#steel i didn't even realise i could romance him he's just

[mythvoiced]

-. after a 5 year wait, i can finally be back on my Fallen Hero bullshit that y'all didn't even know i was on

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 7.8k words]

Letting himself embrace this horrid part of his heritage terrified him. It was like being back in the cellar again, that Muggle writhing beneath him in pain, his parents and brother lauding his name. Gaunt. No matter what he did to unbind himself from the bloodline, always it came back to shackle him. Always, it answered when he didn't call.

In which, even after he broke your friendship, Ominis can't get you out of his head.

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, Scriptorium quest, Muggle culture, Your Scent in the Amortentia, Going Feral when You're Hurt, Comforting You When You're Sad.

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2: When Everything Changed

You didn't speak to him for a long time.

Justifiably, Ominis knows. It's one thing to insult, degrade, demean someone, but something else entirely to diminish their very existence, to reduce them to flesh and bones and happenstance. You were Muggle-born, he was pure-blood. Your friendship together was as tenuous as life itself.

You didn't deserve risk, so he steeled his heart, his mind. He moved through the struggles of fourth year silently, like a wraith, participating only when needed. A clock was ticking for summer – he couldn't spend the entire holiday at Feldcroft, though he longed for it, though Sebastian offered. When the dread of it came, thick and drowning, it was the thought of you, what he was doing ultimately to protect you, that eased the pain. He didn't realise how deeply you had planted your vines inside him, so that everything he did now, anything he felt, or touched, or tasted, reminded him of you. You were ingrained, and no matter how hard he tried to uproot you, you would not wither.

Perhaps this was his reality now. Perhaps he would never speak to you again.

Naturally, fifth year changed everything.

The new school year rang with tension. A goblin tyrant, Ranrok, sought vengeance against wizardkind, with his influence strongest around the Scottish Highlands, scattered around the hamlets around Hogwarts. His plans were unclear, just another thing Ominis worried about, massaging his temple on the walk up to school for the first evening.

Sebastian wasn't in a talkative mood. He'd come to verbal blows with his uncle that afternoon, when Ominis was packing and keeping Anne company. Their voices were so raised they could be heard in the entire village.

"Stop getting her hopes up! For goodness sake, she's cursed. At least let her enjoy however long she has left in peace, without your meddling!"

"Meddling?" Sebastian scoffed. "She's my sister! I'll find a cure for her—"

"If St Mungo's Healers can't do it, no fifteen year-old boy will either."

"You might've given up, but I haven't."

"I've stopped trying to fill her head with false hope and nonsense!"

Anne's lethargic sigh had pulled Ominis away. "I'm so tired."

"You should rest."

"No." She fell back against the pillow. "I mean, of their arguing."

Truthfully, Ominis was tired of it too. He heard enough hatred at home, the few lonely weeks he had to spend there before absconding to Feldcroft. For the most part, his parents ignored him, though there were days they dragged him to dinners or parties with the other pure-blood families. He made sure to give the Malfoys as wide a berth as possible, even though Peregrine didn't bother him again.

"Can you promise me something, Ominis?" Anne had asked.

He'd pursed his lips. "That depends on what it is."

"You'll keep an eye on Sebastian this year." A wry laugh. "A metaphorical eye, that is."

He always intended to. The darkness was offering Sebastian solace, and he feared his best friend was diving down a path from which there was no return. How far would he be willing to go for Anne?

"I'll do my best."

"And... and talk to Gibby."

He hadn't heard your name all summer. It sent a frisson through him, equally terrifying and pleasant, and made to leave before an inevitable interrogation—

"Please," she said, stopping him. "Sometimes family isn't blood. Sometimes family is heart. And she is as much a part of yours as the rest of us are."

Yet, when he left with Sebastian an hour later, he adamantly reminded himself why he made that pact in the first place. He could not— would not talk to you, and rub raw a healing wound. Things were simply too dangerous to risk it, if not from Peregrine Malfoy, then from one of the other pure-blood families, the Lestranges, the Blacks, or the Fawleys.

When he and Sebastian arrived at the school, sun hushing the horizon, Ominis paid no mind to the knowledge that you were there, somewhere at the Hufflepuff table, enjoying the start of term without him. He took his seat next to his best friend and expected the same opening speech, Sorting Ceremony and feast.

Only there was one thing different.

Missy was what everyone called her. The nickname was sparked by rumour, as thick as honey – unlike yours, spurred by your actions, your quirks, Missy's had come before her, on the train up to Hogwarts, where all the fifth years spoke of a new student starting this year under the mentorship of Professor Fig.

Staring school so late, with the support of a prominent Hogwarts professor? That was unusual, she was unusual. A mystery.

Only when she appeared at the Sorting Ceremony, late, it was apparent she was anything but.

"There she is," Nerida crowed in the hum of chatter. "The new girl!"

"Her hair is amazing," said Violet, awed.

Ominis heard the new girl – like you, she had a distinctive set of sounds he could use to distinguish her from others. But unlike you, however, there was no naivety, no jolliness or upbeat wonder. There was only purpose, strong with each stride and levelled breath. Even as the interloper, and a late one at that, she acted like she already belonged.

His heart ached suddenly – the memory of the Undercroft tore at him, and he fought to keep it down, push away the strange sensation that came with thinking of you.

When the new girl was sorted into Slytherin, she sat next to Sebastian. "Hello." Her voice was distinctive too, well-spoken, eloquent, from wealth.

"The mystery student," Imelda said, clearly more impressed than she let on. "The whole year's been talking about you."

"Have they?" She didn't seem bothered by this at all. "Is that what I am? A mystery?"

"A real lady of mystery," said Sebastian, equally intrigued.

"Oh," said the mystery student, chuckling – Ominis caught threads of a sinister undertone. "I'm no lady. Miss is just fine."

"Well, then, Miss Mystery," Sebastian teased, "welcome to Hogwarts."

Ominis was too polite to ask what her real name was. It was too late now, anyway. The nickname stuck like mud, too fitting for a girl with an air of something otherworldly and powerful to be displaced. Your laughter bubbled in his head – maybe she would come to love the nickname as you did.

But there was no point thinking about you anymore. No point imagining what the future beheld for you.

Later that month, Ominis asked after what Missy looked like, if only to build a better picture of how different you were to one another, but Sebastian had only laughed.

"I'd tell you, but she changes her hair and eyes every day. Always in Snelling's Emporium. And her robes – she's never wearing them! Every class we go to she just puts on capes and hats and all sorts. It's a mismatch."

A very strange girl indeed, but not in the same way you were, in the same way you still are.

As the air began to chill, Ominis felt the change in his friend like frigid air on bare skin. He was warming to the new girl, more rapidly than Ominis expected – she invited him to Hogsmeade, joined his secret duelling club, stole him for night-time escapades and thirsted for knowledge only he could give. It seemed harmless enough at first, but the new girl had a particular sway, popular but not needy with the attention, mysterious but still generous with her time, and genial with her friends. Especially with Sebastian.

Worst of all, you were becoming her friend too. She was like the replacement for what you'd lost.

"Amortentia." Professor Sharp's voice carried through the Potions classroom one day, as October crept up the front lawns. "I'm sure you're all familiar with this, but for our new student's sake, could someone please refresh us on its properties?"

Unsurprisingly, Garreth spoke up. "It's the most powerful love potion in the world. It smells different to everyone according to what most attracts them."

"Very good. This is a potion we will be learning to brew in seventh year. As Mr Weasley has said, this is the most powerful love potion in the world." The last part he emphasised seriously. "It is not to be trifled with. Today, we will be brewing weaker love potions, but I am allowing you all to see for yourself the properties of Amortentia, so that you may recognise it outside the classroom. Dare I say, so you can protect yourself should anyone try to use it on you."

Sharp allowed them to gander at the potion as they brewed their own. The fifth-year girls were most excited, and as Ominis prepared his ingredients, the Hufflepuffs plus Missy headed up to the main station to have their turn.

Of course, you were amongst that group.

"Well, Missy?" you asked, as eager and animated as he remembered you to be. "What does it smell like?"

Missy took a whiff, then laughed.

"Secrets."

"Secrets don't have a scent," said Lenora haughtily.

"They do to me." She stood back, let you go ahead. "Go on then, Gibby, your turn. What does it smell like to you?"

Ominis struggled not to listen.

"Sweets." Of course it did. "Magic. You know, just the general scent of it. And..." Your voice turned tart. "Oil."

The giggling ceased. "Oil?" asked Adelaide.

"Oil," you confirmed, in a way that brooked no space for discussion.

What an absurd thing to find attractive. Did oil even have a scent? He pondered on this for a while, trying to untangle its meaning until their potions were neatly bubbling and Sebastian nudged him out of his thoughts.

"Want to go up next?"

They went after Everett declared his favourite scent to be broom handles ("Probably because that's the closest thing he'll ever get to a girl's touch," Sebastian muttered). Already the aroma was drawing him closer, a pleasant tickling like a silk robe on freshly bathed skin.

Sebastian inhaled deeply.

"Hmm."

"Well?"

"Old parchment," he said, "and hair dye."

Hair dye? "I've been told you were starting to grey."

"Funny. No idea why it smells like that."

But Ominis did. Just an inkling, anyway.

"Your turn." His friend stepped back. "You more than most anyone to know what it smells like."

Perhaps nothing, he thought in vain. It was a folly to think himself above such emotions. In fact, though his family may have tried to beat it out of him, it took strength to admit he had such a weakness at all. Since his sense of smell was more acute than most, it would've been strange, perhaps concerning, if there was no scent to the Amortentia at all.

So Ominis leant forwards and inhaled. The aroma was so heady he could get drunk on the smell alone.

"Honeysuckle," he murmured, probably because they grew around Feldcroft, and the memories were something he cherished. "Polished wood, like in a wandshop. And something... sweet." It was a sudden overwhelming note, and his voice grew hoarse. "It's very sweet. Something like—"

He iced over.

Strawberry laces.

"Something like...?" Sebastian said. "Your face has gone red."

"What?" Ominis drew back, willed the scent to disappear. "I— I don't recognise it."

Sebastian didn't say a word at first. Then came the insufferable chuckling beneath his breath.

"Ah, wait. Sweet, was it?"

"I said I don't recognise it." And when Sebastian went to speak again, Ominis quickly snapped, "Not another word."

But he knew, when his friend lapsed into contented, smug silence, this was by far the last time they'd have this conversation.

Without meaning to be, without even being there, you were a cruelty, vivid and sweet, and no matter what he did, he was powerless beneath your spell.

But with tensions rising in the world, he could not afford to think about you. He couldn't afford to think about what your scent in the Amortentia meant for his confused, muddled feelings.

By chance, he got the opportunity to think elsewhere the next day, when a letter arrived – from Gringotts, of all places. The braille glided beneath his fingertips, and he realised it was a will, his Aunt Noctua's will. It was getting to the point where she'd been missing longer than she had not, and his parents had finally bowled through solicitors and admin to snatch the last of the pittance from her vault. With no next of kin, she had given most of it to Ominis, though the money wasn't actually his until he turned seventeen.

Truthfully, the worst part was he could barely remember Noctua's voice anymore. He wondered constantly where she had gone, why she'd left him with her horrible brother and family. Once when he was eight, when a hopeful innocence still sang through him, Noctua had come to watch over him as his parents and siblings attended a society event in London. A pure-blood ball, he was told. Adults talking about adult things, how dull. As the youngest, Ominis hadn't been permitted to go, but he didn't mind so much when he got to spend time with his whacky aunt.

He was practicing his braille as Noctua tidied about the room.

"They'll be back after sundown," she was saying, "so make sure you're finished before then."

"Isn't it midday?"

"It's one."

"So I have lots of time."

"Yes," she said mirthfully, "but I want to take you to the village later today."

The village? "That's the Muggle place, and Father says I shouldn't go near them. They're all stupid anyway. Like pigs."

"Is that what he said?"

"Yes."

A creak as she sat on the bench next to him. Her hand ran down his back.

"You should know, Ominis, that not everything your father says is true. Muggles aren't anymore stupid than wizards are. They're hardly different from us at all."

The comment, harmless in retrospect, felt like an affront to everything Ominis knew. "But they don't have magic. That makes them stupid."

"It doesn't make them stupid. You don't have your sight. Does that make you stupid?"

"No," he said at once, indignant.

"So you understand. What we have and do not have doesn't matter. It is how we choose to live that does. In the end, we all return to the earth in the same way, flesh and skeleton."

That didn't make sense to him. "But how do they do anything if they don't have magic?"

"Well, you're learning your braille now, aren't you? They find ways to do things that work for them." She stood. "Tell you what, why don't we go to the village now? You can finish your work later."

Ominis agreed. He wanted to know, after all, if what Noctua said was true. She dressed him down for it, cotton and breeches and a woollen coat that drowned his arms, and they headed out before the clock struck two, Ominis clutching her hand as the wind bandied playfully with his hair. It didn't take them long to walk, though he detected so many new scents, new sounds. Wheat fields susurrating within musky spruce fences, crackling bonfires and burnings that pumped smoke into the sky. They reached a low stone wall that bordered the village river, cold against Ominis' hands, before Noctua hushed him.

"Do you remember the rules around Muggles?"

"No talking about the M-word," he said diligently, "or that we are the W-word."

So Noctua took him on a stroll through the market. He was surprised at the atmosphere, busy but not bustling. Horses clattered against cobblestone, ivy rustled against houses with rooves made of thatch. Knives slammed down on meat and fish, and there was bartering, so much bartering, for the best cuts and lowest prices.

"Come off it, Dave. Two shillings for that? You must be joking."

"Ain't no joke. Gotta' keep the lights on somehow, don't I?"

They chuckled, even though Ominis didn't understand why, until he remembered Muggles simply couldn't call upon light whenever they wanted. They had to rely on candles and hearths and gas lanterns. They had to rely on their own labour to make ends meet and provide for their children.

A thread of something fresh caught Ominis' nose then, and he turned towards the scent. Warm bread, just baked.

"Want some?" asked Noctua.

His family teachings came to him. Make no disturbance of your betters. "No thank you."

"Are you sure?"

It did smell nice, but he worried about whether Muggle bread was poison for wizards. Still, Noctua took him into the bakery, and thought terror laced through his fascination, he took the bread Noctua paid in their strange Muggle money and eagerly bit into the crust. It was warm and buttery and filled his belly to full – and best of all, it tasted like regular bread. No poison.

"Ah, born like that, was he?" said the baker.

Noctua seemed so at ease with them. "Yes, he's practicing braille at the moment."

"Oh, now, that's wonderful. Keep at it, lad. You'll do great."

"Thanks," Ominis managed. He'd never spoken to a Muggle before. He didn't know Muggles learnt braille too.

Noctua took him back outside as he finished the last of his bread. "Well? What do you think?"

The general mood was buoyant and hopeful. Not everyone was affluent, yes, but there was something wonderful in the way they worked tirelessly to get what they wanted. If the air smelt the same, the food tasted the same, the people merry and sad and angry the same...

"It's a bit like Hogsmeade," he admitted at last, because that was all he had to compare it to.

"So you see, then," said Noctua, a twinkle in her voice. "Not so different after all."

Only when they got back to the house, Ominis not entirely convinced but probing for more, he felt a shift in the air like claws on his shoulders. His parents had arrived home early, as had Marvolo and his noisy sneer.

"At the village, I see," his father barked. Then, "Ominis, to your room. Now."

Ominis knelt to the ground and pressed an ear to the crack under his door so he could hear the argument in the foyer below.

"You will do well to remember that he is my son, and I will not have you traipsing him around in Muggle slums!"

"Do you want him to be so completely unaware of the surrounding world? He'll have to live outside these walls one day."

Marvolo scoffed. "The boy is blind, Noctua."

"In sight, not in head," she retorted. "Though he will be if you all keep treating him this way."

It was nice to hear her support him, and from then on he enjoyed her company a lot more. She had so much wisdom to share, about the Muggle world, about his family, about the dark secrets that followed the Gaunts like shadow. When she went missing, he despaired in his bedroom alone, knowing all too well no one but him would care. It was only until that will arrived, balling up any last hope that she was alive, that he decided to shut the door on her disappearance once and for all – by chasing the information she'd last shared with him.

Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium.

It hadn't been an immediate decision. Once he told Sebastian of the Scriptorium, and his aunt's futile quest to find it, Sebastian hounded him for weeks, desperate to seek it himself. Ominis shut down his questions, even though, secretly, he wanted answers himself.

Missy managed to convince him – if only because she reinforced how important it was for Sebastian to find a cure for Anne, something that was possible with the secrets of the Scriptorium. And, well, to sate his own curiosity Ominis wouldn't be moved, but for Anne, whom he loved as much as Sebastian did, he agreed to make an effort. He would put aside his distaste for the Dark Arts for closure.

"Don't mistake my agreeing to go as thinking this is a good idea. I'm only going to ensure you don't get into some sort of trouble."

Missy's voice turned upwards with agreement. "You've made the right decision."

On the other hand, his was rueful. "I hope we don't regret this."

They waited until nightfall. It should've been no trouble to get there for the three of them, since the Scriptorium's entrance was next to their common room – but come the clock chimes at midnight Missy was nowhere to be found. Sebastian paced in wait as Ominis pressed a heel to the wall where the secret door lay, trying to sense any vibrations beneath. Boot steps heading towards them snagged his attention.

But there were two pairs. The first, Missy's forceful strides. The second—

You.

Instantly he recognised it. The bounce of your curls. The clatter of your glasses. The shoes, merrily clacking against stone. The scent of you, so sweet and innocuous, and yet like pure ecstasy.

You startled at the same time he did, standing upright.

"Gibby—"

"Ominis—" Hearing you speak his name after so long, in a tone that wasn't revulsion, was like music. But the shock was gone when you turned to Missy, aggravated. "I-I didn't know he was coming."

"Yes," said Missy coolly, "this information comes from his family."

"And therefore it is my quest," he reiterated. "You cannot invite whomever you want."

"I thought the more people, the better." So composed and unperturbed. "Why? Will this be a problem?"

"Yes. She cannot go."

"And why not?" you challenged indignantly.

So damn naïve. "It's dangerous."

"When has that ever stopped me?"

"There's a first time for everything."

"You can put your wounded ego away, Ominis. There's no way I'm not going exploring with you all."

He swore steam erupted from his nose, but it took Sebastian, of all people, to step in and play middle man. "We'll all go— and no, Ominis, unless you're planning to hex her, I don't think you can stop her."

"Don't tempt me." He grinded his teeth. "If you get hurt—"

"You wouldn't care," you said coldly.

And you were right. He shouldn't have cared. He'd severed your bond almost a year ago now. But there was something in him helplessly clutched in your grasp. Something that wouldn't let him let you go.

"If we're ready," said Missy, elongating her words in a poor attempt to smooth the tension, "then you can tell us the first step into the Scriptorium, Ominis."

Lighting the braziers was the easy part. Other students had done it, lit the things to light their way through the dungeons and accidentally unveiled the door. But no one had got further. A dead end, it was declared.

Instantly, he knew why.

Whispers seeped through the chamber walls. As the others explored, and Missy repaired a broken relief, Ominis wished he could clap his hands over his ears. There was something terribly wrong with this place. Something dark.

"Wait— a journal entry! Under the broken pieces!" Sebastian snatched a crusty parchment from the ground. "Ominis— it's signed from your aunt."

"What?" He couldn't believe it. Then had she... succeeded? "What does it say?"

Sebastian read. "Wow... she tried to convince your father she'd found the Scriptorium. She came down to get proof."

Noctua was here. And, perhaps worse, his father knew. His father knew and never said a word.

Tears came unwilling to his eyes, and he fought to bat them back, but it was like the susurrations heard his pain, strengthening their efforts to unsettle him.

"What's wrong, Ominis?"

Your voice was a balm, even though Ominis hated himself for it. His throat ran dry.

"I— I can hear hissing."

"Hissing?" asked Missy.

"I'm a Parselmouth," he explained, and for some reason, admitting it in front of you filled him with more shame. "I can hear and speak to snakes."

"Wow, that's incredible."

The awe in Missy's voice disconcerted him. "All descendants of Salazar Slytherin have the ability."

"So what's it saying?"

Ominis swallowed and focused on the sound. It pulled such a deep fear from him, to use this ability he hadn't in so long. The worst of it was, it was like he'd last spoken it yesterday. Like he'd never stopped at all. He'd sworn a year ago to lock away all the darkness of his family bloodline and throw away the key, and yet here he was, standing in his predecessor's lair, the translation effortless.

For Aunt Noctua, he tried to convince himself. But it was much harder to pretend the ends justified the means.

"Speak to me," he murmured.

"The relief depicts a person facing a snake," said Sebastian. "And this door... well, it's covered in snake motifs."

Ominis felt it, if only to fuel the hope that his friend was wrong. Of course he wasn't.

His heartbeat was a wild stag in his chest. "But I— I can't. I haven't spoken it in years."

"I think you know it's not the sort of language you forget."

No. It wasn't.

Letting himself embrace this horrid part of his heritage terrified him. It was like being back in the cellar again, that Muggle writhing beneath him in pain, his parents and brother lauding his name. Gaunt. No matter what he did to unbind himself from the bloodline, always it came back to shackle him. Always, it answered when he didn't call.

Everything in this place was overwhelming. His father's deliberate silence, the darkness that fettered him when he thought he was free... He didn't realise he was shaking until a hand came to steady him. You. Because of course you knew about his aunt, and how fond of her he was. You knew how much this meant to him, even if you didn't know the horrible things he'd done to get here.

He hesitated pulling his arm away – a foolish mistake. Your touch lingered like your soap.

"Take your time," you said softly.

He tried to gather some lost mettle. For my aunt, he told himself, again and again, until the whispers didn't seem so scary. It was difficult to centre himself when three people were waiting on him, but knowing that behind this door were the answers for his aunt's disappearance, and potentially the answers for Anne's illness, lit the spark of courage he needed. All that was left was to speak.

So he took a deep breath. Forced it out again.

And he spoke.

The tongue was guttering and unnatural. Rusty. Yet the door recognised its own flesh, and as the snakes undulated along the door's surface, and it opened with a cold draught of wind, Ominis knew he'd never escape his family legacy. No matter how much he wished it.

The others cast Lumos and set about exploring the space. Even so many years here and there was still some wonder in discovering the new, the unwritten. Salazar Slytherin did not make it easy to enter his Scriptorium, as the enclosed stone hallways, suffused with the cold, were riddled with puzzles, most of them involving the use of sight. Missy managed to solve the first, a memory test that required her to twist dials to match symbols on the gates.

She clicked the first one. Something sharped sliced the air besides him, and Ominis flinched.

"What the—"

"The gate came down," Sebastian said, terrified but also in awe – a worrying amount. "Between the archway."

"So there's no way back."

You huffed a breath. "So there's only forwards."

Regardless of your optimism, that was not a comforting thought, and the group stayed closer together, firing Lighting charms into the darkness. Dust swirled beneath Ominis' nose, and yet the place had a damp, mildewed feel, unpleasant and uncomfortable, but as the others continued to solve Slytherin's riddles, a rising worry eschewed his fear. This was too easy. His ancestor, he hated to admit, was one of the greatest wizards of all time, and too clever to find entertainment in shallow puzzles. There had to be something worse.

"I don't like this," he murmured into the humming din at one point, as Sebastian and Missy searched for the next symbols.

He didn't mean to talk to you, but he had.

"We'll be okay," you said, even though you moved a little closer to him, closer than he'd expected. "Salazar Slytherin is your direct ancestor?"

He swallowed. "Yes."

A pause.

"He hated Muggle-borns, too."

On anyone else's tongue, the words were a jab. On you, they were only full of pity.

I don't hate Muggle-borns. I don't hate you.

But he couldn't bring himself to say it, and the silence that followed devoured him.

"I think this is the last one," said Missy, when they entered yet another identical stone corridor, the echo of her voice a small comfort in the confined space.

Sebastian had already turned this into a game. "Race you?"

She let out a single chuckle. "You couldn't keep up."

"Try me."

You laughed along to their competitive scrabbling. When the air rippled, and stone quaked, revealing a corridor that seemed to lead nowhere, you patted your cheeks twice and marched forwards on Sebastian's heels.

But Slytherin enjoyed games too.

The gate almost sliced Ominis' nose when it descended in front of him, cutting him off from you and Sebastian. A mere breath separated you, and yet the gap felt infinite.

Behind him, Missy spluttered. "Damn it!"

That meant— he was trapped.

Powerless.

He grabbed the gate, unyielding beneath his fingers. "Sebastian, what's going on?"

"I—" Sebastian startled. "Oh no."

He heard your intake of breath then.

"What's going on?" Ominis demanded.

"Bones," you said quietly. "And a note. I-It's from your aunt..."

She died here. You read it aloud, confirming Ominis' worst fears. Grief tore through him, swelling behind his eyes.

"This is the last puzzle," Sebastian said, voice firm. "There's a door, but it's sealed. It says Crucio on the floor..."

"No!" Ominis rattled the gate. "No, you can't. This is madness, Sebastian! Please—"

"Please what?" Sebastian said, frustrated. "The Scriptorium wants a price for entry. This is what we must pay."

But you didn't know any Dark Magic.

Sebastian did.

The realisation chilled Ominis down to his heart.

"Don't you dare!" he screeched. "Don't you dare use that curse on her!"

You stammered. "Ominis—"

"We're stuck!" Sebastian barked. "Your aunt died because she came alone. She didn't have anyone to use Dark Magic on. So unless you want to die like her, we don't have a choice."

"We always have a choice!"

Even though he didn't know what that was, even though it was Slytherin's nature to demand obedience or death. None of that mattered. What did was that you were the last person who deserved such pain, when you'd already been through so much. When he'd already caused it.

He tried with all his might to break the gate, bend it, cast the Exploding charm, whatever it would take to get him in the chamber.

"It won't work," Missy said, softer than he thought capable.

"I have to try—"

"It's okay," you mumbled, cutting him off. "I-I can take it."

The tremble betrayed your fear. Sebastian offered a compromise, that he could teach you and you'd use it on him, but even if you wanted to learn the curse yourself, which you didn't, there was no way you'd ever find the intention to use it willingly, and to use it willingly on Sebastian, no less, who'd done you no wrong since you'd known him.

Ominis banged his hands against the gate. "Damn it, Gibby—"

"I said I can do it," you snapped. "I'll be fine."

"I told you it was dangerous!"

"I knew the risks."

"Did you?" he challenged. "You came down to explore!"

"I'm not naïve, Ominis!" You came closer. "Of course the Scriptorium of Salazar Slytherin wouldn't be easy to get into. Of course I knew there was a price!"

But for you, and only you, to pay it? Was it by fate, that you walked in second, or was this what Slytherin wanted all along? For Muggle-born blood to pave the way for the rest of wizardkind?

His hands shook as he clutched the gate, so tightly his veins bulged. Once, you were the most naïve person he knew, but that day in the Undercroft had changed you as much as it had changed him.

You spun away, back to Sebastian. A deep breath.

"Okay. I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

Presumably you nodded, because you didn't say the words.

And Ominis was helpless to listen as Sebastian raised his wand.

"Crucio!"

Your pain seemed to last for hours. For a second, a wink in time, you were silent, only that fizzing noise, that horrid, burning stench of the curse any indication anything was happening at all. But then you cried out, you wept,  you mewled, howled – then it was pure agony, screams that arced through Ominis in ways he would never forget.

Something shifted. It was a softer noise than your screams, like mud, or honey almost, sinking into the ground. As the blockage melted, Sebastian ceased the spell, but your pain did not end, and when the gate shot back up, Ominis stumbled over himself to get to you.

"Gibby," he fell to your side, cradled you, ran hands over your shoulders and face, breathless. "You— I— are you—"

Your ragged breaths calmed. Your quivering eased. Tears ran down his own, probably splattering onto you, but you said nothing, only remained still in his grasp as he held you, comforted you.

Something warm drew up his temple then, and it took a second to recognise it. Your hand. Your thumb, combing back an errant lock of hair, skimming the mole on his temple.

"So you do care," you croaked.

He didn't know how to respond.

"I-I'm sorry," he said instead, failure washing through him. "I... I should've—"

"Don't," you whispered. "Not here. Not yet."

So he didn't. Instead, he wordlessly helped you to stand. Sebastian and Missy asked after you, and their awkwardness brought a new flush to Ominis' cheeks, but when you gave a shaky thumbs-up and an audible smile that warmed even this terrible place, the four of you headed into Slytherin's Scriptorium impeded no longer.

Sebastian and Missy got to work searching each nook and cranny of the cavernous chamber of stone walls, busy with the scattered remnants of Slytherin's work: parchment, scrolls, ancient tomes on shelves that seemed to hum with magic too ancient to describe. Ominis held onto you for the entire time, emotionally spent. You clutched his arm in return, and he felt the tremble of your grip, the vestiges of the curse. He should've helped to search the place, really, but he didn't trust that Slytherin, the most famous pure-blood supremacist in the history of Hogwarts, wouldn't have any last surprises for you.

Missy eventually found Slytherin's spellbook, and the exit, which chucked the four of you back out into the dungeons. You huddled behind the columns until you were sure there were no teachers or prefects, and only then did Ominis allow himself a moment to press his head to the stone, process everything he'd heard, felt.

His aunt was dead, bones lying cold in that corridor.

Sebastian had used Dark Magic like it was second nature.

You had been hurt. And you were owed an explanation.

But so close to the common room entrance was risking too much. If not Peregrine Malfoy, then another pure-blood, a painting, a ghost, a teacher bribed. Someone else, trading with secrets that could ultimately slither its way back to his family.

"Ominis," Sebastian sounded genuinely contrite, "about your aunt—"

"Oh please, Sebastian," he snapped, the anger sudden but healthy. He swung on his friend, teeth bared. "We were lucky we escaped at all."

"But I'm grateful that we did, because maybe now Anne—"

"And if you'd have died in there? How could you have saved Anne then?"

You startled. "Wait, let's—"

"Swear to me." He didn't bend under the weight of your gaze. "Swear to me, right now, that we will never engage with Dark Magic ever again. That— that we will never cause that pain again."

Sebastian was speechless. "But—"

"Swear it, Sebastian!"

"All right, all right." He took a breath. "Understood. And I... I really am sorry about your aunt."

Admittedly that closure was nice, to know Noctua was gone. He didn't voice anything, his feelings too raw and churning, and Sebastian headed towards the common room, Missy in tow.

"We'll go. You two... have a lot to talk about."

When the common room door slid shut, and it was only the two of you, alone, a new sort of worry seeded in his stomach. You said nothing for a while, the last moments that had passed between you as palpable as stone.

"I— I'm sorry," he forced out, this apology much harder than the last. "The Cruciatus Curse—"

"I'm okay," you repeated. A shuffle of your boot. "Are... are you going to talk to me again now? Are you going to tell me why you turned on me?"

But he found the words impossible and unmoving. He needed time, space, to heal from today, before he was ready to open another old wound.

"I-I can't. Not yet."

You paused. It was long and hard to bear, like a rake drawing down his chest.

"All right," you said quietly. "When you're ready, find me. You know where."

He did know where. Back in the early months of first year, when you were green and hungry, there were times when you weren't tagging in Ominis and Sebastian's shadows, times when they didn't know where you were at all. Once he decided, on whim, to search. The castle was huge and he wasn't optimistic, but he checked your favourite places: the Hufflepuff common room, the library, the front lawns and the sitting area outside Charms. When you weren't there and no one had seen you, he concluded he was just missing you, and hurried towards the Great Hall before his absence at dinner was noticed.

That's when he heard you, far above.

The hallways of the Viaduct Entrance were quiet – everyone was at the feast – and even still, your voice was barely a whisper. He halted, pausing to make sure, and there again was your sound, high-pitched and squealy and very you. Brow furrowing, he followed the noise up the stairs until he found himself squirrelled between the wooden joists holding the ceiling.

Whilst Ominis and Sebastian had claimed the Undercroft as their own, this was your space. He didn't know when you'd discovered it, or how, but here you were, curled beneath the beams.

Crying.

It surprised him. You, crying? When you were always so upbeat? When everything seemed to make you laugh? He approached you like you were a unicorn, easily spooked by noise. Still, you noticed him anyway.

"Oh! Ominis! I— I didn't see you there."

"That makes two of us."

But you didn't laugh, which meant something was very wrong.

He swallowed his pride. He'd never dealt with someone crying before, least of all a crying girl. "What's the matter?"

"You're going to think I'm silly."

"I already think that."

Another heaving breath. Another jab that didn't land. "Then— I don't know. You might laugh."

"Why would I—?" He stopped himself. That wasn't what you needed to hear. Instead, he sat next to you. "I won't laugh. Promise."

"Okay." You shuffled a little closer. "I-I miss home."

Ah. You were homesick. Frankly the concept was foreign to him – he'd never once missed his family. Even then he rejoiced every second he got to spend away from home. Still, it seemed to be eating you up.

"I-I'm not ungrateful," you said quickly. "I'm really happy to be here. And I really like magic. It totally makes sense – one time I exploded my brother's washing basket and we never knew how—"

"Exploded—?" He sighed. Just you things. "Never mind."

"But I miss them. My mama and papa run the confectionary. My brothers are supposed to take over when they're older, but Connor met Matilda Asher at church and everyone reckons they'll marry soon and he'll go into lumbering, and Ellian doesn't like sweets a lot, and he's much better at business and numbers anyway, and who knows how little Tam will grow up— oh no, I'm going to miss him growing up!"

Now you were weeping and hiccoughing. "Slow down. You're getting tears on my robes."

"Sorry. Is that... am I a wally?"

He didn't have the heart to ask what a wally was.

"Everyone gets homesick sometimes."

"You don't."

So you noticed. "I grew up in the magical world. You didn't. If I was suddenly dropped into the Muggle world, I'd be sad too. It's overwhelming to suddenly be in a different place with different people, let alone find out you're actually a witch, but you'll get used to it."

"What if I don't?"

"You will." It wasn't a guess. It was fact. "And your friends will help. Sebastian and Anne, and Adelaide and Evangeline and Arthur too."

"And you?"

"Yes," he said, managing a smile for your sake, "and me."

You took a deep breath, a sign that meant you would be okay.

"Do... do you have a tissue?"

"No."

"A... face-cleaning spell? Dryus Tearus?"

"You can't put -us at the end of words and expect it to be a spell. Just stop crying." It came out as a demand, even though Ominis didn't mean it to. He lifted the hem of his robes and wiped away the tears. "You'll get to go home at Christmas, which is only two months away."

By which point, he knew, you wouldn't feel so homesick anyway.

You squirmed when he drew the robe across your nose again. It was snotty, which made him grunt in disgust, which then made you giggle, and then use the sleeve of your own shirt to wipe the rest away.

"Thank you." You sniffled again. "I must look terrible."

"Awful."

A sharp pause – then another laugh, this one more like your usual self. "You are funny, Ominis Gaunt."

Funny was, perhaps, the last word he would ever ascribe to himself. It was, however, the perfect word to assign to his feelings a few days after the Scriptorium debacle, when he was finally ready to share the truth.

He didn't find you under the joists in the Viaduct Entrance's ceiling. Instead, where you were sitting that first time he caught you in first year, and where you sat in the subsequent times since, he found a note. Cleverly it was in braille, and he suspected there was no written words. He drew his thumb across the print.

Below astronomy deck, 8pm.

You had been waiting there, every day like clockwork. Waiting for him.

Ominis climbed the winding stairs. He didn't come up here often – without his sight, he couldn't read the stars, though he did still partake in stargazing theory and discussion. The floorboards croaked. So high up, the wind teased the tips of his ears, and he fussed with warming them until the deck was before him.

He thought he was alone, that he'd missed the chance today.

But you were here, coming up to him steadily. "Are you ready to talk?"

He nodded, voice scarpering deep into his throat. You waited. You weren't going to prompt him or give him any tools to help. You were as hungry for answers as you were before, but you would not make it easy. He would have to work for your trust.

He didn't know how to start.

"I— my family—" How did he tell you about the pain he went through, without diminishing yours? How could he articulate the horrors he'd experienced home, that he'd subsequently thrown back at you? "Some... things happened, when I was at home that summer after third year."

You waited still, not saying a word.

The beginning, then.

"You know my family hates Muggles. Hates Muggle-borns. It's an old pure-blood notion that Muggle-born magic is weaker, that it's stolen. I realised it was wrong when I met you, and regardless of my family's opinions I thought it was okay to be your friend."

"Opinions," you retorted. "You mean prejudice?"

"Yes," he agreed hoarsely, realising his error too late. "Yes, prejudice."

Silence again, as you waited for him to continue. He didn't know you could be so blunt.

"Peregrine Malfoy found out in third year we were friends. He— he told his father. Who told mine." Now his heart raced, his pulse thrashed, a cold clamminess prickled up and down his skin in disgust, shame, fear. "M-My parents, my brother Marvolo, they... they were displeased—"

Your hand found his arm then to steady him then.

"You don't have to continue."

"You deserve to know—"

"It's okay. I... I already know."

"You— what?"

"I've known since the Scriptorium."

"How?" he demanded, then seethed. "Damn Sebastian—"

"Not Sebastian," you mumbled.

Anne.

"It wasn't her place to tell either."

"No," you agreed, "but I wrote her a letter and she told me anyway, since you were being a dummy."

"But you know why, then," he reiterated, clutching your shoulders, hoping, begging to make you see. "You know why—"

"I know I lost my best friend," you said, angry tears snuffing your voice. "I know you suffered. I know your family are the vilest, most evil people on earth. I know that nosy Malfoy should mind his own business. Sebastian said he talked to him. He won't say a word about you now."

What the hell did Sebastian do? "It's too risky."

"I'd rather live in risk with you then not have you at all."

"You don't understand. My family will stop at nothing to protect the sanctity of the bloodline. If they are capable of hurting me, they will hurt you. Maybe— maybe worse. They might've tried something already if you weren't protected here, at Hogwarts."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"You should be. They can do so much worse than... than the slur I called you, Gibby."

"Mudblood. I know."

"Don't say—"

"Why? That word means nothing to me – it only meant something when it was coming from you."

He didn't know how to respond, speechless.

"Your family can continue to live their lives in hatred, but I won't ruin mine for their sake. If I have to keep my friendship with you a secret to keep you safe, fine." Your voice was fierce, incredible, beautiful. "But I am not losing you, Ominis Gaunt. Not again."

You knocked the breath from him then. Those were words he would never forget; you planted yourself deeper into his heart, where your flowers bloomed even in the shadows of his past.

You were his family, too.

It had taken him a long time to realise you always had been.

[MASTERLIST][PREV][NEXT] [Divider credits]

[cilil]

AN: A gift for the wonderful @merilles. Please check out the beautiful art for this ship here and here! I always feel so very honored when I get to write other people's OCs ♡

dark romance prompts

♡ prompt: despair | Dúvain (OC) x Mairon/Sauron ♡ synopsis: after having survived the dungeons of Barad-dûr, Dúvains finds herself face to face with the dark lord. what does he want from her? ♡ warnings: captive/captor dynamic, power imbalance ♡ short oneshot (~900 words)

The first thing Dúvain saw when she awoke was the gaze of honey-golden eyes, bright and warm like sunshine. They appeared to illuminate the ethereal, perfect face hovering above her with an otherworldly glow, and she was met with a smile a little too sweet and teeth just slightly too sharp to belong to a mortal man. 

The first thing she smelled was the subtle, soothing scent of tea and a cosy fireplace, with only the slightest hint of flame and ash; a scent that one hardly ever noticed until it was gone, a scent that spoke of home. 

The first thing she felt was a hand on her cheek and another on top of hers, long fingers searching, reaching, intertwining with hers like serpents of smooth skin and hard bone. 

"Dúvain..."

That voice. The loveliest Dúvain had ever heard, soft and melodious, surpassing even the most famed minstrels of Númenor. There was a subtle lilt to it as if it was singing to her, slowly coaxing her out of slumber. 

"Dúvain..."

She blinked. It felt as though her mind had been shattered into tiny shards and fragments of memories and sensations, yet she knew she recognised this man – this miraculous being.

It's...

Annatar.

No. No. It's – 

Tar-Mairon. 

Dúvain squeezed her eyes shut. No. These thoughts, these names, they came with such certainty and precision that they felt out of place, as if someone was speaking inside her mind with her own voice. 

Yet now that she was free from that alluring golden gaze, clarity suddenly returned to her. 

It's... the enemy. It's Sauron. 

She sat up abruptly, eyes wide in panic, and freed her hand, scooting backwards until her shoulders met the headboard of the bed she had been sleeping on. 

Liar. Torturer. Deceiver. Murderer. 

Dúvain raised her hands, only to realise that her sword was gone – had been gone for a long time. They had taken it from her, as well as any other blade or sharp piece of steel she could have used to defend herself. 

If he can even be hurt by such things. Either way, her own flesh and bone was all that remained; though she knew already that she was weakened and had little hope of resisting whatever he planned to do to her. 

Would it be worse than the dungeons of Barad-dûr? Under normal circumstances she would doubt it, but the tales of the dark lord's bottomless malice and cruelty made her think otherwise. 

Sauron made no move to stop or apprehend her. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands still resting on the sheets where Dúvain had withdrawn from his touch, and he seemed amused rather than angered by her reaction. 

"You are awake," he noted, speaking in the same lilting sing-song voice he had used to talk to her in her sleep. "Have you slept well?" 

The nonchalance of his demeanour felt like mockery. 

Dúvain didn't deign to answer and clenched her fists. Knuckles white, nails biting into her skin, she forced herself not to tremble. Sauron was the kind of creature that could sense fear, she knew instinctively. 

Could she escape? If not from his dungeon, then maybe from whichever chambers he had brought her to? Nervously, her eyes roamed her surroundings. Even if she could somehow outrun a Maia, guards would be everywhere, and she had no idea where she was, not to mention the battlements, the stairs, the gates – 

Sauron was suddenly in front of her again, now kneeling on the bed. Dúvain flinched; she was certain that she hadn't looked away for even a split second, yet somehow he had still managed to move faster than her eyes could see.

So much for getting away from him... 

His hands reached for her again, and she had nowhere to go. Her gaze fell upon a single golden ring adorning his finger, gleaming proudly and thrumming with strange magic and powers she did not understand. 

"No..."

Dúvain didn't want to be touched. Not by Orcs, not by other Men, most certainly not by the dark lord – 

And yet, his hands were warm, and she was cold, so cold. 

Her breath quickened and her heart raced, like a trapped bird fluttering in its cage. 

"Kill me," she challenged. 

I don't want to die. 

But Dúvain would be brave, like a knight of Númenor should be. 

Sauron merely smiled. "You don't truly want me to." 

Had he read her mind or was he able to see past her facade so easily? He had both hands on her cheeks now, holding her head in a gentle yet inescapable grip, and was examining her panicked expression like an amusing curiosity. 

"My dear Dúvain." The subtle song was back, incessant and unrelenting as if he intended to serenade her into submission. "There is no need for such antics. You have already proven your strength to me, have you not?" 

His smile was so sweet that it sickened her to her core, but Dúvain found herself unable to look away or close her eyes. 

"You have indeed, and I wish to reward you for it."

"I don't want what you offer. I choose death over your treacherous gifts," Dúvain mumbled, though it was becoming harder and harder to focus on her words. 

Sauron laughed lightly, and despite the gentle melody of his voice, there was an edge of cruelty to the otherwise pleasant sound. 

"You fear death as all mortals do, Dúvain. Why don't you instead ask me for something that you truly desire – such as deliverance from its grasp?"

Thanks for reading!

taglist: @angbangbaby @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

[dustdeepsea]

Tagged by @littleplasticrat (thank you!) -- this made me think about the fan work that's stayed with me throughout the years. Some of the stuff I tried to unearth is simply lost to the internet wilds and time, but here are the ones I managed to find.

Final Fantasy 8 stories by Bishounenink (Tenshi and llamajoy) Squall/Seifer; Squall/Zell; Seifer/Fuujin

"I walk in possibility, along the edge of coming night as if along a polished steel-fine blade. I hear you speak my name in the hushed resounding whisper of a thousand beating wings, and my world darkens around you-- stronger still than pain, or fear."

I mean, literally all of them, printed off in computer lab classes and read during lunch break. I also learnt what a sestina was from Sorceress Dreams and after that, I was insufferable in literature class for the rest of the year.

Go Not Gently by Guardian1 (Tami) Final Fantasy 9

"For my birthday, when I was ten, Papa gave me hair ribbons and chocolate and a new set of spanners and the chance to pilot an airship without Erin at the co-pilot's wheel. For Vivi's birthday, when he was twelve, he got a houseful of dead children and left us a very gentle little note and went off and Stopped."

This story. My god. It altered me in fundamental ways. There are lines from this story that sometimes still pop into my head while writing. I named an entire work based off a chapter title from it.

This is also the first time I drew fanart for fic! I didn't realise how huge it was at the time but last year I discovered it has its own TV Tropes page. 

P/s: The artwork of Eiko on TV Tropes was actually drawn by teenage me :) I've lost the original file and closed the DeviantArt account, but it's very nostalgic to see it still floating on the internet.

The Least of All Possible Mistakes by @rageprufrock BBC's Sherlock Mycroft/Lestrade

"The first time George meets Mycroft Holmes, she tases him."

The pairing might sound crazy, but this is actually the best written slowburn love story I've ever read.

I read it when I was on the cusp of my first adult relationship (where you seriously discuss the mundane things like bills, rent and moving to be with each other) and it felt completely different from anything that I'd read before that. It's also a heartfelt love letter to London, a city I was enamoured of for a long time.

Give it a shot. I re-read every couple of years and have a big, old cathartic cry.

Exile's Rose by prodigy Fallen London Reader/Once-Dashing Smuggler

"The man was distractible. Attracted to you, certainly, you were confident of that--though it factored less into his negotiations than you would have liked. And attractive, too. But also just distractible. Even as you presented another promising offer for his grave-gold like a debutante at a ball, he had his chin in his hand and was looking off to the side, out of the window of his London parlour.

And he had the most damnable green eyes. These were your very first impressions of him. When you were strangers."

Fallen London is an entire game world crafted with only a few pictures and mostly words. I fell for the Smuggler based on just a few lines of text. To this day, I wonder how myrrh-scented roses would look and smell like. 

This is an interactive fiction game. There is no win condition, only a gently unfolding mystery and recollection of a romance.

Bonus round; just trust me on this

howling dogs by Porpentine Charity Heartscape

"Every day you think of ways this photo could have been improved: better lighting, better surroundings, closer to see the subtleties in her expression, further back to see her form and better imagine embracing her…"

This isn't a fanfic and I hope they won't be annoyed with me if they see this, but I'm adding it to the list because it's a work of art, offered up for free. I love interactive fiction and you should definitely play/read it.

This story has been living rent free in my head for years. It lives in the marrow of my bones. The ending still gives me shivers each time I replay it. One day, perhaps, I'll write as economically and elegantly as Porpentine.

Occasionally, I'll remember I've read masterpieces written by fanfic authors that I will forever carry with me and that have shaped me into the writer I am today.

Not enough love is given to fanfic writers.

We do it all for free, and we get to touch so many hearts and make someone's day better with words.

So when people complain when we ask for engagement and feedback, try to remember that the written word carries a power that is seldom matched.

Ask yourself why you're reading fanfiction in the first place.

To feel.

To love a character through the words of someone else who is able to bring them to life in a way that allows them to take root in your heart and feel an immense sense of gratification and passion.

They live through you because someone out there decided to sit down, click their pen and put into words how much that character means to them.

And they will mean so much more to you because of that.

And that is fucking powerful and priceless.

[ares-would-be-proud]

Izzy said: Fairy! Im so excited for your dark content!! Since i saw it on your other blog, may i request for yandere bertholdt 👀 i feel the would make the most unsuspecting but worst (or best?) Yandere next to armin because he's so gentle and unassuming and shy, no one would ever think he has other intentions

Yandere Bertolt pt.I

{ Bertolt x reader | tw:yandere, tw:toxic-behaviour, tw:near-death experince, tw:murder mystery? Eh kinda, tw:manipulation tw:Emotional-rollercoster | Dark romance, fluff, slowburn, lowkey funny ngl | Canonverse }

{ "Roses" 1878 by George Cochran Lambdin 1830–1896 }

Securing the last belt around your thighs before attaching it to the one near your knees, you made sure to tighten it as much as you can before sliding it in the metal head.

Having the equipment room all to yourself, you took your time in double-checking everything was in place. Making sure your gas tanks were filled, carrying spare steel blades and tightening your boot strings.

The manoeuvring gear's parts made a clinking sound against each other with every step you took. Making your way to the nearby woods acting as the training ground, the sun shining made you shield your eyes with your hands, taking some seconds to adjust to the brightness.

The road was clear, with almost no birds or squirrels in sight.

It was one of those days when the wind seemed so fast as it swept by you, so much in fact that you could visibly see the few clouds swimming by as if they're racing each other. A perfect day to spend near a lake maybe, or in a field of flowers, but you had to spend it training in the woods with the other soldiers till your fingers ached from pressing against the handgrips.

You wanted to get it over with, feeling nauseous. Probably because you managed to oversleep and miss breakfast.

It started as normally as any other training session went, pushing through till your autopilot took over. While fun at first, there's so much manoeuvring between tree branches to slash at 2d wooden cutout of titans you could do before it started getting repetitive.

And so you let your body take over and move on its own, taking you further and further towards the edge of the forest till you couldn't hear the sound of anyone else's manoeuvring gear except your own.

The high wind rustling the trees making the leaves fall distorted your visions as they fell on you, and the flashing sunlight that swept through the small openings between the leaves only made things worse.

Blinding you for split seconds, too bright in fact, that you had to close your eyes shut as it burned after the light fell directly against it.

It's only after a couple of seconds late, that the sound of something snapping registered in your brain.

You were slowly turning in the air, strong wind resistance coming from below as gravity pulled you down.

Things were moving too quickly to process, dread shot through your entire body in shivers, you could feel your heartbeat in the back of your throat as you came closer and closer to the ground.

No matter how many times your clammy hands attempted to work the pistol-shot, no hooks attached to the nearby trees despite the gears working as you heard its zipping noise.

The realisation of the situation you're in finally settled, you couldn't do a single thing, but watch the trees grow larger and larger by the second as you fell to your doom.

You've survived many expeditions and missions, you've escaped Titans teeth that were mere inches from biting your head off, and this is what will put you seven feet below? A mere fall?

...no, it wasn't just a fall, it was arrogance for taking it for granted. After all, overconfidence was a slow and insidious killer, sneaking on the second you let your guard down.

But was it?

A flash of today's morning comes before your eyes, your brain recalling the unusual spot your manoeuvring gear was placed, you were too sleepy to notice it at the time but now it's the only thing on your mind, did someone-

Before you could hit the ground, the familiar sound of pressured gas fizzling out followed by the clinking of metal swishing by.

One second you were almost slamming into the hard ground, the next you were caught by someone mid-flight.

Bertolt tightly pressed you against his chest with one arm, securing you in place while his other used his gear to reach the nearest tree branch.

Your hands wrapped around him, securing yourself even more. He didn't flinch when your nails accidentally scratched his neck from how hard you were holding him.

Despite how close you were to his chest, your own hammering heartbeat was the only sound you could hear for it was stuck in your throat as the adrenaline pumped through your veins.

You hesitantly let go the second your feet touched the ground, although still shaking you managed to find your balance again, yet, Bertolt's hand didn't leave your back.

You looked below at the wires dangling from your gear, their end visibly thinner than the rest of it. It still didn't register how a wire made out of iron could snap so easily…

Your thoughts were interrupted by the hand reluctantly turning your face back up, Bertolt's nervous eyes meeting yours.

"Don't look down too much, you'll get dizzy" he said, concern clear in his voice before stepping closer to you, his large body tucking you between him and the tree behind, as if you might slip away "are you okay? Did you get injured?"

A bit taken back by his dotting, you shook your head before thanking him for not letting you fall.

"Don't mention it please...it's nothing, really." That seemed to make the corner of his lips rise a bite, slight flushing to his ears. "Maybe you should get some rest, you didn't seem well back there."

Was he watching?

The thought disappeared from your mind as quickly as it came, the guy saved you from a head injury after all, the least you could do is give him the benefit of the doubt.

Not to mention, it was Bertolt. Has it been any other guy, Reiner or Jean for example, then your attitude towards this whole thing would've been completely different. Putting as much space as you can between the two of you after brushing off their hands.

Has it been any other guy...but it wasn't now, was it?

No. It was Bertolt, soft-spoken and easily flustered Bertolt, who got nervous in most situations and didn't reply to teasing.

Bertolt, who didn't say a thing when Eren stole his seat next to Reiner, instead settled to sit next elsewhere.

Bertolt, who always remained humble and downplayed his skills despite ranking in the top five and becoming a really valuable soldier.

Bertolt, who you've only ever said hi to before once before he seemed to panic and just awkwardly wave back instead.

Maybe that's why you didn't mind him being so close, he wasn't a threat and most everyone knew that. If you asked people to rank the top three men they'd feel safe in a room with, Bertolt would almost make it to everyone's top two.

And so when he offered to walk you back to your room, it didn't raise any red flags despite it meaning you'd be alone with him in the dorms while everyone was training.

-

The short walk went fairly nice actually, he kept a respectful space between you while making sure to walk at a slower pace so his height wouldn't force you to jog.

From the sweat collecting at his forehead and his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt he seemed to struggle to find a good conversation starter.

You could read him like an open book, it was quite endearing the way he commented over how nice the weather is, four times in a row while stumbling over his words. But you weren't that cruel and so you decided to grant him mercy, starting a topic yourself.

Talking about your interest, hobbies and things you'd do whenever those rare moments of peace and normalcy would arrive.

He shared his too, apparently, he's into journaling, finding it much easier to write his thoughts on paper than out loud.

One conversation pulled another, as he seemed to grow more comfortable the more you talked.

Although, he wouldn't meet your eyes for more than 5 seconds before turning his gaze away, yet you could feel them staring at you the second you turn your head.

Somewhere between your conversation, the subject switched to talking about life. Bertolt asked you if this is the kind of life you've wanted, words unusually firm that it made you pause.

The question was out of place, a huge switch from your previous fun topics.

Nonetheless, you answered, "I don't think anyone would willingly choose this life. It's more of...doing the most out of the cards you've been dealt, this just happened to be mine."

The sound of his footsteps stopped, you looked at his face, he didn't look away.

"Would you rather have a more normal life?"

The way he stood, his back to the sun with you in his shadow, an unreadable expression on his face, really brought out his height and large build that you've almost forgotten.

you unconsciously took a step back, he took a step forward.

"If by normal you mean a non-starving one where I'm not at the risk of being eaten daily, then yeah." You answered, time felt like it slowed down. The seconds stretched for too long as you watched his reaction.

He...smiled, a sincere smile, the kind that makes your eyes shine. Soft expression seemingly relieved as he continued walking, a slight bounce to his steps.

"I'd love that too, to have a normal life one day."

And then he proceeded to tell you about his dream, the normal life of peacefulness he seeks. Sharing as many details as time would allow, from the kind of person he wants to grow up to be, to the colour he wants to paint the house backyard's fence.

It was lavender.

When he mentioned wanting a dog, you couldn't decide what was funnier, the mental image of Bertolt with an equally almost as big kind of dog, or a small tiny breed that would fit in his hands. Taking him for walks and playing catch as the dog tackles him to the ground.

Some chuckles escaped your lips, and while Bertolt didn't know what you were smiling about, nonetheless he joined too.

-

Your time together was cut short when the dorms came into view. Feeling both relief for finally being able to rest and disappointment for having to end your conversation so soon, especially since you think this is the first actual talk you had with him besides saying hi before.

Bertolt, looking out for you, made sure to hold the door to your room open for you. Some part of your brain wondered how exactly he managed to guess which room was yours, the other simply couldn't wait to get into bed.

You sat on the bed, Bertolt invited himself in and closed the door behind him.

He took his time looking around your shared room with his eyes, staring at the titles of the books splayed on the table, taking in the smell of scented incense your roommate bought every month, the doodles, drawings and notes hanging by mere tape against the wall.

Finally, eyes landing on the top bunk bed, currently empty with your roommate having left too early in the morning for the preparations of their next expedition.

Well...after all you were too used to waking up by the sound of them opening and closing all the drawers in search of their glasses that they manage to lose each day, yet yesterday they made sure to sleep next to it.

Huh, maybe that's why you overslept.

Yet, Bertolt's eyes didn't move as he stared seconds too long, shoulders growing stiff and palms tightening against his side.

"They left for an expedition, a titan capturing one... I think." You explained, "it's supposed to last three days, but since it's led by Captain Hange...I wouldn't be too surprised if they still haven't left yet."

"Must be nice, having the room for yourself."

You agreed before adding "well, it still gets too lonely sometimes."

Bertolt looked like he wanted to say something, lips parting for a second before he pressed them close into a thin line.

An awkward silence filled the room, as you looked at Bertolt who seemed to revert back to his old nervousness.

"I think I should go, Reiner must be looking for me."

You thanked him again for his help, he avoided your eyes before mumbling a reply, saying it's really nothing.

Did you do something wrong? You couldn't help but think that, after all things were going so well just now. Why would he get on edge again?

As a final attempt to redeem yourself from whatever unknown act you must've committed for Bertolt to act this uncomfortable, you called out to him one last time.

"Hey, Bertolt. I know we technically just met but, just know you can drop by anytime okay? You seem like a nice person and we can be friends."

Oh god did you really say, we can be friends, what is this kindergarten again? Welp you fucked up, looks like it's another failure to add to the calendar, man and you've been keeping such a clean track of days without accidents.

You know what? No, forget it, you tried your best and you had good intentions so why should you ever feel guilty for-

"You really mean that?" Bertolt, whom

You've become aware was still in the room, said.

Not sure how to reply to this, you just gave a nod instead.

"I'd love that." He spoke with a soft tone. And despite his growing desire to move closer to you, he opened the door instead, sparing you one last sweet smile before he left.

And for a good minute there, his smiling face was all that occupied your mind, a fluttering feeling that came and went too quickly for you to acknowledge.

-

True to your predictions, the mission was apparently delayed till midnight for...undisclosed reasons. Although gossip spread faster than wildfire, and by dinner time everyone was talking about the argument Captain Hange and Captain Levi got into, the story got modified and exaggerated each time it was passed around.

"Listen, I was there and I saw it! Well...not with my own eyes but it doesn't matter." Your roommate said, too eager to spill you everything that they almost forgot to eat their food. "It was big, like Captain Miche having to restrain Levi kind of big!"

You gave them a silent look, raising an eyebrow.

"...okay jeez it didn't get this far but it felt like it did, like it almost happened." They poked their food with the fork, before deciding to try some.

Their pouting face almost made you want to tease them even more, just to see what corner you can back them into before they confess to making up half the story they've been telling you.

But a wrenching gut feeling suddenly shot through your body, coming almost out of nowhere, the kind you'd usually feel whenever a titan was targeting you.

Confusion was naturally your first response, there couldn't be any titans nearby. You swallowed down, no don't be silly, it doesn't even make sense.

Maybe...maybe it was one of those cases you studied in class? About people getting PTSD flashbacks at random times, or from small triggers?

The air seemed too cold and too hot at the same time, you forced your eyes to move around the room in an attempt to remind yourself everything is fine, that you're here.

Seeing your friends, fellow soldiers and veterans just sitting around, enjoying their food while joking with their friends, helped ground you to reality again.

Yeah...see? Nothing's wrong, everyone's having a good time so-

Your gaze met Bertolt's, dark eyes staring back but not at you. No, instead they were focused on your roommate. The knot in your stomach twisted.

Beside him, Reiner was murmuring something under his breath as he leaned closer to Bertolt, his stare following the other's gaze.

Reiner seemed unusual, drops of sweat collecting at his forehead while Bertolt was the opposite, the calmest you've ever seen him actually.

Reiner gave Bertolt one final look, lips moving too fast for you to attempt to even read. Bertolt nodded.

And then it was like nothing happened, both of them going back to their usual selves. Reiner's attention was stolen by Eren asking about his food, while Bertolt looked at Jean who sat next to him without asking before commenting on Eren.

"Hey, are you okay? You look…" your roommate said, concern in their voice before their hand found your forehead. "I heard what happened this morning, with the manoeuvring gear, I didn't want to bring it up but…"

You didn't have to be told twice, and so you reassured them it's okay, you'll get some rest, not like you'd complain about having an excuse to get a day off.

That seemed to make them satisfied, well...that and making you swear on the scouts' honour to take care of yourself while they're away.

After dinner, as you were headed to your room while your roommate had to get to the stable before heading out with their group, you passed by Reiner.

It wouldn't have been unusual, wasn't it for the fact he was fully in his uniform with gear ready that you had to do a double-take.

You swore you just saw him in casual clothes at dinner...was he also going on that mission? Huh, weird you can't remember seeing his name on the list.

-

The week passed by slower than you would've liked, with both of the survey corps Captains gone, most of the soldiers...really had nothing to do but waste time.

It was almost funny, wasn't it for the fact you were bored out of your mind.

Captain Miche rarely gave orders, the only time you'd see him is during training season when everyone had to do a round with him. While commander Erwin didn't really entrust soldiers who weren't close to him with his paperwork or even chores.

At least Sasha and Connie were making the most of it, whatever they were doing seemed fun…

Bertolt never took you up on your offer either, despite him seemingly having a positive reaction to wanting to be friends he didn't show up at all.

Yet you'd still see him hovering by, either being assigned the same chore together or simply happening to be in the same room at the same time. And despite how much you've thought about going up to him to start a conversation, you knew how to read between the lines. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable that's all.

He'll come when he's ready, is what you told yourself.

And well, you were right, eventually, he did.

Not only did he initiate talking, he even attempted to ask if you'd like to accompany him to the nearby town maybe.

With the way his hands were clasped behind his back and slight flushing to his cheeks as he summoned all his courage to ask you that, how could you say no?

-

It was almost like seeing an entirely different person.

Bertolt, in his casual clothes, as he strolled by you through the food stands, seemed a much more...healthier version of himself?

He looked at peace, the smile never leaving his lips. He even made jokes and shared his opinions without being asked.

Whenever you went to check something that stole your attention, he would quickly follow by to erase any form of distance. Whenever your eyes fell on a piece of accessories for too long, he'd suggest you try it on, putting it on you himself.

And yet, whenever his hand would brush yours by accident while walking, he'd almost stumble into the ground and quickly pull it back. Or the time you attempted to adjust the collar of his shirt and you swore his knees almost gave out when you stepped closer, reaching his neck.

Both of you tried different kinds of food, he even offered you his own if you seemed to enjoy a certain food. Saying he'd rather you have it.

Both of you being broke soldiers ment there are only so many things you can do in the town before quickly burning through your savings.

It wasn't long before he suggested going back, you agreed to take the long walk back to enjoy nature a bit more.

You've wondered how come Bertolt only seems the most comfortable when talking to you on walks, but the story he was telling you was too interesting for you to think about it now.

You listened to him talk, it felt like you could listen to him for hours on end before getting bored. For someone who rarely spoke, he surely did have a way with words when he actually did.

It was nice, comfortable and gave you a false sense of normalcy as if the world was okay for a short while.

One final thought you had just before the both of you parted to go to your separate rooms, was that if Bertolt was going to write about this day in his journal.

-

For each day of the remaining week, you and Bertolt managed to hang out more and more.

You went to the lake, a frog landed on him that you had to remove because he was too nervous he might crush it.

He took you to a nearby spot in the town, it seemed normal at first but he just told you to wait. Apparently, each after some dogs would frequent this spot and Bertolt has already made friends with most of them.

And on the last day, both of you actually just spent it...in his room. He had a really comfortable bed and feather pillows that you almost didn't want to leave. And despite sharing a bed he still would keep space between you, no matter the uncomfortable positions he had to sit in.

By the end of the week, the expedition group arrived during sundown.

Their heads lifted high, pride clearly across their faces as they rode their horses. Captain Hange especially seemed much more excited than usual, barely managing to stay still on their horse.

The mission was a success apparently, they've managed to capture two titans with zero mortality rate and minor injuries.

...well almost a zero rate.

You were called into Erwin's office in the middle of the night, when Moblit knocked on your door asking you to quietly follow him.

The night air was cold against your thin clothes, silence filling the usually busy hallways, now errly empty.

Knocking before he told you to enter, he seemed busy with some paperwork, instead offering you a seat and asking to wait shortly.

The curtains behind him were closed shut, the candle sitting on his desk seemed on the verge of burning out, melted wax collecting on the plate under it.

It wasn't till after some seconds that you realised you weren't alone in the room, Captain Levi was leaning against the wall on the other side, arms crossed.

The scratching of the pen against the papers would occasionally get replaced with the sound of dipping the metal head inside the liquid ink container, carefully wiping it against the opening to remove any overflowing liquid.

Your fingers fiddled with the red cushion on the armchair, leg slightly bouncing before you force it to stop each time.

Waiting...and waiting.

The back of your throat felt scratchy, only becoming aware of how dry your mouth was then. Attempting to swallow down as a form of relief didn't help much.

"Here, drink it." A glass of water was offered to you by Levi, handing it to you before going back against the wall.

Saying a small thank you before finishing the glass, you felt slightly better afterwards. Although the growing tension in the air didn't help ease your mind.

"Cadet." Erwin clasped his hands, "I apologise for calling you here this late, although considering the circumstances I'm sure you'd understand."

Opening one of the desk drawers, Erwin pulled out something wrapped in a napkin, the white cotton having a growing reddish stain in its middle.

"I offer my condolences."

-

[caxsthetic]

RIGHT BACK HOME — Miya Atsumu x Reader

Type: Standalone Movie (One-Shot Fiction)

Cast: Miya Atsumu

Storyline: He always afraid to lose you, yet he didn’t realise that he was the one who made the string loose — and you decided to cut it off.

Genre: Drama, Romance, Slice of Life

Home. He was supposed to be home by now, maybe in your embrace as he wrapped his arms around your torso. He should have been there, inside the house with you, dragging your body to bed since he knew how stubborn you could be if there was some work that you needed to finish.

Funny how right now he stood in front of the house that you used to share with him, yet didn't dare to come knock at the door. As if the owner of the house was just a stranger. As if the owner of the house was not someone that he kissed for the last three years of his life.

But as his amber eyes stared at the mahogany door, it was as if the past years of his life on earth was just a mere fantasy; something that his mind created to make him feel better about his crappy adulthood.

He was broken — hopeless too. And right now he wanted nothing but to rewind the time, wishing that somehow in another chance, he could get back to you.

"Why didn’t you say anything?"

You croaked out, engulfed by the warm hoodie that belonged to him — yet it could not save you from the coldness inside his orbs as it pierced into you. You felt so small, hands holding on tight to the soft fabric to keep you from falling as you tried to stand your ground.

"What's the point?" He shrugged, both hands tucked inside his pocket. "It's not like it would change what you did."

You wanted to retort as he voiced it out mindlessly. Communication was important in a relationship. Yet every time he didn't like something that you did, he always just kept it inside his heart and grumbled on his own.

And each time, it would end up in one thing, a fight. Endless fights as he was too stubborn to say that something was bothering him, yet when you turn around and act as nothing happened — he always says that you never care. A little toxic wasn’t it?

“But what if it would have?” You steeled yourself, taking one step closer to him. “If I knew that talking to Sakusa could make you feel like this, I wouldn’t talk to him that much.” Every word that you said was honest, for him, you really would do anything.

“Oh, as if.” But he just decided to be a bitch about it. “Can’t you see it? How he let you come close to him? How he actually wanted your company or, or how he fucking allowed you to touch him?” Each sentence dripped with poison as his fist clenched and unclenched, trying not to let his emotions run free.

“What is wrong with touching him? I just—”

“‘Cause he never lets anyone touch him!”

His shoulders slumped the second he blurted out the words, hand carding his own hair in frustration. “Can’t you see it? He’s interested in you! He smiles a lot when you are around, and what? You flirt with him back as if I am not even there!”

“I am just being a good friend, Sumu!”

“Oh yeah, being a good friend with those innocent looking eyes as you leaned your body closer to him. Yes, such a good friend you are.”

Your blood boiled as his accusation seeped inside your heart. You have been nothing but a loyal partner for the setter, and yet he always acted like this when someone was being too close with you. It was as if he questioned your love for him, and little by little, you started to question why you stayed.

“I am not in this relationship to be treated like this.” You hissed at him and took off the hoodie that you wear, throwing it right at his face, leaving you with just a thin shirt to cover your body. “You’re always playing victim, always acting like I don’t care, like I don’t love you.”

“Well, do you?”

“What?”

He chuckled bitterly and grabbed the hoodie that you threw at him beforehand. His amber orbs looked at your face as disbelief was written all over your facade.

“You never really loved me. You just wanted the fame of being the girlfriend of Miya Atsumu. So the moment someone way better than me takes a liking to you, you immediately whore around—”

Slap!

It rang inside his eardrums, the after-effect of your palm hitting his cheek. You were five feet apart from him before, but now here you were, standing right in front of him with tears glistening your orbs.

“Congratulations.”

Your voice didn’t waver, not even a little bit as you said it with a cheery, yet sarcastic tone. “You tried to push me away, to make me tired of all your bullshit—” Chuckling, you let your hands fall to your side. “— and you accomplished that! Congratulations!”

And just like that, he was the one who felt so small under your gaze.

He wanted to say more, as he couldn’t believe that you sounded so relieved. As if you have been waiting to finally end things with him. It was never his intention to make you feel like this, to make you think that he wanted you out of his life. His lips parted, as he was in a hurry to explain why.

“So can you leave?” But you didn’t give him a chance. “I am tired, Atsumu.” Of course, what did he expect anyway after treating you like this? “I didn’t need to hear your pity excuse.”

But it was not an excuse.

Atsumu stared at your face, a little plea could be seen through his orbs as he just needed you to hear what he wanted to say.

I am just scared.

Yet when his gaze met with yours once again, he knew that you wouldn’t hear anything from him. He was too late to say that, he was too stupid to say anything before.

I am just scared that I will lose you sooner than I expected to.

But then again he already lost you in this moment. All because he was too cautious, too wary of the possibilities that you would love someone else. Someone that was possibly better than him; who was not sarcastic, who did not act like a child most of the time.

Maybe you needed someone more mature, someone that you could rely on most of the time. And that was not him, that man was not Miya Atsumu.

And he should have realised that before the two of you went too deep.

You kept clicking the pen in your hand, mind unfocused as every second brought you back to someone that used to lay on the bed while you did your work. He always snuck up on you when the night was late, resting his chin on your shoulder as he whispered for you to join him in bed.

It was mostly romantic, nothing too explicit as he saved all the files that were opened on your laptop, shutting it down and led your body to tangle with him under the soft blankets. When you first met him, tipsy with pink tinting his cheeks at the club downtown, you never imagined him as someone romantic.

Everyone knew him, at least you and your colleagues knew about the pretty setter of Black Jackals. His reputation was very much something that all women loved to talk about; cheeky smiles, perfect hair, smooth talk. All the things about him screamed playboy.

Who would have known that he was just a big softie inside?

Palms sweating, words blurted out with a stutter here and there, you chuckled when you remember how he still tried to impress you while everyone could see how drunk he was already. You always kept some distance with a guy like him. Yet when he parted his lips for the first time that night, you could see that he was not like what people thought.

"Hello, miss." You just laughed with your friends when a deep, harsh voice flew to your ear. Your friends who were facing the said man widened their eyes and immediately left you all alone — of course after whispering 'Go get it, girl!' to you beforehand.

Composing yourself, you took a deep breath before facing whoever it was that made your friends have their eyes filled with hearts. Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around to meet a pair of beautiful amber eyes, gazing at your face timidly as a pinkish hue could be seen on his cheek, even under the blue light of the club's light.

"Can I get ya a drink?" His voice was smooth as he tilted his head a little to the bar, making one of the bartenders stop right where the two of you were standing. There was a slight glimpse of Kansai dialect as he spoke, but it sounded so subtle at the moment, maybe because of how he interacted with different kinds of people.

And something about his genuine smile intrigued you. That and how he seemed a little scared as he waited for your answer. Though the nervous look on his face was gone in an instant the second you nodded your head.

"That would be my pleasure."

His smile widened immediately, and it looked so refreshing from how you see it. He was like a child being treated with some sweets from his parents.

"Hey, man! Give us what's in the house right now, wouldja? Give us the best of the best!" His request was greeted with a chuckle by the bartender. The two of you just stared at how flawlessly they made the drink, both in awe, mouth agape, even after the mix was done and served right in front of you. "Woah! Here, ugh, keep the change."

The blonde reached into his pocket, slamming a couple of yen to the table before grabbing both glasses and giving one to you. He looked a bit more relaxed now as he felt great so far, nothing bad and you seemed like you enjoyed his sudden company. You did really enjoy it, but before you could reach the glass, the bartender suddenly cleared their throat.

"I am sorry, sir?" He jolted when he realised they didn't leave him and you yet. "But the money you gave is not enough."

Your mouth agape as the words rolled down their tongue. And every second that went by, the pinkish hue from his cheek gradually turned into red and covered his entire face.

"Fuck!" He blurted out in embarrassment before diving his hands inside the pocket of his pants. Orbs widened in panic as he realised that he left his wallet on the hotel, making all the colour draining from his face. "Shit, I ugh—"

You chuckled and gently put your hand on top of his, silently telling him to stop talking as you gave the rest of the money to the bartender. He eyed the interaction with humiliation struck his body as he wanted to just bonk his head on the bar table.

His head hung low, feeling that it would be the first and last time he saw you. "Sorry, my friends rushed me out today. I didn't mean to be a dick and make the woman pay." He sighed, resting the glass back on the table, still not daring to look up at you.

"Since when is a guy making a woman pay considered being a dick?" You voice out your opinion, sipping the drink that tasted so good on your tongue. "After all," Trailing off, you grab his glass and shove it under his gaze. "You can always pay me up next time."

His face immediately lit up as you said that, couldn't believe that you implied you were alright with him even after the stupid incident. He searched your eyes, searching for maybe a sign of joke. But when none could be seen, he took the drink from your hand, now with a smile that screams confidence.

"I can't wait for next time then."

You banged your forehead on the wooden table of your working desk, groaning as you missed his presence around you. Honestly, the relationship that you had with him was something that people often got jealous of. You looked so beautiful outside as you stride down on this earth with so much power.

Yet they didn't know what could happen behind closed doors. No relationship was perfect, at least that was what you knew from all of your previous relationships. But out of all lovers you had, never once was there someone as confusing as Miya Atsumu.

You gently lifted the white t-shirt that engulfed your body, hooking it on your nose as you inhaled the scent that came with the fabric. It was his favourite shirt, soft and thin but enough to keep the cold air attacking his skin. Your heart felt so heavy when you exhaled as imagination tookover your mind.

Right now, you were wishing that it was the crook of his neck that you inhaled on. And you could only hope that he was alright somewhere — even though he had been nothing but an asshole for the past weeks.

Knowing that you could not think about anything else but him, you decided that it was the right thing to shut down your laptop for today. You waited for the screen to die before closing the lid, standing up and stretched around to relax all of your joints.

You missed him, that was what occupied your mind right now. And you still loved him, because all of the constant worry and thinking about what could have been — it was enough to make you realise your feelings.

Without thinking, you snatched the phone from your table, searching up his name on your contact list. It was easy though, knowing you pinned his contact. To see that it was only six days ago you broke it off with him, making you dumbfounded as it felt like months had passed ever since then.

You leaned your body to the wall, thumb hovering the phone symbol on your screen. Just one touch, you could hear him once again if you just touch the symbol. But then again, there was nothing to talk about anymore.

Somehow you could predict how the conversation would go. Some shouts here and there, insults blurted out mindlessly from both mouths. There was nothing left but a fight in between you and the blonde setter, and it pained you more than anything because you didn't know how to fix it.

You banged your head to the windowsill, eyes fluttering close as you tried not to let frustration engulf your mind. You love him, you really do. But you were afraid of getting hurt once again, to be doubted and questioned for something that anyone else could see.

Everyone knew how much you love the man, everyone else except him.

Your mind took you back to the night when everything was falling apart, when both of you were at the limit already. He was someone full of pride, and yet he acted like no one could love him without any ill intention. You were beyond frustrated right now, as you couldn't find any clue about the reason behind the downfall.

"So the moment someone way better than me takes a liking at you, you immediately whore around—"

You straightened your posture immediately, a hand clamping your mouth as you couldn't believe the newfound information that just sank in. He was indeed someone full of pride. So when someone that he felt was better than him seemed so close to you, he took that as a threat. And the pride itself — was something that made all of the ache and doubts immensely multiply.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you unlocked your phone once again, calling him without wasting another second. You needed to see him, you wanted to talk it out with the man who owned your heart since the moment he clinked his drink to yours. You needed to lower your pride — and you hoped that he would do the same.

The line was ringing, yet no one was there to pick up the call. You were afraid for his well being. Ever since you kicked him out that night, he never once came to the house to maybe pick up his shirt or some of his other stuff. And it made you feel so wary.

You tried to call him, again and again. Even though after the fifth time you were still greeted with a voicemail, you didn't stop trying to reach out to him.

Until your eyes locked at the familiar blonde tuft outside the window, sitting on the pavement in front of the house with his head hanging low.

Gasping, your heart stopped as you realised that it was him. Atsumu was outside on this cold evening, all alone — and God knows how long he had been sitting there. Your feet strode down the stairs, didn't bother to cover yourself with a coat or jacket as your mind could only think of him. Your hands frantically turned the key before opening up the door and ran outside into the night.

"Atsumu!"

You called out, bare feet making contact with the harsh pavement. But you didn't care for any uncomfortable senses that your body felt. He slowly lifted his head, eyes widening as if he couldn't believe that you were standing in front of him.

The rustles of the leaves accompanied the two of you as both eyes seek each other. Longing was evident on his face, and you wondered if you had the same expression as him. The two of you stood there feeling so lost, knowing for certain that either your heart or his wanted to be rekindled, yet no one dared to say anything.

Your eyes scrutinised his body, and your heart clenched when you saw the state he was in right now. He had been sitting on the pavement with dark circles under his amber eyes, clothes dishevelled and messy hair. It was like he hadn’t been taking care of himself for the past few days.

“Hey.” You finally croaked out, somehow you knew that he wouldn’t be the one who started the conversation. He answered you with a little shrug before pinching his nose, still unable to believe that you stood right in front of him. “H-How long have you been here?”

“Two or three hours, maybe? Maybe more?” He wasn’t really sure himself. “I got here right after I am done with today’s practice.”

The sentence was enough to make your eyes widen, since you remembered his exact schedule. And if it hadn't changed — then he was there, for maybe around six hours now.

You fiddled your fingers, still thinking about how to start fixing up the relationship that you two had. Or was there even a chance for it, you were not really sure. Lowering your head to the ground, you were too preoccupied with your own thoughts and didn’t realise that he stood up and walked towards you.

Until his shoes were in your vision, and the smell of his scent could be felt once again.

Atsumu draped his team’s jacket around your body, trying to shield you from the night breeze since there was nothing that covered your skin except the thin layer of his t-shirt. He was waiting for you to take some steps backwards, or maybe just scowl and threw the fabric back to him like what you did to his hoodie that night.

But you kept silent, biting your lips as you wanted nothing but to feel his body on yours, not just his clothes, not just the trace of him.

“I miss you.” “I am sorry.”

Your mouth agape as those three words slipped from his lips. When the two of you fight and he was the one who started it, there was never any indication of him feeling bad and apologized. He always acted like nothing happened the next morning, pulling you to his embrace as if the night before you and him were not at each other’s throats.

Right now though, he realized, if he let go of this chance and kept his wall of pride standing in between the two of you, he knew the two of you would fall into the same cycle over and over again. “I am sorry I said that you are a whore, I am sorry I didn’t trust you and treated you like shit.”

“Atsumu,”

“Don’t.”

He clenched his hand into a fist, biting his lips as he tried not to spill any tears that were already brimming at the corner of his eyes. “Don’t call me like that. Please.” His body was trembling by now, something clogging his throat as he forced out the words that needed to be said. “I-I don’t know where to go anymore, every day I always ended up… here.”

You listened as you held yourself back from pulling him into your embrace. You needed to be patient, you had to hear everything that he wanted to say.

But the second the tears cascaded down his cheeks, you couldn’t help but just wrap your arms around his torso.

“I-I am sorry, I'm just scared—”

You shushed him softly, fingers going up to the strands of his hair as he rested his chin on your shoulder. Right now, what you had in mind was to make sure that he knew you understood.

"I know, Sumu." You whispered softly in his ear. "You don't have to say anything, I know."

Swallowing a huge lump, he sobbed to hear your voice. He had been missing it, every day he wanted to knock at the door yet he was too cowardly to do so. He should have seen it, how your existence was one of the biggest things that ever occurred in his life — yet he needed to break his own heart first to know that.

And you missed this, his warm body that engulfed yours within an instant. The warmth that he missed this too, the feeling of home that could only be felt when the two of you were so close to each other.

He had been sitting there for days, at the same spot, the same corner. One night he even stood in front of the door, too tired from being alone as he wanted nothing more than to see you again. Yet he never did anything, as he was afraid that he would do the same thing to you all over again.

But right now as he pulled away, amber eyes locked with your warm orbs — he vowed inside his heart that he would do anything to change how his mind worked. That he would do anything to keep you in his life, to make sure that he will treat you like how you deserve to be treated to.

With your hand interlaced with his and a loving gaze that was being thrown at him, he knew that you understand. He knew that once again, you let him go back to you.

“Let’s go home, Sumu.”

So he wouldn't let this chance slip between his fingers. Because he knew that with you, he was coming right back home.

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[hitoshiikigai]

Foreign Feelings

anon request: Hiya there Sen!! I love your blog and i would love to read more of your writings. Can i request an imagine for being like a first year european shy student and becoming Nekoma’s manager, she slowly develops a crush for kenma but doesn’t know how to express her feelings because of language and because she thinks kenma won’t return her feelings

‪(o_ _)ﾉ彡☆ a/n 「i made it gender neutral, i hope that's ok and if it's not, i can change it to your liking! also, this is my first romance fic in my whole life, i hope it's satisfactory(ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ i feel like i just forgot the slowly part-」

‪pronouns used: they/them

‪word count: 2.8k

You continuously repeat your introduction in your head as you wait for your turn. It's ok, you can do this, you've learnt this in basic Japanese lessons, it's just a few lines. Nothing too complicated!

The voice of the person behind you breaks the chant in your mind, "I'm Haiba Lev and..." Your thoughts block out the rest of his introduction. Is he a foreigner too? That name definitely does not sound Japanese but you note of his perfect pronunciation- a screech of a chair moving startles you and you're suddenly aware of the eyes of your new classmates staring right at you.

Sucking in a deep breath, you stand up, doing a bow, the Japanese words tumbling clumsily out of your mouth, "I'm (Y/N) (L/N)- no wait- (L/N) (Y/N), please just call me (y/n). Nice to meet all of you." You keep your eyes on your desk as you bow once again before sitting back down. You pretend not to notice the murmurs and sounds of interest about the two foreign students in their class, busying yourself by preparing your things for the lesson.

Mechanical pencil on the right. Pencil case right above your notebook. The ruler-

"Psst... Hey, you're not from Japan, right?" You turn around to meet glowing green eyes that somehow made you feel like you were looking into a cat's eyes instead. You nod and he grins in what you could guess as excitement. However, before he could say any more, he was cut off by the teacher signalling the start of class.

Maybe he's a potential friend?

After a few lessons of trying to keep up with the lessons taught in Japanese, your brain's finally granted with a break from trying to translate and you can't help the sigh that escapes you as you rest your cheek on your table, closing your eyes.

"Hey Y/N! Wanna have lunch with me?" You open your eyes to see your tall classmate looming over you- right, his name's Lev. Or should you call him Haiba?

You quickly weigh the pros and cons of eating with him. He seems like a nice person to be friends with and having a non-Japanese friend in this less-than-familiar country could definitely do you some good, maybe your Japanese can improve faster as well. But... you were planning to just find some nice quiet spot to listen to music in hopes of preventing the growing headache, a result of an overwhelming first day.

Well, there's no harm, you suppose... "Sure, I don't mind," you agree and you search for your wallet in your bag as Lev waits patiently.

Once he sees you're ready, he smiles widely and starts walking to the cafeteria most likely and you follow him, having to walk slightly faster to keep up.

"Where are you from? I'm half-Russian but I can't speak Russian. Oh! I know a few people here already! I visited the school before the school year started and made friends with people from the volleyball team. I'm actually gonna join the team once they start taking in applicants and-" Lev rambles on and you could only hum or nod, insert a few words of your own when he asks a question until you reach the cafeteria.

"Lev! Here! You're late!" You see a student with black messy hair that spikes up everywhere except for the fringe that covers his right eyes waving his arm. Lev bounds up to the table with you in tow and you can already see a few curious eyes examining you. Your gaze sweeps across the table, an uninterested guy playing with a switch catching your eyes a tiny fraction longer than the others before you look down at the floor, shuffling just a bit behind Lev, your current shield.

"This is Y/N, my new friend! They're not from Japan and I thought I could show them around," Lev claps his hands on your shoulders and moves you forward, putting you right in the spotlight.

Oh no. Ok, deep breaths. A simple introduction, no big deal. It's definitely a smaller group, better than a whole class.

"H-hi..." You clear your throat, cursing yourself mentally for the stutter, and repeat yourself with what you hope was a stronger voice. There's a chorus of greetings and before you even realise, you find yourself squished between Lev and a friendly-looking guy with a buzzcut, who you soon come to know as Kai, after a round of introductions.

How did you end up here? In a gym full of flying balls that could accidentally hit your face anytime? With your arms full of water bottles that you just filled up? You definitely did not sign up for this... Ok, well technically you did, you just didn't know what was in store. Try being a manager just for one practice, they said. Somehow, it feels like you were tricked somewhere along the line.

You hand the water bottles to the boys, jolting slightly when your hand unintentionally brushes against Kenma's. He thanks you quietly and you only nod in acknowledgment, avoiding any form of eye-contact with him and quickly moving on to hand the rest of the water bottles out before going back to the sidelines to watch.

It's really amazing watching them play. Everyone seems so coordinated with each other and the teamwork is seamless. Despite that, there are a few individuals that pique your interest: Yaku who seems to be able to teleport anywhere in the court, Lev with his tall and powerful stature, and more importantly, Kenma with his smart plays. It's like he calls the game, dictating where and how the ball goes and it's a whole experience observing him. Of course, the other members are amazing in their own ways, watching the team play is like watching a well-oiled machine working.

"How are you, Y/N?" Kai asks from beside you, wiping his sweat and giving you a warm smile.

You peel your eyes away from the quiet setter to answer Kai, and also to make sure you aren't caught staring at the certain player, "It's..." You try to find the correct words in your brain as Kai waits patiently for your answer. "It's nice... to watch. Everyone's good." You blush in embarrassment at the simple words you used, not having the full vocabulary to communicate what you really want to say. Kai, being the angel he is, makes a noise of approval and gives another warm smile which at least make you relax.

"If you need help with anything, you can ask any of us," he tells you before going back to the courts. You bow to him which he only waves off, laughing amiably.

After attending a few more practice sessions and having lunch with the team almost every break, you've grown a bit more comfortable with them, especially with Kai and Yaku, along with Lev. The team always tried their best to use simpler words whenever they spoke to you and you're definitely grateful for their efforts. However, there's just one person you've barely interacted with:

Kozume Kenma.

The third years obviously noticed the lack of interaction, especially Kuroo and he made it his own personal mision to try to get the two of you to talk to each other more, albeit with many difficulties.

"Come on, Kenma. You don't think I don't notice you paying attention anytime Y/N talks? You're not exactly very slick, you always pause your games just for Y/N," Kuroo nudges Kenmas side with his elbow which Kenma slaps away in irritation.

"Shut up Kuroo."

Kuroo leans in closer to Kenma, "You can't tell me you don't notice Y/N staring at you during practice? Blushing whenever you're 5 metres away from each other? Or when-"

"Kuroo, please just shut up," Kenma groans and glares at his switch, clicking away at the buttons and suppressing the urge to scream in anger as the words 'GAME OVER' flash on the screen. Instead, he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply before letting out a long sigh.

Kuroo smiles knowingly before his eyes shift over to something behind Kenma.

"Kuroo-senpai? Kenma-senpai? Has Kai-san arrived yet? I need to ask him something..." Kenma stiffens as your soft voice reaches his ears. He bristles at the 'senpai' title attached to his name, wanting you to just rid of the honorific altogether. He was supposed to tell you, in fact, he had been wanting to tell you to just refer to him casually just like everyone does but he never got the chance. How could he when your conversations only last 30 seconds long each time?

Jump. Jump. Duck. Ju- GAME OVER.

He pressed down his buttons more aggressively, a frown slowly forming on his face. Why couldn't he be more talkative? Why is talking so hard? Why is talking to YOU so hard? Lev does it so easily, Kai too, and Yaku and... and just everyone in the team but him.

You stare in concern as you watch Kenma play angrily with his game and you look to Kuroo for answers only to be met with a shrug.

"Yaku will be running late, some class meeting or something," Kuroo stands up and stretches, walking out of the gym, "Meanwhile, I'll go get my things."

The sounds from Kenma's game filled up the awkward silence and you take a moment to steel yourself, walking towards Kenma. "A-are you okay, Kenma-senpai? You look... angry?" At your question, Kenma's fingers still and the sounds suddenly stopped.

Kenma looks up at you and places his switch on his lap before looking away. "I'm okay... I'm not angry." He mumbles and you smile in relief at his words. "Do you want to play?" He suddenly offers his switch to you and you blink in shock, never really having known or seen him to ever share his switch with someone, simply rejecting anyone- save for that tangerine boy from another school- who tried to even get their hands on his beloved switch.

Noticing your hesitance, he places the gadget on the bench, between the two of you, letting you take your time. You look back to search for anything that will clue you in if he doesn’t actually want to do this, but finding none, you gingerly take it, careful not to drop it or at least try to not leave any embarrassingly sweaty fingerprints. You feel Kenma shifting closer to you to get a closer look at the screen and you don’t know if you feel lightheaded from him being the closest he has ever been that you can actually feel body heat radiating from him or from forgetting to breathe. Trying to focus on the little digital character instead and your fingers clumsily hitting the buttons, a contrast to the way his nimble fingers moved with muscle memory.

And if you felt butterflies in your stomach as he occasionally positioned your fingers on the correct button, the butterflies immediately flew away the moment Lev walks in the gym and you were left with just tingling fingers.

You cradle the box of apple pie you bought in a rush from the bakery, trying to tidy up the ribbon you tied around it to make it more presentable. You had asked Kai about what Kenma liked because you knew there was no way you could write or even say anything close to romantic in Japanese, so you figured out you could give him little gifts, you know, actions soeak louder than words, that kinda thing? As you think of the many ways you could say something wrong by declaring your feelings to him in a foreign tongue like unknowingly saying something ridiculous, or stupid, or even worse, something dirty! Lev’s incessant teasing and mock-kissing noises only stopped when you reached the gym.

“Oh? Y/N-chan, who’s that apple pie for, I wonder,”Kuroo gives you a knowing look and blatantly stares at Kenma, who just seems unbothered. You try to reason yourself that he was only concentrating on his game. Ignoring Kuroo, you take a tentative step towards Kenma, making sure you’re in his line of sight before thrusting the box to him, “For you Kenma… Uh, enjoy it!” You blurted out before brisk walking to the equipment room to take refuge, not even waiting for his reaction.

You hear the muffled shouts of the boys and you can imagine them crowding Kenma. You wince in sympathy.

During the whole practice, you had to deflect the many looks and questions the boys gave you. Thankfully, Kai managed to stop them before it got too much. A godsend. Before any of them could corner you after practice, you zoomed past the gym doors the moment you were done with your manager duties, forgetting that you had barely paid any attention to Kenma the whole time.

“Lev, do you know who’s this from?” You ask Lev, holding up the canned drink that was left on your table.

“Oh, that’s from Kenma. He came here earlier to place it there. He honestly could’ve just asked me to pass it to you but he said I would lose it or something. How mean,” Lev huffs but you can only focus on the fact that Kenma went through efforts to make sure you received it.

“Thank you for the apple pie yesterday. It was really nice,” Kenma took a seat beside you, on the same bench you first played his switch together.

“T-thank you for the drink! It’s my favourite,” you smile shyly. The corner of his lips curl up, just ever so slightly, which you think was the trick of the light.

Kenma gives his switch to you, now a weekly routine for the both of you on days he finishes class earlier. The distance between you and him grew smaller and smaller until your elbows brush against his at any slight movement.

This is it. This is the moment. You made a mental deal with yourself a week ago. If you win this level today, the one where you always lose, you’ll confess to him and if you don’t, you’ll simply leave your feelings hidden and buried deep in the safe in your heart.

Your eyebrows furrow in concentration, refusing any help from Kenma (Kenma just ignored the tiny sting in his heart when you did).

In the meantime, Kenma takes the chance to watch you, sharp, feline eyes studying your features. The stray baby hairs peeking out after a long school day, the slight sheen on your skin from the hot and humid gym, the determination in your eyes. Determination? To beat the level? He restrains himself from chuckling at your cuteness. This felt very different when he watches Shouyo play his video games. Kenma just really feels different any time he’s around you.

You abruptly stand up and cheer, “I did it! Kenma, look!” You show him the screen with the words ‘MISSION COMPLETE’ flashing repeatedly on the screen. You grinned widely at him and he smiles back in fondness.

Suddenly, you go all quiet, which concerned Kenma. “I have something to tell you.” At that, he tilts his head, urging for you to go on.

“I… IlikeyouKenma!” Your words end up being stringed together but from the widening of his eyes, he mostly likely understood.

“You do?”

You nod with pink dusting your cheeks, your fingers fiddling with the ends of your blouse. You’re prepared to get rejected, maybe even move back to Europe and never show your face to him again. And if not, at least you could quit the manager position to avoid any future confrontations with him.

“I like you too, Y/N,” he replies softly, but it was definitely audible in the quiet gym.

And if all else fails- wait what? This time, it’s your turn to look at him wide-eyed, processing what he just said.

“Y/N! Did you leave me for your boyfriend?!” The doors burst open with Lev boisterously shouting, Yaku walking calmly behind him with a twitching eyebrow.

You backpedal away from Kenma, dropping the switch in surprise and you scramble to pick it up, saying a stream of apologies to him, wiping away the dust and checking for any cracks.

Yaku, being more aware of the mood, kicks the back of Lev’s knees, adding a smack to the back of the head for good measure, hissing, “Shut up, you idiot!”

You make eye contact with Kenma before bursting into giggles, him just letting out a snort. You’re just glad you managed to confess before Lev could confess for you.

[1 New Message]

Kenma: wanna beat the next level after practice? you can come over to my house for dinner

You: yes! i’d love to!