the scene. They were all under one strict oath to not mention this to the public, or else everyone’s image will tarnished and skew the potential of our future rankings.

"I know. I'm still trying to process this whole thing. I've been avoiding all the mirrors in the apartment since I came back." Y/N stood up from the couch and sauntered over to her designated bedroom for the week. She reached for the door handle but stiffened when a pair of hardened hands rested on her broad shoulders.

"Aye, don't worry so much. I bet you Bakugou is thinking the same thing. This week will be over before you know it," he absentmindedly began massaging the area between your shoulder blades and neck.

Does he always treat Bakugou like this despite that nasty little Pomeranian being a complete asshole to everyone?

"Kirishima?"

"Yeah?"

"What is Bakugou like around you?"

The red head hummed to himself at the random question, thinking of a perfect answer to her curiosity.

"The same how he was in high school except more tamer I guess. But I enjoy his presence none the less."

Then why does he seem to unleash his untamed feelings towards me specifically?

Y/N sighed, obviously not satisfied with that answer.

"Out of everybody, he seems to despise me more and more like it's a game," she said without realizing.

"You know how he is Y/N. He's very abrasive and blunt when it comes to other people's emotions, but deep down I know he only acts like that because he wants to present a strong image in front of everyone," he started. "He's scared of others looking down on him, I know that for sure. But I always looked up to Bakugou from the day I personally got to know him. So, I guess he just stayed by my side because of my admiration for him."

Bakugou is always putting up a front then.

"Interesting...well I'm gonna go to bed now. Thanks for keeping me company," y/n said once again reaching for the knob and opening the door, ignoring the red heads pleas for her not go to sleep on an empty stomach. -

The next day Bakugou found himself inside y/n's bathroom, feet firmly planted on the tiled floor not daring to move an inch. Even though he wasn't in his own body that didn't stop him from paying a visit to the gym this morning. He went extra hard on every machine, not caring about the wandering eyes men gave him while he dead lifted weights. Drenched in nothing but his own glistening sweat, Bakugou entered y/n's small apartment as he dragged his tired feet to the bedroom he was now familiarized with.

Something foul wafted into his nostrils, almost making him teary eyed to the stench. He tried to recall the last time he took a shower. Vaguely he remembers washing his body the morning before he got attack by the powerful quirk. It's been several days since then. This was one thing he didn't want to endure during his experience of switching bodies. He's been neglecting his own hygiene to avoid seeing y/n's exposed body parts. Changing out from her clothes with closed eyes was difficult enough, but taking a fucking shower?! Such a shitty predicament. But he can't smell like this for the remainder of being stuck in this body. He'll die of suffocation.

Ah fuck, that must mean she has to take a shower as well. Or worse, she already has and saw everything.

His eye twitched, lips trembling in fear at what he's about to witness.

Fuck it, I can't go out smelling like shit!

With shaky fingers he began stripping, eyes trained on anything but y/n's figure, the faint sound of the water streaming white noise to him. Her gym clothes piled on the floor, Katsuki slipped into the shower, head titled slightly to view only the shower head. He messed around with the chrome handle, indecisive on what temperature he wanted. Settled onto cold to awaken his sluggish state, he positioned himself under the shower head, goosebumps prickling his skin due to the sudden drop of temperature. Water droplets streamed down and canaled to his lower regions, the sensation relaxing his anxiousness just a smidge. He surveyed the options y/n had laid out for hair care products and grabbed the nearest one. Rubbing the body wash into the palms of his hands, he caught himself, arm mid raised getting ready to wash each crevice of his body.

Shit shit shit shit

The hand in front of him began shaking.

She won't know. It's not like I'm touching her sexually, I'm just keeping her clean for fucks sake!

As gentle as he could, Bakugou washed away the soapy residue, fingers cautiously ghosting over anything perking out. A moment too soon, he accidentally skimmed over her chest a little too fast, the tips of his fingers touching something that was hard and protruding. His breathing hitched.

I just felt her fucking nipple!

But fuck, it strangely felt quite pleasant. Pleasurable even if he had to admit.

He continued on with his previous ministrations, cupping her boobs like a madman and swiping one thumb over the taunt surface to test the waters. A fierce, tingling sensation surged shivers down his spine. An unsolicited low moan spurred out from the blonde.

"Hah!"

What the hell?! Why am I still touching her tits? And why am I enjoying it?

Finishing up his routine quickly, Bakugou snatched a towel from the cabinet and rubbed away all the sinful thoughts desperately from his head, a constant fight between his morals and neediness. Nobody will never know what he committed in the confines of her own apartment. And it'll fucking stay like that till on his death bed.

I practically assaulted her. I'm so fucking disgusting

For the rest of the remaining day, Bakugou planned on meeting up with Kirishima to hangout. He wanted to coerce the red head into talking about anything other than y/n. His mind needs the relief. He needs this spell to be over with.

He can't stand trying to fit into women's jeans any longer - Kirishima woke up that morning to a chorus of shrieks. Girlish shrieks, might he add. He thought maybe the neighbors were selfishly doing not-so-holy-things at the peak of dawn. But him and Katsuki were resided on the highest level of the penthouse, them being the only residents on the empty floor. It clicked once he heard his name through the thin walls.

"Ah! Y/N I'm coming!" He leaped from his bed and reached y/n's, technically Bakugou's, room in a matter of seconds.

Y/N's body twitched to the sound of the door being slammed open, the impact rattling the very few wall decorations in the blondes space. Standing in the threshold was the friendly red head, huffing and puffing air out of his chest like he just got done running a marathon.

"K-Kiri! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up!" Her words afterwards became a jumbled mess, realizing the predicament she pushed herself into.

"Hey, hey, calm down! Tell me what's wrong. It sounded like you were in pain. Did you hurt yourself anywhere?" The red had to remind himself this was indeed another person inside Bakugou's body, because Bakugou would never apologize repeatedly for the sake of apologizing in his entire life.

Y/N was looking quite pallid now, sheepishly tugging on the black covers of the bed, trying to find the easiest way on how to lay this out to her new roommate.

"Well...I just...I woke up to - ah crap."

Instead of explaining her situation, she pulled back the blanket to show kiri the thing protruding between her uncommonly, muscular legs. Kirishima's eyes widen instantaneously, eating up the pitched tent inside her basketball shorts. Oddly enough, this wasn't his first rodeo upon seeing the blonde with a boner. They were dudes. And dudes living together were bound to witness each other's 'flesh swords', he'd like to put it.

"Oh, morning wood? That's pretty normal. Nothing to fret y/n!" He dismissed her with the wave of his hand. "Bakugou gets them all the time! In fact, I remember he'd get them after sparring sessions back in our U.A days-."

"Okayyyyy, Never mind that! I know I have a boner. Just exactly how do I get rid of it?!"

"You mean, you don't know? Haven't you been taught this in Sex Ed class?" Kiri was actually curious as to why she doesn't know nor remember. He surly does. Learning about the human body by the infamous sultry teacher, Midnight, engraved so much information into his tiny-teenage brain.

"That was considered an extra curricular class. I took a CPR class instead."

"Right well, from what she taught us and from my own personal experience, you gotta rub one out."

Y/N's whole face contorted into a confused mess of disgust.

"Rub a what now?" She asked, although she had a feeling what the euphemism meant.

Kiri's face blotched red, the tint flushing to his chest as well. The man was evidently embarrassed about having this conversation with someone who wasn't Bakugou.

"I essentially mean you gotta masturbate. Ya know, in order to calm down your boner," he paused seeing how distraught y/n became. "It won't hurt I promise you! Don't worry, it feels really good! Like, eating ice cream good! Ah no that's not a good analogy!"

"This is so fucking horrifying..." Y/N poked at the thing, rightfully known as his dick, and kept starring as if it might miraculously subside to its original size.

Kiri coughed, grabbing her attention away from Bakugou's dick.

"He has lotion stashed in his drawer," he started, but malfunctioned seconds later. He revealed something private to someone that bakugou condemned as a 'weakling'. "That is if you need it for lubricant. It's kind of tough to jerk off dry..." his sentence fell off midway.

Y/N mumbled out an "Ok", and retrieved said lotion from the lower bunk of his drawers. She felt a pair of eyes on her. Kiri was still standing awkwardly by the doorway, unsure wether or not if that's his cue to leave.

"Um, thanks Kiri. You can leave now," she plopped back onto Bakugou's king sized bed.

This man sleeps alone. He doesn't need a ginormous bed all to himself.

"R-Right! Well, enjoy jerking off- ah no I meant - I didn't word that correctly! Ah geez, see ya later!" He sprinted out the door like his life depended on it.

Locking the door behind her, y/n forced herself into the attached bathroom, the lotion burning the palms of her hand each second. Once she settled down on the lid of the toilet, she shimmied out from his loose basketball shorts, letting them pool at her ankles.

If there's one thing she learned that morning, it was that being a man had its weird benefits. - "Slow down Bakugou! Let me at least catch up before you black out!" Kirishima was on his third shot while Bakugou just downed his sixth one for the night.

The blonde growled under his breath and tugged the red head by his collar to his mouth.

"Fucking idiot, don't call me that. It's y/n when we're out in public," he loosens his grip and snatches kiri's shot and tips his head back to drain it all down his throat, the burning sensation long gone.

"Ugh, my brain can't keep up with this whole switching body shit. It's been so hard back at the apartment." He internally cringes from the recollection of y/n popping her first boner this morning.

"What do you mean? Has that dumbass been giving you a hard time? If she has, I'll give her a piece of my mind."

"Not at all! She's been a saint while living with me. Which by the way, how come you can't just live at the penthouse while y/n stays at her place?

While Kirishima was talking, Bakugou ordered another round of shots. The bartender shoved a whole bottle of Fireball towards the man, saving him in the future to not ask anymore. The young server gave Bakugou a sly wink and returned back to serving other customers down the line. Cheeks flushed red, Bakugou thinks the man behind the bar was being too nice for his liking. He poured two more shots while keeping an eye on the average looking employee. If kirishima kept babbling, he might as well funnel the entire bottle in one sitting.

"I'm just following endeavors orders. We're not supposed to gain attention from those stupid reporters that camp outside our penthouse," he takes another swing of the warm liquid. "I'd rather fucking be quirkless than mistaken for having any rumored relations with her."

"Can I ask a genuine question? How come you hate y/n so much?"

"I don't hate her, I dislike her. There's a difference."

"I don't know man. Sometimes I mistaken your dislike with love."

"EXCUSE ME? IM NOT IN LOVE OF THAT BITCH?!"

"C'mon dude, I'm sensing a lot of denial from you. Also, shouldn't you be acting like her right now? She's very soft spoken if I'm not mistaken,"

"I'm not in denial idiot. I hate how soft she speaks. I hate how sickeningly kind she is even though nobody deserves it. I hate how she wastes her talented quirk and doesn't see the potential. She's a lost cause Kiri. She won't last for much longer in this field if she keeps this up."

"Wow, for someone who dislikes her as such, you surly sound like you care about heeeerrrrrr," kirshima drawled out in a sing-song voice.

"Shut up and finish your shot, shitty hair."

When the blonde was driving back to her apartment later that night, he slammed his fists against the steering wheel when an afterthought came to him.

His whole reasoning as to why he went out in the first place, and he can't seem to restrict himself from talking about the girl he's trapped in.

Even in this goddamn body I can't seem to steer clear from y/n talk! - Izuku had to do a double take when he entered the small coffee shop. Something about seeing the pensive blonde sitting patiently in a booth by the corner really made him feel like he was sucked into another dimension. Today y/n was wearing a white v-neck with a wool green cardigan and tight black jeans.

Kacchan owns cardigans? He thought, clearly amused.

Upon hearing the ding coming from the door, Y/N raised her head from her phone and waved Izuku over to her table. The poor man seemed like he was going combust right there. It's been awhile since he's spoken to his old classmate.

The green haired hero slid into the booth across from her and immediately started speaking Deku language.

"H-Hey Kacchan! Boy it's been awhile hasn't it? I was a little stunned seeing your message this morning asking to hangout. I'm sorry that I couldn't meet up sooner. I had an early patrol shift from 9 to 5. You might know how that feels, right?! Oh gosh I'm sounding like an adult. Can you believe we're adults-."

"Midor- I mean Deku, I called you up to ask about if you have any leads on the villain with the body switching quirk?" She cut him off.

"Oh yeah, that villain has been spotted a few times since the last attack. Of course most of my team hasn't been able to reprimand them. A few close calls though. But I heard two people from your sector got hit by the quirk! Are they doing okay?"

I hate lying to those big freaking green eyes.

"That's not true. They got hurt, but no one was attacked by their quirk. I just need to know if you have any information on the quirk in particular and what to do in order to reverse it."

Underneath the table, Izuku fumbled inside his pockets in search for his mini notebook. He still obtained the habit of jotting down everything, literally everything, in hopes the information will provide any source of aide. Izuku became all jittery and excited at the thought of sharing anything with Kacchan!

The small, crinkled notebook was slid across the table, hitting the tips of y/n's knuckles.

"Page 124, the first indent I wrote. It's mainly about my own conspiracy on what the villains quirk is. That was before their first debut of course. But now since we know it's a type of body switching quirk, I tried to pin point on what exactly lifts the quirks effect on the victim," Izuku explained casually while y/n skimmed through the notes and passages. "I did a little detective work on my own and contacted the people who were attacked by the villain. From what I gathered, let's just say- it's a bit taboo ."

This piqued her interest.

"What do you mean by, taboo?"

The man began to wave his hands around fervently in attempt to steer the blonde away from prying more. But y/n swatted Izuku's hand and continued reading the sloppy inscriptions.

Her eyes popped out from her sockets.

"I have to what?!" A few civilians stared in their direction, obviously gravitated to the familiar gruff voice.

"Calm down Kacchan! Why are you so angry for?"

Y/N rubbed her temple all the while wanting to slowly die than endure anymore of this.

"Nothing. Just- Ugh...Is it alright if I borrow this?"

"Y-Yeah! Kacchan can borrow anything from me as long as he returns it!" There was that gleam again in his eyes.

"Thanks Izuku, I owe you one!" She squeezed the greenettes freckled hand before leaving the booth and the shop all together.

Still in the cafe, Izuku sat frozen as if someone walked in with gun. Internally though, he was screaming. -

Y/N: Please call me. It's urgent

It was a Friday night when Bakugou received the cryptic message from her. He was in the middle of  watching his true crime show when the annoying ding from his phone went off. For once, he just wanted to relax his mind and go on auto pilot without stressing his already strained body. It's the whole principle of Friday's. To fuck off and ignore everyone. What's so fucking important for her to text him out of the blue then?

Another acute ding.

Bakugou peeked over his shoulder to see who disrupted him this time.

Y/N: Bakugou, we need to talk. This isn't something to ignore.

He rolled his eyes and retrained his focus on the tv screen.

Ding Ding Ding

"FOR FUCK SAKE!" He released an animalistic growl from the depths of his throat, scratching his voice box even more. His fingers typed away aggressively, not bothering to read her previous messages.

BK: Leave me the fuck alone. You're to only text me if it involves with the reverse of this stupid quirk 🖕🏼

Three dots appeared immediately after he sent that. Bakugou started losing his patience while waiting for her response. He hated wasting precious time, especially if there was a second party involved. Her message finally delivered. Bakugou's eyes grew larger in size as he read the text.

Y/N: that's why I'm texting you idiot 🙄 I met up with Midoriya today and he may have given me the solution to our problem.

He bit down hard on his bottom lip as he typed out his last text message to her.

BK: fine. come over then. we can talk about it when you get here.

This time he didn't wait for her to respond back and began cleaning her apartment. - Feeling nervous was an understatement. Y/N felt like she was driving herself to her own execution. Bakugou being the one to carry out the death sentence. She didn't doubt the blonde would be elated at the idea of her being put under a torture device.

Okay, maybe he wasn't too malice to actually do it, but he probably entertained the thought.

Thankfully Bakugou's penthouse wasn't far from her own apartment, saving her much needed gas in case he goes ballistic on her.

The door flew open when she arrived shortly after one knock, revealing a very sluggish looking Y/N shooting daggers at her. Well, at least her body wasn't dressed in bruises or burn marks. That's a win. Bakugou paired herself with a cute crop top and silky pajama shorts. He's got taste she'll give him that.

Her apartment remained exactly the same as she left it when they both were ordered to switch residency's.  Only a few traces of Bakugou were found. Mainly in the kitchen, where all his fancy cooking equipment and utensils were laid out. Unlike him, she ate out almost every night due to the red head being incompetent in the kitchen. He almost burnt down the complex last night. He relied upon his friend to do most of the cooking in their household.

The blonde briskly brushed passed her to sit on the couch, slinging his feet on the coffee table to make himself comfortable. Too comfortable, she noted.

"Well, spill it. What did the damn nerd tell you that could help us with this shit?" He inquired without preamble.

Like a hero, she was here on a mission. A mission that needs to be completed as soon as possible, even if the mission itself was ludicrous. She reached into her jacket pocket to retrieve the mini book, and flipped soundlessly to the page Izuku marked for her.

"On here it says that the quirk can last up to a week, maybe even more, depending on the victim(s). The effected will experience dry eyes, nausea, insomnia, painful migraines, and uncontrollable shaking due to being inside another persons body. They must let the quirk take its course then," she read out loud, ignoring Bakugou's groans of annoyance. "But, for rare cases, there have been reports of one's libido being greatly impacted. The victim will be in constant, insurmountable pain unless they relief themselves, then the two bodies will return back to normal."

To her surprise, Bakugou didn't show an ounce of indignation after hearing this piece of information. He seemed almost indifferent.

And there's no denying the truth. Both of their hormones have been off the rails. Ever since the incident in the shower, Bakugou has caught himself numerous times touching Y/N's boobs. Coping a sly feel as he cooked, cleaned, and even while he scrolled through his social media.  Sometimes her ass as well to see if it felt good in his hands. Y/N was no saint either. Sporting boners every hour for no particular reason. All the blood rushing to her lower region became unbearable when she didn't take care of it. Kirishima kept reassuring her that it's natural for a man to get them a lot. But how much was too much?

He threw his hands up in the air and scoffs. "That's it? I just gotta jack off and then we're free from this curse?"

This is the part she dreaded the most. An uncomfortable heat flash roused up her face, a deep shade of red inching across her cheeks and nose.

"No. That's not what it means. We basically have to...ya know...," she paused mid sentence, too bashful to finish, desperately wanting Bakugou to put two and two together.

She shrunk in her position as the blonde narrowed his eyes at her.

"We have to fuck each other?" He profoundly acclaimed.

"Don't put it like that! But yeah, technically, we have to...help relief each other in order to switch back."

"If you wanted to jump my bones so bad you could've just asked." He leans back against the couch, arm draped lazily over the shoulder of the furniture, along with a playful smirk tugging up on the corners of his mouth. Y/N's blood ran cold when she felt the tiniest twitch down below. Her borrowed reproductive organ is betraying her!

"Do you want to be in constant pain till this all wears off? Or do you want to get this over with and never talk to each other again?" Y/N shuffled more towards the abrasive man, a strong tidal wave of anger rising within her.

"It won't matter because you always wound up in my presence anyway. Like a fucking pest that won't leave me alone." Without realizing it, Bakugou got up from his spot on the couch and marched over to Y/N, who at the moment looked like she was about to pop a blood vessel.

Another thing he hated about switching bodies was the fact that everyone towered over him, despite him being on his tippy toes. The woman in front of him acclimated his height, giving her the upperhand if they were to battle it out right now. If anything he could kick her shins at best.

"Whatever...I'm leaving," was all she said before storming off to the front door, grabbing her things along with her as she grew farther from him.

Katsuki's legs were moving on their own. His hand reached out and grabbed Y/N's forearm, halting her movements altogether. She's clearly enraged, thrashing her body back and forth to loosen his grip on her. He eventually grew tired of her stubborness and secured his grip on both of her arms, trapping her between the door and his body, producing a loud 'thump!'. Although he was in her body, he still carried his strength. In a matter of seconds, both Y/N and Bakugou were chest to chest now, their centers tapping aganist each other.  She averted her gaze to the floor, as if their shoes were more interesting than this whole shitshow of a dilema. Bakugou squeezed her shoudlers, a little too much for her liking, to gain her attention again.

"I didn't say no, did I?" he asked hotly, his warm breath hitting her collarbones. An ice cold shiver ran down her spine, causing her breathing to hitch. Bakugou noticed her sudden stiffness and began rubbing gentle circles into the tender flesh of her skin. "Hoho, someone's excited aren't they?"

Confused, Y/N furrowed her brows and backed up further into the wooden door. But her question was soon to be answered as she followed Bakugou's hungry gaze to the prominent bludge taunting from her pants. Betrayed once again by her unstable horniness!

"Guess I'm not the only one," she accuses once spotting the definite wet stain around Bakugou's crotch. He smirked at that.

"Take care of it then," his voice oozed of seduction and want, rewarding him another twitch in your tight pants. The libido was taking full effect now, any animosity they had before was thrown out the window. Past arguments also long forgotten. Their main priority at the moment was to experience the sweet relief of coming undone.

Y/N darted her hand down to the spot Bakugou needed attention from, and cupped his crotch with her abnormally large hand. Bakugou lets out a shaky exhale as her fingers danced around the sensitive area. One of her fingers moved instinctively, feeling how drenched he was in his panties, and rubbed the underside to get a better feel of the sex.

"You're so wet Bakugou," Y/N mused softly. She leaned forward, searching into Bakugou's eyes for any signs of him wanting this to end. But the pool of his irises were blown out, no tint of your original color in them anymore. "Do you want more?"

He nodded quickly, his hair bobbing up and down. Y/N chuckled and removed her hand from its previous position to the hem of Bakugou's shorts, teasingly toying the waistband. She slipped smoothly into his shorts, tickling him in the process, and toyed with the corners of his panties before moving them aside so she could have access to the thing she's been craving to touch. Wetness lathered up her fingers with just one swipe, causing Bakugou to purse his lips and shut his eyes tightly.

"Is Bakugou embarrassed? Are you mad that I have the upper hand now? After all those years of verbally tormenting me, you can't handle my simple touch?" She whispered dangerously close into his ear. During this, she couldn't tell if he was pissed or turned on. Maybe a mixture of both, but she took pride in his strained expression.

"W-Watch your goddamn mouth. Or do I need to shut you up myself, eh?" By shutting her up, he meant mirroring her exact ministrations. The petite hand of Bakugou's latched onto the zipper of her jeans, and impressively dragged it down in one swipe without getting anything caught. He reached into the tight restraints of her boxer briefs and pulled out the hardened dick. He clicked his tongue. "Not to sound like a narcissist, but you gotta admit, my dick looks pretty."

"Just shut up and jerk me off you asshole. I'm starting to see stars," She wasn't lying to speed up the process. Her body felt like it was on fire, including her dick. If Bakugou keeps stalling for the sake of punishing her, then he's going to be seeing white for days on end.

Bakugou tentatively began pumping her, his grip not too tight nor loose on the flesh. Y/N sighed in relief as he swiped his thumb over the slit, covering his fingers in her precum. Seeing that he's giving into her needs, she returned the favor by inserting her index finger inside, not allowing him to adjust once she massaged the velvety walls.

Bakugou arched into Y/N's body, panting harshly against her chest. "H-Hah fuck, slow down. Shit!"

"Take it like a champ, Mr.Dynamight."

"F-Fuck you."

Oh no. Probably shouldn't have patronized him, because Bakugou sped up his languid motions to pure vigorous jerking of the hand. A wave of pleasure shot up through her body, jolting backwards due to the intense sensation. Of course he's a pro at this. What isn't he good at?

Bakugou rested his head onto the crevice of your shoulder since he could only reach so far, and ghosted his lips on the skin, carefully restricting himself to not engage in kissing the area. While doing so, he cupped the underside of your balls, rolling them around in his small hands. They looked so big when being manhandled in her grasp. Y/N stifled her moans as he kept messing with them, all the while stroking her simultaneously. She felt him smile. The cheeky fucker! Two could play it at this game.

Y/N used one of her thumbs that weren't preoccupied inside Bakugou to massage the only place she knew that could make him cum in seconds.  Two fingers inside, one thumb attentively on the clitorous. It was enough to make Bakugou bite down on her shoulder, trying to prevent any moans from escaping his mouth.

"Moan for me Bakugou. I know you want to," she tried to persuade him with more strokes to the clit, occasionally pinching it with her unoccupied fingers. She can feel he was close. So was she. But she needed to coerce him into helping her to finish too. They need to be a team. "Say something Bakugou. Don't you want to cum? If you don't speak your mind I'm going to stop." She couldn't believe the words that were spewing from her mouth. Y/N has never dirty talked before. Nor has she gotten this far with anyone without freezing up. Definitely the libido effect.

Bakugou detached his teeth from her shoulder and stared deeply into her eyes. Pleading.

"Go faster. Please." The want and neediness in his voice said it all.

He indeed felt vulnerable and exposed right then and there when confessing his desire, but he couldn't care less. Her fingers inside him were heavenly. A mantra of ,"yesyesyesyesyesyes", left his throat as her ministrations didn't falter.

"Fuck! Keep going. Just like that- shit - just like that... yesssss." His moans were beautiful. Not because they sounded like hers, but the way how he vocalizes his pleasure made sense in the world. Every whimper or moan puts her closer to the edge.

"Are you- are you about to?" He asked quietly, as though he was afraid you might stop at any rate.

"Yes! So close, just keep stroking," it was difficult to form sentences after that, the build up tension in your stomach tightening like a ticking time bomb, making your pleads indecipherable.

But Bakugou didn't want to hear that. He wanted to her to say those three words of encouragement.

Make. Me. Cum

And then, as if his thoughts were broadcasted live, she snaked her hands into the locks of his hair and pulled him close to where the tips of their noses touched briskly.

In a small voice she whimpers out, "Make me cum, Katsuki."

Listening to her instructions, his grip tightened around the base of her shaft and began teasing the slit, never once averting his glare from her own. Y/N's legs turned into jello. It became harder and harder to stand any longer. She needed to release. She quickened her pace and brutally scissored his pussy, the erotic sounds of their wetness reverberating in the tiny apartment.

"Cum then baby. Cum for me only."

Baby

Next thing she knew a strip of white shot out from below, dirtying the hands of Bakugou's. Her body began to spasm. Katsuki didn't loosen his grip, the stimulation becoming unbearable at this point.

The coil within him loosened, the evidence of his climax coating her fingers, allowing his orgasum to reach its full potential.

The pair blacked out for a split second, but recuperated once the light hit their corneas again.

"Shit." "Fuck." "..." "..."

Silence. Then the realization hit.

"I'm staring at you and not me! It worked! Hallelujah!" Y/N exclaimed, feeling herself to make sure it wasn't a hallucination.

"Gross. You got cum all over my expensive shirt," he said, wiping away the white substance with his sleeve.

Both of them went into the kitchen to clean the after math. Bakugou would grunt occasionally in disgust, sponging away the grime. Y/N throughly washed her hands and towel dried them, thoughts stiffly empty and vexed. She broke the awkward tension.

"Well, I guess we should call Endeavor and inform him that we switched back."

He hummed in agreement.

"And we should probably exchange our things tomorrow or tonight, but preferably soon since we're going to be on duty again."

Another grunt.

"Don't worry about me mentioning this to anyone. We can just keep whatever happened minutes ago between us-

Bakugou cut her off entirely by smashing his lips against hers. Shell shocked by his action, Y/N kept her eyes wide open whilst Bakugou's were knitted shut. She laid her hands on his chest and shoved him away harshly, putting their distance at arms reach.

"Bakugou, what the hell? All of sudden you want to kiss me?" Y/N's face fell, contorting into a mixture of sadness and confusion. "You only kiss people you like. Not hate."

Bakugou moved towards Y/N slowly, a hint of a smile forming as he neared closer.

"And that's exactly why I did it, idiot," he proclaimed confidently, cupping the side of her face. The touch was so tender and gentle she forgot that it was Bakugou at first.

"You're toying with me, aren't you? The libido is probably still lingering. If you really liked me, then tell me the exact moment you did."

Without hesitation he said, "The first day of school. When you walked in."

Y/N slapped the hand from her face, her skin flushing red by his blunt confession.

"Stop lying. You were mean to me the first day of school. And every day after that. I don't think calling people a "weakling" or "stupid" constitutes as liking someone."

All he did was chuckle and continued scooting closer, eventually towering above her. She squirmed underneath him. She secretly missed having his height.

"You're absolutely stupid if you think I really meant any of that crap. I may have gone overboard on the whole berating thing, but that was just my way of pushing my feelings away, in hopes you'd improve better and not take shit from people like me."  

"Ya know, it's kind of hard to detect that when you were practically spitting on my face."

He leaned down and pecked a chaste kiss on the crown of her forehead.

"You can call me all the names you want later. Kick my ass if ya want, but for now let me make it up to you," he whispers before planting his mouth to hers again, only this time she didn't protest.

Heat swirled within her as she watched Katsuki's eyes flutter close, enriched in the moment to open them, and gripped the base of her neck to apply more pressure into the kiss. The man guided her as he moved his plushed lips ontop of hers, consuming the pretty noises she made. And my, were they absoultey rich coming from her.

I want to hear more, the selfish thought banged repeatedly inside his lust filled mind.

Y/N nervosuly closed her eyes shut when Katsuki's wet tongue prodded the entrance of her tight, lipped mouth. Letting him take full control, Katsuki managed to enter the strong muscle into her wet mouth and explored the canvernous place with such eagerness, such tenacity. Like he's been dying to do this for as long as his skillful mind can remember. Y/N found herself moaning as Katsuki grabbed her waist and forcefully collieded their bodies together, her soft breasts pressed up against his hard chest. Her perky tits put him in a trance, remincseing back to the day when first touched them, the guiltiness eating him up from the inside-out. Katsuki slithered one of his hands to the taunt boob and gave it a firm squeeze, causing Y/N to squeak out in embarrasement. They still feel fucking amazing in his hands.

"You're so fucking cute," he drew back from her, already out of breath. Everything was hitting him like a tsunami. He can finally admit to himself that he's been wanting this since they became co-workers. Hell, since the fucking beginning. Younger Katsuki would deem him as a horny loser who lost at his own game, but he wasn't a damn kid anymore.

"K-Katsuki...bedroom?" her hands found their way back into his crisp locks, futher egging him to comply. The small action made him moan.

"Fuck yes," Katsuki growled out and in a haste hooked his arms underneath the back of Y/N's thighs, hoisting her in the air to lead them into the bedroom they're both familair with.

Journeying to her bedroom became a difficult task. If only she'd stop giving his neck, the most sensitve spot out of his entire body, kitten kisses then he'd be plowing her back by now. He grew weaker by the second as the shy, acute kisses trandsitioned into full on sucking and biting. Not that he was complaining.

Katsuki threw her down onto the bed, unable to contain his smile when she hiccuped a chorus of giggles. God, even her giggles are fucking contagious. Strong arms scooped her up momentarily, bringing her to the center of the bed. Grazing her aching spot was Katsuki's growing buldge. Y/N circled her arms around his tiny waist squeezing him closely as Katsuki rolled his hips downwards to meet hers. She seized Katsuki's bicep, whimpering, and rythmically pushed her groin towards his, the tin material of her shorts scraping the surface of his jeans deliciously. His head dragged down to her collarbones, panting softly, wetting the skin from the condesation of his breath.

"I want you so fucking bad, please," he managed to choke out in between the continous grinding.

Gaining a newfound confidence, Y/N mimiced the way how Bakugou unzipped her when they were still in opposite bodies and peeled back his briefs till his inflamed member popped out, smacking his lower belly. He cursed under his breath noticing the immense amount of pre-cum leaking from the head. As much as she wanted to lick it all up, there were other things to tend to. She shimmied out from her skimpy shorts and crop top, not wasting any time for lingering touches. But Y/N caught a menacing glare in his eyes. His attention was focused on something else. Looking down, she saw that she was sporting a sheer laced bra with matching panties. She definitely doesn't remember having these in her personal closet.

"You bought me lingerie?" Y/N tried to sound unfazed at the thought of Katsuki willingly purchasing these pretty undergarments for her. That must mean he's seen her boobs!

"Yeah? So what if I did. Your sense of fashion is nonexistent. I pitied you that much to where I bought you shit with my own money."

His face was stern, scarily resembling the times he'd be bashing someone's head on the concrete during a bloody battle. But his eyes told a different story. She couldn't quite pin point the time or place when she witnessed the same gleaming spark in those vermilion orbs, but she felt safe and wanted all in one.

So she began teasing the straps of her bra, head still in disbelief that the blonde underneath her bought it, and let the material slip off her shoulder seductively. Bakugou's breathing quickened as he watched y/n toy with the next strap. He stopped her midway.

"No," his fingers were ironically cold.

"No?" She questioned him, awkwardly frozen still on his lap. His evident boner pushing up against her sex, making her wet even more.

Numbly, Bakugou pulled up both of the straps to her bra and chuckled lightly to himself.

"I wanna fuck you with this on. It's been on my mind since I bought it," he admitted out loud.

Y/N held back a moan, his words carrying so much weight to them all the while directing it straight to her drenched pussy.

Without saying a word, y/n left acute kisses on Bakugou's neck, trailing it down further and further till she reached the leaking head of his member. He became antsy as she wrapped her petite hand around the base, fingers tracing the topography of his veins. Y/N saw the desperate look on his face and took all of him in her mouth, holding in the breath of oxygen she took before doing so. Bakugou hissed, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip nearly ripping the skin apart. This feels way better and more appropriate. He prefers her wet mouth over her fingers any day of the week.

Y/N sucked in her cheeks, allowing herself to take more of his member. The tip of his head eventually hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag and choke due to the sudden pressure.

"F-Fuck. Holy shit, keep going," Katsuki begged, tears swelling in his ducts already.

The saliva from her open mouth created a natural lubricant, making it easy for her to bob her head up and down. Bakugou's ears picked up the erotic wet squelching sounds coming from her as she kept up the brutal pace, the noise alone making him want to come undone. The sight of y/n slobbering on his dick is now engraved in his head. He let out a wanton moan when she played with his balls, recalling the memory of him performing the same ministration on himself with her beautiful hands.

He can feel the familiar sensation spreading down below, his throat constricting as the stimulation of her sucking and licking becoming too much. Before she could continue, Bakugou reached over and lifted her head by her hair.

"I can't hold it in any longer. I need to be inside you now," his voice was strained to point where it came out as a whisper.

Pushing her back gently, Bakugou latched his mouth onto hers as he spread her legs wide apart. Revealing a canal of her wetness dripping from her panties to the inner thighs. Bakugou licked his lips hungrily. Mentally slapping himself for not tasting her before she gave him head. He'll make sure to explore that endeavor later.

Lips still locked, Bakugou tugged the bottom half of her laced panties aside, strings of her glistening wetness shimmering, and positioned himself at her aching entrance. The tip of his cock teased her folds, coating it even more. He agonizingly went in slow circles, occasionally slapping her clit with it. Y/N's arms were above her head, clutching the linen sheets in anticipation. Katsuki smirked against her lips at her wrecked expression.

"Bakugou please...," y/n pleaded with her full chest. She wants to know how it feels to be wrapped around him. To be one with him. "Don't hold back. Just fuck me."

Bakugou's eyes grew darker after the demand, pure lust taking control over his body now. He sheathed into her quickly without taking his eyes off of her face. A quiet whimper left her throat when he fully bottomed out. He checked for any signs of y/n looking displeased or uncomfortable, but he got his answer when he felt her legs wrap around his torso, pulling him in as close as possible. Bakugou basks in at the sight of y/n sucking him completely, her legs fully bent back in an awkward position. He decides to pull his cock halfway out. y/n whimpers due to loss of friction but gets rewarded seconds later when Katsuki rams his cock inside again, pushing all his weight onto her.

"Oh, fuck, Katsuki!," she whines, instinctively clutching her walls around him.

"You're so tight for me huh baby? Can't help but to clamp around this dick," Katsuki sneered while pumping tentative thrusts into her.

His hands clasped both of her thighs now, pulling her towards him, urging her to move in a harmonious dance with him. Finding somewhat of a rhythm, y/n fucked Katsuki back by rolling her hips, a synapse of heat exchanging between them. Sweat starts dripping down from the crown of his forehead onto the peaks of her breasts. Lost in thought, he tipped his head forward and lapped up the remains of his salty musk, tongue expertly twirling around the taunt nipple. Y/N mewled, hands searching - reaching - for anything to ground herself, settling on interlocking her fingers with Katsuki's nitroglycerin drenched hands. She titled her head and took a whiff.

Caramel and soap

A popping sound went off in her ears. Katsuki released her swollen tit only to look up with hooded eyes, his infamous smirk on full display.

"Open your mouth," was all he said before raising one of his fingers that she was so embarrassingly fixated on moments ago. When she didn't obey Katsuki grabbed her by the jaw and shoved not one, not two, but three fingers in her mouth. Like with his cock, she couldn't handle the intensified pressure in the back of her throat, gagging instantaneously.

"Atta girl. Just take my fingers like a good bitch. Oh? You like it when I degrade you huh? Don't lie, you tightened instantly when I said that." Katsukis pace sped up rapidly, pumping into her cunt like a madman, fingers still lodge down her throat. Each thrust left her shuddering for more, his hips meeting hers to create a loud song, the noise drowning out her muffled screams.

It became hard to see now, a tunnel vision of just a crimson glow. Soon she feels herself becoming light. Katsuki grew impatient and flipped y/n on her stomach, a tiny oof rocked out from her, and inserted his member back into her stretched out cunt.

Y/N yelps as Katsuki's cock hits the sweet spot - fresh tears flooding down her flushed face, babbling nonsense into her pillow.

She caves, sobbing, "yes, yes, ohgod. you feel so good. you're so fucking good -ah katsuki!"

Looming over her trembling body, the blonde slows his harsh thrusts to a savagely slow grind. He lowly chuckles watching her writhe and wiggle her body in desperation.

"You think you can just come that easy? Beg for me to let you come!"

Smack!

A harsh sting rattled her lower back, causing her to bite down harshly on her lip to avoid showing any pain.

"Such an asshole..." y/n huffed out, oblivious to the way how Katsuki was preparing for her next punishment.

Smack! Smack!

"Not good. Ask nicely for me to fuck this pretty pussy into the mattress."

More whimpers into the tear stained pillow.

"P-Please Katsuki..." she begins, frustration growing exponentially with every word. "Fuck me. I need your cock. I always needed your cock Katsuki. Make me scream out your name when I come!"

She didn't even have time to process what she said before Katsuki enclosed his hand around her throat, forcefully dragging her writhing body to his chest, cranking her head in a 90 degree angle. Cock still warming up her insides.

"That's my girl," he said before kissing her lips again, devouring the sweet noises she made.

Her neighbors were in for a long night. - Both of their bodies the next morning faced more damage than any crusade of a patrol. Bruises painted the outskirts of y/n's body, trailing from her thighs to the divots of her breasts. Katsuki paid no mind to it, seeing how he can make a bloody lip a trailblazer look.

Even though no one wanted speak much about the issue at hand - last night was a pivotal moment for their relationship.

Because y/n wouldn't be making a fresh batch of coffee for the Katsuki Bakugou in her kitchen right now.

Because Bakugou wouldn't be lounging by her washing machine, waiting for the timer to go off so he can put her bed sheets in the dryer.

They found themselves sitting comfortably in silence - the soft whipping of car horns outside her cracked window - Katsuki blowing on his coffee before taking a sip. It all seemed unreal to her. In any other circumstance they'd be at each other's necks by now, screaming nuisances in the air. She considers this whole ordeal a ruse. But it isn't. Thank god it isn't. Because Katsuki never looked calmer or relaxed in his entire life till now. And she wasn't going to bat an eye away from this ground breaking phenomenon.

Intently watching him drink from across the table, she ponders if Katsuki liked her from the get go, and maybe just disguised his feelings with disgust towards her later on. The question will go unanswered, possibly until he confides and tells the story himself, but for now she was content not knowing the what if.

"How did you know I like black coffee?" Katsuki asks, quirking up an eyebrow at her.

Y/N takes a long drag from her mug, indulging in the sweet taste of the caramel creamer.

She smiles and says, "I don't know. Just took a wild guess."

-

[closhelby]

HER. - Thomas Shelby

Smut

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: it’s peaky blinders, with smut

Word Count: 2472

AN: this is my first time writing smut, please give me any tips pls, it’s appreciate. It’s probably shite.

::::::

She always was on his mind. The woman, that always read between the lines, always two steps ahead of him, and had an incredible eye for business. She had left him years prior, leaving for a top business school in London. they never had a title, a label on their relationship, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that they always, somehow, gravitated back to one another. Often people, especially Polly, would say that there was no way two people would be so alike, strong headed but only rarely clashed. 

However y/n’s degree had finished and she was coming back to Small Heath for a period of time before she was going to figure out what exactly what she wanted to do. Y/n was actually great friends with the Shelby family, since growing up with them, living just down the road, they practically lived together. Y/n was actually younger than Tommy, she was ages with Ada and John. They were in the same class throughout school, Ada and y/n regularly wrote to each other, updating each other on Ada’s eventful life as a Shelby still in Small Heath and y/n’s very exciting studying life in London. 

They had actually planned to meet up, for a nice and quiet drink at the Garrison on her return. The thoughts swirled in y/n’s mind as she approached the Garrison, it had just gone 6pm, and she knew as it was a Friday, she did have a possibly of bumping into her first, arguably her only love.  Pushing the thoughts to the back of her head, she pushed open the door to see a fairly crowded Garrison. 

“Ah, y/n, how was London?” Harry shouted, from behind the bar. Y/n smiled at him, walking over to Ada sitting in the back corner. “It was good Harry, nice to be back in this clear Birmingham air”. He chuckled slightly, “Whiskey coming up love”. 

Y/n nodded, taking a seat next to Ada, giving her a cuddle, “Unsure if ive missed this place or not” y/n laughed slightly, eyes scanning the pub, looking for the one man she questioned if she did want to bump into. The pair was throwing back drinks like it was going out of fashion, knowing they would both regret this in the morning. Apparently, Ada wasn't allowing y/n to go back home, and in fact y/n didn't have a home yet and wasn't willing to go back to her parents, so Ada was insisting that she stayed at hers until y/n found a suitable place. Y/n didnt put up a fight, despite them both being hot heads, and taking absolutely no shit from anyone, men or woman, y/n didn't argue. She was actually really thankful for her. 

They eventually stumbled into the house in the early hours of the morning, their laughs echoing throughout the silent house. 

::::

The sun caught y/n directly in the eyes, quickly awoke y/n from her sleep. Her head felt as though someone had been hitting her head against the floor multiple times. Y/n continued to lay there, turning away from the sun, trying to keep the contents of her stomach from getting sprayed all over her and the sleeping Ada. She made an attempt at moving, sat with her head in her hands as she was trying to give herself words of encouragement to get up and make herself something to eat. 

“Fuck sake, why do we do this to ourselves?” Ada moaned from behind her. Y/n scoffed, “ Your bloody idea”.

Quickly standing up, in hope she could get it over with quickly. The room continuing to spin, as she attempted to walk to the door. Ada following closely behind. 

They both sat slumped over the dining room table, as they attempted to sober up and embrace the oncoming hangover. John now present, laughing at the two dying woman in front of him. 

“Good night?”

“Always.” Ada grumbled.

Pol placed a plate in front of them, toast with jam, “Does Tommy know your back? 

Eyes falling onto y/n from every person in their, “No.” answering quietly. 

Attempting to change the subject, “Told myself I would start looking for a new job today, since I shall be staying here for a decent period of time.”

John raised his eyebrow, “Tommy’s looking for a new secretary.” A slight smile on his face, “You've got a good background, business and that”.

“hm, I don't think so Johny boy”.    

“Don’t say no too soon, your a good asset to the business.” Pol added. No one was ever in y/n’s corner more than Pol, they would bang heads sometimes, as neither of them would back down. But she accepted y/n was the only one that had the best interest for Tommy.

The front door closed, and there he stood, the room turning to face Tommy, silence filling the room, then he broke it, “Heard you were back.”

“Yeah,” she replied quietly.

“Well, you know where I am if you need that job, I’m sure you’ve already been told,” he spoke, cigarette hanging from his mouth, as he walked away from them and into his office.

Y/n let out a breath, as though she hadn’t been breathing the whole time he was there. Ada smiled at her, placing her hand onto y/n’s, “I’m just going to get ready for the day love,” and off she went upstairs. The boys getting on with their day, and Pol following suit.

Y/n sat collecting her thoughts while trying to tell herself to face her ex lover, who she was still so deeply in love with. She tapped on the door slightly, opening it before opening it, “hi”, seeing his eyes flutter onto her shot tingles throughout her body, his eyes quickly looking away

“You can start tomorrow if you wish, I need a few papers signed and sent tomorrow. I can get your contract drawn up tonight.” He spoke, his eyes still not lifting from the paper in front of him.

“Yes, that’s fine 8am?”

“8.45, shop doesn’t open until 9. And there are others to set it up, that’s not your job.”

Nodding, “I heard you have a new woman.”

At this point he did look up at her, “I heard you had plenty men in London,”

She laughed slightly, nodding before heading to the door, “none were ever a patch on you,” closing the door, leaving a smirk on Thomas Shelbys face.

The following day came around, as y/n got ready for the day. Putting on a formal black tightly fitted dress, flats and pin curled hair. A slight tint of red lippy, remembering it used to be Tom’s favourite. Assuming Tommy wouldn’t be at the shop at this time, she took a whiskey with her placing it on the desk infront of Tommy’s office. The place was silent, despite there being other employees now starting to arrive, something calming about the place, almost the calm before the storm, she thought.

The hour was now around ten thirty, and there was still no sign of Tommy. She had already finished the papers he had left for her on her desk. It wasn’t the usual small Heath lady, she was educated, and to a very high level. y/n was sat twiddling her thumbs, awaiting Tommy’s arrival to get other things done.

“Y/n. My office please,” his voice low, as he stood behind her. She stood up quickly, following him into the private room.

“There’s your contract, if you wish to have a read over it. I see you’ve finished the work I gave given you for the day.”

Y/n took the contract into her hands, scanning for any mistakes or anything to question. But he actually was paying her nearly double the rate of other staff, and just over that the London rate was, “you’ve done your research eh. More than London rates, impressive. The peaky’s are stepping up in the world” Y/n smiled at him, as she placed the documents on the desk, picking up his pen, and signing it. Y/n Y/l/n. Followed with today’s date. That was now it, she was a Shelby Co Ltd employee.

...

The days turned into weeks, spending time with tommy while no one else was looking was becoming a regular thing. She now had her own place, just doors down from the shop. He would regularly call her into the office, and discuss things that he would usually never utter a word about. It had always been that way with them, since they were little, he would confine in her, telling her all the issue and problems he was facing, both in his mind and with others. But it was also coming to her attention that he was still seeing Grace.

Later on in the day, the clock chimes 11pm, as y/n sat listening to the music that takes her back to a child, while sipping a whiskey. The knock of her front door bringing her out of her daydream, she picked up her handgun that she kept on her at all times. Growing up with The Shelby’s, she had to protect herself in someway. She kept it behind her, out of view for anyone who was in front of her, slowly creeping up to answer the door. She swung it open, gun clocked and pointed directly in the face of Thomas Shelby. Not wasted, but defiantly had a few.

“Ah, can never change a Shelby girl eh” He spoke, laughing slightly as she lowered the gun and he stepped inside. 

“Although, I’ve never been a Shelby girl, have I Tom?”

“Depends who you ask.”

She sighed, stepping in to the fire lit living room, “Drink?”

He nodded in response, and y/n began to pour him a whiskey, topping up hers and handing a full glass over to him. “Why are you here?”

He stepped over to her, the closest they had been together since before she left for London. He placed a hand on her back, pulling her head into touch his, their foreheads touching. The sensation ran through her body like the first time they had ever touched. He placed his hand on around the back of her neck, pulling her into him, his lips crashing onto hers. Their tongues intertwining with each others as the kiss started to deepen.  Y/n reached for his jacket, pulling it off his back, before making her way on to unbuttoning his shirt. Tommy pulled the bottom of her nightdress up, y/n only allowing the kiss to be broken to allow it to come over her head. 

Their lips syncing with each other once again as tommy took his now unbuttoned shirt off, moving onto unbuckling his trousers revealing his already hard length. He began to push her back onto the couch, untangling her lace thongs from around her legs. His fingers trailing over her already wet pussy, “Do it” y/n whispered as she pulled his face back up to kiss hers. 

He didn't even wait as he shoved his length into her. Their bodies rocked in sync together, “Tommy...” Y/n moaned, her fingers trailing down his shirtless torso. The stars were starting to align, the room was warm, full of love. It felt as though it was five minutes but in reality it was around fifteen all in.

Their breath shortened as y/n’s back started to arch as she came close to climax, “cum for me”. He spoke, looking at her directly in the eyes as he rocked her world. The love, chemistry, love and lust, all so very present just as it was back how they were before. Both of them moaning in pleasure, as they both came at the same time. The deep breaths and steamy windows showing the passion that had just unfolded. 

::::::::::::::::::::

It was a Friday evening, a week following the night of sin that taken place between Tommy and Y/n. They had still had the talks in private in the office, and on another occasion she was fucked bent over his desk after closing time. Y/n wasn't one to hide her feelings, it would always be present on her face so when it came to facing Grace in the Garrison, it wasn't hard to tell how y/n’s feelings were over her.  

Pol chuckled softly, clocking the glare Grace was on the opposite end of, “If looks could kill” Ada joining in on the hilarity. 

“She would've been killed 8 times over” Y/n replied, turning back to face the women. Whiskey in hand. 

“Feelings still there for him then?” Ada asked. 

“No, I wouldnt say so” y/n lied. 

“Cant lie to a gypsy woman love” Pol laughed, y/n begining to laugh with her when the doors open to reveal Tommy and his two bothers. Tommy’s icy blue eyes scanning the room, a slight smile shooting over to Y/n before approching the bar where Grace was, where he stood there for a good twenty minutes chatting away to her. 

“I cant take this anymore.” y/n looked over to Ada, who was rising her eyebrow while taking a sip of her drink. She was fairly close to them, and y/n being y/n liked to have a slight stir up now and again. She stood up, smile showing on her face as Pol and Ada laughed, watching her approach them both. 

“So, hows your little fling going?” she spok loud enough that Pol, Ada, Arthur and John could hear her. 

“Y/n” Tommy warned. 

“Who are you?” Grace questioned. 

“Y/N,” she responded, leaning herself against the bar, “The woman he has fucked behind your back multiple times this week.”

Pol snorted, almost chocking on her drink, “ I fucking knew it. Gypsy senses never lie.” 

“To be honest with you Grace, you had absolutely no chance when Y/N came back” Ada added. 

At this point, Tommy had moved y/n away from the bar, into the small room, “what are you doing?”

“You cant take the piss out of me, fucking me but then fucking her thinking youll get away with it.” she was pissed, and he could see it in her face. They had never spoke on their feelings toward each other. Everyone knew that it was always each other but there was nothing that compared to them, they always seemed to go back.

“I have always loved you but you left to go to London, I had people follow you. I knew what you were up to so I assumed you would stay down there, I assumed you had moved on.” He spoke, almost showing vulnerability.

“Oh I know. I can remember faces Tom. I think you forget I can see right through you,” she seethed, through her teeth, “what are you going to do about this?”

Tommy cupped her face, pulling her into kiss her.

“I love you.” He mumbled, feeling her smile into their kiss.

“I love you Tom,”

[ivybucky]

dog tags and photographs - s.r. x fem!reader

Request from @moonstuffsteve : OK OK BUT CAN I REQUEST A STEVE FIC WHERE READER IS LIKE WASHING HIS UNIFORM AND FINDS A PICTURE OF HER IN THE SUIT AND GETS ALL HAPPY AND LIKE STEALS HIS DOGTAGS AND STEVE THINKS ITS THE CUTEST THING EVER THANK YOU

a/n: this was adorable and just so domestic so thank you Al! I’ve fallen into a nice little writing routine recently and ive been cranking these requests out like they’re NOTHING. as always, thanks for supporting my writing and fics i put out- i really want this blog to turn into something great, but i need to work on it a little bit more. 

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author: abby<3

words: 1385

cw: mention of stress, rough mission, domesticity, worry

Y/N smiled to herself as she listened to her boyfriend’s snores echoing through the apartment, something he swore he didn’t do. She had half a mind to record it, but the win wasn’t worth the fight.

She picked his uniform off the ground of the bedroom, shaking off whatever dust she could. His undershirt was thrown across the room next to the bed. She gathered it in her arms before looking towards his sleeping face. His hair had stuck to his forehead, sweat and dirt acting as an adhesive. Her nails picked at it, brushing it away from his face, before laying a sweet kiss to his forehead where his brows were drawn up with whatever dream he was having.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to wash Steve’s uniform. While he was definitely a gentleman, who would never make her do his laundry, Y/N took pride in doing this for him whenever he had a rough mission. He could sleep off the stress while you made sure he woke up to a stress and responsibility-free environment.

She huffed, walking towards the washer, making a mental reminder to set his combat boots out to dry the mud he tried to avoid tracking in. How many pockets does a combat suit need? You don’t see Nat with this many pockets. She knew how Steve was, how he had his own knives, and tools scattered between the fabric of his uniform. Opening every pocket was more of a chore than actually doing the washing, but it was part of the process.

Her hands brushed over soft paper, different from the usual metals that she found from extra bullets to blades. No, this was soft, pliable to her working fingers. She tugged the gently folded piece from his chest pocket. Curiosity grabbed a hold of her, urging her to unfold it and inspect it carefully. It was a photo of the two of them, when they had gone out for her birthday in the last month. He had pulled them to the park, stopping by her favorite store, and then taking a stroll. Y/N had convinced him to take pictures with the self timer on her polaroid, leading to him keeping the photo.

She hadn’t expected him to hold to it like this, folded neatly into the pocket of what he wore whenever he was away from her. She smiled, remembering how he had wrapped his arms around her that day, resting his chin at the juncture of her neck. Happy looked good on him.

She set the photo down in the basket she used to keep his things together, reminding herself to ask about it later. The washer rumbled slightly as the heavy fabric sloshed in the water.

“Sweetheart?” He called through the apartment, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hi sleepyhead,” she wrapped her arms around his middle. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Where’s my-”

“In the wash, don’t worry about it.”

“Wait,” his back stiffened in panic. “Is it already running?”

“Baby, I said don’t worry I got everything out of the pockets.”

He paused again, cheeks going a little bit redder. “Everything?”

Y/N only smiled knowingly, reaching up to press a smile to his cheek. “Everything. Now what do you want for dinner?”

He smiled sheepishly, following her into the kitchen.

----

A couple of weeks had gone by and all Y/N felt was guilt. While she knew that she was caring enough in her relationship with Steve, she had sort of underestimated her importance to him. Important enough to carry a physical photograph in his uniform.

And while he obviously had held onto something of her while he was away, Y/N had yet to find something to bring her own self any kind of comfort. Most days spent alone while Steve was on a mission were spent trying to stay busy, to keep her mind off worrying. The missions where he couldn’t communicate were the worst. The only thing to keep her feet on the ground was their apartment. The way his scent lingers on the sheets, the small stack of drawing journals in the corner of their room, the record player sitting in the living room. While they were all things uniquely him, they weren’t close enough, needing to hold more meaning.

He was gone now, hundreds of miles away, doing what he did best - be a hero. Y/N’s knee bounced as she sat back on the couch, waiting for her boyfriend to return. He had sent a message hours ago, saying he was on his way back, saying not to wait up. She knew she would stay away as long as she could though, just to see him when he returned.

She tried to relax, wearing one of his large t-shirts and listening to a soft record as she waited. Time, however, was not kind and only continued to move slowly. With a sigh, she decided to do some chores, any chores that were left, to pass the time. That is when she saw them.

While Steve had amazing leadership skills, he was, in reality, quite forgetful when he wasn’t focused on doing his patriotic deeds. That’s why when Y/N moved to the bathroom to change out the towels and saw Steve’s dog tags on the counter, she paused. Thin metal was smooth through fingers, save for the imprints of his name and service numbers that her thumb ran over gently.

It was bittersweet, honestly - holding the thing that began Steve’s entire career, and not having him there to bring any kind of comfort. She pushed away whatever sadness remained, clutching the chain to her chest as she walked back to the living room. Without thinking too much about it, she slipped the necklace over her head, letting the tags hang just under her sternum.

Suddenly, she had something. Something with much more meaning than a scent, something tangible, something close enough. Her worried adrenaline left her body, and as she settled into the couch, she was able to fall asleep with ease for the first time since he had left.

--

Steve was almost worried when he entered the quiet apartment. His return was usually met with some kind of fanfare - a tight hug around his neck, a body scan for any injuries, an interrogation of his mental well-being. Tonight though, the apartment remained quiet as he shuffled through the threshold of the front door. His eyes swept over what he could see, finding nothing too out of place. Of course she cleaned. His ears, those genetically modified ears, however, picking up the slight snore, something she swore she didn’t do, of her sleeping form.

His feet carried him to the living room where she laid against the cushions, wrapped in his shirt, clutching his military tags in her hand. His shoulders dropped as he took in the sight, a new kind of relief hitting his body.

He crouched down, a dirty hand gently brushing the hair away from her forehead. “Y/N?”

“Mmm?” she mumbled, brows scrunching at the vibration of his voice. “Steve? You’re home.”

“Yeah, baby,” he smiled. “Want me to carry you to bed?”

Y/N rubbed her eyes as she nodded, tags falling from her fingers. He swept her up in his arms, thanking a god he had strength in his body. Her head rested against his chest, hand trailing over his heart. His mouth pressed a kiss to her forehead, adoring the sight before him.

“You wearing my tags?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb whatever peace she still held onto.

“‘M sorry. Was missing you.”

“Shh, baby, don’t apologize.” He set her body down in the bed, pulling the sheets up over body. “You look better in them than I do.”

He left her to take a shower, but not before she called out for him, grabby hands sent in his direction. “Steve?”

“I’m coming right back, I just gotta wash off. I’m covered in sweat.”

“Don’t care. C’mere.”

He chuckled, slipping out of his uniform and saddling up next to her under the sheets. He kissed her head again, whispering words of love and comfort as she fell back into her slumber.

He had never been happier to fall asleep in his life.

forever tags: @avengers-do-it-better @maisondumepris​ @hamiltonwrite12​

steve and bucky tags: @fab-notfat​ @mcueveryday​ @nanners-the-great​ @mcubuckyandsteve @captainfile​ @moonstuffsteve​

steve only tags: @patzammit​

[yandere-dark-cupid]

If you’re requests are open can I get a Yandere Zuko x fem reader where after the war he looks for his darling by making his guards track her down but without anyone knowing bc he doesn’t want ppl to think that he’s back into his old ways again and keeps her in the palace

Ok Angel 💜👌💜. If you want, I could continue this as a mini part to part scenario series if I have the time T.Angel. There is just so many ideas worming around this concept and just think of the crazy things the darling and Zuko is going to go through, while also keeping both of their identities on the veeery low-key. Just let me know Angel 😊☕💜.

Also everyone is going to be aged up to 18+ Btw.

Side note: For the sake of this scenario, the darling will be from the Southern Water tribe. If this Angel decides to let me continue this as a mini scenario series, then the both of us are going to talk about if the darling can be a Waterbender or not.

Warning ⚠!!!: Their is going to be some slight Nsfw in this.

Yandere Zuko: A Dragon's treasure

Five weeks. It has been five weeks since you've went missing. Once the war has ended, Zuko was planning to propose to you. But every since his coronation of being crowned the new FireLord, you just up and vanished. It was like you were never there in the first place. And Zuko has been scattering everywhere in the palace and Fire nation to find you or some type of clue. But nothing. There was nothing there. You really covered your tracks, didn't you?

Right now Zuko was in his thrown room. He was fuming- No steaming with rage. If anyone were to walk in to the room, they'll notice it was boiling in there. He tried to look everywhere in the palace. Even outside the palace. But to no avail. Zuko couldn't find you. You've made it clear that you don't want to be with him or any where near him with this type of stunt you've pulled.

Zuko took a seat on his thrown. His hands was on his head, just about ready to pull his hair out and shout in frustration. But then a knock on the door stop him. " *Frustrated sigh* State your name and your business." Zuko said with spite and a hint of venom in his voice. The person behind the door flinched at his tone of voice. "It's me Sir. The guard you put in charge of the search party for Ms.Y/N". Zuko perked up at the mention of his missing lover's name. " Come in. " said Zuko. With out a second thought, the guard entered the room. She bowed down in respect for her FireLord.

" FireLord Zuko I have an update about Ms.Y/N's whereabouts. " Said the guard. She almost stuttered. The guard noticed how extremely hot it was in the thrown room. It was a clear sign that FireLord Zuko was pissed out of his mind. " Well, " Zuko said in annoyance and anger. Zuko was beyond angry at this point. He was a whole entire cluster fuck of emotions right now. " M-me and m-my crew found some people who could be connected to Ms.Y/N's disappearance , your majesty. " Stuttered the guard in slight fear. Zuko quirked up an eyebrow at what the guard said.

Ah. So the guard managed to find the ones responsible for his darling's vanishment, or at least had some part in it. " Bring them in. " Zuko said. The guard only merely nodded, not wanting to meet the FireLord's intimidating gaze. The guard got off their knees and went to call the other guards, to bring out the people that played some part of the darling going missing. The other guards quickly brought out four other people. Those people was tied up, bounded, and blind folded. The people was visibly quivering in fear. They were very confused and scared on what they did to upset the FireLord.

The four guards forcefully pushed the four people down to the floor. Each guard took off each person's blind fold. In front of the four people, there sat the FireLord in all his glory. FireLord Zuko glared down at the 4 people in a burning gaze. So these disgusting pathetic excuses of human was responsible for his darling going missing. Zuko scoffed at the thought. After a painful intimidating stare down, Zuko finally spoke. " So your the ones held responsible for Y/N's disappearance. " Zuko spat out to them with his voice dipped in poison.

" I-if y-you're talking about a someone that has (h/c), (e/c), and (s/c) then t-they came to m-my store to buy clothes." The woman stuttered in fear. Zuko stayed quite and only listened. " If you're talking about the same person; they came to my food stand and brought some food. " the old man said quickly in fear of what the FireLord would do to him if he took so long to explain himself. Zuko only merely quirks his eyebrow. " Y-yeah, that same person came to my Shop and bought some bags and extra equipment as his they were going on a trip. " The man said while sweating nervously. " The same person came to shack a-and brought some w-weapons. " Said the short lady in fear. Zuko only hmmed at what they said.

" So you're telling me the lady you just described went to all of your stores and shops to buy something. " Zuko said still glaring down the four people. " Y-yes. " the woman squeaked in fear. The old man only nodded quickly. " Mhm. " both the man and woman said. Zuko got up from his thrown and began to walk down to his stand. " What should we do with them you highness? " Said one of the guards. " Bring them to the dungeon. I will decide what to do with them later. " Said Zuko. " I-I don't understand what did we do wrong. " Stuttered the woman in fear and nervousness. Zuko quickly turned to the woman, the woman quickly shuts her mouth. Zuko then begins to slowly walk towards her.

Zuko shot one of his hands out and grasps the woman's face in a painful grip. The woman squeaks in surprise and fear. Zuko just merely just glares down at her. His eyes is filled with a flaming rage. " You all are held responsible for the disappearance of Y/N, " Zuko spat out in anger. Zuko releases his hand from woman's face. Zuko steps away from the woman and is now in front of the four bounded people. " Since you all play a part in my- err Y/N's disappearance, you all will be punished accordingly. " The four people only shook even more at FireLord Zuko's statement. " All of you take them away were they'll never see the light of day again. " Zuko said with venom dripping from his voice.

The four guards only bowed and said a quick " yes sir ". With that they took the four people away. Now Zuko was once again left in his thrown room...... alone.

Zuko let out a sigh of frustration out. He walked towards a window that was in the room. He stared down at his people, he was thinking about something. Based on what the four people said, Zuko can conclude that his darling is no longer in the Fire nation. Zuko dug into his pocket and took out something. It was a necklace. A betrothed necklace to be more specific. You see his darling was not from the fire nation, no no no. You were from a Water tribe, the Southern Water tribe to put it. While Zuko was on his trip to help Aang defeat his father and help him master firebending, Zuko found out from Katara on what her necklace means. He found out that from the Water tribe in order to marry someone, you have to make a betrothed necklace and give it to that special someone. When Zuko found out about this type of information, he instantly got rapped up about it. Ever since he's joined team Avatar he was thinking about what life would be like when he becomes FireLord, then his thoughts were drawn into marriage. He can't help but think, his darling would make the perfect FireLady. His FireLady.

And they'll have children. They'll be lovely children. With his darling swelled up with another one of his heirs all while holding another one of their children. It'll truly be a.. delicious sight to see ~ Zuko hmmed in delight at the thought of his darling bearing his children. But... that's if he witness such a darling sight. Zuko groaned at his mood being dampened and soured. But he knows it's true. Zuko knows if he doesn't act fast, he'll lose his darling. And that lovely little scene that played in his mind, will be nothing but a mere fantasy. Besides, he doesn't want to get himself accidentally sexual frustrated.....

With that aside, Zuko begins to start planning and strategizing. Zuko walks away from the window. He calls a servant, he orders them to get one of his best generals. The servant was slightly hesitant and confused, but never the less terrified. Wasn't the war over? They pushed their question aside, because they know now wouldn't be the best time to question the FireLord. He hasn't been acting himself lately and has been been flaring up at anything these past few weeks. With out much of a second thought, they did as they were told and went to see if someone could get one of the generals FireLord Zuko was talking about.

Zuko on the other hand, went back to sit on his thrown. He knew it will take time for the general to get here, so he decided to sit and be patient for him to get here. All while doing this, Zuko began to plan out in his mind on how he was going to get his darling. He was thinking about getting some of the Fire nation's best spies to help track down his darling. Sending out a whole search team and alerting the public while cause some type of panic. Not only that but he's trying to show that He and the Fire nation has turned over a new leaf, that and he doesn't want people and the other members of team Avatar know he's basically going back to his old ways. Since everybody knows the history on how he went to the ends of the earth to find and Capture the Avatar, and he's basically doing the same for his darling. It'll put a bad name on him and an even worse name on the Fire nation. So he'll lay as low as possible and keep shush shush about it, so he doesn't rise suspicion and ruin all the hard work he's been putting in the past time he's became FireLord.

With all those thoughts in mind, Zuko decides to call the same servant from before. So he can see if his message has been delivered. The Servant said they already sent a messaging hawk out to see if they can reach the general. Zuko only hmmed and dismissed them, and told them to report back to him once the massage has been delivered. With that the servant left, leaving Zuko in his thrown room. Zuko dug into his pocket again. He took out the Betrothed necklace out. He gently creased and rubbed the engraving and creases. He took so many hours and very much effort into making this for his darling. Looking at it always made him feel calmer, it made him happy knowing that his darling will be wearing it soon. But then his darling ran away from him before he can give it to them. Zuko pushed down on the purple garnet at the thought of his darling running away from him ( the rest of the necklace's gems are made up of smaller bits of Rudy and sapphire ). Zuko let out another sigh of frustration. He began to think. Once is darling is back with him he's never letting them go...........

My God, this was a boom ass idea. Not only that, but an idea of Zuko having a bit of a breeding kink has been floating around in my mind for some time now. I had a lot of fun with this. Like I said before T.Angel, If you want me to make a mini scenarios series about this let me know 😆! Well I hope you enjoy it. Until next time my Little Tainted Angels, see you soon ~💜❤💜

[lazysublimeengineer]

you bring color to my monochrome world

Summary: Her smile was the burst of psychedelic hues to Takemichi’s dull, greyscale life.

His loyalty and conviction brought out a multitude of colors to Hinata’s sepia life.

His candid, azure irises painted a sheer, rich texture of prismatic hues to Mikey’s void, insipid life.

Characters:Takemichi H., Hinata T., Manjirou S.

“I wish you a kinder sea.”

— Emily Dickinson

i. I will protect you.

Takemichi was drowning.

He was drowning in the sea of doubt and hopelessness. What was he thinking? Going back to the future to undo every mistake that he did there and save Hina? He couldn’t even save himself from Kiyomasa’s punches and roundhouse kicks. He clenched his fists as he stared at the blinking street lights around the city that evening, ignoring the stares from the other people because of his mottled face and bruised body.

However, was it the right thing to do? To run away again? To struggle in vain and restart his stale life all over again?

He could feel his eyes started to water as he remembered Hina’s forthright yet breathtaking smile when she uttered those words at him in the midst of his own torment and wretchedness: I will protect you.

Her smile was the burst of psychedelic hues to Takemichi’s dull, greyscale life.

And he swore to himself that he won’t fail her this time around.

He would save her.

Even it could him his own sanity and life in the long run.

ii. The only way to win is to kill me! I definitely won’t lose!

The first time that Mikey saw Takemichi was when he was in the middle of an underground fight with Kiyomasa which was to be honest looked like a one-sided battle since the poor guy was being treated like a punching bag by his opponent.

He pursed his lips. Underground fights were stupid and he didn’t want to have the name of the Toman to be tainted by a useless slugfest like this. He was about to make his way there when he stopped midway upon hearing the young man’s speeches that was brimming with firmness and determination.

“The only way to win is to kill me! I definitely won’t lose!”

But the one that caught his full attention was his deep blue eyes shining with tenacity and valor. There were only few people around the world that possessed that kind of reckless yet admirable conviction.

He hadn’t seen that kind of eyes and fighting spirit since his late older brother.

That day he had made up his mind. He needed to have a buddy like Takemichi into his life.

He signaled for Draken to make their presence known when Kiyomasa was getting berserk and demanding for a bat.

The crowd went in complete, deathly silence as they presented themselves and was already beating up Kiyomasa after he succinctly made his existence well known in front of Takemichi.

“Takemitchy. See ya later.” He shot him a carefree grin before he turned away and left the place completely. The young man’s befuddled yet ingenuous expression was forever etched into his memory.

His candid, azure irises painted a sheer, rich texture of prismatic hues to Mikey’s void, insipid life.

iii. I ain’t gonna give her up ever again!

Hinata’s hand was trembling.

Nevertheless, she wouldn’t give these people the satisfaction of seeing the fear creeping up slowly within her. She knew that Takemichi was too trustful and forthright to a fault even though it’s also one of the reasons why she had fallen in love with him.

She just can’t stand there and watched the two delinquents domineered him into their own whims and wants whenever they wanted to. She promised Takemichi that she will protect him after all and she always held and fulfill her own promises.

However, she made a mistake of thinking naively that they can get away unscathed after she pulled out a brave yet foolish stunt of slapping the blond right in front of the class. She tried not to shake as she felt a hand gripped her wrist and heard the threat of the tall male with braided locks that made her swallow thickly.

“Hey. Do you want me to kill you, bitch?”

She heard more words and threats that came out of his mouth before she decided to respond and gave him a piece of her mind. Takemichi was always bruised, crestfallen and lost every time she saw him dropping by her flat. She had enough of these people dictating and treating him like their own slaves. Even if this will put her in a risky situation, she will defend and protect the man she loves.

She was now ready for the consequences of her actions but she was taken aback when Takemichi’s hand gripped the tall male’s shoulder firmly and demanded him to let her go. No. No. No. No. She didn’t want Takemichi to suffer and take the brunt of her actions. If she had to intervene again to save him, then she will have to do it even if it could cost this her own life.

She was about to speak again when Takemichi’s next words made her eyes widened briefly and rooted her to the spot.

“I ain’t gonna give her up ever again!”

It was stated with raw conviction and firm temerity that she had to double take and stared up at him with wide eyes that was brimming with amazement and concern for his well-being now that he challenged the two delinquents in front of them.

‘Takemichi-kun…’ Hinata restrained a gasp as she observed Takemichi in silence. It was like seeing another facet of him that was different from what she used to see. But she liked his tenacity and firmness. He may be a crybaby and wore his heart on his sleeve but she knew that his heart was in the right place.

After a troublesome misunderstanding later and apologies pouring from her lips, she waved goodbye to Takemichi and let him hang out with his newfound friends.

His loyalty and conviction brought out a multitude of colors to Hinata’s sepia life.

And she could never get tired of loving him.

iv. That’s why I’m going to create an era for delinquents.

Mikey stared at the horizon in front of them with a serene smile on his face.

Takemichi observed him from a few distances away, looking at the quiescent male who was sitting on the grass. Draken was also standing a few meters away from them, sporting an unflappable expression on his face.

From what he observed so far, Mikey was a delinquent but he was not a bad guy. He was simply a person who possessed some radical beliefs on his own and translated it into his actions that may be questionable to other people due to his carefree yet strong personality and straightforward manner of speaking.

He had also noted some odd yet interesting behavior from the gang leader himself. Even though he’s mostly laid back and insouciant he had a habit of flipping a switch to his moods seamlessly, revealing a hidden cold anger and ruthless nature from within as he had witnessed on how he just beat up Kiyomasa like it was nothing.

There was a saying that the eyes were the mirror to the soul.

But when he looked at Mikey’s onyx eyes it was a bottomless pit of nothingness. Devoid of any emotion and was a vacuum of an empty black hole. He remembered how he stared down at Kiyomasa like he was nothing more than a pathetic insect under his palm that’s waiting to be crush. And how Mikey’s eyes almost suck the life out of him earlier in that tense situation with Hina, almost resigning himself for the inevitable punch that would come from his hands only to be tricked and playfully derided by him that he’s a dummy and he doesn’t hit girls.

Hence, he had reached a conclusion that Mikey was hard to understand and read his intentions sometimes.

However, one thing was for sure: Mikey was not a bad person and he’d be willing to help and save him alongside with Hina to prevent them from meeting their miserable future and demise.

He just had to convince Naoto to get to the bottom of the problem and find out the reason why Mikey turned out the way he was in the future.

“That’s why I’m going to create an era for delinquents.”

The gang leader didn’t need to convince him twice when he asked him to join his gang after he shared his goal and vision to him. Just looking at his charismatic smile and earnestness, Takemichi knew that he was drawn in. Hook. Line. And sinker.

v. You should come with me. I like your guts. Hanagaki Takemichi.

He stood up but he was still looking at the horizon when he finally revealed his vision and intentions to him, uttering his name correctly for the first time.

“You should come with me. I like your guts. Hanagaki Takemichi.”

Mikey couldn’t picture out his exact reaction to his words but he could already surmised the genuine astonishment and wonder that was written on his clear blue eyes. Then the seriousness and determination that would crossed his face afterwards.

That’s the kind of guy Takemichi was. Honest, sincere, determined yet reckless sometimes when it came to defending his beliefs and the people that he mostly cares about. It’s easy to read him. Just dropped a verbal bomb in front of him and he’ll be getting a multitude of interesting expressions from his face.

…and there were times that he isn’t.

He had seen how Takemichi would be like an open book but with hidden pages that was not visible to the naked eye. Takemichi wasn’t a liar yet he was a secretive person as well. He cannot forget his initial reaction when he asked him casually if he’s really a middle schooler in that school. It was an unguarded moment for the young lad and he had a look that screamed of panic and anxiousness.

Interesting.

Even though Takemichi was an emotionally expressive person and vocal about what he believed was right and wrong, he still couldn’t decipher what his real purpose was. All he knew as of the moment was, he was too protective of his girlfriend Hinata who gave him an amazing slap earlier.

He was willing to defend and fight for her even against to the people like them.

What a reckless guy. But he guessed that was a part of Takemichi’s own charm. He couldn’t help but to be intrigue by this person who possessed those electrifying sky-blue irises and a sheer will determination.

‘Hinata huh? What a lucky gal…’ Mikey thought as he gazed at Takemichi’s profile.

For now, he could only basked in the vibrancy and vivid hues of Takemichi’s presence, coloring his monochromatic world with the promises of hope for the future.

(A/N: I don’t own Tokyo Revengers and any of the characters from this franchise. Inspired by the scenes that shows the relationship and interactions of Takemichi with Hinata and Mikey. I believed in Takemikeyhina supremacy but I lived for some drizzle of angst and pining hence the end results of this one shot. Apologies in advance for some grammatical errors and if some of them are OOC as English is not my native language and I’ve tried my best to keep them in character. Reviews are amusing hence I look forward to hear them from you).

[atlabeth]

Can I get a Fluff with scenes 12 , 19, and 20 for Sokka x fem reader. They plan a date and get ready for it. Sokka and the gaang are amazed on how Y/N looks for their date.

you look perfect - sokka x fem!reader

a/n: this was such a cute request ive been writing so much angst lately that i needed some fluff lol. i played w the request a little and once again i wrote way too much but i hope you still like it!!

wc: 1.7k 

warning(s): only a little bit of insecurity on the reader’s side but the rest is all fluff :))

12. “It looks good on you.” 19. “How did I manage to get you?” 20. “Maybe I’m just lucky.” 

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

“Are you guys sure that this goes with the dress?”  Y/N looked at herself in the mirror uneasily as Suki finished up her eyeshadow, fiddling anxiously with her hands in her lap. Katara was working magic on her hair, styling it to perfection, and Toph was sitting on a beanbag in the corner of her room to offer moral support. She had called her girls over to help her get ready for her date with her boyfriend; they had been more than happy to help her out and gossip together, but nerves were once again getting the better of her. 

It had only been a little over a year since she had been silently pining for Sokka — ever since he had walked into the lecture hall on their first day of classes, she had been drawn to him. It didn’t help that he had chosen a spot right next to her — this was a class essential for half the majors at the university, so he didn’t have very many choices coming in right before the clock — but that easy smile he shot at her before taking out his laptop made her feel some kind of way. 

They ended up getting paired together for their first project, and they became friends in no time. Doing projects together turned into studying together, and they had been spending a lot of time together at various cafes and libraries in preparation for their midterm. Y/N had been wanting to ask Sokka out for a while, but she was so scared of messing up their friendship that she just settled for it. After all, he was an amazing friend and had become one of her closest ones, so it was hardly settling. Luckily for her, she ended up not having to make the first move. 

“Hey, Y/N.” She hummed in response to let Sokka know she had heard him, but didn’t look up from her laptop. “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow?”

“Oh, I think that would be great! Our midterm is on Wednesday, so if we fit in another long study session tomorrow we’ll have Monday and Tuesday to take it all in and do some last-minute preparations.” 

“No, no studying.” That got her attention and she stopped her rapid typing, being met with that same easy smile he gave her the day they met when she looked up. “Just.. the two of us, together. I could take you out to lunch, and you could have something that isn’t coffee for once.” 

Now Y/N was really paying attention. She almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and she was unable to stop the wide smile playing on her lips. “Sokka, are you asking me out?” 

He laughed and nodded, giving her a similar smile but with a hint of nervousness in it. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” 

Y/N set her hand on the table and Sokka set his on top of it, intertwining his fingers with hers. “You don’t even know how much I’d love to go out with you.” 

“For the thousandth time, yes!” Suki nodded, pleased with her work, and started to clean up the palettes that she had laid all over the floor. “You know I would never do you wrong.”

“I know that Suki, but.. This isn’t something that I usually wear, what if he doesn’t like it? What if he thinks I’m trying too hard? I usually don’t even do makeup, but I really wanted—”

“Y/N, stop!” Her eyes snapped over to Toph, who came over and put her hands on her shoulders. “Remind me what you’re getting ready for, again?” 

Toph’s brutal honesty was one of the things Y/N appreciated most about her, and bringing her back down to Earth was something she needed desperately right now. “A date with my boyfriend?” 

“Yes, and what is that date celebrating?” 

“...our one year anniversary.” 

“Exactly!” Toph clapped her on the shoulder a lot harder than she needed to, and Y/N let out a surprised laugh. “You’ve been dating him for a year, this man is totally and completely whipped for you! You literally have nothing to worry about.” 

“I know, but still! What if he doesn’t like this shade, or you’re all lying and this actually doesn’t bring out my eyes, and—” 

“Y/N, please. Look at me.” Katara’s voice interrupted her ramble, and Y/N met Katara’s eyes, finding a lifeline in the ocean she carried within them. She started playing with the ring on her finger again — it was a promise ring that Sokka had given her half a year into their relationship, and she never took it off. It was one of her most treasured possessions, and just holding it helped her worries fade away a bit.

“I know my brother, and I know how he feels about you.” Katara finished off Y/N’s hair and took a seat on the floor in front of her. “After that first day in class with you, he told me about this beautiful girl he met in his calculus class. He said, ‘something about her seemed so inviting, so I sat next to her. I even lied about forgetting my pencil so that I would get to talk to her, even just for a second.’” 

Y/N smiled to herself, already feeling her cheeks heating up. Sokka had told her about that on their first date, and she remembered how shocked she was that he had thought about her when they first met in the same way she did. “I remember that. He told me how nervous he was to ask me out, and that was just crazy to me. He carries himself so confidently and he’s just so smooth in everything that he does.. The thought of him getting nervous over me is so cute.”

“Everything is going to be fine, okay? You look absolutely fantastic in every way possible. I’ll be surprised if he’s even going to be able to take his eyes off of you. Everyone is going to be looking at you when you look like this.” Suki patted Y/N on the cheek and smiled, and her nerves finally settled, but only for a moment. There was a knock on the door and Y/N took a deep breath, shaking her hands out as she gave her friends a desperate look. She felt the same way that she did the time he came to pick her up for their first date — childish joy and excitement all playing together to form some very big butterflies in her stomach. 

“Go get your man, Y/N!” Toph hit her on the shoulder and Y/N laughed, running out of her room so she could get to the door. She took a second to compose herself before opening the door, revealing the image of her boyfriend in a simple sports coat and slacks — it was one of the most basic combinations, but Sokka made it look like he was walking out of a luxury store. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, and he perked up when she opened the door. 

“Sokka! You have perfect timing, I just finished getting ready.” She opened the door wider so that he could come in if he wanted to and gasped. “Are those flowers?” 

Sokka didn’t say anything, his mouth parted like he wanted to say something but just couldn’t find the words. His wide eyes traveled up and down, looking at her makeup, her hair, her outfit, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked, and that gorgeous smile that had drawn him in from the start. She was completely and utterly perfect, and it was like his brain was shutting down trying to think of how to communicate it to her. 

“What?” Y/N looked down at her outfit and pulled at the fabric, mentally kicking herself and already starting to walk back to her room. She was convinced he didn’t like it. “You know, I wasn’t really into this anyways, I can change if you just give me a second—” 

Sokka grabbed her wrist and pulled him back to her, stopping her rambling with a heated kiss. Y/N practically melted as she returned it, and was completely breathless when she pulled away. 

“What was I saying?” She asked, slightly dazed. 

“Your dress,” he said with a chuckle. “It looks good on you. You look so good, so.. perfect. I just forgot how to talk for a while there.”

Y/N smiled shyly and rubbed her arm, all the insecurity from before dissipating. She always wanted everything to be perfect for her boyfriend so that he would understand how much she loved him, but Sokka loved her, not the clothes she wore or the way she did her hair. Of course, she looked drop dead gorgeous tonight, but to him, she was always perfect. “How did I manage to get you?” 

“I ask myself that every time I look at you.” Sokka grinned and held out the flowers, his eyes following her as she set them in a nearby vase. He then pulled her into the hallway with him, allowed Y/N to close the door before they started walking down the hallway together. “And the only thing I can come up with, the only reason that someone like you could fall into my life, is that maybe I’m just lucky.”

“I think it was fate. I truly believe that we were meant to meet because.. I just can’t imagine my life without you. I’ve loved you since that first bad joke you made to me during class, and this has undoubtedly been the best year of my life,” Y/N mused. 

“I knew it was only a matter of time before you fell for me after I pulled out the comedy.” He laughed and gave Y/N a cheeky smile as he held the door to exit the complex open for her, the cool night air doing nothing to help her flushed cheeks. 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N. Happy anniversary.” Sokka’s eyes softened as he looked at her, leaning in to give her a kiss on the lips before they continued. “I can’t wait to celebrate so many more of these with you.” 

And as they walked into the parking lot towards Sokka’s car, hands intertwined together, his thumb rubbing against hers, and her lips still burning from where he kissed her, Y/N wondered what she had ever been worried about. 

[spacedikut]

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 2

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer decides it’s time to tell you, but he needs some help. 3887 words. part 1

a/n: THIS is the longest fic ive ever written but im actually kinda proud of how it turned out? i hope this is a good sequel :)

Spencer chickens out of telling you the next day.

He avoids you all weekend, actually. You resisted texting him the day after Rossi’s because you assumed he’d be busy – with his big plan involving a girl that isn’t you. You’re not bitter – but Sunday comes around and you message him not long after you wake up and six hours later there’s no response.

Twelve hours later - there’s no response.

Monday, you don’t have time to say hello to anyone – there’s a case waiting for you, somewhere in Florida.

Reid avoids your eyes. His body language tells you something is wrong, so you assume whoever he confessed to didn’t reciprocate (they’re insane) and he’s dealing with it. So you don’t press.

Spencer pretends to sleep the entire jet ride. He’s avoiding everyone, not just you.

He spent the whole weekend beating himself up. He drove to your apartment on Saturday, sat outside for so long a neighbour knocked on his window and asked if he was lost, but couldn’t bring himself to step foot out of his car.

So he locked himself in his room, away from you and your loveliness and away from his phone because he knew you texted him and he knew you’d send some soft message about being there for him if he needs anything and he didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful and out of reach you are.

Derek seemed to be waiting for him Monday morning, arms crossed as he held a cup of coffee. It was weird seeing him in before Spencer.

“How’d it go?” He immediately asked.

“How’d what go?” Spencer mumbles, flinging his bag on the floor by his desk. He slumps in his seat.

Derek raises a dark eyebrow, “You know what, pretty boy. You had a big thing? Big plan?”

“Didn’t work out.”

It doesn’t take a profiler to realise Spencer is very clearly saying leave me alone. Leave it alone.

Derek isn’t one to leave it alone. Especially when it comes to Spencer.

He sighs and moves a little closer to Spencer’s desk, just in case someone overhears them.

“What happened?”

“That’s exactly it,” Spencer slams open a file, “Nothing happened.”

“And why did nothing happen?”

“Because I’m an idiot that can’t even tell a girl how I feel.”

“Whoa- hey!”

Derek spins Spencer’s chair so they’re face to face. Derek takes one look in Spencer’s eyes and knows what’s going on – he got too into his head and backed out at the last minute.

“You’re not an idiot. Why didn’t you do it?”

Spencer shrugs, “I got to her apartment. I had flowers, too. I don’t know.”

Derek’s evidently concerned – Spencer’s beaten up over this, over whoever this girl is, and he deserves the chance to experience love. Spencer deserves a lot more than he himself thinks he does.

“You seemed really excited, man. You can still do it. Just cause you try once and it doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t ever try again.”

Spencer stares off into the distance, accidentally ignoring Derek as his thoughts slip out of his mouth, “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway – I was stupid to think I could get someone like her.”

“Hey, no.” Derek nudges Spencer’s shoulder so he looks at him again, “Don’t talk like that. You’re one hell of a guy, Reid. All you gotta do is get that confidence that you had Friday night back, and you’re all set. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Spencer gives a feeble nod. Derek moves back to his desk, knowing he isn’t convinced, but he isn’t done yet.

+++

Later, in Florida, Spencer’s making a coffee in the precinct’s kitchen after waiting twenty minutes for you to leave. Luck’s on his side, for once, and you’ve been working non-stop with Prentiss going crime scene to crime scene so he hasn’t had to actively avoid you. You smile at him every chance you get, though, and it distracts him.

Someone clears their throat behind him. It’s Penelope, whom Spencer didn’t realise was invited on this case.

She looks guilty. Spencer recognises that face; the face she has when she’s done something she shouldn’t have or knows something she isn’t really supposed to. Given current circumstances, Spencer bets it’s the latter reason.

“Morgan told me something he shouldn’t have.”

Bingo.

He leans against the kitchen counter, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

“What did he tell you?” He asks, feigning tranquillity. Inside he’s screaming non-stop.

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, almost innocently, and fiddles with her fingers, “He told me you needed assistance in the love department.” Before he can object, she continues, “And I am willing to do anything if it means our resident weirdo-slash-genius falls in love and gets to experience some much needed cuteness.”

There’s no point in lying to her. There’s also no point in being mad that Morgan told her about his situation – they’re kind of a package deal. And, who knows, Garcia might be able to help.

“So…” She sways, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He debates whether he should tell her, since, you know, you’re in the next room over, but Spencer worries that Garcia is so good at her job she’d somehow find out through hacking Spencer’s phone, or maybe somehow hacking his dreams. His subconscious. He’s terrified of Garcia and her abilities.

“You can tell me.” She insists, “I’m much better at keeping secrets than Morgan.”

Spencer turns away from her, she steps closer, and he mumbles your name.

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!”

Spencer spins, hands coming up to tell Garcia to shut up and Garcia immediately covers her mouth in both shock and hopefully so she doesn’t shout again.

“Since when?!” She screeches. “How could I not have known?! Oh God, almighty Doctor Reid, I feel like I’ve failed you by not realising earlier.”

Her enthusiasm makes him smile, for the first time in far too long. Garcia has that power – this innate skill to comfort those around her and make them feel special, make them smile when the world feels like its collapsing.

“Let me help!” She requests.

Spencer’s clearly hesitant. He knows it’s a bad idea.

“Please!” She begs, “I just- I have so many ideas of how you can go about this. Let me brainstorm, get back to you, and if I’m too over-the-top you can tell me no and we’ll pretend it never happened!”

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Garcia is the definition of over-the-top, but that’s one of his favourite things about her. It’s your favourite thing, too. And he did tell Morgan he had big plans. Anything involving Garcia is a big plan with big payoff.

“This is between us.”

“I’ll take it to the grave. Unless you realise how amazing my ideas are and use one to tell Y/N how you feel and then years later I get to commend myself during my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

She looks ecstatic, hands now together under her jaw as her eyes twinkle. Spencer can’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

+++

The next day, the team returns to Quantico after a semi-successful case. The general mood is good and Morgan invites everyone out for drinks – Spencer declines, but you have your first full conversation since last Friday.

“C’mon, Spence,” Your head rests against the jet seat and you blink sleepily at him, “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for years!”

Spencer gives you a small smile, “I promised my mom I’d call her tonight. Sorry, Y/N.”

You nod in understanding, “Will you tell her I say hi?”

“Of course. She loves you.”

You grin at eachother, immediately lost in your own world. You’ve missed him more than you realised, and you have no idea what’s going through his head, but you’re happy that you’ve had this – a Spencer Reid smile that makes you feel at home and on top of the world simultaneously.

Spencer has to tear his eyes away before he blurts something stupid, like she’s not the only one that loves you.

+++

“Spencer!” Garcia greets, Cheshire cat grin on her face. “I need to see you in my dungeon, please. Immediately.”

Spencer drops the file he’s holding. Unfortunately, Penelope’s request caught the attention of the whole team.

“What business do you have in the villain’s lair, Reid?” Derek asks. You’ve looked up from your computer, Emily smirking and leaning back in her chair in expectation.

“Uh…”

“Important nerd business. Go away.” Garcia says, eyes narrow as she tugs Spencer’s hand. He’s whisked away from any further questioning, leaving the befuddled team behind.

He isn’t sure what to expect when he stumbles into Penelope’s second home, but the display in front of him explains why he overheard a conversation about missing evidence boards earlier. Penelope’s obviously been using the new printer in her cave to her advantage – there’s at least twenty different pictures printed out on one board titled “date ideas”, then the board on the right has a picture of Spencer and you in the centre with a perfectly drawn heart around it. Under and around that is a mixture of love quotes, including song lyrics and quotes directly from romantic movies. He notices “The Parliament of Fowls” on there – Garcia remembers that he mentioned it’s considered the first Valentines poem?

“Whoa,” Is all he can say.

“I know it’s a little intense,” Garcia squirms, “But! I started scrolling through Pinterest and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me, maybe some type of love deity, but I started thinking about you and Y/N in a classic love film in, like, black and white and I…”

She’s out of breath from animatedly explaining.

Spencer laughs through his nose, almost a scoff, but he’s impressed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the Penelope Garcia.

As Spencer wanders towards the first board, Garcia follows him like a shadow, “My personal favourite is-“ She points to a picture of chocolate fondue with faceless people in very little clothing, “-this one.”

Spencer awkwardly clears his throat when he begins to think of you and him like that.

“A little much for your declaration of love, though, I get it,” Garcia nods.

He scans the board – heart speeding up when he moves from idea to idea and picturing you and him in each one. He can’t help but think no, that one would be good for our anniversary – ah, she’d love to do that one for her birthday.

“What’re you thinking?” Garcia asks quietly. She knows his brain is whirring like her computer drive, so she approaches him gently.

“This one.” He says. “Where should we do it?”

Garcia grins behind him. The one he’s referring to shows a dinner table set up outside, brown wooded table with white wooden chairs opposite eachother. There’s flowers at the centre, a bottle of wine already poured in each glass in front of a basket of cookies, and the area around is shrouded by shrubbery, fairy lights hanging delicately from every-which-way.

It’s perfect. You love fairy lights, Spencer loves cookies, and the set-up looks private enough for Spencer to feel confident when he empties his heart and soul to you.

“The roof.” Garcia says wistfully.

“We have access to that?”

“Yes.” They both know they don’t. “Leave it to me. Oh… one more thing.” She adds, hesitantly, “Can Morgan help? I’m a lot of things, including emotionally strong and your love guru, but physically I’m gonna need some assistance.”

Spencer doesn’t even need to agree – Morgan’s gonna involve himself no matter what.

+++

Five o’clock is quickly approaching and you’re slumped over your desk, lost in your work. You need to be lost in it, because ever since Garcia released Spencer from her office right after lunch he’s been sneaking glances at you (he’s not sneaky) and has made several attempts to approach you but decided against it, sharply turning and pretending he meant to go another way instead.

You are beyond confused. You assume it’s to do with the girl he’s been trying to get over – you hope he’s been trying to build the confidence to tell you exactly what happened and maybe, you really hope, he’ll invite you over for the weekend so you can slip back into your old routine.

“Psst.”

You assume they’re not trying to get your attention, so you don’t move.

“Psst!”

You still don’t move.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up to Spencer leaning over the divider between your desks. He looks alarmed – which is odd, given he’s the one who called you – and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you busy tonight?” He sits back and, if he wasn’t so goddamn tall, all you’d be able to see would be his eyes. His added height means you can see his eyes and his nose. You wanna kiss it.

You smile – this is an olive branch, “I am completely available for whatever it is you might need.”

You sound incredibly eager, which you are. You miss him.

His cheeks move upwards, a smile, “Can I talk to you, later, on the roof? Uh-“ He clears his throat, “-I need to tell you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You’re not gonna push me off, right?”

“No,” He laughs.

“Promise me.”

Now he guffaws, “I would never, Y/N!”

“Promise me, Reid!”

“Alright, alright! I promise!” He’s jokingly raising his hands in a form of surrender.

You give him another smile and turn back to your work. You feel at ease, now, thinking he’s finally gonna tell you what happened on the weekend – finally you’ll be able to help him and go back to normal.

Spencer, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of ease. He’s about to pour his heart out to you.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to his computer, which is open on a tab titled “How to Tell Someone You Like Them.”

Step 3: Be Confident.

Spencer opens a new tab and searches, “How to be confident.”

+++

Garcia hacks into Spencer’s computer to open a document and type that the roof is ready. She wishes him luck, tells him she loves him, and calls dibs on being the godmother of your future children. As if she doesn’t have enough godchildren as it is.

He clears his throat and your head snaps towards him. You’ve been done for a while, playing Tetris on your phone, waiting for Spencer to take you to the roof where he swears he won’t kill you – you’re not entirely convinced.

“Um-“ He scratches his neck, “You ready to go?”

You nod and give him a weak smile in hopes it gives him some type of reassurance.

“Whatever happened, it’s okay, Spence.”

All he does is nod in return, gathering his coat and bag. He doesn’t really register what you say, or he would’ve been very confused.

You follow him up to the roof. The elevator ride is silent and Spencer is jittery; his hands twitch and tap against his legs, he’s bouncing on his toes and he keeps looking at you through the corner of his eye. You’ve taken several deep breaths to calm your racing heart – you hate heights, and this is the closest you’ve been to Spencer in a week. This will be the longest conversation you’ve had with him in a week, too.

The second the doors open, Spencer leaps in front of you.

“Wait!”

You jump back in surprise, “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine. Just… when we get there, let me explain first, okay? Before you say anything.” He’s pleading, as if you’ve already told him no. You look at him with furrowed brows and mumble an ‘okay’.

You’re visibly confused as you trek up the flight of stairs to the roof. Spencer pushes open the fire door and the first thing you notice is how bright the roof is – you always assumed it’d be dark, little light, especially at night like this.

Wait.

There’s fairy lights… everywhere. You’re pretty sure this isn’t the norm for the FBI roof.

Spencer is equally as awed at what he sees before him - it’s exactly the photo he saw in Garcia’s cave brought to life, but he’s too distracted by you to fully appreciate it. You look like a child on Christmas; eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. You’re gorgeous.

“What…is this, Spence?” You wonder, noticing the set table, fingers grazing the roses that sit in a vase in the middle. They’re fresh and smell wonderful.

He stands a little behind you, fiddling with his hands, and clears his throat, “Would you like to take a seat?”

You do. When he finally sits, he pours you a glass of wine and you immediately take an anxious sip. Although Rossi is a big fan of wine, you rarely take interest in it only when Spencer’s involved. You’ve come to associate wine with him – a smile peeks out from your glass as you stare at the man opposite you.

“I need to get something off my chest. But there’s cookies, if you want one,” He picks one up from his plate, breaking it in half and giving it to you. He’s stalling, but you seem to take the bait and bite into it.

“Are these from the bakery two blocks away?”

“Yeah,” He replies, but he isn’t really paying attention. He doesn’t know where to begin.

You wait patiently for him to open up. You’re still unsure of what to make of all of this – the beautiful setting, the wine, the flowers, the lights. God, the lights are dazzling in the Virginia night sky. You need context, and you need it now.

“Spence-“

“Listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just…” He trails off, “I need to say what I need to say before I back out again.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You’re ready for whatever’s to come.

“Do you know how long we’ve known eachother?” He asks. His head tilts like a puppy.

“Nearly five years. Our friendaversary is coming up, you know.”

You realise, then, that this must be a celebration for that – that explains the… typically romantic setting. Before you can open your mouth to ask if that what’s this is, Spencer speaks.

“Four years, three-hundred and sixty days. That’s how long we’ve known eachother.”

“If we were dating, we would’ve been my longest relationship the second we passed a year.”

You don’t know why you said it, but it flusters him. He has to pause to take a breath and collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been in love with you for four years and three hundred and fifty-eight days, Y/N.”

It’s silent as you process and he figures out how to continue.

“I knew you were special when you were introduced to us. Hotch already had such a soft spot for you, and you had this way about you that made us all fall in love instantly. I remember Garcia did a background check the second she found out your name and she said you remind her of me and I… that freaked me out, to be honest. I thought you’d try to replace me.” He huffs a laugh, but can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, “I realised I was in love with you when you drunkenly defended me. Do you remember that?” His eyes flicker to yours for half a second – you’re wide-eyed, “You’d known me for two days at that point, but we’d already done a case together so we were celebrating. And these guys at the bar were whispering about me, acting like I couldn’t hear them, and the second you realised what was happening you stood up, stormed towards them and gave them a piece of your mind. It was incredible.

“You barely knew me, at least personally, but you thought so highly of me you scolded a group of drunk bodybuilders without a second thought. You made them apologise – it was hysterical watching someone half their size force them into submission like that – and when you were done you asked if I wanted to leave and go get ice cream. We couldn’t, cause you vomited on the way there, but I knew in that moment I loved you and I feel so hard, so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. And you never… you never indicated you thought of me as anything other than a friend so I didn’t try. Then you dated Greg who, in my opinion, sucked on his best days, and you encouraged me to date Abigail and I…”

He’s run out of breath and of things to say.

“I just love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

He finally looks at you, then. You’re just staring and he panics when he can’t make out what you’re feeling. He’s always been able to read you, you’ve always hated the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul because your eyes are always your tell, but now they’re… glassy.

You’re crying.

“Spencer…” You gasp, throat tight.

“It’s okay.” Spencer gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows what’s coming. He should’ve expected it. He has been expecting it.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer chokes on air. He takes a gulp of wine.

You give him a teary smile in disbelief, “I’ve always loved you, Spence. I thought you knew that – I thought that big brain of yours knew exactly how I felt and… you didn’t do anything about it so I thought you didn’t feel the same. Spencer…”

He slowly moves a hand to place it palm-up on the table. Immediately you place your hand in his, your grip tight as you lovingly stare at him. This feels unreal.

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.” You half laugh, half cry, “If you’ve really loved me this long, we’ve wasted so much time! God, we’re both idiots.”

Spencer’s crying too, now, and he starts laughing with you.

You’re two idiots in love, sitting opposite eachother on the roof of your place of work in a dream-like surrounding filled with fairy lights and flowers, and you could’ve been doing this for years.

Spencer sniffles, looking at you through his wet eyelashes, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“If I say yes, will I get more dates like this?” You tease.

“Well, Garcia has a whole evidence board of date ideas she stole from Pinterest. We have enough ideas to last a lifetime.” He giggles.

“Penny was in on this?!”

Spencer gives a heh, “This is all thanks to her, so yeah.”

“She’s always had our backs.”

“She’s also now going to be convinced she’s cupid.”

You laugh again, and can’t help yourself when you lean across the table, still gripping Spencer’s hand, and letting your lips fall on his. Spencer leans into you, lips moving against yours as you both try to suppress grins.

You pull back slightly, Spencer’s lips following you, and whisper, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again, just cause he can.

Big plan, big payoff. You’re worth every little stress and more.