#which does sting but not as bad as if I lost late shift days with eight hours and bonuses for late hours

[papermonkeyism]

Looks like I'm gonna be on strike next week (wed-fri) for the first time in my life!

(We're protesting our current right wing government that's attempting to worsen things for workers and unemployed people, and basically everyone who isn't rich or a big company)

Technically I'm not a member of the striking union, and thus won't get paid for my strike days (I belong to a different unemployment fund that isn't part of this strike) but most of the people here including our department managers are all walking out, plus I also want to put up a middle finger at the current government so I'm going too.

Looks like a great excuse to go visit my family for an extended weekend!

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch.7

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6

Cassandra gradually starts taking up more of your time. Or, more accurately, demands it like it’s her birthright.

Every day, you wake her up with a kiss to her shoulder or neck and a whisper of her name. She comes to you when she’s bored at random times during your shifts, to either talk –complain— about her sisters or to outright distract you. There are times at night when you’ll feel the chill of her slip into your bed and press up against your back, but she’s always gone by morning light, like a dream.

She used to be just another component to your nightmares. Now… she’s what takes them away.

And you’re afraid.

That you’re growing to like the time with her while she’s just playing around, that it will cut that much deeper when you find yourself on the end on her sickle. Because how else can it end, you reason, between the two of you?

The thought momentarily makes your liplock with Cassandra taste bitter, despite the sweet strawberry taste of her lip balm -and no way she’s putting that on for you, right?

She has you pressed deep into a plush armchair with her palm on your chest, while her thighs are locked tight on either side of yours. You want to tell her that you should stop –both because you’re literally in the open and anyone can walk in on you and because it’s late—but her lips are doing wicked things to your neck and you can’t find your voice long enough.

When Cassandra starts grinding down on you though, rather impatiently too, you have to speak up before she starts something neither of you can finish.

“Cassandra.” you say breathily. A sharp nip comes over your pulse, then slippery lips close around the area. “Ah! Cassandra. You’ll be late for dinner.”

She tsks and pulls back, expression much like a kid that got her hand slapped away from the cookie jar. She dismounts you with the same sour look, smoothing down her robes.

“Walk me there.” she orders.

You rise and fall into step beside her, trying not to linger on how strange it feels. It should be nothing, really, considering all the activities the two of you nightly indulge in, but it’s… something.

Cassandra, uncharacteristically quiet, keeps gazing out the windows as though calculating or pinpointing something while you make your way to the dining room.

She comes to a sudden halt just before you reach it, turns to you, steals a quick kiss and then quickly leaves you behind, a colder aura about her as she strolls inside.

You hear Lady Dimitrescu’s voice, but not what she says. Once a few minutes have passed and you can safely blend into the background, you join the other maids on standby within.

You used to hate it here. Having them all in front of you like that, serving them wine, when they’re all to blame for taking any semblance of normalcy out of your life. You never glance at what they’re eating. You still dislike dinner time.

But.

When Alcina makes a snide comment about Heisenberg and you hear Cassandra’s laugh above Daniela’s giggle and Bela’s chuckle…

It no longer seems so bad.

-

-

“Bela, stay a moment.” Cassandra says after Lady Dimitrescu leaves with Daniela in tow.

“Oh, no.” The blonde huffs under her hood.

“I didn’t say anything. Yet.” The younger sibling raises her hands in exasperation.

“When you go ‘Bela~’” You bite your lip to keep your expression neutral as you’re cleaning the table because hearing the normally stoic sister mimic Cassandra’s voice like that is just plain gold. “It’s never good.” her tone turns flat once more.

Cassandra very pointedly rolls her pretty eyes. “I need you to cover for me.”

“See?” Bela sighs. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, it wasn’t really a question, I was just trying to give you the illusion of choice.” Cassandra shrugs. “I’m going out tonight.”

“What?” Bela damn near hisses. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s fine it’s, like, thirteen degrees.”

“How is that fine?”

The elder sister’s gaze then flits to you. There is no other maid in the vicinity that can overhear them, but she’s clearly uncomfortable with you picking up the implications of their conversation.

You still don’t get it. You guessed their aversion to sunlight has to do with their mutations… but why would the cold be an issue?

The survivor in you wants to know more. To know if this is something that can be used to your advantage when the time and circumstances are right for a potential escape.

Another part of you… just plain worries.

“I know what I’m doing.” Cassandra says, stern.

“Then you’re doing it alone.” Bela turns to leave…

Except.

“Oh, well. Guess mother should know about that little maid you’ve been orbiting around, lately.” Cassandra comments. “The one you even did a favor for? Just imagine her disappointment in you, the shining example of the family, stooping so low.”

Bela’s back goes rod-straight. The piercing look she sends Cassandra sends ice down your spine. You think she’s going to pounce… yet she exhales.

“One. Hour.” Bela states. “If you’re not back in one hour I’m coming to drag your sorry behind to mother. And she—” A gloved finger points directly to you, “Won’t be coming back with you in one piece.”

Wait.

What?

-

-

You didn’t know Cassandra planned to take you with her. But she didn’t deny it when Bela pointed to you. After her sister left, all she said was: ‘Dress well.’

Which brings you to your current position, pacing by the entrance hall of the castle, in a warm coat and two layers of clothes underneath. You turn to look behind when you finally hear her steps descending the staircase.

And— you freeze.

Because Cassandra is not wearing her usual robes. She’s dressed in all black, yes, but the outfit is tight on her form, fitting every curve, hugging her wonderful legs like a second skin. She’s wearing knee-high boots instead of heels and her hooded, gothic overcoat reaches down to mid-thigh.

There’s not a single patch of her skin visible other than her face… and you can’t, for the life of you, explain why it’s that hot.

“You’re staring, plaything.” she chastises, yet doesn’t sound like she minds. Rather, she’s smirking.

“Uh—” you can’t really form words.

“We need to hurry, clock’s ticking.” she says as she jiggles the very key you’ve looked everywhere during work hours for. The key to freedom. To leaving the castle.

Cassandra double-checks her clothes before she opens the door. You file it as useful information for later as you hurry to catch up to her.

The path to the village –or what’s left of it— through the forest is… difficult. Mainly because Cassandra is entirely unbothered by any and all obstacles and moves like she’s on a walkway, leaving you to fight with every rock hidden in the snow.

You manage. Somehow.

Until a distant howl makes you jump and quite literally crash into her side.

Cassandra laughs. It’s a clear, beautiful sound in the dead of night. “My, my. Scared of a Lycan in my presence?”

“I thought it was just a regular wolf!” You whisper, mortified.

Yellow eyes blink at you. Then her gloved hand raises to yours, taking it in a secure grip. You didn’t realize you were shaking, yet the tremors quickly cease when she does that. It’s just your heart that still feels like it’s going to give out on you, but for an entirely different reason, now.

Cassandra safely leads you to the village. It looks more or less the same, except empty, void of life. You don’t linger on memories. You don’t.

“Show me your house.” she says.

You never thought you’d be tracing the steps of your front porch so soon. You only have to push the door for it to open. And the inside is just as you remembered. A quaint little house. It’s simply not… home, anymore.

Nothing is.

Maybe nothing ever was.

And the thought makes a thin, cracked wall inside you finally give. Cassandra is saying something a few paces behind you, but your vision has blurred, your eyes sting and hot, salty rivers roll past your lids.

“Are you listening to me?” she asks. “...Plaything?”

You can’t talk. If you do, you’ll sob and break to pieces on the floor like a pushed glass statue.

Cassandra’s grip is tight and demanding on your elbow when her fingers curl above it, but she turns you with gentleness you’d never think her capable of. You do not meet her eyes.

Her other hand comes up to your neck.

You can’t, you can’t—

“Alexia.”

Your eyes snap to hers when she says it, from the shock. You didn’t think she even knew your name. Cassandra shifts her weight from one leg to the other, then seems to decide on something and wipes the tears beading at your chin away with her thumb.

“Pack what you wish. We don’t have long.”

As you turn into your bedroom and open your wardrobe to pack a few clothes into a bag, just to feel a tad more yourself when you’re in your room in the castle, the sound of your name falling from her lips follows you.

Haunts you.

You have half a mind to get your mp3, phone and chargers before you return to her. Cassandra is holding whatever she wanted to get from the village in a box tucked between her arm and body.

“Come.” she orders. Her hand settles on your elbow again and practically drags you along.

You don’t talk on your way back to the castle.

From one of the many windows overlooking the front yard, you spot Bela’s eyes on the two of you until she retreats into the shadows. Rigidly, Cassandra enters and immediately goes by the large fireplace to warm up. You only then notice how much more fluid her movements get. Or rather, how sluggish she was during the trip.

You shut the door and turn the key and realize it’s much easier to handle your situation when you’re the one locking yourself inside.

You take off your coat and scarf, then make to head for your bedroom —according to your calculations you’ll only get 3 hours of sleep— until… you notice how cold Cassandra looks.

She’s one step away from hugging the flames. And you can still hear her call you by your name in your head.

Great. Another thing to keep me up at night. You think as you approach her.

Slowly, so as to not scare her, you slip your arms around her slim waist from behind. She’s like a block of ice in your embrace, at first. Her body thaws gradually, to the point she’s fully relaxed against you.

“Thank you for today.” the words don’t come easy –they’re like pulling teeth— but you manage to get them out clearly enough.

“You’ll thank me in very many ways, plaything.” she says. “Having your own belongings in the castle is not a privilege any maid gets. But.” her voice, although quiet, hardens the slightest amount. “If, despite my generosity, you harbor dreams of escape… I will turn them to nightmares.”

Your blood goes cold in your veins. You can only nod against her shoulder.

Cassandra turns in your arms to look at you.

“And if you ever try to leave me alone here… I will find you and kill you myself.”

[stopeatingwhales]

"you're still blushing," x damon albarn

I haven't written something for damon in ages so here you all go <333

Pairing: 90s damon albarn x reader

Warnings: nothing :)

Word count: 2.214

༉‧₊˚✧

Having a roommate was always helpful for when you needed to cut the cost of rent, and to have company with someone that you got along with since you either were not far into relationships to be able to move in with a significant other, or you weren’t in a one - in which by having a roommate, made things less lonely. Me and Damon had known each other for quite some time now as Graham introduced us since Damon was looking for a flatmate at a time where, for some reason everybody seemed as though they were already occupied with people they were living with and sharing rent. Perhaps he was a little too late looking into it, but when Damon and I met, it was practically a match made in heaven. Though he wasn’t the first person I’d want to share a flat with, as I had no idea who he even was, just that he was best friends with somebody I was also friends with, he was perhaps, as oddly as it sounds, the best choice for a stranger to share a flat with. We had been living together since his band was working on their debut album, Leisure, and since then we had developed a very close relationship with one another. We both shared love for the same music, read the same books, and he had a personality which formed out of pure ardor and benevolence, which made it very easy to be able to form a strong bond together. It was very enjoyable living with him, as we wouldn’t avoid each other at all. Whenever both of us were present, there was nothing we would rather do than just spend time with one another. When nothing was going for us on weekends, we tended to just sit there on the couch in the living room, drinking warm, hot mugs of tea made by Damon at his advance, simply chatting about anything and everything. We would talk until the sun had gone down, until one of us had practically fallen asleep on the other, which was usually me, giving Damon the chore of putting me into bed, which I would constantly be thanking him for the following morning. At certain points in our friendship it was hard to distinguish whether we had feelings for each other, or if it was just a strong platonic relationship; other people had consistently pointed out our relationship together, and how we supposedly acted as if we were the happiest couple in the world.

After being asked whether me and him were together or not countless times, I had begun thinking about our relationship from an outsider's perspective, and over time I had realised that I was gaining feelings for Damon as I started to take notice of the little things that he would do. The warm smiles that he would give me; his plump, soft lips curving in a philanthropic manner, almost child-like, filled with pure love and adoration for you that you would instantly urge yourself to reciprocate. The unneeded care that would ensue once he realised that I was sick and needed a day off, bringing me a warm cup of tea in the morning, also mentioning that he wasn’t attending his band session later on in the day because I was his main priority, and that music could wait. The way he would rush into my room whilst I was organising my laundry, his lyric book gripped in his hand with a pen in the other, practically begging me to hear the new verse he had surprisingly conjured up in a couple of seconds - my opinion meaning so much to him that he would force me to read his finished songs, changing whatever I thought didn’t suit. And not to mention his features. His angelic, ocean-like orbs, where your eyes would get lost in them instantaneously; causing you to wonder what sort of resplendent alchemy went forth in creating such adoring pools of blue; his foolproof nose, sculpted in everlasting beauty, locked in the middle of his face, showing there was no flaw in his features, that he was the definition of true excellence, and though not a part of his face, the hair from his fringe that would coat over his forehead ever so softly, so elegantly, the strands, though roughly brushed through, looked as if they had been done professionally by his hairdresser. You were unable to pinpoint a flaw on him - he was the embodiment of elegance. You’d simply wonder whether this kind of beauty exists, and to have it living with me, was unequivocally something my heart was unable to handle.

Stepping into the flat that we both shared, I quickly took my shoes off before locking the door. As I wandered around the apartment, the aroma of smoke was easily identifiable, implying that Damon was inside, and smoking. Once I reached the living space, I saw Damon was sitting on the couch, flicking through the channels on the TV. “You alright?” I asked him, leaving the shopping bags on the countertops of the kitchen. He turned to look at me, a sweet smile painted on his lips before he took another drag from his cigarette. Oh, to be that cancer stick.

“I’m alright.” He replied, putting out his cigarette on the glass ashtray in front of him, then getting up to help me with the groceries. “How are you, love?”

“I’m okay. I managed to get everything we needed before we both died from starvation.” I laughed, folding up the now-empty bags that were once brimmed to the full of things we needed.

My gaze was fixed on him as he shut the fridge door as I leaned my tired body on the counter, him making his way after shutting the door to stand as close to me as he could. There was practically no empty space between us as he held me in an embrace, his face hidden into my neck as he played with strands of my hair gently. “I missed you,” He uttered, my heart now swelled in adoration for the man that was holding me, unaware if my body was able to handle more of his tauntings. Once he pulled out of the embrace, he clung onto my hands whilst staring deeply into my eyes. I couldn’t help but blush deeply as I looked into his eyes, getting lost in the essence of his handsomeness. I noticed his warm smile form into a cheeky grin as I realised that he knew I was going red. “You’re blushing.”

Slightly embarrassed, I scrunched my face together and looked down to the ground. There was no way out of it, one day he was going to find out just how much I had grown a liking for him. Instead of responding, I moved away from the situation and headed to sit on the couch, knowing that he would follow suit. Once we sat together, I grabbed the cigar pack that was left open on the table and put a cigarette between my lips, looking at Damon as a form of asking where the lighter was. He immediately grabbed the lighter from his pocket and pressed it, causing a flame to come out. I leaned closer to him to allow him to light the roll of tobacco, my eyes not daring to move away from the sight of the flame. I felt his eyes staring intently at my features, the tension in the air being more prominent than it had ever been before. When it was lit, I instantly inhaled, exhaling sharply to expose the smoke that had quickly built up in my throat.

“What did you do today, Dames?” I asked him, attempting to instigate a conversation. His eyes were still lingering on me whilst my eyes tried everything they could to avoid embarrassing myself again, with another blush.

“Well I went in to do some recording, today was mainly for Graham’s guitar solo so we finished up early,” he answered, walking to the fridge to grab himself a beer, then coming back to sit right next to me. “Graham tells me you’ve got a crush on someone.”

After almost choking on the smoke created in my lungs, I felt the blood rush to my cheeks yet again, the action moving so fast I could feel my cheeks begin to sting. “Ehm- He told you that?”

“So it’s true…” Damon began, placing his drink on the coffee table, a smirk evident on his features. “I thought he was lying, since we usually tell each other everything, but your face says otherwise.” He added, my heart panging slightly as I felt bad that he thought that I didn’t want to tell him. Oh if only he knew it was about him. If only he knew that what I haven’t been able to keep my mind off for weeks on end was him. If only he knew that he’s all that engulfs my mind.

“Who’s the guy?” He asked, as I felt his body shift ever so slightly closer to mine, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as he noticed my stiffness.

“You don’t know him.” I mumbled, staring down at my feet as I felt his breath fan my face slightly, the redness of my cheeks still prominent though I tried to ignore the heat radiating out of them.

“Describe him to me then.” He said, in a teasing manner. Part of me felt that Graham told Damon that it was him, and knowing Graham he probably would’ve done that since he was one of the many who believed that we would’ve been good together since we acted like it. But I wasn’t planning on jumping to any conclusions just yet.

“Uhh well…” I felt my cheeks heat up a bright red again as I looked in Damon’s direction, quickly snatching his beer off the coffee table and taking a sip of it to calm my nerves. “He’s got blond hair, blue eyes…” At this point I was staring deeply into Damon’s eyes, full-well knowing I was redder than ever, hell, I was a tomato. However, as I stared at him, I thought of all the possibilities and chances I would be able to mention to him that I developed feelings for him, and chances that would be handed to me easily. At most, I would probably be forced to go up to him and tell him myself that I liked him, which I had no courage in doing so in fear of absolute rejection. Though the fear of rejection still resonated in my mind deeply, there was definitely no way out of Damon and his questioning - he wanted to know everything, and he wanted to know it all now.

“Hmm… Sounds familiar,” he began, the smirk on his face not leaving any second. “Don’t suppose this crush has a name, does he?”

The next few seconds felt as if they had been stilled. Every single thought that I could have ever mustered in my mind joined themselves together, making my mind and body feel as if the moment we were living in was not real, at all. I felt breathless, ironic to the fact that I had been exhaling large clouds of smoke in the room, but I suppose even when breathing, you can still have your breath taken away from the sight before you. It felt as if I was in a haze, a drunken stupor, a lucid dream that felt far too realistic, but I had never thought that this moment would ever occur in mine and Damon’s time living together, or even in a child-like fantasy, or ever. Our faces were inches apart, my eyes constantly flicking through his bountiful orbs and smooth lips, his eyes fixated on mine, as if he was searching for something. Something to tell him that his suspicions were correct.

“It’s you for god’s sake.” I mumbled before eagerly conjoining my lips with his. I felt as if I rushed myself into it, the feeling enrapturing my mind, my body, and especially my heart. There was no other moment I had felt equated to this as our bodies embraced one another’s, the pair of us slowly allowing what was happening to melt into our minds. My heart was pounding as if my life had depended on it, my mind raced with thoughts so anxious but elated as both our bodies allowed our mouths to brush past one another’s until we were at a loss for breath. Love had never felt so strong, love had never carried this much emotion, this much integrity. I felt as if there was nothing else I had needed other than this moment to characterise its virtue, the intimacy shared overstimulated my emotions, for I felt like balling into tears at this juncture - not out of sadness, but out of pure admiration and alleviation that all this tension over the past couple months was real, that the love we had for each other was real, and not some fantasy that I invoked in my mind. Parting away from him, my eyes were fixated on his features - there was nobody else on this planet that could make me feel such emotion than him.

“You’re still blushing, love.”

[saintshigaraki]

won’t you give me your cruelest smile

↳ DARK ACADEMIA TSUKISHIMA KEI 

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

excerpt: 

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” He sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

a/n: @yamagucji​​ said dark academia tsukki and my brain quite literally short circuited 

tags: enemies-ish to lovers (more like academic rivals to lovers), tsukki being an annoyingly smart condescending history major, reader goes through the five stages of grief when they realize they might actually li- 🤢 like him, a reference to the classic ‘ooooh you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid’ 

If there is a single, minuscule, barely visible silver lining in having Tsukishima as a partner for your quarter project it is that, without a doubt, he is smart. 

You have to admit, begrudgingly, that his intellect borders on genius-level which is something you use as silent proof to attest to your working theory that there is in fact, no god, or at the very least not a kind one, because if there was they wouldn’t be blessing gremlins like the one sitting across from you with a gift like that. 

He’s quiet now (after about an hour of telling you all the ways your interpretation was oh so very wrong) and content to stare at you lazily, his eyes half-lidded and filled with his specific brand of cruel amusement that leaves you wanting to do nothing more than smack his black-rimmed glasses right off his smug face. 

You take a deep breath and try desperately to quell the utterly unique type of rage he elicits in you, although as always, nothing you do ever quite manages to bring your boiling blood to a simmer. 

He’s twirling his expensive black pen between his stupidly long fingers. Every once in a while the light catches on the onyx stone of his pinky ring which somehow manages to flash directly in your eyes every time. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Which makes you think he’s doing it on purpose just to be an ass.

Which, admittedly, is perfectly in line with everything else he does so, you come to the frustrating conclusion that he most definitely is doing it on purpose. 

“You’re embarrassingly easy to rile up,” he says, interrupting your silent seething, his voice deep and smooth and absolutely dripping with condescending satisfaction. 

Your eyes flash up from the book you’d been only barely processing just to be met with his own golden-brown ones. He’s smirking down at you, of course. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear any other sort of expression. 

You want nothing more than to glare at him but that would just be proving his point so instead, you snap your book shut. It rings out loudly in the empty library. 

“It’s late. Let’s start this backup tomorrow.”

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” he sounds far too pleased for your liking. 

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.” 

He tilts his head back, exposing his long neck, and laughs. It’s so deep you feel it in your own chest. You just barely manage to suppress a shiver, which thank fuck, because he would’ve most definitely noticed it and you don’t think you’d be able to live that down. 

You make your way towards the front doors but not before he manages to slip on his wool coat and catch up to you, with ease of course, his long legs have become your number one enemy over the quarter because he always, always, catches up with you when you try to speed walk away from him. 

The autumn chill immediately settles into your bones, your skin prickles unpleasantly. You can see your breath in the night air. A shitty end to a shit day. 

You both head down the cobbled street in strangely comfortable silence. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he radiates and you’re silently thankful for it. 

You get to the fork in the path where he takes his way back to his dorm and you take yours but instead of peeling off left like he usually does he sticks to your side. 

You stop immediately and eye him up warily. “What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Asking idiotic questions doesn’t really suit you, you know.” 

You say nothing, content to narrow your eyes. 

He rolls his eyes again and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m walking you home, try not to be a brat about it.” 

“You never walk me home,” you point out, suspiciously. 

“You are rather good at pointing out the very obvious, aren’t you?” and before you can respond he already had turned on his heels and started walking. You have to half jog to catch up. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye with the intent of trying to read his motive but you get stuck on the fact that his cheeks are flushed rather prettily from the cold. 

“You sure do love to stare, don’t you?” he asks rather conversationally. 

You’ve never wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole more in your entire life. Your cheeks burn hot even in the frigid cold. 

He notices. Of course he does. What does Tsukishima Kei not notice?

“No need to be embarrassed,” he needles cruelly. “Denial can be a brutal beast.”

You only barely manage to stop yourself from asking what exactly he means by that, what exactly he thinks you’re in denial about. 

But you know he wants nothing more than for you to ask so you take a sweet sort of satisfaction in not questioning him further, at least on that front. 

The rest of the walk back to your dorm is spent in less comfortable silence than before. There’s an odd sort of tension in the air, like a rope pulled so tight you can physically feel it starting to fray, getting ready to snap.

It comes to a head when, after getting to your building, instead of immediately going inside you find yourself looking down and shuffling your feet.

You know you should thank him, even if you didn’t ask him to walk you home. You guys never worked this late, you’d lost track of time (it’s scarily easy to lose track of time when arguing with Tsukishima) and you know it was nice of him to walk you home when he’d have to double back another 15 minutes in the freezing cold to get to his place. 

You know you should thank him. It’s the reasonable, polite thing to do. But it’s just so fucking hard to be reasonable and polite when Tsukishima Kei and his galaxy-sized ego are involved. No one in your entire life has been able to get under your skin as he has. It’s like he was perfectly crafted to be your own personal headache. 

You brave a glance up at him and find that he’s standing very, very close and staring, rather intensely, at you. A curiously amused gleam in his eye. 

Your mind stutters and then stops completely, going painfully blank. 

He’s so stupidly pretty. 

His skin is flawless, you’ve never once seen him with even a single pimple, his hair is the nicest pale-blond you’ve ever seen and it falls in perfect tufts against his forehead, but it’s his eyes that always make you shift from foot to foot. They’re such a unique shade of golden-brown, and now, shrouded in the dark and mere inches away from your own face, you’d swear on your life they were practically glowing.

“You’ve got something on your mind?” he asks, his tone anything but sweet. He’s so close you can smell the warm spice of his cologne and the ever-clinging scent of ancient books that seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

“I-” but you can’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. You don’t think you’ve ever hated someone so much in your life. 

Somehow, he’s managed to push in even closer. “You know what I think?”

No, you want to say, and I don’t want to know. Your heart is beating far too fast and you can’t explain why. 

(You know exactly why)

“I think you want to kiss me.”

And just like that the rope snaps and you’re viciously tugging him down by the collar of his too-nice coat so you can smash your lips against his. 

The kiss is brutal. Far too mean with too much teeth. At one point you taste the sting of iron and you can’t tell if the blood is his or yours. 

He backs you up against a wall without breaking the kiss. When he bites at your lip, no doubt cutting it open, you grab a fist full of his hair and tug cruelly and his responding groan tastes so sweet on your tongue. 

He doesn’t pull away until your lungs are screaming for air. 

He’s inches away from you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen (and a little bloody), and his hair is a mess. It’s the most out of sorts you’ve ever seen him. 

If you thought he was pretty before, he’s absolutely beautiful now. 

His smirk widens into a full blown smile and you understand now why he doesn’t show it often. It shows too many teeth, it’s downright wolfish. Predatory, even. 

You don’t really have time to think on it though before he pulls you into another bruising kiss. 

have some dark academia tsukishima headcanons while you’re here

he is without a doubt the most pretentious asshole you will ever meet and and you will HATE yourself for eventually finding him weirdly charming in any capacity

he is, of course, a history major which. if you have ever met pretentious male history majors you will know that this means he is a literal walking, talking, annoyingly tall headache

interrupts professors constantly. does it like he’s getting paid. will argue and argue and argue with them without that dumb condescending smirk ever, ever managing to slip off his face

(the worst part is, he’s honestly probably making a good point most of the time. but you’d quite literally rather die than admit that to him)

he is always walking around campus lazily flipping through leather bound books so old they’re cracked precariously at their spines, all on different ancient civilizations. you’d think that’d mean he’d be running into people but the student body collectively parts like the red sea for him which sets your teeth on edge.

he’s unbelievably arrogant and the worst part is its not baseless like you find yourself so desperately wishing it was

he IS smart, wickedly so. disgustingly, cruelly intelligent and he will use it to pick you apart piece by piece while that stupid fucking smirk stays glued on his face.

(you start to seriously question whether or not he’s even human because how can anyone keep the same, perfectly calculated expression for that long?)

always looks like he stepped straight out of some dark alternate universe vogue photoshoot with his constant rotation of black turtlenecks, long coats, and oxford loafers all tied together by the same 5 rings he’s never seen without, two of which are set with hefty onyx stones

you will be unlucky enough to be paired up with him for a project that will take all quarter long and multiple meet ups a week. when your professor announced your partner, you genuinely consider dropping the class and when you find out you wouldn’t be able to drop the class without switching majors, you genuinely consider switching majors

you don’t. and by the end of the quarter you’re really starting to question whether that was a good thing or not

[pogueit]

First Aid Kit

Paring: Pope Heyward x Reader

Summary: You have an accident while attempting to do a new trick and Pope is the man for the job.

Warnings: blood ofc and general first aid stuff nothing too graphic tho!!

WC: 1,994

A/N: There's not enough Pope content!! SO I made some!! Pls enjoy some Pope and Y/N action!

THE GIF IS NOT MINE IT BELONGS TO @rue-bennett !!!!

Saturdays are not meant to be boring, but this scorching afternoon there was nothing to do. John B. went on his weekly date with Sarah, JJ scored a date with a kook he's been eyeing, and Kie was forced to go to a gala on the mainland, so it was just you and Pope alone in the chateau. He had been studying all day for an upcoming chemistry exam he has first thing Monday morning. You tried all day to get his head out of the books, but he was not having any of it. It wasn't until the late afternoon that you got him to go outside with you. Even though his nose was still deep in the piles of notes at least he was outside. You were skating on a horrifically uneven stretch of concrete that was oddly slathered in front of the chateau. Every time he could hear the wheels pop upwards he would snap his eyes to you, cheering you on when you stuck the landing. You were glad that he was far enough away to not be able to see how red your cheeks were. You've had a massive crush on the boy ever since Kie introduced you to the group. Your mom had just moved your ass down to the banks to get a fresh start far away from your poor excuse for a father. She managed to quickly score a job at The Wreck (where you were also forced to work part-time) as head chef. Your mom got on well with the Carrera's who only deemed it appropriate to force their daughter to hang out with you, being new in town and all. Kie wasn’t bothered at all and was glad to have another girl around. After hanging out with her for a single day, you wouldn’t hesitate to take a bullet for her. Kiara didn't introduce you to the knuckleheads right away, since she had taken a liking to you and didn't want to scare you away. The day that she did you remembered Pope had been the last one to say "hey" yet his was the warmest. After that day your stomach would erupt with butterflies whenever you'd even look at him and you would nearly die when your hands would brush against each other in passing. There was just something about him. Maybe it was how he didn't believe in stupid questions, except for JJ's of course, or how he would learn a new subject just to be able to help one of you ace an exam. It could be how the sun sparkled against his wet skin after a long day of swimming or surfing. How relaxed he looks sitting in the driver's seat of the HMS Pogue taking in all that the sun had to offer. You were glad the rest of the crew hadn't caught on yet, especially JB since he's already taken the role as your big brother, even though you're sure that you’re definitely older than him. He would never let you hear the end of it if he knew. The constant pestering, nudging, and side-eyeing would have driven you insane. Your mind slowly drifted back to the boy studying a few feet away from you. The thoughts of those hot summer nights in the cool water with him clouded your brain, so much so you nearly wiped out.

"You good!?" Pope's concerned voice made your head snap in his direction. You knew that the embarrassment on your face was very telling but you just shot him two thumbs up and got back on your board. You shake off any remaining thoughts from your head before attempting your new trick. You were sick and tired of random strangers, but mostly JJ and JB, yelling at you to do a kickflip whenever you were skating. After watching countless videos on kickflips you were basically an expert on them at this point and all you had to do now was actually stick the landing. You slid your right foot to the middle of the board so that your heel was just off the edge while your toes rested in the middle. You shifted your left foot to the tail of the deck and with all the strength you could muster you push down on the tail while your right foot flicked down on the edge of the board. It would have been a spectacular landing if it weren't for the random-ass pebble that your wheel landed on.

"Oh fuck, are you alright!?" Pope was by your side before you even realized you were on the ground. Falling came with the game and you were not fazed at all, since you've had grislier wipeouts than this, but that's before you saw the fountain of blood that poured out of your knee.

"Yeah, I'm fine dude-- I've had-- I need to--The bathroom--" you hobbled quickly into the bathroom at the chateau trying your darndest to not get any blood in the house. By the time you were able to sit down on the toilet, you were seeing stars. Your vision was slowly fading to black and you felt like you were going to vomit. You closed your eyes tightly as you pressed a clump of toilet paper to your knee, which pulled a hiss right from your lungs at the sensation. Promptly, you bit down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from letting out a scream. A light knock came from the door and it couldn't be anyone else but Pope.

"Are you alright in there y/n?" From all the pain you were in you could only hum out a yes as a response, but you knew that would not be a good enough answer for the boy.

"Yeah, just don't--" before you could even finish your sentence he barged in "--open the door, why don't ya". His eyes grew wide at the bloody mess you made in the bathroom, but then quickly softened at the sight of you. Your skin was flushed with developing perspiration clinging to your skin and your lips had gone pale as your lungs suddenly only knew how to hyperventilate.

"Uh, I don’t think it would be in your best interest to say that it looks like a slasher flick was filmed in here" his words made you squeeze your eyes tighter as bloody images flashed before you and it only got harder for you to breathe. Pope stepped inside the rather small bathroom and closed the door behind him. He picked up all the toilet paper you had used for your leg and tossed them into the trash bin before he crouched down next to you.

"Does it still hurt?" His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, as if you would shatter if he spoke any louder. All you could muster was a tiny nod as the pain took up most of your energy. His hands then gently pried your hands off of your injured knee and inspected it. Since the cut had almost stopped bleeding completely, Pope, was able to see that the wound was deep but not enough for it to garner any stitches and it was free of any debris. Lucky for you because JB had fallen there a couple of weeks ago and Pope had to whip out the tweezers to get all the gravel out of the bloody gash.

"Hey, it's not that bad-- I mean it is bad but it could be worse-- I'm gonna clean it now" the boy got to his feet and helped you sit on the edge of the bathtub with your feet sitting inside the tub. He then washed his hands furiously to avoid infection and gathered all the supplies he needed which consisted of antibacterial soap, antibiotic cream, gauze pads, gauze rolls, and unconditional love and support. Pope helped you undo both your shoes and removed them along with your embarrassing Winnie the Pooh socks. He sat with his legs outside the tub to have easy access to the supplies. After he checked to make sure the water wasn't too hot or too cold Pope moved your leg so your knee was underneath the faucet. The wound's contact with the water wasn't as bad as you thought, but it could’ve been you were distracted by his soothing touches as he held you close to him. Pope was careful not to get any of the soap in the cut just on the surrounding area and when he was finished he made sure to clean the rest of your blood-caked leg up as well. Once you were all cleaned up, he padded your leg dry before he attempted to put ointment on the tender flesh.

"Is it going to hurt?" You squeaked as he retrieved the ointment from the countertop.

"It might sting, but it shouldn't, '' he reassured you, as he brought the ointment-covered q-tip to your knee, but you couldn't help that your knee-jerked away from his touch.

"Ow, fuck!"

"Y/n, I haven't even touched you yet"

"I know, I know, sorry"

"I promise it won't hurt, y/n, and if it does you can punch me or something" even if it did hurt that bad you couldn’t imagine hurting Pope in any way. He once again leaned back in with the q-tip and sure enough, it wasn't painful at all. The ointment soothed the burning sensation of the area which finally allowed you to relax. He then carefully put a gauze pad on the injury, before wrapping your knee securely with gauze. You slid off the edge of the grimy porcelain tub and onto the ground while Pope stood next to the sink and neatly tucked everything back into the first aid kit.

"Uh, thanks--" your words got lost in your throat when your eyes met his warm eyes "--um, dude?" You felt stupid when it came out as a dumbfounded question and the heat quickly rose to your cheeks. If it was any time for you to die you wish it would have happened right then.

"Yeah, any time, y/n" he shot an endearing smile in your direction and you've never wanted to kiss a man so much before in your life.

You both let the awkwardness settle over you. The two of you riddled with hesitancy, but quietly yearned to confess your feelings to one another. He needed to get out of there. Pope gave you a curt nod and a tight smile, but as he headed towards the door there was vacillation in his movements. Before you lost sight of him from the doorway, he turned back around determined.

"Y/N, I gotta--" you were soon on your feet as the last bit of courage you had for your lifetime allowed you to meet him halfway. He didn't bother finishing his sentence as he decided his actions would speak for him. Pope cupped your face in his soft hands and crashed your lips together. The kiss was sweet, sweeter than anything you've ever experienced before. His plump lips gilded confidently over your timid ones. As the fire inside of you diminished your shyness you shifted yourself forward onto your tippy toes to deepen the kiss. Your movements caused you to pin Pope against the bathroom wall and you could feel him smile against your lips. His velvet tongue dragged against your bottom lip for permission to explore you further and you were more than eager to let him.

"Fucking finally!" The familiar voice of the rowdy klepto caught you guys by surprise causing both of you to jump away from each other.

"I guess I'm forty bucks richer, I knew you had it in ya, Pope!" JJ beamed as he walked towards the two of you and you playfully rolled your eyes at the blonde-haired boy.

"Fuck off!" Pope giggled and slammed the door in JJ's face before he turned to face you.

"Now, where were we?"

[sugawaraxo]

safe place

warnings: reader comes from an abusive household. will include both physical and verbal abuse.

characters: tadashi yamaguchi, satori tendou, tobio kageyama, tetsuro kuroo

request: hii!! can i request scenarios with yamaguchi, tendou, kageyama, kuroo (and maybe akaashi 🥺👉👈) with a crush on a girl who comes from an abusive household and how they would confess/help her? thank you sm🥺💗

an: i’ve been writing so much smut lately that writing fluff felt weird bahaha, but i hope you enjoy it! :)

yamaguchi

- there has been a dramatic shift in your personality since tadashi first met you

- and he notices it instantly

- though you pretend to be, you’re no longer the cheerful and bubbly y/n you once were

- and yamaguchi hates seeing you this way 

- so he debates whether he should bring it up for a long while, not knowing exactly what to say

- but when you show up to his house one day, shaking harshly with tears pooling down your face

- he knows something’s terribly wrong

“hi y/n.” tadashi says with a big grin as finally he opens his front door after hearing his doorbell ring a couple times. that smile quickly drops and forms into an expression rich with concern. his eyebrows furrow and his eyes widen as he takes in your appearance. you’re shaking violently and breathing heavily. your eyes are bloodshot from all of the tears that are quickly rushing down your face, dripping silently onto the concrete of yamaguchi’s front step as you avoid eye contact with him. you’re not quite sure why, but you’re embarrassed about crying in front of him. so your eyes stay locked on the bland grey of the concrete ground beneath you as you wait for tadashi to say something. 

“c-come in. it’s super cold, you can tell me what’s wrong inside.” he says sweetly, reaching out a hand for you to grab. he leads you into the kitchen, watching as you take a seat on the counter. then he grabs a kettle from the stove, pouring you a cup of tea with the water he was boiling before you had shown up on his doorstep. you two remain silent as he does so, neither of you being quite sure of what to say in this moment. so you let the stale silence consume you, only the delicate sounds of yamaguchi pouring the cups of tea filling your ears. once he’s done preparing your tea the way he knows you like it, he walks over to your spot on the counter and hands you the mug.

“careful, it’s really hot.” he informs and you smile softly at his concern. you take a small sip of the tea after blowing it to cool it a bit, sighing at how warm it makes you feel. tadashi always makes it so perfectly for you and you can’t help but feel extremely safe in this moment as he stands next to you silently, though his eyes are asking for an explanation. 

“my mom yelled at me again, but it was worse this time.” you sigh, tears starting to sting your eyes again at the recollection of your previous screaming match with your mother. 

“about what this time?” yamaguchi asks, locking his eyes with yours. his demeanor is soft but his gaze is harsh and you can tell he’s upset that this is happening again. 

“all i did is forget to wash the dishes and it led to her screaming at me that i’m a lazy, good for nothing piece of shit who leeches off of her for food and shelter. basically the usual spiel of how i’m useless and just take up space. how she wishes she never had me because then she’d have one less problem to worry about.” you explain, attempting to choke back the sob forming in your throat. you don’t notice since your eyes are focused on the mug in your hands, but yamaguchi’s own orbs are brimmed with tears. he sets his mug down on the counter beside you and moves between your legs so that he could be as close to you as possible.

“hey, look at me.” he says, but you refuse. you hate having him see you like this. it’s only happened once before and you swore it wouldn’t happen again but here you are, sitting on his kitchen counter while forcing yourself not to break down in front of him. after you disregard his request, he takes matters into his own hands. 

he cups the sides of your face timidly with both of his hands, them still being warm from holding his mug. he lifts your head so that your eyes meet his and you feel your heart flutter a bit. you notice the tears that have yet to leave his eyes, resting there but threatening to spill over at any second. instinctively, you reach up to wipe the tears away as you see them finally fall and he smiles a weak smile at you.

“you’re not useless y/n.” he starts “you are so, so special whether your mom sees that or not. i truly hate that she doesn’t. because if she could even just see a fraction of the most mesmerizing sides of you that i get to see everyday, maybe she would change. or maybe she wouldn’t. despite what she thinks, i know how genuine and kind you are. i know how beautiful and selfless you are. you’re far from good for nothing, i hope you know that. and if you don’t, i’m more than willing to help you realize just how incredible you really are, because i love you. i love you a lot y/n, and i hate seeing you so upset. so i’ll do whatever i can to make it better. i promise.” yamaguchi confesses. tears are streaming down both of your faces at this point. this is everything you need to hear right now and then some, and you feel completely at ease with yamaguchi’s words.

“i love you too tadashi, thank you so much. god, i love you.” you coo before lightly grasping the back of his head and pulling him down for a kiss. your action catches him off guard at first, so he’s a bit timid in terms of kissing you back, but after a few seconds he catches the rhythm and kisses you softly.

“you can stay here if you want, for as long as you need.” he offers, giving you a shy smile.

“i’d love that.” you smile back. 

tendou

- you and tendou have a very playful friendship

- always play fighting or teasing each other and whatnot

- the typical ‘we like each other and everyone around us knows we like each other but we’re completely oblivious so we don’t know we like each other’ type friendship 

- one day the two of you are at tendou’s house at the kitchen table “studying” (which really means “fighting”) as per usual

- tendou playfully hits you very lightly, not even a toddler would have been fazed by the slight shove

- but you wince roughly at the touch

- and tendou gets suspicious

“i barely even touched you, what’s up?” tendou asks for what seems to you like the billionth time. 

“it’s nothing, i was messing around. just drop it.” you huff, growing annoyed at tendou’s persistence in finding out what the issue is.

“the look on your face was clearly not a joke y/n, tell me why it hurt so bad? what aren’t you telling me?” tendou pushes and you’ve just about reached your limit.

“i said it’s nothing so just please stop fucking asking, ok?” you snap, though in the process you lift your arms to cover your face in aggravation. the motion raises your shirt a bit, allowing tendou to catch a glimpse of the huge dark purple bruise spread across your ribs.

“y/n. what the hell happened? that looks terrible.” tendou whispers, the shock of what he has just seen revoking his ability to speak out loud. you catch his gaze locked on your stomach and quickly remove your hands from your face, not even realizing that the movement had lifted your shirt. your face flushes to a sickly shade, all life leaving your body as you realize you can’t lie your way out of this anymore. you have never in your life had someone look at you with as much concern as tendou is now looking at you with, his eyes scanning your face dumbfoundedly as he anticipates your answer to his question. you sigh heavily, mentally preparing yourself for the draining information you’re about to tell.

“well um. i got into a disagreement with my dad.” is all you can manage to get out. you planned on explaining more, but just bringing it up makes your stomach curdle with fear and you feel as though you’re about to vomit. tendou notices and rests a comforting hand on your thigh, rubbing it in small gentle motions.

“he hit you?” tendou asks softly, trying to better grasp the situation.

“well he was drunk and i had an attitude with him, so he got a little worked up and ended up pushing me over. i fell and hit my side on the kitchen table on my way down. but it was just an accident, it’s ok. i made him upset and he pushed me. i just lost my balance is all. it’s not his fault.” you find yourself trying to defend your father and you don’t even know why. you know him pushing you wasn’t an accident. you falling and hitting the table was, but that doesn’t diminish the fact that your father just grunted at you as he watched you sob on the floor in agonizing pain before going back to his previous spot on the couch and finishing off his glass of whiskey. but you don’t want to tell tendou that. 

“y/n no, that’s not ok.” tendou’s voice breaks and your heart breaks with it. “accident or not, no man should be putting their hands on you like that. better yet, your own father. is this the first time he’s done something like this?” tendou asks, attempting to keep his voice steady but failing.

you shake your head no and tendou sighs, shaking his head in dismay. 

“i need to get you out of that house y/n. i’ll figure something out.”

“no satori, it’s fine. i’m fine. i can hold my own.” you argue.

“i’m not denying that you can, but i’d feel like the most terrible human being on earth if i let you go back there and something else ends up happening to you. so you’re staying here. my parents and i will figure out a way to take care of any legal actions that need to be made, but until then you are staying here and i will not let you argue with that.” tendou states firmly. although his words are firm, you can see in his eyes that he’s hurting for you. you couldn’t argue with him even if you wanted and luckily, you don’t want to. 

“thank you tendou, that means more to me than you’ll ever know.” you say.

“you don’t need to thank me, i care about you too much to see you get hurt. i want you right here with me so i can know you’re ok.” he says, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. you melt at his sweet gesture, and suddenly feel like everything will actually be ok. 

kageyama

- kageyama is very attentive and tends to notice things about you that the typical outside viewer wouldn’t pick up on

- like the way you’ve been spacing out whenever he speaks to you

- or the way you flinch whenever someone slightly raises their voice around you

- the way your eyes look tired and lifeless lately, despite the huge smile you may be carrying on your face

- he has a hunch that he knows what’s going on, so he pulls you aside after his practice that you sat and watched while doing homework to talk 

“hey y/n, can i talk to you for a second?” kageyama asks as he walks to your spot in the stands. you frown up at him, not really sure what he would want to talk about, but you shrug with a quick ‘sure’ and let him lead you behind the gym. you frown again because this is where he takes you whenever he has something serious to tell you, or when either of you are having a really bad day and need to express your emotions in private.

“what’s up?” you ask curiously, searching his eyes for any sort of hint of what he’s about to say.

“that’s sort of what i want to ask you. what’s up with you lately? i mean, you’ve been pretty good at hiding it, but i can tell something’s going on with you and it’s not good. i just wanna make sure you’re ok.” he says softly. you contemplate telling him what’s been going on at home, his gentle expression seems so caring and genuine. it’s difficult for you not to just open up to him and let him in. but you’re scared of what he might think or how he may react, so you bow your head down to avoid eye contact and mutter,

“it’s nothing really. school has just been a bit stressful is all.”

“you’re lying.”

“what?” you ask, lifting your head to meet his gaze once more. to you, your performance was believable. but kageyama’s been your best friend for the past two years now so he’s become somewhat of a master in knowing whether you’re being honest with him or not.

“you’re lying. what’s really going on?” he asks. he’s looking down at you with his deep blue eyes drowning in concern. you can tell he won’t let you leave without hearing the genuine truth, so you decide it’s for the best not to lie anymore.

“my mom hit me the other day and we haven’t really talked since.” you explain sadly, tilting your head down again. kageyama sighs at your confession because his hunch is correct, and he hates that it is. “we were arguing as usual, but this time she umm, she got a bit too carried away.” you continue. kageyama physically feels his heart break for you. he’s always known how terrible your relationship with your mother was from his first few weeks of knowing you. you would constantly tell him all the awful words she spewed at you in the heat of your arguments, and he was always there to comfort and reassure you afterwards. but it was always verbal, never physical so he wasn’t quite sure if him stepping in to try and help would do any good or just make matters worse. but hearing that it’s now escalated to physical harm makes his stomach ache.

“i’m so sorry y/n, i should’ve helped when i first heard about how she was speaking to you. that should’ve been my first sign that something like this would happen. i feel terrible for not doing anything.” he let’s out, his head now bowing along with yours.

“hey.” you say in an almost whisper, lifting his head up by placing your finger underneath his chin. his tear glistened eyes meet yours and you can feel the guilt radiating from his body which makes your heart shatter. “none of this is any of your fault. you did help me, ok? you’re the only person i’ve ever even told any of this to and you have always been there to comfort me when i do. you’ll never realize how much that means to me tobio. i appreciate you so much.” you explain.

his eyes jump back and forth between yours as he absorbs everything you just said. then his eyes glance down to your lips and linger there for a moment. yours do the same to his, both of you mentally questioning whether or not you should just go for it. eventually the pressure of the moment pushes you two together and your lips graze tenderly. kageyama’s hands find their place on your hips as your arms wrap behind his neck instinctively. the kiss is sweet and filled with so many emotions. most importantly, it’s filled with love. a kiss that you both have been craving for so long yet never had the guts to pursue. and finally, you’re able to give in. after a few moments you pull away, flushed and flustered a bit yet completely content.

“you can stay at my place tonight. we can figure out how everything will play out once we get there.” kageyama says as more of a question than a statement. you just smile and kiss him again in response.

you’re slightly worried about what the future holds, but having kageyama by your side will forever ease your nerves.

kuroo

- though kuroo can be a bit of a tease sometimes, he’s also immensely caring for those that he loves

- you being one of the people that he loves beyond words

- though he hasn’t confessed it yet

- means he’s very protective of you and would do anything to keep you from getting hurt 

- he’s always been your rock, and you his 

- so when he finds out that your parents have been emotionally damaging you

- he gets fairly upset

“jesus, i look so disgusting.” you say in what you think is a joking manner while looking at yourself in kuroo’s closet mirror. but the way kuroo’s head snaps up from his phone to give you a glare, you can tell he didn’t take it as a joke. 

“why are you always talking about yourself like that?” he frowns.

“like what?” you respond dumbly, knowing exactly what he means but really not wanting to embark on your trauma right now.

“you’re always referring to yourself as if you’re the grossest thing in existence and it hurts me to hear you say those things. is there a reason why you feel like that?” he asks, sitting up straighter on the bed to get a better view of you in the mirror. you sigh and turn to face him, walking over to his bed and sitting on the edge of it. 

“yeah, i guess there is a reason.” you admit, looking down at your hands as you fidget with them.

“well, what’s the reason?” kuroo asks. you look up at him nervously. you told yourself that this is something you would always keep to yourself because you don’t want to bombard others with your issues. but there’s something about kuroo that makes it immensely difficult not to just tell him everything. maybe it’s the way he fully listens to you whenever you have something to say. it’s like nothing and no one else around him matters but you and whatever you have to tell him. he always makes you feel heard and validated. important. something you never get at home. 

“it’s just my parents i guess. no matter what i do, i’m never good enough for them. i’m always trying so hard to impress them, make them happy. but all i get in return is being yelled at and told how much of a disappointment i am. do you know how hard that is? being the best version of yourself that you can possibly be and still not being enough for the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally? it hurts so bad kuroo, and it makes me feel like i’m nothing. so that’s why i’m always talking about myself like that. because it’s how i see myself, as nothing.” you tear up. hot tears begin rolling down your face uncontrollably as soft sobs leave your body. kuroo completely softens at your words, moving closer to you so he can wipe your tears with the pad of his thumb. he pulls you closer to him, your head tucked into his chest while his large arms suffocate you in his warm embrace. 

“i’m so sorry y/n. words can be so damaging, especially coming from your own parents and i really wish you didn’t have to go through that. because now you don’t even see yourself the way you should see yourself. the way i see you.” kuroo says, trailing off a bit on the last line. “i think you are the most captivating person i have ever met and probably ever will meet. every time i’m around you i just can’t help but feel this sharp pang in my heart which i can only assume is love. because i feel it when you’re gone too. you’re unbelievably amazing y/n, and insanely beautiful too. please don’t let your parents destroy that for you, although i don’t think they ever could.” kuroo finishes. 

you lift your head from his chest and look into kuroo’s kind hazel eyes as he looks back at you, flashing a small smile. 

“that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me tetsu.” you smile “and i love you too.” you finish causing kuroo to immediately go red. he was somewhat hoping you would have forgotten or missed his accidental love bomb, but how could you? you’ve been waiting to say the words yourself for who knows how long, so your heart almost couldn’t take it when it slipped from kuroo’s lips. 

“thank god.” kuroo laughs lightly, “now what are we gonna do about your parents?” 

“completely forget about them?” you joke, though in the back of your mind you’re somewhat serious. 

“i was thinking confront them and put them in their place, but that works too.” kuroo chuckles before lightly grasping your chin and kissing you. you’ve never felt happier nor safer than you do in this exact moment. 

[ickle-ronniekins]

it takes two

desc: when you make a stupid mistake, you can feel a shift in your friendships with your two best mates. so what better way to take care of things than to not mention anything to either of them at all? that is, until you’re bursting at the seams and need to get the story out, one way or another.

word count: 5.6k

warning(s): mentions and consumption of alcoholic beverages

A/N: something a little different. i still hope you all enjoy :) took me freaking forever to write this oi veigh. notes: my requests are still currently closed, i am merely working through the ones in my inbox. i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any platforms.

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“Fred! Bloody hell, can’t you let me win just once?”

The common room was vibrating with chattering students. Across the table from you sat Fred with a rather smug look painted onto his face as if to say, Won again! You huffed dramatically; you’d been trying this entire term to beat him in a game of exploding snap and had yet to do so. You sulkily sank back into the couch and folded your arms across your chest, all while Fred just sat across from you and laughed. Just then, George plopped down next to you and thrust a goblet that was filled to the brim into your hands.

“Are you giving me this because I’ve lost to your git of a brother for the millionth time this year and need some reconciling?” You lowered your voice and your eyes to the goblet, the insides of it swirling with Gryffindor-deep crimson reds and oranges, the liquid that would course through your veins like a rapid fire.

“What’re you on about?” George asked, a sly smile creeping onto his face, “that’s butterbeer.”

You knew by the colour alone and the sheer burn in the back of your throat when you swallowed that it was definitely not butterbeer. Your eyes began to water at the sting. “Mhmm,”

“To answer your question, Y/N,” Fred dragged your name out a little bit longer than you would have liked, but he just adored teasing you, didn’t he? You narrowed your eyes at him as he relaxed back into the armchair, bringing the goblet of firewhisky to his lips, “no, I can’t let you win just once, I reckon. That wouldn’t be fair.” He then took a too-big-to-handle gulp, and began to cough from the burn of the alcohol.

“Fred, I swear to Merlin, could you be any less subtle, you idiot?” George sneered at his twin, grabbing for the goblet which Fred held above his head. George just sighed. “Can’t let the prefects see I’ve snuck this in.”

You giggled and shoved him. “Oh, you mean, your brother?”

The three of you peered across the common room to see Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny chatting away, Ron and Hermione’s shiny Prefects badges glistening on their robes. You shoved George playfully when he began to laugh.

“What? Ron wouldn’t tell. He’s too scared of us. It’s Hermione I’m worried about.”

You clinked your goblet with his and then with Fred’s and wiggled your eyebrows at the both of them. “Well then, boys, best make sure she doesn’t see, yeah?”

The three of you threw back more gulps and you reckoned it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but the buzz of the party was making you abandon all logical thoughts.

You jumped up in surprise to find yourself still in your uniform from yesterday, but somehow tucked comfortably underneath the covers in your four poster. There were two perfect seconds where everything was fine and wonderful and lovely, until the haze above you lifted and you felt the very obnoxious thumping in your head when you turned toward your window and the sunlight nearly blinded you. Groaning, you pulled the covers back over your eyes and stayed in the dark until one of your mates began to yell that you were going to be late for breakfast.

You changed into new robes and tried to tame the wild animal that was your hair, but it was really no use, so you settled for pulling it back without accentuating your migraine. Sullenly, you dragged yourself away from bed, through the portrait hole, and down the steps toward the Great Hall.

It was all coming back in fuzzy little increments, wasn’t it? Last night. You grimaced when you remembered dancing and singing and playing exploding snap and giggling like mad all evening, like a little schoolgirl. The room had been buzzing with excited students and everyone was thoroughly enjoying their Sunday evening, despite the fact that Monday morning lessons loomed in the distance. Everything seemed to be better after some firewhisky, right? Blimey. The firewhisky. No wonder you had such an awful headache! That’s the last time you’d ever listen to Fred and George and -- oi. Bloody hell. Fred and George.

You were hit not only with another sharp pain through your skill, but with the overwhelming sensation of what exactly had happened. The truth. The painful, blinding, can’t-even-pretend-it-didn’t-happen truth.

And the truth was, of course, that you’d been so overpowered by your own giddiness mixed with the alcohol that you’d promptly danced the evening straight away and fell asleep uncomfortably in the armchair next to the fire quite early in the evening. One of them, one of the twins -- and which one, you didn’t know -- had taken it upon themselves to carry you from the common room and up to your dormitory before placing you safely in bed, all before you’d been too delirious to realize that you’d pulled him forward and kissed him. KISSED him.

But who was him exactly?

Your heart jumped into your throat, eager to escape, and you stopped short right in front of the Great Hall. How could you face them now? You didn’t even bloody know which one you’d embarrassed yourself in front of! Though, surely the one had told the other, so you reckoned you’d embarrassed yourself in front of them both at this point.

And then you saw him -- he had half of his body slung over the Gryffindor table, trying desperately to grab for the last bit of bacon Ron seemed to have snatched up. He flicked his red hair out of his eyes and took the final piece of toast off of Ron’s plate in an attempt to get his brother back for stealing the bacon from under his nose. And then a bright smile split his face as he sat back down, clearly satisfied with himself, and you knew right then and there that it had been him.

You’d kissed Fred, in a drunken, delirious state.

Your stomach grumbled. You knew that you desperately needed to eat, but you turned swiftly on your heel, away from the Great Hall, away from him, away from the mess that awaited you as you ignored it all and made way for the kitchens instead.

-- -

You felt as though you were walking on eggshells. You were conscious of every grin, every flutter of your eyelashes, every wave, every movement of your own so as not to come off a certain way.

There was no way you’d be able to avoid the two of them without rising suspicion, so you told yourself you’d go on as normal and only think or speak on the entire ordeal if one of them brought it up. It was proving rather difficult though, to not think on it at least. But it had been a week and thankfully, neither of them had brought it up to you. Fred and George continuously sent you winks across classrooms and teased you mercilessly, but this was nothing new; however, each and every time they said your name with an upward inflection, a question perched on their lips, you felt your heart constrict a little.

Why was this having such an effect on you? It’s not like you fancied Fred, or either one of them, for that matter.

But the butterflies that danced around in your stomach each and every time you saw him made you question everything you thought you knew about your heart. Were you only feeling this wave of nervousness because of the kiss-that-shouldn’t-have-been, or because you were actually developing feelings for him? And if you were developing feelings for him, were they genuine, or were they only because you’d kissed him? Or perhaps, maybe the kiss meant nothing in that it was simply just a kiss, a drunken, silly mistake. OI VEIGH. You internally scolded yourself for thinking in circles.

One particularly bad day, you’d been gawking. There was no other way of describing what you’d been doing. You were straight up staring, but not in an “I love you, let’s get married” type of way, but rather, “I need to look at you for a moment to see if these feelings I’m feeling are real or I’m just kidding myself” way. Of course, Fred couldn’t tell the difference, so when he caught you watching him attempt to cut bits of gurdyroot into five equal pieces, he smirked at you and asked, “Like what you see?”

You coughed in surprise on the air you were breathing and sat up a bit straighter. “Just watching your technique,” you blurted out, which didn’t sound any less pathetic, you reckoned. You just couldn’t wait to get out of the dungeons and back to the common room to stick your nose in a book and escape to someone else’s world for a bit.

But blimey, this was driving you mad. You hadn’t told anyone of this little adventure, had you? You thought about possibly consulting Ginny, though discussing the idea of you snogging one of her brothers probably wouldn’t be high on her priority list. Then you thought perhaps Hermione, who was always of a sound mind, but then you’d have to admit to the firewhisky and that wouldn’t benefit anyone. Then the possibility of Harry caught your attention, because he was always getting himself into conundrums, wasn’t he? He was probably an expert on damage control about now. Though when it came to romance, he was kind of awkward, so perhaps he wasn’t the best person to consult either.

You were nearly bursting at the seams with this story -- you just needed to get it off of your chest, you needed to be told that you weren’t crazy and that it was totally okay to be questioning these things you were feeling. But you hadn’t had enough time to find an appropriate confidant, which resulted in you spilling your guts to the absolute worst.

“I kissed him!”

In a moment of horror, your eyes widened and you brought your hands to your mouth in surprise, because you couldn’t believe you’d just said the words out loud. All it had been this whole time was a thought, right? Perhaps even a dream. Maybe you’d been imagining it the entire time. But now, saying it out loud, you realized that what had happened that evening was as real as the befuddled boy standing across from you.

Poor George arched an eyebrow and pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, you could tell. You began to shake your head and lift a finger, but he just took a step forward, his eyes softened now, as if to say, It’ll be alright, you know.  “Wait, Y/N --”

“Erm --” you were finding it really difficult to string together coherent sentences, because you weren’t exactly sure what you’d like to say. I may or may not be mad for your brother? I kissed him that one time when I was delirious and he hasn’t said anything and now I’m confused? So instead, you opted for, “Can we just -- go ahead and forget I’ve ever said anything?”

The grounds were absolutely bloody freezing -- the snow was coming down quite heavily now, everything already covered in a blanket of white, and you watched George shiver as he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. Yet you felt as if your entire soul was on fire.

You noticed though, that he didn’t look surprised; Fred must’ve told him. You felt crimson red flush your cheeks and you so very much wanted to bury yourself underneath the covers of your bed in your dorm. Unfortunately for you, though, you had lessons soon. “Fred’s told you already, hasn’t he?”

“No, no, he didn’t,” George replied, eager to make sure you knew the truth.

“Reckon you think I’m out of my bloody mind, don’t you?”

“I thought that long before this whole debacle.”

You punched him square in the arm and he recoiled jokingly. “Ha haaaa,” you told him before dropping your head into your hands and groaning. When you finally had the courage to lift your head, you met George’s gaze and watched as the wind rustled his hair and snowflakes landed all over his robes. He peered at you sympathetically. “Can we just... please don’t tell Fred you know anything. If he hasn’t told you, I reckon he’s trying to repress it -- you know, kind of like a nightmare you don’t wish to remember!” George snorted at your attempt at making fun of yourself. “Or -- I dunno, maybe you could help me figure out how to broach the subject with him -- or maybe --”

George placed gentle hands onto your shoulders. “Oi, you really haven’t a clue what you’d like to do about this, d’you?”

You shook your head embarrassingly and started to groan again.

“Tell you what,” George said, gesturing for you two to head back inside the castle, “you think on it, and if you need any help, let me know. Once you come to a decision, I’ll help you execute a plan, and for the time being, this stays between us. Deal?”

For the first time in nearly a week, you felt somewhat better. You took a rather deep breath and let the cold, winter air fill your lungs before exhaling and letting your muscles de-tense. Your heart fluttered at his kindness, and the tenderness in his eyes as he watched you. “Thanks, George, I appreciate it.”

Then you picked up a huge wad of snow and threw it straight at him until he was pummeling you, too.

-- -

He winked at you just as you rolled your eyes and walked across the classroom and plopped yourself in the seat beside his. He smirked a bit, as if to say, Fancy meeting you here.

You glanced up toward the ceiling for no reason other than to not look directly at him for a moment. With your heart thundering dramatically in your chest, you internally sent out a plea to the universe, who apparently found it rather funny to pair you and Fred together in nearly every single lesson. What’ve I done to deserve this type of internal agony?

“Wow, together again,” Fred teased as he pulled out his spellbook from his bag. Then he threaded his brows together and thought for a moment, as if he was concentrating his hardest on a scientific discovery, “Don’t you find it kind of odd that we’ve been paired together in nearly every class? I mean, blimey, it’s as if our professors are trying to get the two of us to date or something.”

A lump appeared in your throat at the word date, and you swallowed to try and dislodge it. “Yeah,” you replied breathlessly, a nervous laugh escaping you, “odd.”

A few weeks ago, you would’ve been delighted to have been paired with Fred. Not because you were in love with him or anything, but because he was one of your best mates, wasn’t he? And now, as you inched as far away as you possibly could from him without looking suspicious, you felt a shift in your friendship -- a crack, if you will, that, as the days went on and you became more and more uncomfortable around him because of the secret you held close to you, seemed to be growing larger and the distance between you both bigger.

You had to admit, though, the two of you were pretty great together. Not in that way, but just as partners, as equals. As friends. Which is what you’d always been. Fred had this way about him that made even the most dreadful of lessons seem lighter, and you reckoned you could do far worse than having him as your partner. You wouldn’t want to be paired with a dreadful Slytherin in Potions now, would you? You made a mental note to thank the universe later and take back what you said about the agony thing.

“Right,” Fred began one afternoon as the two of you swiftly made your way up from the dungeons to the common room, “so I reckon we should probably meet sometime soon so we can get started on this dreadful assignment for Snape, so I’ll just cancel with Lee and George. What d’you say? This weekend?”

Your breath got caught in your throat when you realized that Fred wanted to cancel plans with his best mates to spend time with you, albeit, working on assignment for Snape. But it wasn’t due for a week! “Fred, you don’t have to do that --”

George appeared around the corner and waved at the two of you before making his way through the seat of students. Meanwhile, Fred just waved you off. “Nonsense. It’s no big deal. Not trying to get away from me, are you?” He smirked at you.

“Of course not,” you replied. George appeared in front of you both, immediately engaging Fred in some conversation that you were sure was centered around some type of mischief they were looking to get into, but the blood pounding in your ears seemed to drown everything out around you.

You hated this. There was no getting around it. Why had you stupidly kissed Fred? Why was your subconscious trying to make you fall in love when you had other pressing matters, like exams and things? And why had the universe caused this wedge between you and your two best friends in the entire world?

Fingers snapped in front of your eyes and everything came back into focus. George laughed breathlessly, “You alright? Zoned out there for a moment,”

“Not dreaming about working on that assignment with me, are you? Have got a few more days until then, I’m afraid.” Fred teased. You swallowed and watched as George’s eyes shifted from his brother’s to yours.

You were able to produce somewhat of a laugh and punched Fred in the arm, a little two hard, because the boys just peered from one another to you, with confused types of grins on their faces. “Hilarious, Freddie. I’ve -- I’ve just remembered that I’ve got another assignment to finish up, so I’m going to head to the library -- but I’ll see you both later!”

And before either of the twins could convince you to come with them back to the common room to take a break, you sped off toward the library, trying with all of your might to catch your breath that seemed to have been stolen away.

-- -

You vowed after that night in the library that you were not going to let Fred get to you, no matter what. You told yourself to stay calm and grounded and to push aside whatever happened. To focus on what was in front of you. There was absolutely no point in getting worked up when it had obviously meant nothing to him, for he still hadn’t mentioned it. Who knows? Perhaps you’d also apologized in your delirious state, and he played it off. You just needed to move forward. And if your feelings were true, and it was meant to be, it would happen, wouldn’t it? The two of you.

You’d done a surprisingly good job of keeping your promise to yourself.

You found yourself falling back into your old routine. Each and every time Fred teased you or sent a wink your way, you merely rolled your eyes, reminding yourself that this was his normal behaviour and that there was absolutely no reason for you to read into it. He didn’t act overly flirty, he didn’t try and hold your hand or hug you or anything -- in fact, now that you were less focused on the entire ordeal, you came to realize that he was showing no signs that anything had happened at all.

You were busy in the common room, flipping furiously through a copy of the Daily Prophet, when the twins dropped their belongings and fell onto the couch across from you.

Without looking up, you could feel them both smirking at you. “I am not engaging in any type of firewhisky-related activity with you two again,” you told them straightforwardly.

“Why,” Fred teased, “because you’re worried about doing something you’ll regret again?”

Your heart nearly stopped beating at those few words. You froze and lifted your head; Fred was peering at you as though nothing was out of the ordinary, and George was looking back and forth between the two of you, looking as though he was ready to jump in with something if you needed him too.

“W-what d’you mean?” you asked tentatively, though you weren’t sure you wanted him to answer.

This was it, you reckoned. He was going to bring it up and then it’ll be out there in the open for the three of you to mull over; you’ll become awkward and uncomfortable around them both and that’ll be the new normal. Absolutely bloody fabulous.

Fred shrugged, as if it were obvious. “Your one woman show was quite the entertainment, you know.”

Oh. That you remembered. You breathed a deep sigh of relief, but then realized as the twins began to laugh that you weren’t exactly off the hook. It wasn’t the kiss they’d been discussing, but you reckoned that singing obnoxiously in the common room was probably just as embarrassing.

“No matter,” Fred said, “We haven’t even got any on us. Now if you’d both excuse me, I’ve got to go and ask that lovely lady out on a date. She’s been rejecting me for weeks, but I know she’ll come round.” He straightened his tie as if he were off to a business meeting and stood up, sending you and George bright grins before he went off to the other end of the common room to where Angelina was sitting reading a book. “Wish me luck.”

You watched with furrowed brows as Fred waltzed over to her, looking positively chuffed and confident, his aura of confidence engulfing the room entirely. He sat down next to her and you felt your heart begin to thunder against your ribcage; you realized now that you wanted to know the answer to Fred’s proposal probably more so than he did. And when, inevitably, Angelina rolled her eyes in a teasing sort of way but nodded her head in agreement as her eyes sparkled, you were surprised at the feelings swirling in your stomach.

It wasn’t sadness, or heartbreak, or confusion at all.

What you felt, in actuality, was relief.

You knew deep down that you didn’t love him, and thank Merlin he didn’t love you, too.

When he pulled Angelina to her feet and guided her toward the portrait hole, he looked over toward you and George and sent a wink as he bit down on his bottom lip, and for the first time in weeks, the eye roll you sent him back was genuine, and you finally felt as though you had your best mate back.

Once Fred was gone and completely out of earshot, you jumped up excitedly and began to shake George by the shoulders. “Blimey, woman, what has gotten into you?” he asked through a laugh.

“George, don’t you see?” you pleaded with him. “Clearly, whatever the bloody hell came over me doesn’t matter to Fred, because he’s sought out Ange instead! And it doesn’t matter to me either -- all those feelings I thought I had were merely because I was a nervous wreck due to the mistake I’d made. It was all in my head, wasn’t it? The feelings, I mean,” you rushed to continue when you noticed George’s confused features, “or whatever they were. Reckon I can just forget about that kiss now.” You sank comfortably into the couch, feeling as though a huge weight had finally been lifted off of your shoulders after having carried it around for bloody months, and you picked up your copy of the Daily Prophet again, reading giddily.

George leaned forward in the armchair, pressing his elbows into his knees. “You’re just going to forget about the entire thing?”

“Well, I don’t see why I’ve got to harp on it anymore, you know? Besides, I’ve got so many other things to focus on,” you told him before folding up your news clipping and setting it down on the table. “Speaking of all those things I need to do, I’d like to avoid them for the evening. What d’you say we break curfew and head down to the Quidditch pitch? I’d really like to give you a run for your money, Weasley.”

You noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes, and he was up and back from the boys dormitory with his broomstick before you could second guess yourself. You felt yourself blush when he said, “Whatever makes you happy. But I’ve got to warn you, I’m absolutely going to crush you out there.”

You pulled a thick scarf around your neck and scoffed before hopping through the portrait hole. “In your dreams, mate.”

-- -

You both landed dramatically on the couch after spending far too much time out in the cold. You wondered if your nose and ears were going to turn permanently red, and you rubbed your hands together as you inched closer toward the fire.

“You may have gotten me that time,” you told George, who was slowly sipping his steaming hot tea, “but it’s only because I’ve had an off few weeks. Now that everything’s back to normal though, I’ll be able to kick your arse just like you deserve.”

“Easy there,” he replied, and though his voice was soft, it echoed throughout the desolate common room, “don’t go getting any ideas. Haven’t you heard that Fred and I are the greatest beaters Gryffindor has ever seen?”

You actually snorted. “Right, okay, sure -- whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You realized then just how tired you actually were. You sank back into the couch and closed your eyes for just a moment; if you gave yourself a few minutes, you knew that you’d be absolutely out cold and probably snoring. You giggled a bit at the thought -- it’s no wonder Fred didn’t fall in love with you!

You heard George laugh a little too, and his voice was quiet in your ears. “Come on, Y/N, it’s nearly one -- let’s get to bed.”

And then you bolted forward, just like you had the morning after drinking all of that firewhisky. Realization hit you like a ton of bricks; next to you, George froze, a bit confused by your jolt, and you just peered at him, reliving it all over again.

Come on then, let’s get you to bed, Y/N.

It was the way he said your name, both that evening and tonight, filled with such tenderness and care that you’d be able to recognize it anywhere, easily pick it out of a lineup. You wouldn’t forget it for as long as you lived.

George threaded his brows together and shook his head slightly, as if to say, Are you alright?

And before you could let yourself figure out a better way of doing this, you breathed out, “It was you.”

His features twisted from confusion to nervousness, and then to relief. His face was flushed red, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold air or the fact that he was remembering, and reliving it all with you.

It was George that you’d kissed that night, not Fred.

It was evident that he didn’t know what to say. He parted his lips, as if he were going to open his mouth and speak, but nothing happened. You laughed a bit at how bloody stupid you’d been, and then grinned sympathetically at him. “It was you, the whole time.”

You wondered how you’d missed it, how you’d assumed it was Fred. And then, as George tentatively inched forward and placed his hand on top of yours, that all those feelings of butterflies and nervousness and heart-stopping moments hadn’t been because of Fred at all.

Whenever Fred had said something cheeky and your heart began to race, it was only because you’d caught George peering at you first.

When you stumbled over your words that time in a lesson, when Fred had jokingly told you that he thought your professors were trying to get you two to date, it was only because your head and heart subconsciously yearned for his twin instead.

And when your heart had started to race that day on the snow-covered grounds, at the idea of telling Fred anything at all, it was actually because of the tenderness in George’s eyes as he promised to not say a word to anyone.

“Why -- why didn’t you say anything?” you asked him.

It was so odd to see him so nervous; he and Fred were the most confident people in the bloody world, weren’t they? George sucked in a breath and you felt yourself tighten the grip around his hands as he spoke his own truth. “I dunno... you were so tired that night and so I figured it was just a mistake. But then you got all weird around us and so I figured perhaps not. Then you went and thought it was Fred and confided in me that one day... I just didn’t want to scare you away. You were so upset and confused and I didn’t want to worsen it. I figured you’d come to the realization on your own -- or, I hoped you would.”

You bit down on your lip and continued to laugh; you had felt so embarrassed by the idea of telling Fred when you thought it was him, but with George, it felt okay.

“Look,” he continued, squeezing your hands, “I’m not really sure where you’re at right now -- I mean, blimey, we’ve been best mates for years, haven’t we? If you’d like to forget the entire thing and go back to normal, then I -- I can do that.” He paused for a moment to consider the look in your eyes. He sucked in another breath, as if more oxygen in his lungs would give him the courage to continue. “I just... I don’t know if I want to.”

He was lucky then, because you didn’t know if you wanted to either. Perhaps it wasn’t the firewhisky that made you abandon all rational -- perhaps it was George and the way he made you feel -- because you pushed aside all what if’s and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you before gently brushing your lips over his. His surprise lasted about two seconds before he melted into you completely, and it was as if the feeling of his lips moving slowly against yours brought back all recognition from that night. Of course it had been him -- the faint taste of cinnamon and vanilla transported you right back.

When you broke apart, you both hovered close to one another for a moment before looking at one another and beginning to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire ordeal. You pressed your lips together and said, “Normal’s overrated anyway, isn’t it?” He nodded and brought your hands to his lips. “Go to Hogsmeade with me.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow,” you told him straightforwardly, “I’ve been dying to head into Zonko’s. Then let’s grab lunch and a drink at the pub. No firewhisky, though." You both laughed.

He smirked at you and you watched as the fire reflected in his eyes burned brighter. “Did you just ask me out on a date?”

“That depends,” you replied, somehow feeling even more confident than before, “are you going to say yes?”

“Of course I’m going to say yes.”

You pulled him to his feet and he pulled you into an embrace; you wondered again how you’d gone on so bloody long not realizing it had been him who you’d kissed. You thought about apologizing for it, though you just squeezed your eyes shut and leaned your head against his chest, and you realized that he’d somehow be able to hear all of the unspoken words inside of you. Thank you for being so kind about all of this, you’d say. He pulled you tighter toward him and he pressed a kiss to your hair. I care about you too much not to be anything but that.

You both stepped apart. Awkwardly, you began to fumble with the strings on your sweater and George ran a hand nervously through his hair. This was going to be so strange, wasn’t it? Dating your best friend. Though as odd as the prospect seemed, you thought for a moment why you two hadn’t been doing this the entire time.

“Erm, so, tomorrow,” George stumbled a bit, walking with you toward the steps up to the girls’ dormitory. “Lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, feeling overly giddy as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Tomorrow.”

Just as you were both headed up to your respective dormitories, George turned and said your name and stopped you. “Yeah?” you asked.

He shook his head slightly and furrowed his brows. “You know I’m only joking, right? It was Fred that night.”

Hot, bubbly panic took you over at those words, but then the git began to laugh hysterically and so you tossed a throw pillow directly at him and it hit him square in the head. For Merlin’s sake, these two you were going to drive you bloody mad.

“In that case, I won’t be seeing you for lunch tomorrow,” you called in a sing-song type of voice before heading up the steps.

You were right at the door of your dormitory when you heard George laughing still. “Aw, come on Y/N, I know that’s not true. You find me far too irresistible. I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”

You bit down on your lip to suppress a giggle. You’d have been really bloody angry had he not been so right about the irresistible thing.

“I’ll be sure to bring Fred along, too.”

“Weasley!”

[polaroid15]

Febuwhump day 20 - Betrayal

Summary: “How bad?” Tony asks.

“Not bad.”

“Pete-”

“I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”

When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.”

Or, Peter just wanted a coffee.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196/chapters/72739866

------

It’s not everyday that Peter is pistol whipped in the face by a Starbucks customer.

Today, however, is that day.

He’s at the front of the line, finally, and just as the cashier hands him his change a man wearing a crudely cut ski mask shoots two bullets into the ceiling. Everyone screams, ducks, and through the mass panic Peter hears his handful of change roll across the floor.

“Are you kidding me-”

“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND!”

Peter listens, trying his best to keep calm as he assesses his surroundings. The store has six customers and two employees. Another masked individual joins the first, also holding a gun.

That they’re not afraid to use, apparently.

Slowly and praying not to draw attention, Peter’s fingers close around the watch Tony had given him for his birthday and presses the side button three times. He’s only used the distress signal once before, and Tony had been at his side to help within a matter of minutes.

These idiots won’t even know what hit them.

The first man crosses behind the counter and shoves his gun into the barista’s face. “Open the register.”

For a minute, Peter thinks she’s going to refuse, her eyes set with anger and fear. As if getting the same sense, the man with the gun presses the barrel hard against her cheek and she whimpers. “Now,” he repeats, and she obeys with shaking hands.

Even though she complies, the man steps closer, his trigger finger tensing as the first inch of the barrel practically disappears into her face. Spidey sense screaming, Peter stands carefully, hands outstretched, “hey, hey. Come on man. Ease up. She’s doing what you asked-”

“On the ground,” the second criminal yells at him, spit flying from his mask. Peter freezes on the spot, eyes glued on the trembling barista. For one terrible moment, he’s brought back to a dark alley, his hands pressing down desperately on Ben’s chest.

“The register’s open,” Peter reasons, “let her go.”

“Looks like someone’s trying to play hero,” the first robber sneers. He pushes the barista aside and she falls onto the floor with a strangled yelp. “Grab him.”

Peter doesn’t flinch as the man’s accomplice obeys, digging strong fingers into his bicep and dragging him out of line. His back is brought against the man’s chest and the gun is pressed into his throat. He swallows at the pressure and keeps his eyes trained on the first man, who’s stuffing a duffel with cash.

Outside, there’s sirens.

“Damn it!”

The first man slams the empty drawer closed, throwing his gun out widely, “which one of you called the police?”

Peter almost laughs. Almost. “Are you kidding? You would’ve heard it if someone called. It’s a small room, buddy-”

A sharp pain in his face nearly sends him crashing to his knees. Blood pools onto his tongue but he keeps it there, not wanting to scare the other customers. Through the aching pulse in his head he hears a couple of them gasp.

“Not the time to be smart, kid.”

“Well you’re the ones who decided to rob a Starbucks of all places.”

Before Peter can even suck in a breath, he’s hit three more times, all where the first blow had landed. This time he does fall, and the man kicks him in the ribs for good measure when he’s down. The force of it has him gasping and somewhere in the distance Peter hears a kid crying.

Don’t think about Ben, don’t think about Ben.

“Police are here. Damn it. What do we do?”

Peter hears shuffling as he tries to reorient himself, his head spinning like a top. He only makes it to his elbows before his jacket is grabbed at its shoulder and he’s manhandled to his feet. He sways but stands his ground, wiping the blood off his chin with his sleeve.

“We take him with us.”

Peter doesn’t have the energy to argue as he’s dragged to the entrance by his neck. Through the glass and a rapidly swelling eye, Peter sees a semi circle of police, completely closing off an escape. He thinks he sees a flash of red and gold, too, but he can’t be sure.

“Walk, kid. No funny business.”

And he does, grateful, above everything else, that no one got hurt.

With a forceful shove, Peter is thrown out of the store, the grip on his neck still strong. He knows it’ll bruise in the shape of fingers, that he’ll stare at it in the mirror later and shudder at the memory of the touch.

“Drop your weapons!”

Peter yelps as the back of his knee is kicked in, forcing him to the ground. One of the men grabs his hair, forcing his head back, and sticks his gun underneath his chin. “Make another move and the kid gets it!”

It’s only now that Peter realizes his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Tony is here, standing on the sidelines of officers, his eyes blown wide with panic before his expression is cut off by his helmet.

He feels too dazed to be relieved.

“Let the kid go!” he hears one of the officers yell.

“Let us go!”

Peter chuckles again, and he’s not sure why. He feels warm blood dribble down his chin, and the grip tightens in his hair until he’s sure it’s going to be pulled right out of his scalp.

Whatever the men holding him had thought this was going to go, it must not be working, because one of the hisses a “get up” in his ear. Peter tries to listen, but he feels shaky and weak, and mostly just lets himself be dragged. He ends up back against the man’s chest, the gun pressed so forcefully into his temple that the opposite side of his head nearly touches his shoulder.

Only now does he let himself be afraid.

He could die.

Not as Spider-Man, not as a hero, but as himself. Right now. At Starbucks, of all places.

In front of Tony.

His mentor would never forgive himself.

“Walk,” the man hisses in his ear, and Peter stumbles obediently along with them as they step away from the door. The police follow them with their guns but otherwise don’t move.

“Where are you going to run?” Peter chokes. “It’s already too late.”

“Shut up.”

“There’s no way out of this.”

“I said shut up!”

Peter gasps when his head is hit again, his vision whitening at its edges. He must slump because the man struggles to keep him vertical. Somewhere in his fall Peter hears a familiar blast of repulsors and the hostile touch leaves him instantly. He falls to the cement, barely managing to catch himself on his elbows.

There’s a sudden rush of movement and Peter winces at the sheer loudness of it all. He hears muffled curses, boots hitting the pavement, the hostages inside the store cheering-

“Peter?”

And then there’s Iron Man, crouched down beside him and lifting up his chin gently with a metal-clad hand. Peter blinks away his double vision and musters a weak smile. “Hey man,” he wheezes, “coffee break?”

Tony doesn’t laugh like Peter hoped he would. Instead, he feels the armour shift under his arms and he’s lifted up, up and away. He jams his eyes closed at the sudden vertigo and lets out a tense breath when they land together on a nearby rooftop. In a second Tony is out of the suit and sitting beside Peter, his hands ghosting over the blood and bruises on his face.

“Concussion?”

“Look at my face. What do you think?”

“Cut that sass, kid. I have enough for the both of us. Anything else hurt?”

“Uh, my pride?”

“Ha. Funny. Now tell me the real answer.”

Peter sighs, and somewhere in the middle chokes on the blood in his throat. It makes his ribs flare and the wince he makes must be enough for Tony to piece two and two together.

“How bad?” he asks.

“Not bad.”

“Pete-”

“I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”

When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.”

He sighs again and this time it’s easier. He lays down against the pavement in hopes it’ll stop the world from spinning while Tony hovers beside him like a worried mother hen. “Didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“So let me guess,” Tony says, “you smart mouthed them.”

“Yep.”

“Course you did.”

Peter groans, poking gingerly at his swelling eye. He can barely see out of it anymore, which is highly unfortunate. “I lost my change. And I didn’t even get my drink.”

“Well, you’re alive, so that’s something.”

“Starbucks is expensive, Tony. I was treating myself.”

“I’ll buy you the whole damn Starbucks company if it’ll stop you from getting your face smashed in.”

Peter laughs at this. It makes his ribs burn. “Deal.”

Tony is quiet for a minute. “Feel up for a flight back home?”

Home.

He smiles.

“Only if we can pick up a coffee on the way.”

“Good God, kid. Look at these grey hairs. No seriously, I want you to look at them.”

Peter huffs out a laugh, head lolling slightly as Tony pulls him back up by his arms. Before they lift off, Peter is surprised when Tony wraps him in a hug. He blinks, then relaxes into it. It feels as if some of his pain is leaking into Tony.

He feels better.

“Thanks for coming,” he whispers.

Tony pulls away, ruffling his hair softly, his scalp still sore. “How couldn’t I? You were smart for once in your life and actually used the panic button I gave you-”

“Smart enough for a coffee?” Peter smirks, a cut on his lip stinging.

Tony looks at him solemnly and shakes his head.

“Grey hairs, Pete. Grey hairs.”

[band--psycho]

Gally x Reader-I Don’t Want To Just Exist

Y/Ns POV

“She can’t see anything! So what job do you plan on giving her?” One voice said, this one was unrecognisable though.

“We might as well send her into the Maze,” another voice said, I believe it belonged to same person who jumped down into the cage-I believe his name was Gally.  I don’t know what the Maze was but it certainly didn’t sound good. But his words clearly struck an issue with some of the others and quickly caused an argument between them all. 

“I’m blind not deaf,” I snapped, silencing the argument that they were having. 

“I deserve a chance to prove myself like everyone else does,” I explained calmly. 

“Okay Greenie, you got a chance,” a voice said, as he placed  a somewhat comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Alby, you can’t be-” 

“She’s got as much right to a chance as everyone else, Gally,” Alby quickly cut him off as he lightly grabbed my hand. 

“Who knows I might just prove you wrong,” I said before letting Alby guide me away from them. 

Small Time Skip-That evening

“Fry, this is one of the best things you’ve ever cooked,” Alby shouted, but Fry just simply chuckled as he nudged my arm slightly. 

“Can’t take the credit for this one, Greenie here did most of the work, I just made sure she didn’t burn herself,” he joked. 

“Well, it looks like we’ve found a job you can do,” Alby said, before the others burst out in a cheer. 

“Welcome to the family, Greenie,” Alby said before pulling me into a hug. 

“Call me Y/n..” I whispered to him. 

“Y/n, welcome home,” he said to me before the others crowded around us, each of them introducing themselves properly- the rest night was filled with jokes and laughter..it was weird, I’d only known these people for a number of hours but I already cared about them. Then I heard this bloodcurdling type noise that shook me to my core. 

“What was that?” I asked, trying to hide the panic in my voice. 

“That was a Griever,” Alby explained.

“A Griever?” I asked, confusion washing over me. 

“I’ll explain tomorrow,” he said before ordering everyone to go to bed-as the only girl in the Glade, I got certain privileges...one of them was being able to sleep in a hut.  I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard the door creep open, making me sit up almost instantly. 

“It’s okay, It’s just me,” Gally said, a felt a bit of relief wash over me; but not enough to let my guard down completely-mere hours ago he’d suggested throwing me in the Maze. 

“I..uh..I think I owe you an apology..I shouldn't have judged you so quickly,” he apologised, his voice was quiet, but I felt like his words were sincere.

“It’s okay,” I said simply as a small smile came across my face. 

“I’ll..I’ll let you sleep,” Gally said, as he made his way over to the door.

“I’m glad I proved you wrong,” I heard him let out a chuckle at my words as his footsteps faded away and the door shut behind him. 

Time Skip-A Year Later

Things had been slightly off lately with Gally; and I knew why. Thomas. Ever since he arrived he’d had this chip on his shoulder that he couldn’t seem to shift. I knew better than anyone that Gally wasn’t the most welcoming of people, but he had a softer side..one that I don’t think anyone other than me knew about. Since my time in the Glade we’ve grown closer, I liked him..and I think he liked me too-but neither of us were ready to tell each other that, and that was okay-but one thing I couldn’t deal with was his jealousy. Thomas was a nice guy and pretty much whenever we would talk Gally would interrupt him, and not leave my side whilst I was with him; it was ridiculous and annoying; Thomas and I were just friends, but it didn’t matter how many times I tried to tell Gally that. 

“It’s just..you’re nice and Gallys just-”

“An arrogant ass, with a bad temper; he can be, sometimes at least-but he’s not like that all the time, he’s got a softer side to him and he means well, he just wants to keep everyone safe,” I explained, chopping some of the veg ready for dinner. 

“You’ll get used to him, he tried to have me thrown into the Maze on my first day..and now here we are,” I continued, feeling around for the pot, luckily Fry was at my side to guide my hands onto it. 

“You should probably go, before Gally comes and rips both of our heads off for talking,” I joked as I put the veg into the pot. 

“Gallys coming,” Fry said just as Thomas began to walk away, I waited for the sound of a punch, but thankfully no sound like that came-instead Gally just wrapped his arms around my waist, placing a light kiss on my shoulder and then proceeded to try and help Fry and I cook; much to both mine and Frys annoyance because there was a reason he was a builder, he couldn’t cook. The night came quickly and soon Gally and I were in our hut, my head resting on his chest as his hand rested on my hip, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that something was playing on his mind though-he’d been quiet, more so than usual, not just today, but for the last few. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked, lightly tracing my hand on his stomach. 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” Gally answered bluntly. 

“You do realise I can tell when you’re lying right, I don’t need eyes to see that,” I shot back in a somewhat jokey tone, but Gally just simply sighed, as he pulled me closer to him. 

“Things are changing, they have been ever since Thomas arrived...he could ruin everything we’ve worked for,” Gally confessed. 

“He’s just trying to help; to work out what’s out there,” I said in an attempt to defend Thomas. Everyone here wanted the same thing-to protect each other; the problem, is that Gally and Thomas both have very different ideas on how to do that, and slowly it’s causing tension which Alby is trying to avoid. 

“Well his help might just get us killed,” he bit back, before letting out a long sigh. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” 

“It’s okay,” I said,moving my hand up to trace his chin.

“It’s all gonna be okay, Gal,”I whispered.

“Princess, I want to believe you but-”

“But nothing,” I interrupted him, moving slightly so we were now face to face. 

“As long as we’ve got each other everything will be okay,” I reassured, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. 

“You’re always so optimistic,” Gally whispered against my lips, as one of his hands moved to slowly my face, lightly caressing my cheek. 

“Well, one of us has to be,” I chuckled before he pulled me into another kiss. 

Time skip(yes another one)-After the attack on the Glade

So many were dead. Alby was dead. Our leader was dead. Thomas used the stinger to sting himself and find out whatever truth Alby had found out, he’d spent the night in the pit..and now was being dragged infront of the maze. Thersea was being tied to a pole; both of them being some kind of offering to the Grievers. And Gally had become the leader that decided this.

“This is such a waste,” He said, clearly talking about Thomas Theresea. 

“Gally, this is wrong,” I said, trying to reason with him.

“I’m trying to protect everyone that’s still alive in here, I’m trying to protect you,” he defended

“What if Thomas is right, maybe he could lead us home,” Geoff said 

“We are home,” Gally argued back; he’d always referred to this place as home-most of us did, but I also felt like there was something more out there..something more than this; a life that wasn’t filled with the same four walls and the same daily routine, maybe that’s why Thomas and I got on well, because we both thought the same thing-the difference was he could go out and find the truth, unlike me. Just because this was the only place I remembered living in, didn’t make it my home. I was so lost in my thoughts the only thing that brought me back to reality when I heard Thomas’ voice. I don’t know exactly what had happened, but I knew it wasn't good..

“You don’t have to come with us but we are leaving,” Thomas said. Causing thoughts to run through my head again. Thoughts that had me torn about what to do..we could all go with them, find out the truth together about why we were here.

“We don’t belong here,” I heard him say, and that one sentence was enough for me to make up my mind..he was right, we didn’t belong here, none of us did. 

“We were put here, we’re trapped here,” he continued, but Gally just scoffed in response. 

“Gal, what is he’s right?” I asked calmly, trying once again to reason with him. I couldn’t see the expression on his face...but I was pretty sure it was mixture between angry, confused and shocked. 

“And what if he's not, then we all die,” he said as I heard his footsteps get closer to me. 

“That could happen anyway..we might..we might have some sort of a chance out there,” I tried to explain to him. 

“So, you’re going to go with them?! Gally asked with venom in his voice. 

“We need to at least try and find out the truth..come with us,” I begged, trying to persuade him to see sense; I lightly reached for his hand but he just pulled it away. 

“As long as we’ve got eachother, everything will be okay, that’s what you said..and now you’re leaving..you’re leaving me...leaving our home,” Gally said the sadness evident in his voice, and it broke my heart; but I believed that either way we were gonna die and that I might as well die trying to get out of this place. 

“This isn’t out home, Gal, it’s just a place we exist in...please come with us,” I said, trying once again to grab Gallys hand and get him to come with us, but when I reached out to him he wasn’t there, so I just slowly walked forward towards where Thomas’ voice was coming from; Newt quickly ran to my side, grabbing my hand once he realised that I was coming with them, guiding me to the rest of the group.

“Gally, come with us,” I begged one final time. 

“Good luck against the Grievers,” was all he said, and that was our cue to leave. Newt hadn’t let go of my hand since we’d started running, he’d always been like an older brother to me,I trusted him-but one bad thing about being close to someone is that they can tell when somethings wrong and Newt knew me better than most. 

“What’s wrong?” Newt asked, squeezing my hand lightly. 

“Maybe I should’ve stayed in the Glade, I don’t want to be a burden to anyone” I said, trying to decide to follow my heart or my head. 

“What?” Newt asked, confusion lacing his voice. 

“I’m blind, Newt, I can’t see what’s right infront of me, let alone try and kill a Griever,” I explained, attempting to pull my hand away from his, but he just gripped it tighter. 

“You deserve a chance to know the truth, just like the rest of us,” he stated, as our running halted slightly so he could pull me into a quick hug. 

“We’re like family, Y/n/n, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” he whispered in my ear, before grabbing my hand again so we could carry on running, I only hoped the people that we left behind would be safe too. That Gally would be safe...and maybe one day we’d see each other again.

Tag list: 

@glicabhainn00

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH28

What does Chloe have in store for Marinette? Find out next week! As I stated on AO3, once I post chapter 30, I’m going to take another month off to let my betas finish up the last few chapters, then in October if we are all finished, I will be posting two chapters a week on Mondays and Fridays to finish this story out. It’s been a long journey rewriting it, but I’m much happier with the outcome this time. I hope you’re all excited to see the rest of the changes to this story. I know I can’t wait to share them!

Previous    First     Next      AO3

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

Chapter 28: End Game

Morning light streamed through the window, casting golden rays across Marinette’s cheeks. The urgent screech of her alarm blared on the shelf above her head, vibrating the loft in its tantrum. She blinked, then immediately squeezed her eyes shut again, sitting up out of the sun. Kicking the blankets from around her legs, she palmed for her phone, clumsily tapping the screen with a yawn. Sleep had eluded her most of the night for more reasons than one, and the previous day’s events replayed on loop as she slogged through her morning routine.

Had all of it really happened? The museum, her old friends, the akuma, Emerald Shell, Lila… And she’d gone to Chloe of all people for help. When had she fallen so low? And how long did Marinette have to be on this rollercoaster? Wasn’t there an emergency exit she could use?

She splashed water on her face, leaning against the sink with a sigh. Not all of it was bad at least. She and Adrien got to spend the evening together, though the sweetness diminished as a result of the afternoon’s events. Even still, there were worse ways to end a trying day than being spoon-fed chocolate mousse by the boy of her dreams.

Marinette stared at her reflection, droplets dripping from her chin like the countless tears she’d cried the past month. So much had changed since she left. Her face still looked the same, but the girl inside was different than the one who walked out of Francoise-Dupont a month ago. Her eyes carried a new determination.

Lila had gone too far, and Marinette wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. Starting today, everything was going to change.

“Marinette! You’re going to be late for school!” her mother called up the stairs.

Marinette dried her face and slipped on her blazer.

“Coming!”

Things were normal at school. People were buzzing about the latest akuma and the appearance of Emerald Shell. Martin held his head a little higher, though his cheeks never lost their rosy hue, especially when Macy gushed about how Emerald Shell saved her. It wasn’t until art class that they realized Marinette was being unusually quiet.

“How did things go with Adrien?” Eliott asked, looking up from the fruit bowl they were all painting.

“Adrien was fine,” Marinette said. “It was Lila I had to worry about.”

“Still?” Macy winced. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story…” Marinette sighed, wiping her brush on a rag.

“We’ve got a whole hour.” Martin pointed out, and they all looked at Marinette expectantly.

Marinette smiled, reassured by their eagerness. They really were the best friends in the world. She took a deep breath before diving in, and her friends listened to every detail intently.

“Whoa, she really did that to you?” Lisette asked when she finished. “And I thought Gabrielle was awful.”

“Lila is an attention-seeking manipulator, and she crushes anyone who gets in her way,” Marinette said bitterly. “I hate to drag you guys into this—mostly because I barely want to be dragged into this—but-”

“Oh, we’ll totally help,” Macy said. “If there’s one thing rich people love to do it’s brag about our accomplishments and make other people look inferior.”

“I can text around and try to set up a hangout with Prince Ali next time he passes through Paris.” Eliott offered.

“My dad’s in a group that plays tennis with a few ambassadors. I’m sure he could help us set up a youth program to push a Go Green effort here in Paris.” Martin added.

“Sometimes I babysit for the president’s niece, so I could see about getting her deported,” Lisette said with a cheery grin, and everyone turned to her with horrified expressions. “I’m kidding, but it’s an option.”

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re kicking awful people out of the country.” Eliott nuzzled her cheek with his nose.

“Anything you need, Marinette, we’ve got your back,” Macy said, placing a hand over hers. “We’re behind you all the way.”

Marinette pulled her in for a hug, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Even though she regretted running from her problems, Marinette didn’t regret meeting her new friends. They helped her when she needed it most, and for that, she would always be grateful. With these people by her side, Lila wasn’t going to know what hit her.

♪♫♪ This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things ♪♫♪

Marinette paced the length of the living room a week later, chewing her nails. The awards show had finally arrived, and Clara would be walking the red carpet in one of Marinette’s original designs. It was the biggest moment of her life, and she couldn’t sit still.

Her mom smiled, setting the cake she’d just finished decorating on the table. “Everything is going to be fine, dear. Your designs were wonderful, and Clara loved them.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean all of the famous fashion critics are going to. People talk about award show outfits for weeks, mom! If everyone hates Clara’s dress, I’m going to be front-page news for worst-dressed all month!” Marinette groaned.

“There’s no way anyone will hate your designs. My daughter has all the talent in the world!” Her father scooped her up, planting a kiss on her cheek.

The doorbell rang, and Marinette rushed to answer it.

“Congratulations!” Her friends cheered.

Macy pulled her in for a tight hug. “I can’t wait to see which design Clara picked! They were all so good.”

“I can’t believe Clara picked you over Gabriel Agreste. You are so lucky, Marinette,” Lisette said.

“She’s amazingly talented. My father didn’t stand a chance,” Adrien said with a laugh. He presented a bouquet of roses with a shy smile. “Congratulations, mon ange.”

Marinette stretched up to kiss his cheek. Taking his hand, she ushered everyone inside where they didn’t hesitate to make themselves at home. Eliott and Martin moved for the snacks while Macy and Lisette settled on the couch. Marinette’s mother reached for a vase on the top shelf, stretching up on her toes.

“Let me.” Adrien stepped in and grabbed it with ease.

“Thank you, dear. Marinette picked such a sweet boyfriend.” Her mother beamed. “She used to talk about you so much. Every day, she’d come home from school and tell us all about how green your eyes are and-”

“Mom!” Marinette shot her a silencing look.

“I’m flattered. Marinette is a wonderful girl. You and Mr. Dupain must be really proud that a celebrity like Clara commissioned her,” Adrien replied smoothly. He shot Marinette a wink when her mom changed the subject. Why was he so perfect?

“Ooo! It’s starting!” Macy squealed.

Marinette and Adrien squeezed onto the couch next to Macy and Eliott. She leaned her head on his shoulder, twining their fingers together. Having her friends around eased some of her nerves, but her heartbeat escalated every time someone new moved to the front of the line.

“How long until we get to see your dress?” her dad asked.

“I don’t know. The red carpet doesn’t really have a set schedule.” Marinette shrugged.

“Okay, we’ll just wait,” he said, trying to seem nonchalant, though his impatience showed each time he shifted or cleared his throat.

Marinette chewed her nails as other artists and celebrities made their appearances, leg bouncing until Eliott reached over to stop it. She flashed him a sheepish grin but resumed tapping the moment he turned away.

Clara’s name flashed at the bottom of the screen, and Marinette cupped her hands over her mouth. Everyone leaned forward as she approached the camera in a colorful, flowing gown.

“She’s wearing my favorite!” Marinette squeaked between her fingers. Her dad patted her knee as her mom turned up the volume on the television.

“Standing here on the red carpet with Best Pop Artist nominee Clara Nightingale,” the reporter said, turning to Clara with a smile. “Clara, can I just say you look lovely tonight? Who are you wearing?”

“My dress was designed by someone sweet; a teen whose talent can’t be beat. More beautiful than any melody I’ve ever sang, this dress is by Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Clara twirled around, the skirt of the dress rippling with color.

Marinette buried her face in a couch pillow with a shrill scream. Adrien rubbed her back with a laugh. She shot up again, eyes glued to the screen as Clara gushed about the details of her dress before the conversation steered toward her award nomination.

“Can I just say? Stun-ning!” Eliott said.

“That dress is everything! It looks even better than it did on paper.” Macy agreed.

“A celebrity wearing my daughter’s original designs! I always knew someone would recognize how amazing you are.” Her dad pulled her in for a tight hug.

“We’re so proud of you, honey. We know how hard you worked,” her mom said.

“You did an amazing job, Marinette.” Adrien pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Well, we have to get back to the bakery, so we’ll let you kids watch the rest together, okay?” Her mother passed Macy the remote.

“Good night.” Marinette waved as they stood and took their leave.

“Actually, I should go too. I forgot to do my physics homework,” Macy said, standing up. “Martin, can you come help me? It’ll take me hours if you don’t.”

Martin flicked his gaze over to Marinette and nodded. “Uh, yeah, I can do that.”

“Oh, ya know, I just remembered that I promised my dad we’d help him with that thing,” Lisette said.

“Oh yeah! Sorry, it’s like a big, complicated thing. We need to go too.” Eliott nodded. “Congrats again. You’re amazing and wonderful, and you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Thanks.” Marinette smiled.

“See you tomorrow!” Macy called as they all shuffled out the door.

“Is it just me or was that a lot of lame excuses?” Marinette tilted her head.

“I asked them to give us some time alone.” Adrien admitted.

“Oh.” Marinette’s cheeks warmed as Adrien wrapped an arm around her.

“I know things have been crazy lately, but in a way, I’m really glad all of this happened. I might not have ever realized how I felt about you if it hadn’t,” he said. “It’s a weird positive that’s come from everything.”

“Yeah.” Marinette leaned against his shoulder with a smile. “I’m happy things worked out. I never would have told you how I felt otherwise.”

“Did you really tell your parents how cute I was?” he asked with a smirk.

“I- Well, I didn’t- I mean-” She buried her face in his shirt with a groan.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you stammer like that. I forgot how cute it is.” Adrien chuckled.

“It’s your fault.” She jabbed his chest with one finger. “You’re so cute. It makes me all flustered.”

“Hmm, then I wonder how you’ll react to this.” He reached into his pocket to retrieve a long jewelry case, opening it to reveal a small pink diamond necklace.

“Adrien!”

“I wanted to get you something to remember me by since we go to different schools now. I miss you like crazy, so I thought that maybe you could at least have a small piece of me when we’re apart,” he said. “Do you like it?”

“Adrien…” Marinette cupped a hand over her mouth. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

The gem was warm against her skin as Adrien fastened it around her neck, a physical reminder of his love. They’d overcome so much together, and while their fight was far from over, at least Marinette had him.

Adrien turned her jaw to face him, brushing her cheek with his thumb. Those warm green eyes softened as he leaned in, and Marinette closed her eyes. His breath swirled hot on her lips when they brushed, sending a jolt up her spine. Her heart hammered in a frenzy, building rapidly in anticipation. But just as release came, his pocket buzzed, and they both crashed down to earth again.

With a short sigh, Adrien pulled back and retrieved his phone, quirking a brow at the caller ID.

“It’s Chloe,” he said. “Hell-”

“Were you two going to list Dupain-Cheng designing for Clara Nightingale among our assets, or was I just supposed to figure that out myself?” She scolded.

“Sorry. It was kind of-”

“No time for excuses. I need to propose this to you before I change my mind. I know the perfect way to enact your plan,” Chloe said with a groan. “I hate myself for even considering it.”

“What are you suggesting?” Adrien’s eyebrows furrowed.

“We’re going to make Dupain-Cheng famous, and I think I know the perfect way to do it.”

[drawlfoy]

4 a.m

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no but this is dedicated to @socontagiousimagines :) thank you for the inspiration. 

summary: y/n seeks tutoring help from her acquaintance and housemate, draco malfoy. 

warnings: language, and the teensiest bit of actual fluff

a/n: so this is NOT the oneshot i was talking about. this is a short little tidbit i’ve been just sitting on for a while! i will not be continuing this :( but i wanted to get the practice of writing more physical scenes and thought that this was a good idea lol

tags! @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop

word count: 1.2k

“So, you carry that over to the other side of the equation...perform the executive function of rin...plug in the constant...and then we can set that number equal to 4 times the magical coefficient of levitation…”

Y/N was trying her best to listen as her fellow Slytherin patiently went over the last Arithmancy problem set. She really was. But it was so hard, especially when she was sitting just a few feet away from the prettiest boy she’d ever seen. Especially when they were on his bed. In dim lighting. At 4am.

It wasn’t on purpose. It was honestly a last minute panicked request--Y/N, well known for her tragic Arithmancy skills, found out that there was a surprise exam the next day in that very class and had to track down the only person she knew. Draco Malfoy wasn’t her friend, not by any sense of the term, but they tolerated each other. She’d go as far as to say that they were friendly, even. He smiled at her once in the hallway. She would’ve returned the favor if she had remembered how to breathe.

So imagine her surprise, upon rushing up to him at 11 that night and desperately asking him for help as he was leaving the common room, that he simply smirked down at her. “What are you waiting for?” he’d asked, his eyebrow cocking. “Put your arms around my neck. I have to carry you over the wards.”

She’d been at such a loss for words--something that almost never happened, mind you--that she’d nearly lost consciousness when, instead of waiting for her to jump up, he just plucked her off the ground. Before she knew it, she was sitting cross legged on his fluffy comforter as he picked apart the practice sheet in front of her.

The quill had no idea how lucky it was to be lodged in the elegant hand that it was. His fingers curled around the base strangely close to the parchment, occasionally smudging the numbers and symbols that he helpfully copied down onto her paper in his impeccable print. Y/N found herself quite smug at the fact that she was one of the few that got to witness him study something so intently up close. 

“Does that make sense?” 

His voice, accompanied by a clear shift in tone, shook her out of her soliloquy. 

“Er, yeah,” said Y/N. Very convincing.

“Why don’t you explain it to me like I’m the student and you’re the tutor,” he offered, turning to rest on his side. His infuriatingly perfect face was propped up on his palm as he watched her.

“I, erm, have to find a way to solve for G naught, which is the relationship between magical forces and naturally occurring gravity...so I do that by plugging -9.81 in for g and then the given velocity and, er, rin…”

Her words trailed off as her attention turned to the slow smile stretching across Draco’s face.

“What?”

“You’re a question ahead. I was talking about the one I just explained to you.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose and looked away. “Sorry. It’s late. I always have trouble paying attention when I’m tired.”

“Don’t apologize,” said Draco, moving to sit up. “You were right, you know. I think you’ll be fine tomorrow. You’re not even bad.”

“Thanks.”

He offered her another smile, this time one that looked more genuine than the rest, much less cat-got-the-canary and more wholesome. “If you’re not thinking about this--” He gestured dramatically to the parchment littered with Arithmancy practice questions, “--then what are you thinking about?”

“Oh,” Y/N said dumbly. No matter how many words she conjured to rest on her tongue, the blush growing on her cheeks gave it all away. There was no point in trying to fib, a point that became abundantly clear as Draco’s eyes began to glimmer.

“What was that?” he pried, an impish tone creeping into his voice. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Don’t be a fucking arse,” she responded. If she didn’t look him in the eyes then she didn’t feel quite as obvious. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

He tutted, shifting to rest his back against the headboard. It once again occurred to her how intimate the whole set up was. “Hm.”

Y/N decided to drop it and gather up the scrolls of half rolled parchment that littered his bedding. As much as she hated to admit it, his bed was soft. Really soft. 

“Thanks for all of your help,” she said once all of her belongings were secured away in her satchel. 

He said nothing in return, instead tilting his head to the side and meeting her eyes with a cool gaze full of amusement. 

“I really appreciate it,” she continued, hoping to pull out something as trivial as a “you’re welcome” from his surprisingly petal-like pink lips. “I know it’s late.”

“Not a problem,” he finally said. “Plus, how could I say no to you?”

Y/N fought the urge to melt into a puddle right that instant. “Erm, thanks. You didn’t need to help me this much. I hate to keep you up.”

His smile widened. “You don’t have to go yet, you know.”

“What--what?”

“I said,” drawled Draco as he sat up again to look her more directly in her eyes, “You don’t have to go.”

She decided that he wasn’t the only one who could play coy. “Oh? So what would you suggest?”

“Come here and find out.”

In seconds she was back to her seat on his plush comforter, her knees tucked neatly under the rest of her as he reached out to gently tug her tie in his direction. 

When he finally kissed her, it felt like her soul had left her body. His lips were warmer than she would’ve thought, and he cupped the side of her cheek with so much tenderness that she thought she was dreaming.

“Draco,” she said, pulling away from him for just a moment, “It’s 4am. I have to sleep.”

“I know.” 

He leaned in again, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his lap. “You’ll be fine,” he assured her between kisses, “You had the best tutor.”

She pulled away again to smack him on the shoulder. “Don’t be vain.”

“Fine, fine.” She was still seated on top of him as he shifted to grab a piece of parchment that he scribbled something onto in swooping, elegant motions. “Here.”

“What is it?” 

“You said it yourself, love, you’ve got to get to bed,” he teased. “Open it up when you get back to your dorm. Now off you go.”

Y/N was torn between the sting of rejection and the butterflies at his use of the casual pet name while he carried her over the wards, feelings that refused to fade even when she was back in her room.

The soft sound of the lake water hitting the glass was just beginning to lull her to sleep as she jolted forward, just remembering the piece of parchment Draco had so thoughtfully folded into a paper crane for her. 

“Y/N:” It read, “Since you have such trouble paying attention when it’s late, I thought I’d write this down so you wouldn’t forget. Meet me tomorrow night at the tapestry by Snape’s classroom. 9pm. I promise I’ll have you back by your bedtime.”

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 36

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to convince you why this is the only option.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Heavy angst, dissociation, past references to abuse/torture, grief

AO3

It was like you were in a dream. Or more accurately, a nightmare.

Bucky had taken you to a secluded room, one that looked suspiciously like the room you’d stayed in before, and he tried to explain why this was the best option. Why putting him into some magical fridge would temporarily negate the bond.

You could barely listen to him. Couldn’t even look at him. You couldn’t believe this was really happening. It was too sudden, too fast, he hadn’t even talked to you about it. He’d just made the decision on his own, and it was too late to take it back now.

At first came the anger. The rotting, bitter rage that he would do this to you. Betray you. Leave you again when he promised not to. You wanted to scream all of that at him, but you didn’t. You let him know in a low, flat tone just how hurt you were, and his sorrowful expression only made you angrier. What right did he have to feel sad when he was the one who’d done this?!

Once the rage bled out of you, you tried to reason with Bucky. Told him to think, to really think about it. How did they know it would work? That you wouldn’t drop dead as soon as the bond was severed?

Bucky explained, much too calmly and reasonably, that he’d been through something similar before and why he knew it would be safe.

That was also how you found out about Steve.

“Back during the war, he… he rescued me from HYDRA,” Bucky said, chewing his lip nervously. “They’d started the ritual to turn me into a demon not long before that. Zola hadn’t had time to enslave me with a bond, and when Steve was untying me, he was hurt. He bled on the open wounds on my chest, carved there as part of the ritual. Apparently, that was enough to complete what they’d started… and make Steve my first master.”

You didn’t say anything as you listened. You were sitting on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest as Bucky sat in a nearby armchair. You were too upset to want to be touched, but at the same time, you missed it so much. Missed the effortless affection when you’d been in Boston.

The yearning twisted in your gut at his next words.

“The urges came soon after that. I tried to resist them. Tried to sate the hunger by picking up girls at the bars, whenever we had time to stop in a town. It didn’t work, not like it does with you, because I was a… a succubus then.” He shifted in discomfort, his expression flushed with shame. “Finally gave in and hooked up with a guy. It was exactly what I needed, and I hated it. Or rather, I hated that it made me confront things about myself that were already true before Zola got ahold of me. Things you were supposed to keep hidden away in shame back then.”

He looked down at his claws, glaring at them angrily as if they were to blame. You remained quiet, curious and afraid of where this tale was going.

“I looked normal back then, so it was easier to hide what was happening to me. And then I got involved in a pretty scary situation, a bunch of guys cornered me in an alley. The pheromones took over and I let them all…just…” He cut off his words with a shake of his head. “Right after, that’s when I grew my tail. Not as big as it is now, but I was hysterical, anyway. Tried to cut it off. Did cut it off, actually, and it grew right back. I didn’t understand that large wounds like that will induce a heat.”

Bucky licked his lips, his shoulders hunched and tense. You wished so badly to touch him, but you didn’t.

“I was starving, in agony, and there was no one else around to help… but Steve.”

Something clicked into place, and suddenly it was like you could see one of those 3D eye-puzzles where the image was always out of sight until you focused just right. Bucky’s affection when talking about his friend, the haunted look in his eyes, it all made sense now.

“Steve saw the tail, I was in no damn condition to hide it, and the pheromones kicked in bad. I tried to fight it, but he said he wanted to help, so… I gave in. Didn’t have a choice at the time, but he kept helping me after that. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I’d had feelings for Steve long before then, and… God, this is not the way I wanted to tell you.” He gave a bitter laugh, and this time you did reach out and put your hand over his.

Bucky looked up at you, his eyes glass and red, and you squeezed his hand tighter.

“I’m glad he was there for you, Bucky.” And you meant it, too. You couldn’t imagine how terrified he’d been, his body rebelling against him, tormenting him until he was forced to have sex—

Or, maybe you could imagine it. You could imagine it, which was why you were suddenly so grateful to have Bucky there when you were scared and in pain. And you were glad Steve had been that person for Bucky.

Bucky’s expression softened as he whispered, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You interlaced your fingers with his. “Really glad. He seems like a great guy.”

“He is.” Bucky’s faint smile faded and the haunted look returned. “For a while, we were actually happy. We were in the middle of a war, part of a special unit trying to track down more of HYDRA’s occult labs, but we had each other and… I should have known it wouldn’t last.

“We were on a mission to retrieve Zola when it all went wrong. I fell from the train… and the Soviet branch of HYDRA found me.” Bucky’s expression darkened further, his lips pulling back from his sharp teeth. “I was in and out of conscious as they worked on the arm I lost, but I woke up during the surgery. I could feel Steve, hurting, dying. I found out later he’d plunged into the ice. Not dead, but… the bond was broken enough that I could be bonded to someone else. And I was.”

Bucky’s features twisted into bitterness as he looked down at your interlaced fingers.

“So my point is, no. It won’t kill you. But I won’t lie and say it won’t hurt. Because it’s gonna hurt like hell, and I’m sorry you’ll have to endure it.”

“Then—why do it at all?” you pled as you slid forward on the bed, sitting on its edge as you tightly gripped his hand. “If the bond is that dangerous, then we can stay here. They can monitor us and make sure no one can get hurt.”

Bucky shook his head before you’d stopped speaking.

“What kind of life is that? Keeping you trapped in this place like a prison. What would you tell your mom? Your sister?”

Eyes stinging, you looked away, hot shame now mixed in with your lingering, ever-present anger.

“That’s low, Bucky.”

“You have a life. You deserve to have a life.” He scoffed and for the first time finally sounded angry. He stood up, dropping your hand in the process, his tail twitching as he paced the floor in front of you. “How did you think this would end, realistically? That we’d get our happily ever after and go live in a two-story house with a white picket fence? Maybe a dog and two-point-five kids?”

Directed at you or not, you weren’t going to let that go unchallenged.

“What if I did?” you snapped, standing up from the bed. “Would that have been so bad? Maybe we could have made it work, but we’ll never know because you didn’t even try!”

He rounded on you and your heart leapt in your throat as you stumbled back. But Bucky didn’t do much more than glare.

“I am doing this… for you.”

“You’re doing this because you’re afraid!” you shot back.

“You’re goddamn right I’m afraid!”

He immediately closed his eyes and took a deep breath, curling his fists and releasing them. You stood completely rigid, barely breathing yourself.

Like a flower wilting, his shoulders sagged, curled wings drooping. Even his tail hung limp behind his legs.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.” He walked up to you, carefully keeping space between you. It hurt. “But this is the right thing to do. I regret I had to do it this way, without talking to you about it, but ultimately… it was my responsibility.”

“But—“

“This isn’t a romance, sweetheart. This is captivity.” Bucky met your eye and didn’t look away. “No matter how much I wish otherwise, we can’t be in a relationship when neither of us has the option to leave it.”

The words cut through the middle of your chest life a knife. Because nothing cut as deep as the truth.

You turned away and hugged your arms tightly around yourself, as if warding off a chill or protecting yourself. That’s what it certainly felt like. Shielding yourself from the pain blooming in your chest like a flower of daggers.

Bucky’s voice was close and low behind you, but still he didn’t touch you.

“I’ve spent the last two days getting things… prepared. I know this will be difficult for you and I didn’t want to leave you all alone, so I… reached out to Steve.”

You slowly turned back around.

“You… what?”

“Strange had his number.” Bucky dipped his hands into his pockets, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “When I called, Steve was shocked, to say the least. And then angry, which, I’m sure you can relate to.”

You shook your head, more to clear it than as actual response. Bucky reaching out to Steve was a huge deal, especially now that you knew the depth of their past relationship. You couldn’t even imagine how difficult that must have been for him.

“What… what did he say? What did you tell him? How much does he know?”

“Everything.” Bucky’s smile was brief and unhappy. “It’s why it took two days. We had a lot to talk about. He’s… mostly okay with it now. Just pissed. Not at you, of course. At me for not letting him know I’ve been alive all this time.”

As if in afterthought, Bucky rubbed his jaw.

“Bastard sure hits a lot harder than when he was scrawny.” At your concerned frown, he added, “Look, a sucker-punch to the face is the least I deserve, even if that bastard does hit like a truck these days.”

“Bucky…”

“My point is, I asked Steve to check up on you when I’m—“

“No.” You shook her head vehemently and grabbed him by the jacket. “No, stop talking like that. You’re not doing this. I won’t let you do this! You are not throwing your life away because of me!”

He wrapped his fingers over yours, his smile so sad it hurt.

“My chance at a good life was taken away from me a long time ago. It’s not too late for you. When this is all said and done, you can go back to your old life. You’ll have Steve to talk to, now that he knows who you are, and I know Davin will be there for you too.”

“Davin?” You wrinkled your nose. “Why would you bring up Davin?”

“Because he’s a good kid.”

You eyed him, wanting to say something scathing and sarcastic, but the way he was rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand was very distracting.

“I thought you didn’t like him,” you finally said.

“Okay, I admit,” Bucky said with a grimace, “I was more of a hard ass than I needed to be. I didn’t know the guy. I thought he was just some young punk who would run his mouth the first chance he got.”

He looked down and released a slow inhale.

“I was wrong. You know the whole erasing memories thing I can do?”

You blinked at the abrupt change of subject, but nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

“Well…” He released one of your hands to run his fingers through his hair, wings slightly shuffling behind him. “After we brought you and Davin here, I went and tracked down every human that was in contact with the heigore, before and after it had possessed your friend. I took away the memories that showed evidence he was acting odd. That’s what I was doing while you were at the Sanctum. When I was gone those few days.”

“Oh.” You remembered that time very clearly. The loneliness, the fear of abandonment. The boredom that had inevitably led you to follow Monster into the vault. You shivered.

“I was going to do the same to Davin. Erase the memories that the heigore was ever there. I can’t change memories, and the large gap in his memory wouldn’t have been good either, so Strange was going to give him the suggestion that he’d been very sick. But your friend, when I asked him if that’s what he wanted to do? He said no.”

Bucky slightly tilted his head brow dipped and his tail twitching with unease.

“He said, ‘If she has to remember it, then so will I. I don’t want her to have to live with it all alone.’”

Davin had said that? You were touched, really. But…

“Yeah, Davin is a good guy. And I’m sure Steve is too. But they’re not you, Bucky.”

“I know.” It was there in his eyes, quiet resolve. He wasn’t going to change his mind. You were going to lose him, and there was nothing you could do or say to change it.

“When?”

He didn’t have to ask what you meant.

“Tomorrow. Three PM.”

New Year’s Eve. You were going to lose Bucky just in time for the world to celebrate a new beginning.

That’s when the sorrow wormed its way into your heart. It weighed on your shoulders like gravity, and you didn’t know how you could stand. The conversation was over, and you were left with a blank numbness that felt uncomfortably close to dissociation.

You wouldn’t eat. You refused to go home. The wizards allowed you to stay the night without much of a fuss, and you couldn’t even give them a thank you.

Bucky stayed with you through your detached state. He held your hand, rubbed your back, tried to assure you that everything would be fine. You didn’t say a word.

He tried to get you to sleep but you just lay curled on your side, trying to make yourself small enough to disappear. It wasn’t until about 5 in the morning that there was some stirring of life in you. You crawled over on top of Bucky and buried your face in his neck.

Breathing you in, Bucky hugged you tightly, wrapping his wings around you and created a safe, protective bubble just for the two of you. Only then, did you allow yourself to cry.

Next Chapter

[mypunkpansexualtwin]

Pegoryu week 2021 is here and I have two whole entries that are gonna be done on time! The rest will happen, I promise, they'll just be late.

Anyways! the fic is under the cut and the link is in the reblogs as per usual. Hope y'all enjoy!

“Man, y’know you don’t hafta let Ann bully you like that, right?” Ryuji whispered over to Akira and reached for the flower poking out of his hair. To his surprise, Aki actually batted his hand away with a huff and tucked the thing a little more tightly behind his ear.

“First off, I do have to let Ann bully me. And then I bully back. That’s just what our friendship is,” he explained, not bothering to lower his voice while the girls were off getting more drinks. Not that it woulda made much difference, he was a pretty quiet guy even when he was being obnoxious. Usually. Ryuji cringed as Aki noisily sipped the meltwater from the bottom of his glass and held up a second finger. “Second, I like flowers, thank you very much. And thirdly,” almost against his will, Ryuji’s eyes tracked the swipe of Akira’s tongue across his lower lip as it shifted the straw from one corner of his mouth to the other before he continued, “red’s my color.” Ryuji swallowed.

“Y-yeah. D’you gotta chew your straw like that, dude? It’s kinda... gross.” Gross. That was the word he was trying to hold onto in his brain with both damn hands. Gross. It was gross, dammit. The straw chewing and the obnoxious slurping were habits that usually grated on his brain worse than a Metaverse confusion-and-psychic-attack double whammy. Today, though? Today he barely noticed it, he was too distracted. Maybe it was the heat or the jet lag, or the fact that seeing all these American girls with bikinis and curves that made Ann look downright bland by comparison meant that his brain had glued itself into the gutter. The fact that he almost never saw Akira with his glasses off sure as hell wasn’t helping either, considering the damn things had to be for everyone else’s sake. Under the scruffy nerd look Akira Kurusu was as much of a damn pretty-boy as Yusuke Kitagawa or that asshole Akechi with those effin’ eyes. That was an objective fact that even a guy as straight as Ryuji could see. Hell, if it weren’t for the glasses he’d probably be Shujin’s favorite bad boy--regardless of which way any of the students swung--instead of Ryuji’s fellow delinquent outcast. This wasn’t news to him, but for some damn reason something was different today.

Today, some goddamn wire got crossed in Ryuji’s brain and he kinda wanted to beat its ass. Today, he’d lost track of how many times he’d caught himself staring at those stupidly long eyelashes that any of Ann’s coworkers would kill to have, and the way they cast soft shadows over those perfectly smooth cheeks. Or the way Akira’s usually dark grey eyes looked almost silver in the sunlight. Or how they’d crinkle just a little at the corners when he smiled that soft little hint of a smile that already did weird, mushy things to Ryuji’s guts on a normal day. Or the way his lips were just a little fuller than either of the girls’ were but just as soft-looking. Ryuji wondered if maybe he used some kind of lip balm or something, but one without any color. If it didn’t have any color, would it at least have a flavor--

...Anyways.

Ryuji had decided to blame it on that damn flower. Akira stared at him, a little confused, the straw still resting on his lower lip as he breathed out a quiet, “huh?” Then he glanced down at his mostly empty drink and then frowned sheepishly as the realization hit him. “Oh! Sorry, I know that drives you crazy.” Oh right, Ryuji had asked a question and had already forgotten. Akira set the glass on the table next to where Ann had given up and dropped the other hibiscus she’d been hellbent on putting in Ryuji’s hair. He had enough time to grimace at the sad, mangled end of the straw--and the thoughts his traitorous, overcooked brain conjured up about where it had just been--before Aki reached out, swiped the other flower, and tucked it next to the other behind his ear.

If Yusuke were there (because that was what Ryuji needed, more clueless pretty-boys punching holes in his sanity), he’d have his hands up in that finger-frame thing he always did when he was planning out a painting in his brain. The artist would be ready and raring to try and turn Akira into his latest masterpiece... that he’d end up bitching about not being good enough to capture right a week later. That wouldn’t be Yusuke’s fault though, Akira was just weird like that; in every picture of him he just looked like Some Dude, like a background character in his own life, Guy With Glasses #3 or something. But right now, right in front of Ryuji he looked… compelling, or some shit like that. Pretty as a damn painting that you couldn’t help but stare at for a while and contemplate your life, ‘cause that was easier than tryin’ to understand what was in front of you.

“Seriously, Aki?” Ryuji sighed at the second blossom now peeking out of Akira’s unruly frizz. He shoulda kept his damn mouth shut, let Akira keep chewing on his damn straw and drive him crazy in the annoying way and not… whatever this was. It had to be the heat. Ryuji was secretly dying of heatstroke, that had to be it.

“Red. Is. My. Color.” Akira crossed his arms and pouted, and Ryuji had to bite back a laugh at how his best friend had puffed out his cheeks while he sulked. Cute, but a safe kind of cute. Like back at the buffet, in that open kind of way that made Ryuji wonder what Akira had been like as a little kid. That looked like his opening to get things back on track, back to something resembling their usual dynamic.

Ryuji cracked a grin and flicked the bottle that everyone had passed around earlier. “Yeah? That why you didn’t put any sunscreen on, you gonna be the first guy to pull off havin’ a sunburn?” Akira deflated slightly, then snatched the bottle off the table and-- Oh goddammit.

That had backfired spectacularly. Genius move, Sakamoto. You can’t quit ogling your best friend like some kinda weirdo, why don’t you convince him to oil himself up! That’ll help! Effin’ brilliant. Ryuji hastily turned around in his chair and fixed his eyes on the shoreline. He occupied himself with trying to guess how quickly he could sprint to the ocean, and for once he hoped that the water would be cold cold. The girls walking by, all dressed in bikinis that’d look small on skinny little Futaba and were probably held onto those insane curves with more wishful thinking than fabric, might as well have been invisible to him. Since he had apparently pissed off god or something, all he could think about was Akira, very intentionally just outside the edge of his vision, slathering his chest in sunscreen. His incredibly flat chest; if he’d at least had enough bulk on him to have pecs or something, that might have taken some of the sting out of his stupid brain fixating on his leader instead of any of the women who looked like they’d walked straight out of his dreams. Ryuji was gonna set those stupid flowers on fire when he got his hands on them.

He swallowed around a mouth that had gone dry and tried to break the awkward silence that had settled over them. At least, Ryuji sure as hell felt awkward, Akira was usually fine with a little quiet and didn’t seem bothered at the moment. Still, Ryuji had to do something before he went crazy. “Man, I thought Ann was impressive, but compared to these foreign ladies… eh.” Akira snorted somewhere behind him.

“I’m sure she appreciates the break from being leered at,” he deadpanned. “Do you not have anything better to do than check people out?”

Ryuji’s stomach dropped a little as he whipped back around to shoot Akira a dirty look. Sure, he’d felt pretty obvious, but he hadn’t actually been obvious about staring-- Wait. Aki meant the girls. False alarm, no need to panic. “Man, shut up. And don’t even try to tell me you don’t agree. Like, these ladies are massive, the girls back home don’t even compare!” Ryuji snapped. Someone had to be appreciating all these beach babes, otherwise what even was the point of staying out when it was so damn hot?

Akira actually paused and glanced over at Ryuji with a weird look on his face before he sighed and shook his head. “I’m not really interested, honestly.”

“Man, I am gonna rip that tongue outta your head!” Ryuji exclaimed. Seriously, all those lovely ladies going unappreciated had to be some kind of crime. An international one. It was probably too much to hope Ann or Makoto would be taking up the slack, wherever the hell they were. It was apparently definitely too much to hope that Akira would let that comment pass; even if he was quiet, the guy almost always needed the last word.

This time, it was muttered irritably under his breath. “Yeah why don’t you come take it, then?”

...What?

“What?!” Ryuji didn’t even bother turning around, he just broke down laughing. “What the hell does that even mean, dude?”

“You heard me,” Akira sounded serious, except for where the last word turned wobbly at the end. And then he dissolved into his own fit of laughter, snorting once before he continued, “I don’t even know, man. I just kinda blurted it out.” The two of them cracked up a little longer, glad to be back to something a little closer to normal--and Ryuji didn’t think Akira’s laugh was cute, it was quiet and dorky and weird, definitely not cute--before Aki caught his breath and then stretched. And sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“You alright, man?” He may not have been able to see Akira’s face with the two of them sitting facing in opposite directions, but Ryuji still caught how his leader had winced when he tried to raise his arm over his head.

Akira nodded. “Slept weird on the plane.” He rolled his shoulder again, then tossed the sunscreen to Ryuji. “At the risk of putting you in tongue-ripping range, can I ask you to get my back?” Ryuji was already up and moving his chair behind Akira, always eager to help his best friend.

“Sure thing, dude.” He had the bottle open and hovering over his hand before his brain caught up to him. Wait. Shit. Bad idea, bad bad idea! If he’d gotten all weird about Akira doing this for himself, how was Ryuji gonna survive getting his own hands involved, especially now that he was thinking about it? But he’d already agreed and if he backed out now, Akira would ask why. He sure as shit wasn’t gonna explain that.

“Earth to Ryuji?” Akira turned his head to peek back at him and… Welp. Apparently this was just Ryuji’s life now. The image of Akira looking over one bare shoulder with those damn eyes just barely visible past the flower petals, his face a little bit pink from the sun overhead, and his lips all flushed and swollen--because, oh right, when Akira didn’t have something to chew on, he’d worry at his lips instead--was seared into Ryuji’s brain. Straight or not, that picture just lived in his head now. And apparently so did about half of his blood, mostly in his face. And the other half… Again, he wondered again how cold the water was. Act natural, Sakamoto.

“Uh, sorry dude. Bottle was stopped up, I got it now!” He laughed nervously as the bottle squirted into his palm with a loud ‘pbblblblt’. Definitely no awkwardness here, no sir. Just a totally normal assist with sunscreen between bros. He was fine. He definitely wasn’t red enough in the face to look sunburnt. Deep breath. He was cool.

...God, he was gonna throw those stupid hibiscuses into the ocean. Hell, from this angle, he could probably grab them and slam them into one of the mostly-empty drinks before Akira could stop him. And Aki wouldn’t want to put them back in his hair after they were all covered in sugar water, right? It was a flawless plan. Ryuji was a damn genius.

He was just gonna finish putting on the sunscreen first, ‘cause he was courteous like that. No sense in letting Akira get a weirdly shaped sunburn because he chased Ryuji down for a couple of damn flowers. That was definitely the only reason he was still rubbing his hands down (and down and down) Akira’s back. Smooth and pale and soft, but surprisingly well muscled underneath, Akira’d been holding out on him while they were training. And those damn dimples on his lower back. Had he been wearing his trunks that low a minute ago? Ugh. Ryuji would definitely be going for a swim after this. He winced as he ran his hands back up over Akira’s shoulders.

“Shit, Aki, I think I found that knot in your neck. No wonder you couldn’t do this yourself,” he muttered and dug his thumb gently into the muscle. Akira sucked in another breath through his teeth, but tipped his head forward and let Ryuji work. The damn thing was probably about the size of a ping pong ball, and Ryuji couldn’t help but feel a little guilty every time Akira tensed up or hissed under his breath when Ryuji dug in a little too hard. And a lot guilty at the temptation to just bury his hands in his bro’s hair. But finally, after the longest two minutes of his life, the knot released and Akira…

Akira fucking groaned.

Ryuji was done. He reached out, snagged both of those stupid red flowers--and a little bit of Akira’s apparently insanely soft hair, oops--and stood up to walk away, ignoring his friend’s protests. The ocean could have both of the damn things, and Ryuji right along with them. He was done. Unfortunately Ann and Makoto had chosen that exact moment to return with fresh drinks, cutting off his escape route. Effin’ great.

“Aaannnnnn, Makotoooooo,” Akira whined as he draped himself dramatically over Ryuji’s shoulders, halfheartedly reaching out to try and reclaim the hibiscuses. “Ryuji deflowered meeee--” Makoto’s face fell into the most unimpressed look any of them had ever seen from her, Ann snorted loud enough that it sounded painful, Ryuji about jumped out of his skin with an indignant yelp that probably could have been heard back in Tokyo, and Akira continued whining undeterred, “--make him give it baaaack.”

Ann had doubled over cackling, and didn’t seem to care that she’d just sloshed about a quarter of one of their drinks onto the sand when she did. “I- I don’t- *snrk* I don’t think it w-works like tha-ha-ha-ha-at!” She managed despite howling with laughter so strong that it looked like she was gonna fall over. Makoto had set her two drinks down long enough to drop into one of the empty chairs and bury her face in her hands with a long, drawn out sigh.

“Why are you two like this?” She glanced up long enough to shoot that tired, unimpressed look up at Akira and Ryuji.

“Hey, don’t look at me!” Ryuji all but shouted as he shrugged Akira off of him and started stomping down towards the water, flowers still crushed in one fist. “This is all on him this time!”

God, Hawaii was off to one hell of a start.

[haunted-by-catholic-guilt]

Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Jon was born hurting.

Well, that was an exaggeration, but he did have chronic pain for as long as he could remember.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- TW FOR INTERNALIZED ABLEISM

i think thats all this has been in my folder for ages

yeah the title is from a mother mother song don't @ me

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

Jon was born hurting.

Well, that was an exaggeration, but he did have chronic pain for as long as he could remember.

He was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and fibromyalgia at age 26, after ten years of progressing symptoms and a lot of pushing from Georgie.

He had started using a cane that same year, after one too many falls for his liking.

He was embarrassed, of course, being as young as he was and needing to use it, but after much reassuring from Georgie, and the pure pain he was in, he finally did it.

He wore braces sometimes, but found that the cane was much to.. showy already that he wasn’t well.

No one at the institute seemed to care, second glances, some odd comments on the rare occasion.

On his first day as head archivist, he looked down to the archives, a steep, jagged set of stairs in his path.

Fuck.

He sighed and painstakingly slowly made his way down the stairs, he was early, and no one saw him, thank god for that.

It continues on like that for a while, going into work early, leaving late, not leaving for lunch.

It worries Martin, and Martin makes that clear.

Jon does not like Martin.

The dog in the archives for one, his constantly late work, his penmanship, his lack of basic knowledge, his frequent interruptions-

Jon could go on and on about why he hates Martin Blackwood, and he makes sure Martin knows.

It does not stop Martins’s worry, or his kindness, and that’s what Jon hates the most.

Jon tries to calmly hate Martin, scarcely snapping at him, and very rarely raising his voice, at anyone, really.

Today, however, Jon had woken up in some of the worse pain he had felt in a long time, something more than the normal bad pain.

His joints were burning, and it was expanding into an ache around them, his skin stung at any small touch, and a stinging pain threads its way through his veins.

Despite this, Jon still went into work, having to stop every few steps to catch his breath, and regroup.

He got in early and locked himself in his office, not talking to anyone and hoping it would stay that way.

But of course, Martin couldn’t give him that, could he?

A soft knock on the door, more for courtesy than asking for permission, Jon had learned.

“Goodmorning, Jon! I brought you tea-“

Jon felt anger rise and boil over before he could stop it, he slammed his hand on his desk, which did not help his pain but that was the least of the issues at hand.

“Damnit, Martin! I don’t want your goddamn tea, I don’t want to talk to you, please for the love of God leave me alone and do your goddamn work well for once? If your performance does not improve soon I will have you fired. And stop getting in the way.

He was yelling, he didn’t mean to yell, but he was.

Martin was pale and shaking, he looked like he was about to cry, and Tim and Sasha had gone dead quiet outside of his office.

Martin cleared his throat, and quickly pulled himself back together.

“R-right I’ll jus- I’ll be going.”

Martin closed the door, and Jon sagged into his chair.

He was going to pay for this, he lost his temper and now he was going to pay for it.

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

Martin closed the door to Jon’s office, and it took all he had not to start crying right then and there.

He inhaled shakily, and glanced into the break room, where Sasha and Tim were currently quiet, and staring at him.

Shit.

Tim was the first to move, quickly moving to Martin and then ushering him into the breakroom and sat him down at the table, and Sasha gently pried the tea out of his shaking hands, but he hardly noticed, being too focused on not crying.

He heard Tim talking, his voice was loud and sounded angry, and Sasha was stroking his arm but sounded pissed.

He didn’t hear anything that was being said, he just stared forward, feeling the tears prickle at his eyes, he didn’t even realize he had finally started crying until Sasha cooed, and ran her thumb over his cheek, wiping away the tears.

“Oh Martin, I’m so sorry.”

He quickly shook his head, it was his own fault, no one needed to apologize.

“N-No it’s alright, I’m fine just uh- over sensitive is all, I’m sorry.”

Tim huffed and patted his shoulder, and walked away, not giving any indication of where he was going, but Martin and Sasha both knew, Martin tried to stop him, though.

“Tim you don’t- Tim!”

His attempt was futile and the door was already open and being slammed again.

He let out a shaky sigh and put his head on the table before he stood back up.

“Well I should probably get back to work”

He let out a quiet heh, and Sasha looked displeased.

“Martin, love, it’s ok that you’re upset by that, he was an ass.”

Martin forced a laugh, but reassured her he was fine, and went back to work.

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

Jon hissed out a sigh, Tim was right.

He was just graced with quite the telling off from an extraordinarily angered Tim, which he completely deserved, some of the highlights included his selfishness, him being a jerk to Martin for no fair reason, and many, many, other things.

He didn’t try to fight back, he knew he deserved it, but he also couldn’t bring himself to talk at all.

His blood was boiling with pain, and his joints had become stiff with aching, he felt like he had been struck by lightning.

Jon sighed, and stood up, he knew he needed to apologize to Martin, the sooner the better, but before he could do anything, everything went black.

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

It had been about half an hour since the incident, Tim having spent the larger part of it chewing out Jon, when they heard a crash from Jon’s office.

“Shit”

Tim scowled but he and Martin rushed into Jons office you see him on the floor, unconscious, Martin quickly knelt by him, and grabbed his wrist.

“He doesn’t have a temperature, but his heart rate is fast”

Tim crouched down next to the small man’s unconscious form, before Martin seemed to get an idea.

“Tim, can you set his legs on your lap? Elevation might help.”

He couldn’t comprehend how Martin was still this caring to Jon who not even an hour earlier yelled such nasty things at him, but he did as he was asked.

After a few minutes, Jon started to stir, and opened his eyes, he looked confused for a second, but then revelation hit him.

“Oh- Martin I- I’m so sorry”

Martin smiled, a sad smile, but Tim could tell he was hurt and wouldn’t say anything.

“It’s quite alright Jon, are you okay?”

Jon shifted a little, before realizing his feet were being held, he smiled sheepishly and wiggled out of Tim’s grasp.

“I’m okay, it happens sometimes.”

Martins brow furrowed and despite himself, Tim felt worry blossom in him too.

“It shouldn’t happen, have you gone to a doctor?”

Jon nodded, and began to pull himself off of the floor, and Martin shot up immediately, eager to help, where Tim slowly stood up.

“Yes, it’s fine, Martin.”

Martin helped Jon sit down at his desk, and looked down, still embarrassed about earlier, Tim supposed.  

“Come on boss, the least you can do is tell Martin why you yelled at him and then fainted.”

Martin made a noise, and stuttered.

“Tim, that is not necessary! If he doesn’t want to tell us he doesn’t need to”

Jon knew he should tell them, should tell them ‘sometimes I pass out, it’s one of the many symptoms of my chronic illnesses!’ but he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to be seen as fragile, and weak.

“Martin I’m so sorry for yelling earlier, I’m not feeling my best and I took it out on you, but I shouldn’t have”

This time Martin looks up at Jon and looks surprised by a genuine apology.

“It’s alright Jon, really.”

Tim looked like he was about to fight it, but Jon felt a burst of pain from his knee, and let out a whimper despite himself.

“Jon? Are you alright?”

He gritted his teeth and nodded.

“Jon I can tell you’re not, what’s going on?”

Jon sighed, and wrong his hands, anxious for reasons he didn’t understand.

“It’s fine. I just- I have a- a chronic illness, and one of the symptoms of one of them is sometimes when I stand up, or sit up, I get dizzy and sometimes faint, I’m fine really, I just prefer to keep it to myself.”

He twisted his hands again, uncomfortable but Martin put his hand on Jon’s, clearly in a gesture of comfort.

“I- I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and Fibromyalgia, my joints aren’t right, too flimsy and bendy, more things too… and my pain varies, but it’s always there and I use the cane to help balance, and no I don’t need your pity or to be treated like I’m fragile just because I’m disabled, it’s just there.”

He looked up to see Martin smiling softly at him, and Tim looking surprised, and Sasha, who had apparently shown up without his knowledge, was leaning against the doorframe.

“Jon, we‘re not going to treat you differently now that we know what’s wrong with you, it can just make it easier for us to, you know, help you!”

Sasha’s voice was soft and reassuring, and she stepped into the room further, and Tim spoke up.

“Boss, you really gotta stop hiding information from us like, ya know, the fact that sometimes you pass out, or you’re going to give poor Martin an early heart attack”

Martin blushed and stammered at that statement, before moving his hand to Jon’s shoulder.

“Jon, I’m glad you told us, I know it can be hard to be open about those things.”

Jon nodded, and slowly started to push himself off the floor, and Martin immediately started to help him up, Tim grabbed his cane from where it had fallen, offering it to him.

“Let us help you, boss, we are a team after all, aren’t we?”

Jon smiled and nodded, and for a second, felt okay.

[aelaer]

First: welcome home & I hope you get the sleep you need to get back into your routines! Second: it's Feb. 2, a significant day to our beloved Stephen Strange. I know you're exhausted right now, and the timing is poor--but perhaps when you're up to, you could write a little one-shot about his feelings all these years later (is it 2022 or 2023?) on the anniversary of the accident that changed his life forever. Can't think of anyone better suited to write it! xx

This was sent a year ago but last month I planned to have it out for Feb 2nd, hah.

For canon, he comes back in 2023 in what I think was likely after Feb 2nd, so realistically he can address the anniversary again in 2024. It'd feel like only 3 years for him while, in actuality, it'd been 8. But when it comes to his experienced time versus actual passing time, Stephen's pretty messed up without the Decimation already (I'm not sure how I feel about the name of the "Blip" yet.)

The prompter also requested first person after I asked for more details, and I haven't ever written Stephen in first person so I thought I'd give it a go. I know first person isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you're willing to give it a shot, call me very obliged.

Warning for canon compliance :P

——————

Staring Back In Time Rating: G (well, other than language)

An entry from the memoirs of Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, during his time as the Master of the New York Sanctum, several months after the Battle of Earth against Thanos:

February 2, 2024

Calendars don't mean as much as they used to. Once upon a time my life was ruled by the calendar. Consultation here, surgery there, society dinner over the weekend. Dates were important and generally set without change once marked down.

It doesn't work that way as a sorcerer. I keep a schedule, of course, one that marks down classes with apprentices and adepts and meetings with other Masters, never mind all the business outside of Kamar-Taj. But I learned early on that these set times shifted occasionally to accommodate the emergencies that the order often had to quash down, and it became obvious that as a Master, my schedule was more of a hopeful guideline than anything set in stone. Flexibility was a necessity.

Ever since my return to the living, keeping anything resembling a set schedule has been more of a laughable dream. Earth being the center of two universe-changing, Infinity Stone-powered events in a matter of hours did serious damage to the fabric woven about reality across the planet, and the Masters of the Mystic Arts are going to be dealing with the multidimensional repercussions for years to come. Nothing is predictable in my day-to-day anymore.

My relationship with time was fucked the moment I confronted Dormammu, so I can't say it's a large surprise that calendars have become mostly irrelevant.

If someone had told me that I, Doctor Stephen Strange, a man of order and precision, would learn to live with such unpredictability, I would have laughed in their face. But I'm not the man I once was (and thank God for that; that man was a dick). However, it's also because of this change that I didn't realize the day until it was nearly done.

I was reviewing my schedule for tomorrow, which I had set up on Google Calendar (Google had, naturally, survived the Decimation just fine, but like most other non-vital services, had many of their upcoming products delayed for years. But their email and calendar services continue to work great). Tomorrow's a Saturday, which means nothing in my world. My work continues on. The threats on our reality care little for weekends or holidays.

Still, it was only during this review, shortly before I planned to retire for the night, that I realized that today is February 2nd.

I won't ever forget the day, of course. It was both three years ago and eight years ago—or perhaps many lifetimes ago would be a more accurate description, though I lost track of time in both of my major journeys with the Time Stone. One day I'll write about them. Not now, but one day. Both memories are still too fresh.

The memory of the day of the accident, though? It feels both like yesterday and centuries ago. Some parts of the day are engraved in my memory like a film. I remember the last surgery down to the individual conversations. Christine's "thank you". Nick's watch. The cling of the bullet as I dropped it onto the tray.

I can remember my last conversation with Billy, too, in the car. Every damned word. But the drive itself is fuzzy, even in my head with my memory. I remember it began to rain during the drive, not beforehand, and I know the road was narrow and two-laned. I know I avoided a direct route to avoid traffic, driving first into Jersey before heading north and crossing the river again. But the rest is forgotten to time, or perhaps to trauma.

I was told that Billy was the first to call 9-1-1 as he heard the tearing of metal and shattering of glass before the connection was lost. The driver I hit—I learned much later that she escaped with only minor injuries—called a couple minutes later. But it was out in the mountains, dark, and raining. It took them hours to find me and extract me from the car.

Funny. Never thought I'd ever write about one of the worst days of my life like this. But I was told early on that personal journals were encouraged for all who stay in Kamar-Taj. Something about its therapeutic benefits was mentioned at some point. I only picked up the practice once I learned that each gifted journal was inaccessible to others until the time of their death, and after I mastered the art of enchanting a pen to write the words I spoke. Unfortunately this journal appeared to others after the Decimation, but Wong has reassured me that no one read it and it has since disappeared again from public view. 

Still, the point is that, one day, someone just might read this—account of a man who was part of an effort to save the universe. And it is difficult for a reader to judge my actions if they don't know how I was the one who ruined my life. My driving was reckless and stupid. I was running a little late, but it wouldn't have mattered in the long run had I been fifteen, twenty minutes, thirty minutes late. Not really.

Then again, I suppose it would have. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.

One could say that the accident and everything that has followed is some sort of penance for my hubris as a surgeon. I enjoy my newer abilities—quite a bit—but the responsibility that has come with them has not come without its own hardships and sacrifices. Perhaps the worst of the sacrifices were the ones I was unable to prevent others from performing, all for the sake of the universe.

Those sacrifices were made willingly, but I cannot help but feel responsible for them, regardless. 

During my first winter again returned to the living, when the days grew colder and my hands ached in the bad weather, and the only thoughts to accompany the pain were bitter, another thought was born. I was tempted, for the first time in a long time, to give it all up, restore my fine motor skills with channeled magic, and go back to the world I once knew, for a life much, much easier than this one is now. Even with all the troubles that had cropped up as people tried to reorganize a world that doubled in size overnight, it was miles away from the difficulties we were facing in Kamar-Taj.

Their sacrifices—the fates I pushed so many people towards—quelled the idea quickly. It did little to ease the physical pain or sting of guilt, but it lifted the temptation. And ever since that day, I have considered the situation and I don't think I will ever be tempted by the idea of giving up my duties for an easier, pain-free life again.

And I suppose that counts for something.

——————

(Hey look, my interest in geography's leaked again.)

I've always wondered where Stephen actually crashed mostly because New York City is *flat* and those mountains were *very much not flat*. I figured out the bridge that he crossed to get out of the city (there are like, 21 bridges that lead out of Manhattan) was the George Washington Bridge, and it leads to New Jersey—but that's not necessarily useful because it can quickly turn back into New York state if you turn north. We also know he crashed down into a body of water, which *might* be the Hudson, but also might not, but that the body of water is to his left, which narrows it down a bit. But again, not much. And the site of his crash is so dark in the videos and screenshots that I can barely tell what's on it. It looks like a bridge and some industrial building, so the Hudson's a good guess, but otherwise? Well, basically I turned on the topography part of Google maps and started searching.

The 202 on the east side of the river just north of Peekskill (again in New York) matches the movie road's windiness, height, and closeness to the river, and even has a bridge that could be just to the north of the crash site. Unfortunately the railing's off and there's no industrial building thingy by the bridge. It also makes the route out of the city via George Washington Bridge make no sense. Like the Stark Industries area in LA in the films, it's probably a completely fictional landscape.

But as I wasn't able to find a better locale that was still close enough to NYC to direct an emergency helicopter to, my headcanon for this scene is that he left via George Washington bridge to avoid some major traffic or something, crossed the river via the 287 a bit further up north to get back to the east side of the river, then went up the 9 to the 202. Unless someone who lives in the area can find the actual road he was driving (if it's real), this is what I'm gonna go with. (And if someone DOES please let me knowwwww). Funny enough, I don't see him getting led to *his* hospital totally unrealistic, because he'd need a very talented orthopedic surgeon with a specialty in hands to come in, and generally speaking a patient can be helicoptered to another hospital where such a surgeon is available. If Stephen is working at the Metro-General, it's likely they can afford a large cast of talented surgeons. So I don't think Nick was necessarily the lead surgeon in his case, just one of many necessary surgeons.

[thisisawonderfulusername]

carry me

diego hargreeves x reader

requested: anon

summary: diego has been dating the person who teaches karate down the street for a while. after meeting the family at reginald’s funeral, they end up helping to stop the end of the world... twice.

trigger warnings: cursing, unedited

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i’m so sorry to anon that this took so long to come out, i’ve been in and out of writing and i was busy so it was sitting in my drafts, half finished for a while lmao. but here it is! i hope it was worth the wait. i wasn’t able to fit everything that you wanted in, but i got the basics lol.

you take slow steps around the room, watching as your most advanced students spar, taking hits from their opponents that land on the padded gear they wore with loud thuds. this was something you watched every day, but these students were your favorite because they were never afraid to give or take a packed punch.

there’s a tap at the window that forms the wall to your left, but you ignore it, assuming it to be a bird or something that hit the glass. when it returns, this time much more insistent on getting someone’s attention, you turn your head to look and you see diego standing outside of the dojo. sighing softly, you look towards your assistant, “i have to attend to something, take over for a few.”

as the slightly younger man nods, you exit the room and make your way out of the building after slipping your shoes on, rounding to where your boyfriend waits. “i hope this is important.” you tell him with a small grin, “i don’t leave my students for just anything, you know.” he doesn’t smile or anything, his face set into hard stone, and your eyebrows furrow. “is everything okay?”

“my dad died.” he tells you simply, and your lips part in surprise, stepping towards him, ready to comfort him, but he shakes his head. “i don’t care about him. it’s the funeral that i care about. i’m only going to see pogo and grace, but my family will be there and i don’t know if i can tolerate them alone.”

you glance through the window at your students, “are you saying what i think you’re saying?”

he nods, “if what you’re thinking is that i want you to come with me, then yes, i am.”

you purse your lips, taking a deep breath as you think it over for a moment. “when?” you question, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“uh... now?”

you’re too surprised to think for a moment, just gaping at him at the suddenness of it all. after a few seconds, you regain yourself, shaking your head, “right now? you’re serious?”

diego gives another slow nod, looking at you like a lost puppy. you sigh heavily, looking away from him into the dojo, before running your fingers through your hair. “alright.” he smiles at that, and you hold a finger up, “let me send out a few emails. i can’t just dip out without an explanation.”

-

when you met his family, they loved you, much to his annoyance. that week was a crazy one, and you ended up having to help save the world- which didn’t work at all.

and then you landed in dallas, texas, in the year 1963, only a few weeks after diego did. when you found the newspaper that told you where you were, it also gave you some very interesting information on what your boyfriend had been up to when he landed before you.

that’s how you ended up at the mental institution that he was being held, watching as he was escorted into the small visiting room. the smile on his face when he saw you was contagious, though you tried to hold yours back.

“hargreeves, what the hell did you do?” you question with a chuckle as the guards moved to stand nearby, ready to step in if anything happened. too bad they wouldn’t be able to stop what you had planned. there were only two of them. really, a mistake on their part.

taking your hands as he sat down, the man leaned forward onto the table. his hair had grown out a lot since he had gotten here, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t think that he looked good. “i missed you.” he doesn’t answer your question, and you roll your eyes, raising your eyebrow to get him to tell you. “okay, i’m going to save the president. and you’re going to help.”

your lips part for a second, and when you have fully processed what he said, you let out a bewildered laugh. “no,” you tell him, “no i’m not. you’re not going to do that.”

his eyebrows furrow in confusion and you can tell that he had gone a little crazy in his time here. “why not?”

shaking your head, you run your thumb over his knuckles. “because, that’s just a stupid idea.” you grin as you watch him deflate slightly, “do you have any idea how that would change the timeline? it’s going to change everything, and if five ever finds us, he’ll kill you for it.”

when he doesn’t say anything, almost seeming like a toddler with how he looked at you, you sigh, leaning forward slightly. “but i’ll tell you what we are doing,” you start, the volume of your voice dropping, “we’re getting you out of here.”

the smile comes back, and he leans towards you, sneaking in a quick kiss. “i’ll get the one at the door.” he whispers, and you nod, already bracing yourself for the fight ahead of you. “on three.”

“one... two... three!” with the raise in your voice, you jump up from where you sit, and so does diego, jumping the guard at the door before he can even realize what’s going on.

you managed to barrel over the table and get your guard, landing a kick right in his chest that knocks him back into the wall behind him. the impact doesn’t allow him to recover in enough time to fight back, and with a punch to the face (one that had definitely broken his nose), he was out like a light, slumping to the ground.

turning, you see that diego had no trouble getting the other guy, and just as you were about to leave the room, you’re surprised by the sudden appearance of a red light that flashes in time with the alarm ringing through the place.

“let’s get the hell out of here before we’re both stuck in here.” you grab his arm, beginning to run down the hall towards what you hope is an exit, and not a dead end that lead to guard detaining you.

as you run, diego keeps a good hold on your hand. “you know,” he breathes, looking behind the two of you to be sure nobody was following, “it’s hot when you fight like that.”

you can’t help but laugh, but shake your head. “we don’t have time for your flirting, diego.” you tell him, taking a sharp turn down another hall. you suddenly stop when you come face to face with another woman, diego nearly bumping into your back but stopping just in time.

“i knew you were crazy enough to plot an escape.” the woman chuckles, and you’re surprised that she knows him.

you look to him in silent question, and he lets out a breath. “no time. we’re still in a pit of guards, if you’ve forgotten.” he’s already beginning to move forward, “let’s go!”

with his shout, you’re running again, the woman right beside you. you’re not sure who she is, but introductions can be made later, when you’re not in danger of being locked up.

-

you had really thought that she was an okay person. diego seemed to like her enough to keep her around, and she seemed harmless (other than her knowledge in combat).

yet there she was, standing in the middle of the empty field ahead of you, the handler at her side. five and diego had gone out to meet them and see what they wanted while you, klaus, allison, and luther stood near the barn in the snow, squinting to try and get a peek at what was happening.

you didn’t get much time to wonder, however, because with blue flashes- literally everywhere- people started popping up all around them, equipped with briefcases and a gun.

“oh, my god.” you hear luther breathe out from next to you, the four of you looking out as they continue to pop up. they filled the field behind lila and the handler, and you began to realize what this was.

“this can’t be good.” you mumble, your heart beginning to race.

sure, you could fight. you had trained in karate since you were seven, but that didn’t seem to be of much importance right now, when they were all pointing guns at you and you had nothing to protect yourself with.

in the distance, you see the woman pulling something out of the pocket of her jacket as the two boys begin to turn and run, causing the rest of you to do the same.

the next thing you know, you can hear the pounding of hundreds of feet against the frosted ground, too caught up in trying to save your ass to look back and see everything. you just hoped that diego was okay.

then, the gun shots begin. all around you, bullets crashed into the ground as you ran for cover, and just as you were about to dive behind carts of hay with the other three, you feel the sharp stinging pain in your leg. you fall to the ground just behind the hay, and when you look down to see what the pain was, the snow is stained with your blood.

breath becoming shallow, your eyes widen at the sight. “fuck,” you breathe shakily, hands waving wildly in the air as you try to think of what to do, “what the fuck.”

you’re too busy worrying about the blood pouring out of your thigh to see what everyone else sees- vanya floating in the air, a white glow surrounding her- until the fire raining down on you ceases.

you look up from the red snow, shifting your body to look past the side of the cart while the others stood to look, seeing lila beginning to do the same as vanya had done.

allison, klaus, and luther begin to run- apparently not taking notice of your situation- just as the force from the power begins to move over the field, and you try to push away from it before it can get to you, but you’re too late. the cart is knocked over by the force, trapping you under it as you hit your head against the ground, effectively being knocked out.

-

“where’s y/n?” diego questions the moment he’s on his feet, looking around at all of his siblings who had helped him get out from under the tractor that had trapped his leg.

the three that had been with you look to each other, silently asking if you had been with them, and when nobody seems to say anything about it, klaus looks to the cart that they had left you at. “last time i saw her...” he says, pointing towards where you were trapped.

the man’s eyebrows furrow as he immediately turns on his heel to run to the cart, seeing the blood when he gets to it and quickly dropping to the ground beside your unconscious body. everyone else had followed and when they saw the sight, luther jumped to lift the hay that trapped you as diego pulled you out.

“god, no!” he pants, looking to your leg that had slowed down a bit in it’s bleeding, his eyes widening as he quickly checks for your pulse. he lets out a relieved sigh when you’re alive, looking to the others. “i’ll take care of her,” he tells them with a nod, “go find five, get rid of lila.”

they all split away from the two of you with the command, going to defeat the enemy that is the crazy lady you had met at the asylum.

-

she had been dealt with. mostly. the handler was dead and lila had disappeared with the suitcase she arrived with, off to who knows where to do who knows what.

you shoot up from the ground when you wake up, groaning from the pain the shot up your leg. “ah, shit!”

diego quickly looks up when he hears you, “oh, thank god you’re up.” he lets out a huff of breath, shaking his head. “how did this happen?” he questions, motioning to your thigh, where a piece of your shirt had been wrapped around the wound, already bleeding through.

“well, i got shot.” you state the obvious, picking at the shirt and gritting your teeth as you feel the pain.

he breathes in sharply, “okay, you’ll be okay.” he nods, and you think he may be telling that to himself rather than you. “we took care of lila and the handler-”

“i really thought she would be an alright person,” you shake your head as you prepare yourself to stand up, but diego quickly stops you.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea.” he warns, his hand held up to keep you from doing it, “i’ll just... carry you.”

you grin at the proposition. “a real knight in shining armor.” you chuckle, “i guess i’ll allow it.”

“yeah, yeah.” he smiles as he loops his arm under your knees, careful to not move your thigh too much to avoid pain, before putting the other on your back. you put an arm around his shoulder, and he lifts you slowly, trying his hardest not to hurt you.

you squeeze your eyes shut at the pain that courses through your leg, but you try to tough it out. “did five find a way to get back home?” you question, opening your eyes to look up at him.

“yeah,” he tells you, “we had an array of briefcases to choose from.” he chuckles, bringing you around the front of the house. “grace will be able to fix you up.”

“oh, thank god.” you giggle, “i thought i’d need you to carry me around everywhere.” you joke, curling a piece of his hair around your finger. “i wouldn’t mind it, though.”

“neither would i.”

-

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