#who knew that being thick in the plot made things difficult to write

[four-for-fidelity]

man remember when I went on vacation in the fall and wrote 1500 words of the next chapter of MVO in approximately 2 hours and then never touched it again

[jennifer-jeong]

Okay so first, I really love your LnD fics (patiently waiting for more of your amazing works) 🥹🫶 and hear me out...

Reader who is reincarnated as a Fae being and has been alive since. But the thing is, her wings had been clipped off (with the use of silver chains, meaning she's vulnerable against silver) for a century and is in Linkon city since she feels that part of her (her wings) are somewhere hidden in the city (Think of Maleficent live action ig where her wings were taken from her) and meets the guys and so on :)

HI ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR ASK AND YOUR KIND WORDS FJDSKLAFJSDL;A I APPRECIATE IT SM!! TY FOR INTERACTING!! I’m so glad to hear you like my fics and I promise more are on the way hehehe please do request me again if you have more ideas!!

I hope I did your prompt justice! I definitely did think a lot about maleficent when writing this hehehehe

Fluff + Angst | LADS x Fae!Reader Angel

CONTENT Angst to fluff, gender neutral reader, mentions of violence, blood, trauma, torture, healing alongside them, mutual pining between you and the boys, happy and open ended endings! ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

Your wings were a pretty and pearly milky white. Your wings resembled those of high flying birds. They were thick enough to allow gliding and also strong enough to give you lots of control in the air. They were iridescent in the sun and carried you high in the bright sky. The air was thin but more refreshing up there. You played with clouds and soared through the endless blue. It was freedom. It made you feel alive, warm.

It was your gift, but unfortunately, it was on someone else’s wishlist.

You’d never been a spiteful being, nor had you ever hurt a fly. But when silver chains ripped your flesh and tore your muscle to take your wings, severing your very soul from your body. When they destroyed your forest, your home, your family, your heart. You swore to make them suffer.

You were powerful and hunting these fools down was nothing difficult for you. The problem was hunting without your wings, your best weapon.

The lack of mobility and being forced to fight on the ground made it so that you could maim the weak ones, but you could never reach the ones who profited off the suffering of you and your people.

Linkon city is where they were. You knew this. You could feel your wings there. You also knew that you’d need to hide, figure out who did what and how to get your damn wings back. It would take time, but time was all you had as a fae. You’d do whatever it took to make them pay.

It’d take years, but it was worth it.

2 years later and you’ve already made moves to apprehend (and torture) a few key figures, always leaving them in front of the police station when you were done. You still had so much good in you and it always prevented you from killing. But it made you seethe that they were filthy fucking rich from what they stole from your homeland. They sold your resources and displayed your bodies, your wings, like they were trophies. Life was still cold and depressing for you but you did manage to make some friends in Linkon. They’d even help you with your mission. You only trusted them with the information because they had similar goals.

XAVIER

Xavier was a local policeman you had met a few decades into your plot when you were hired to help with the case. He was coincidentally also investigating illegal hunters and black markets selling goods stolen from other civilizations such as yours. It was a big ring of crime and he was determined to end the atrocities that were being committed in it. Meeting you was just extra motivation on top of his already relentless drive for justice. You became investigative partners since you were both capable in combat and often investigated the same people anyways.

Xavier was kind, gentle, quiet, and stronger than he let on. He always worked without expectation of reward and you appreciated that. You just wanted justice and he wanted the same. It helped that he didn’t seek publicity because it would’ve made your life harder since you were probably wanted as a vigilante from before. Xavier taught you his philosophies and you realized you’d been consumed by your desire for revenge, unable to enjoy life outside of it. You admired him for his morals, so you learned from him, and it made you two grow closer. He was more than happy to help, it was so rewarding to see you slowly become your bubbly self that he guesses you lost a long time ago.

He had his suspicions that you might be fae. The man was smart but he played his cards carefully, he always held them close. He acted aloof with you and pretended to not constantly stare at the back of your shirt, trying to see if you had imprints of missing wings on your shoulder blades. He also figured that your motivation for wanting to crack these cases came from somewhere. If he also managed to figure out that you’d been behind some of the previous mysterious arrests, he’d turn a blind eye. He knew your actions weren’t crimes. He felt glad that you got them back for what they did to you and your people.

After a few years of planned raids and dozens of arrests, one of the recovered items from the warehouse was a beautiful pair of wings. Still buzzing with magic, craving to feel the wind again. You felt them when they were being transported to the police HQ. The surge of energy that continued to approach you made you hold your breath and bounce your leg out of pure anxiety. Xavier put a hand on your shoulder to try to calm you down. He’d already figured out what was going on just by looking at you. You didn’t need to say a word. It was something that slowly came naturally since you two spent so much time together. You smiled and he smiled warmly back. You were in the middle of panicking because Xavier was still touching you when you were presented with your missing soul, your wings. You requested to view the “evidence” privately with Xavier and wasted no time in feeling your delicate wings with your fingertips again.

Xavier stood behind you, his right hand found its way to your upper back. He finally traced the outlines of your cut wings. It made you gasp at first, but you trusted him. As he continued to feel them, you shivered. They were scars, they were more sensitive. He stepped to your side and you turned to partially face him, his hand sliding off of you. You looked into his eyes and your longstanding feelings for Xavier were making their presence known by heating up your face, flushing your cheeks. You swore you saw a slight tinge of red on the tips of his ears too. He spoke to you in his familiar voice that you loved so much. He decided to tease you slightly.

“I think I always knew that you’d have wings, you were too perfect to not be an angel.”

ZAYNE

Zayne was a surgeon you’d met one day when he treated your wounds since you collapsed outside the hospital. He discovered the scars where your wings used to sit on your back. You were high off the morphine when he checked your back for more injuries so you barely even realized.

He questioned you but not in the way you expected. You thought he wouldn’t know what they were or try to take advantage of you. But instead he asked what you knew about the hunters that took your wings. He already knew exactly what happened to you just by looking. He was involved in cracking down on research related to Fae and Lemurians since there were people trying to fuse their genetics with these races to gain their beneficial traits such as immortality.

He knew some things you didn’t know and vice versa. You both began working on this together, investigating research facilities, interrogating suspects, and fighting only when needed. You were unstoppable and the law didn’t plan to ask you to let up. You both hand delivered them collectors and shadowy figures that had hid from the police for so long. When you fought, Zayne could both heal and attack from afar while you rushed them head on. You were unafraid because you believed in your partner, your trust in Zayne only grew as the years went on.

Early on, Zayne encouraged you to let go of the spite, the revenge. You knew he was right when he said that they did not benefit you in this. He saw the rage in you and could see that it was hurting you, mentally and physically. You listened, you knew better. You stopped the relentless tortures and instead, let the collectors rot in jail, but not before you got in a few good punches. Zayne watched you slowly come out of your shell again, actually taking the time to enjoy the little things in life instead of being hyper focused on revenge. He’d be lying if he said you weren’t one of the most rewarding patients he’d ever had.

Working with your partner was definitely quite the rollercoaster. He was always so professional and mature but would also randomly tease you as if you were kids, albeit with a fully deadpan expression. Zayne was reserved and often came off as cold but he made you so warm. You knew he was an extremely compassionate and kind person under his exterior and you admired him for it. Zayne also adored you in the same way. You had gone through so much pain and suffering but you still smiled and shined like the sun.

Over time you adapted to live without your wings but after one specific raid on a collector’s mansion, you knew exactly what the collector’s prized possession was because it belonged to you. You could feel your wings. They still surged with energy and upon seeing them when you went to do follow up investigation, you immediately called to them. They flew towards you and you inspected them, almost not believing the scene in front of you. Zayne stayed close ready to support you, especially if you were to fuse with your wings again, he knew it’d be hard to keep them hidden and it’d just bring up so much previous trauma.

You turned to face him slowly, leaving your wings behind you. You hesitated. Not letting your wings fuse with you yet. Zayne looked into your eyes, trying to comfort you with his presence. After a few seconds, Zayne held out his hand, you took it. His skin was cold but somehow it made yours burn, the heat spreading through your body as your face warmed up. He spoke quietly to you, telling you to take your time. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, your thumb slowly caressing the back of Zayne's hand as he did the same back.

Zayne had always been good at comforting you with his words, maybe it just came naturally since he was a doctor. Regardless, you knew it was exactly what you needed right now. You didn’t know what you’d do after you got your wings back. Would you go home? Would you continue this mission with Zayne? Would having your wings make it harder? Would it make it easier? You confided in Zayne as you spoke your thoughts out loud. Once you were done, you were overwhelmed and he could tell. He started his reply with a sentence that filled you with warmth, hope, and a little bit of giddiness. He speaks, teasing you a bit at the end, his face flushing.

“It doesn’t matter what you are or if you have the wings or not, you’re beautiful and you should follow your heart… especially if it’s here.”

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was a painter “looking for art or inspiration” that you met at an underground event where illegal goods were being sold, but you quickly figured out it was a front. Rafayel was a Lemurian, you sensed it immediately since you weren’t human. As a fae you had the ability to sense certain things, and so did Rafayel. Upon meeting each other at an art exhibition, you quickly exchanged information and agreed to meet up again the next day. You almost simultaneously revealed that you were both after the hunters that destroyed your homes when you finally got to chat alone.

The two of you start to frequent more underground events, both of you being well connected and hiding your true intentions very well. You use the events to gather information and then put your plans into action when your targets are alone. It worked amazingly well, you were both extremely skilled and efficient at what you did. It slowly chipped away at this network that shamelessly destroyed your beautiful homes.

Rafayel was a bit of a loose cannon. The man was so sweet and bashful one second and deadly serious the next. He was so gentle with you but didn’t hesitate when there was business that needed to be done. He could easily switch it on and off too. You were just glad you were on his side of this war.

Both you and Rafayel were out for revenge but something about your partnership changed you two. You both slowly helped each other heal, confiding your worries and traumas in each other. You were still both ruthless when it came to apprehending the people who did you wrong but the tortures stopped and the warmth returned outside of the violence. You two actually started to make good memories and live life instead of just trying to survive. You’d often watch the sunset over the ocean together, it was peaceful and you’d chat about anything and everything.

Eventually, after dozens of raids and missions, Rafayel finds weapons that used to belong to his family at the same time you find your wings again. You kept quiet until the mission was done, knowing you could feel your wings but not wanting to startle Rafayel. You looked at the weapons with him, you put your hand on his back to show your support for him. His eyes stayed glued on the knives and his face was a painful melancholic expression. You rubbed circles into his upper back with your thumb, hoping it could ease some of the pain caused by resurfacing memories.

After ensuring that the weapons would be sent to his personal studio, he continues to explore the mansion with you, following you while you find your wings. You communicated to him about your wings and he knew this would be tough for you too but you were both glad you had each other in this moment.

When you saw your wings in a display case at the end of one of the hallways, you bit back tears. It was a lot to take in. You passed millions of dollars worth of paintings to reach the most priceless thing in this whole building. Rafayel lags slightly behind you, wanting to give you a moment. You turn to face him, telling him that you don’t know if you want the wings back or not. Would they make you complete again? They can’t bring anyone back, can’t take away the pain. You couldn’t hide them like Rafayel could hide his true form, would it be a nuisance?

Rafayel makes his way towards you as you ramble, clearly distressed. He quickly envelopes you in a hug, letting you cry lightly into his chest, a painting of Lucifer on the wall next to you. You stay like that for a while. When he finally pulls back, he cups your face with his hands. You were his fallen angel, he wasn’t always great with his words but he truly spoke from the heart when comforting you like this.

“You never needed these wings to be complete, you’re ethereal with or without them. You’ll always be my angel, no matter what.”

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 8

Vice

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Sinner

Word count: ~4k Warning: Mentions of Blood. Mild Torture. Hints of Stalking. [PLOT]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I'll be adding another tag to from now on. Chapters that include interaction between Azriel and Ayla will have ROMANCE, irrespective of the theme in them, and the rest, PLOT. So you can pick and choose whichever you want to read. This one needs major editing but editing is hard. Hope you still enjoy it.

The beats thrummed through the wood beneath his feet, through the velvet cushion against his wings, and through his very skin. Empty laughter and delirious cries filled the brief, fleeting silences. Globes of lights swirled and shimmered close to the ceiling, their harsh glares coasting over the upper landing where the private booths were situated. The red carpets were too bright, the air too thick, the liquor too strong. Everything that made Rita’s a beacon to the souls who longed for a taste of nightlife.

Yet, the true temptation was across the room. A beaded curtain at the entrance wavered—red flashing behind, like the maw of a beast waiting for its prey to walk right into its belly. Outside, there was no limitation or restriction. Males and females indulged in vices and each other to their hearts’ content. Even so, what lay beyond that veil was far more enticing. Drunk on liquor and lust, it wasn’t a mystery what transpired. It wasn’t merely the pleasure of the body these souls sought. The allure of secrecy and the courage it granted them to explore their urges and unleash their darkness, test it, and perhaps, tame it. Azriel should know, for he had been behind those locked doors a few times himself.

A cheer rumbled through the air sending the shadows wrapped around him in skitters. Azriel took a deep breath. Sweat, smoke, and sex—the stench he once was accustomed to, he now despised with his being.

‘Staring a little early, are we?’ asked Cass, as if he weren’t filling a glass to the brim himself. Though Azriel ignored his smug face, he couldn’t disagree, after all, this was the only thing that numbed his ache.

‘Let me guess,’ said Rhys, ‘Our weaponsmith is being. . .difficult again?’

Our. 

Azriel gritted his teeth at how easily the word fell off his lips. He should have known. As he left the House of Wind, Cass gave him a monstrous grin, and no sooner had he found a booth his friends settled on either side, trapping him. For a moment, he considered disappearing amidst the crowd, but one look at the bodies writhing against each other rather obscenely and the decision was made.

Rita’s didn’t hold the same appeal anymore. The fifty years Rhys was. . .gone had changed their lives. They were neither young nor reckless, no matter how much Mor played pretend. While Cass preferred the nights in River House so Nesta spent her evenings with her sisters than in a bar, Rhys would have his wings nailed than spend a day away from his son. And lately, he rarely touched his precious whiskey. 

Now, as the two sat beside him giving up everything they had built in the past years only for his company, fear began to unfurl in the depths of his heart.

Azriel glanced across the room again.

A harsh thump broke their silence as Cass set his glass down, ‘Are you sure you want to add one more to that list?’

As fortune would have it, his family overheard his conversation with Ayla three months ago. Azriel knew this day was coming—when the two taunted him as though they hadn’t watched their mates fuck another. He had at least hoped to be drunk enough. Pity, he wasn’t.

Rhys arched his brow. Amusement shone in his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me she is going ahead with it.’

‘I won’t.’ Azriel surveyed the faces of the passersby who gawked at them. The High Lord and his Illyrian General drew too much attention. Shadows enveloped him once again as soon as another flare swept away from the booth. ‘Are you done discussing my sex life?’

‘Sure, if you had one.’ Cass clasped his hands on the table, raising his voice over the steady beats. ‘How long has it been? Four months?’

Six. He couldn’t imagine touching or being touched by anyone but his mate since the bond. Not that he minded the celibacy, but when every inch of his skin ached and that familiar fire burned through his veins, he knew it had to be her.

Seeing that male with her, Azriel solaced himself with petty hope—a male a day and Ayla would free him of this torment soon. But, she was vicious. She savoured this twisted game of hers. Months passed, three, and so was the count of chosen victors to claim her. 

Had it been someone else, Azriel would have dragged her into that office, and kissed that smirk off her lips while he sank his fingers into her warmth. Had it been someone else, he would have toyed with her until she begged him to take her.

‘It’s concerning you know that. Aren’t you too invested?’ Rhys’s voice broke the spell of his fantasy. A smirk tugged at his lips.

‘Not when he’s taking it out on me every morning,’ grumbled Cass.

Rhys grinned. ‘It certainly helps your case when you put it like that.’

Laughter began in Azriel’s throat, cutting off into a gasp as a shudder rolled under his skin. He sank back into the cushions, pinched his eyes closed, and tuned out the pounding in his ears. His legs shifted on their own, spreading wide to relieve some tension.

‘Remind me, Az,’ Rhys was staring at him. His eyes carried a glint. Somehow he knew yet he pressed, ‘Did you also tell her what you did to the females you took to your bed?’

Azriel managed to chuckle. ‘Why, are you looking for notes to please Feyre?’

‘I’m not the one a breath away from pleasuring myself with an audience.’

‘Fuck you,’ spat Azriel.

‘Believe me,’ Rhys purred, ‘I’m sorted for tonight.’ 

Cass laughed loud enough to cut through the wails of delight from below. A wave of shadows knocked the glass from his hand, and before it did the same to Rhys’s, a cloud of starry night blocked its path. Bastards, both of them were.

Wiping a tear from his eye—there clearly was none—and with a cruel smile on his face, Cass said, ‘Did you try talking to her?’

‘That’s what got him here,’ said Rhys. ‘I wouldn’t recommend it again.’

Azriel ran a hand through his hair. For centuries, he managed to keep his life private and with one conversation, he had become the ridicule of his family. If Nyx could talk, Azriel was certain he would taunt him too.

His breaths laboured. A myriad of emotions smothered every bit of his senses. Jealousy for the male who had the honour of coaxing moans from her lips. Longing to be the one witnessing her consumed by ecstasy. Yearning to touch and savour every inch of her body. Shadows crept up his arms but they refused to sing, a mild comfort for they didn’t narrate his embarrassment.

‘Do you need the booth to yourself?’ asked Rhys, prying him away from his agony.

Azriel glared at his stupid smirk. ‘Can’t suck me off anymore?’

Rhys’s response was lost on him as another shiver raked through his body. This was a mistake. He should have stayed in the House of Wind, far away from this square.

‘Ayla?’ 

No one dared utter her name in his vicinity. Hearing it, even in his prick of a brother’s voice, sounded like a symphony. 

‘You sense her,’ said Rhys carefully. His words were more surprised than guarded. He nudged Azriel’s glass closer, the drink still untouched.

‘I don’t.’ 

The two fell silent at his harsh tone. 

Light shifted across the room, fleeting over a movement deep in the hallway. A male walked out through the curtain adjusting the lapels of his tunic. Its intricate gold threadwork, the glinting gems on his fingers, and the delicate red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck were enough indication of which part of the city he was from. He made a desperate effort to tidy his hair, glancing around before he headed for the main doors.

Noting his stare, Cass shook his head, ‘It’s a bad idea.’

‘Is it?’ Rhys grinned watching the empty doorway. ‘His mate is having her fill, why shouldn’t he?’ He shot a wink at Azriel, ‘I’m sure this will win her over after that talk about his conquests.’

If his words were meant to unnerve him, Rhys succeeded. His life sounded pathetic, more so than he felt.

Ignoring Cass's curses to come back, Azriel left the booth making sure to land a kick to Rhys's leg on his way out.

The chill in the night breeze was a soothing balm even before he stepped out. The aroma of charring meat and herbs from the stalls on either side of the pathway sweetened the air. Quiet murmurs replaced the pulsing rhythm behind the closed doors. But Azriel was the most grateful for the dull lights marking the way.

He navigated through the ambling crowd clapping his wings close and his shadows shaded them from curious eyes. Even in a city like Velaris, an Illyrian was still an oddity. Fortunately, Rhys and Cass didn’t pursue him this time. He wondered if they had also followed him on his little detour before he came to Rita’s. 

The path ahead forked into two and Azriel slowed his pace, waiting for signs of his friends for another minute. Darkness wreathing around him swallowed every sound, including the fall of his footsteps. As he turned around the building, he tamed his powers dimming the glow of his siphons to a lingering hue.

Moonlight barely illuminated the alley. Red tassels rustled in the stillness. Gravel crunched beneath unsteady feet. The stranger halted and looked over his shoulder, his breath quickening. ‘Is anyone here?’ His words echoed.

Silence answered him, except for the distant melody from the streets.

His eyes darted around lingering on the unlit corners. His shoulders fell. Sighing heavily, the male faced forward only to meet a whorling darkness. He staggered back.

‘They are harmless,’ Azriel whispered into his ear.

With a gasp, the stranger twisted around. Before another sound could escape his parted lips, shadows slid into his mouth. He griped at his throat clawing through his skin to rid of the hollow choking him.

Azriel inched forward. ‘It won’t kill you,’ he said, his voice as gentle as the breeze that drifted past them. ‘But you might want to stop resisting.’

Tears pooled in the corner of his grey eyes as the male let out a strangled cry. 

Slowly, Azriel eased his dagger from its sheath making a show for his captive. In moments like these, he preferred the recognition; he didn’t have to imply the consequences. ‘As long as you’re honest. . .you’re safe.’

Shadows rose around them into rippling walls. The male, still clutching his throat, backed away, searching for a way out. When he found none, he nodded.

‘What do you want from her?’

Dark mist sputtered from his mouth. He tried again and again, and with each wasted attempt, his breaths grew ragged and his cries louder. Tears spilt from his eyes freely, and yet, Azriel simply watched.

Pathetic.

When the whispers first reached him, Azriel assumed him to be one of the recent lovers returning for more. He dived into his work, taking on missions in Hewn City on those nights. Days away from Ayla cleared the fog in his mind, however slowly. He had called off his spies long ago and diverted them to other tasks, the ones they were paid for. Still, reports from the borders poured in and among them was the list of travellers to the city. It brought a jolting awareness to the threat Azriel had been so glad to trade for his lovelorn ache.

It worsened when his shadows returned frantic one night, hissing about a “suspicious male”. Whenever Ayla was concerned, Azriel learned to not trust the shadows anymore. Everything he did was wrong, everything he said was wrong. 

Although, curiosity was a curse and Azriel was born cursed in more ways than one. 

The one in question was tall and muscled, mildly tanned and dark-haired—exactly how his mate preferred her males. There was nothing to suspect. Until the wraiths spotted him following Ayla on her way back from her smithy twice.

The suspect often wandered the streets for hours and only visited Pharus when Ayla stayed upstairs and the bar was crowded. He sat at the counter and entertained anyone who kept him company. As the nights drew late, he honed his attention to the tired bartender charming her with his sympathy. That brought him favour from Uri too.

And none of them noticed the unusual shadow cast by the display. A specific bar owner would have, Azriel was certain. What her friends didn't realise was he never needed to be let in.

Then, it started. ‘The owner, she seems lonely.’

Ever so loyal, that was all it took for Uri to defend Ayla. He spared no details—the hag, the shop, and Orvin. Even a “strange prick” at the back of his neck from a rogue shadow couldn’t stop him.

Though, the male remained unsatisfied. ‘Does she live alone?’ ‘Does she travel often?’ ‘Does she get many visitors?’ ‘When is her next trip?’

In four days, he learnt more than Azriel did in his first month. He picked his moments when the server and bartender were likely to spill in their exhaustion. If they turned wary, he would chuckle and a blush would tinge his cheeks. ��She’s interesting is all.’ He looked more desperate than a lovesick begging for scraps, and yet, Uri looked to Raya with gleeful eyes.

Azriel lost all reservations then. It was his turn to do some learning.

He expected the stranger to meet with his charge when he went to Rita’s. But all he did was drink more, fuck someone in one of the pleasure chambers, and leave.

This Hewn City lowlife was who her friends deemed fit for Ayla. One who saw her, who knew her, and still fucked another in a backroom. One who couldn’t defend himself, who stood frozen in fear and spewed garbles.

Shadows slithered out his mouth and wrapped around his throat in warning.

The male took a gulp of air. ‘I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you!’ His voice grated from the gagging and choking. ‘She approached me. She wouldn’t stop touching me. I vow on my life.’ An eager step forward. ‘I noticed your eyes on her back in the bar. She’s yours! All yours. Take her.’

‘Ayla,’ said Azriel quietly. The shadows mimicked his temper simmering under the surface, barely restrained. ‘You have been following her.’

Realisation set in those grey eyes and fear darkened them. His fingers slackened around his throat. ‘I—I—’

‘Lying won’t help you walk out of here alive.’

‘I don’t know who she is.’

Azriel smiled. ‘Yes, you do.’ He gently took the male’s wrist and coaxed it forward. When he rolled the sleeve up revealing his arm, the male tensed. ‘You lie,’ Azriel brought the Truth-Teller down in a swift, precise flick, ‘I’m forced to hurt you.’

Blood pooled in the groove of his elbow. His breaths quickened as shock cleared and pain set in. His fingers twitched but he couldn’t move them, nor would he feel them.

‘You won’t need a healer. Your body will heal on its own soon. But that’s what makes this convenient.’ Azriel observed, his prey only stared at his frozen arm. ‘I can do this all night and you’ll still live.’ Hopeful eyes shot up. ‘Until I get the truth out of you.’

The male tugged his hand back. A real scream tore from him, though it didn’t live very long in the shadows. With the nerves and sinew damaged, pain exploded down his arm even with the slightest movement. He pressed his fingers under the cut trying to numb himself. The bleeding began to slow. ‘Please,’ he rasped, ‘please. I haven’t done anything wrong.’

Azriel almost felt terrible. Almost. He gripped the blade again. He took all but one breath and his back collided with the cold wall. His wings thrashed and protested in pain.

Violet eyes glowered through dark night and shadows. Azriel snarled. Rhys shoved an arm against his chest pinning him in place.

Azriel looked over Rhys’s shoulder. The stalker had the wits not to scream again. He backed away from the two fighting for dominance, his gaze only on the blade still gleaming with his blood.

Rhys ordered, ‘Leave,’ but he didn’t trust his brother enough to look away.

Shadows barricading the exits thickened and closed in around them. The male didn’t move. For a brief moment, his eyes glazed over and then he took off. And, right before he broke through the wall, he stopped.

‘Leave.’ 

His body struggled against Rhys’s command. ‘She told me to,’ the male said, turning around. His eyes were only on Azriel. ‘She wa—She wants to know a—a—about that one.’

Azriel pushed at Rhys. ‘Let him talk.’

‘It’s not me.’

’Sh—’ The male continued, not caring for the words of the other two. ‘She’s waiting.’

‘Who?’ Azriel demanded. ‘Where is she?’

The male blinked. ‘She misses the sun,’ he sighed, removing the scarf from his neck and mindlessly wrapping it around his wound. ‘She misses life.’ He backed towards the exit and Azriel fought against Rhys’s hold. ‘She likes it here. It’s the only place the roses grow.’

‘Who?’ growled Azriel.

Rhys frowned, ‘There’s nothing in his mind. No memories. No thoughts.’

Azriel froze. It had happened before, only once. ‘The crown?’

Rhys returned his worried gaze, ‘No—’ 

The stranger broke through the veil, claws made of darkness reached for him. Startled cries filled the air, feet pattered on the cobblestones, wood and metal crashed on the ground.

Stop. Rhys’s voice took an edge in his mind, hardening with the High Lord’s power.

Shadows dispersed and became one with the night leaving an eerie calm behind.

Gone, the word echoed in his ear. Azriel shoved his brother off him. ‘You should’ve stayed out of this,’ he gritted his teeth, running his blood-stained hand through his hair. ‘I had him.’

‘That’s how far you’d have gotten with him. He wasn’t going to talk.’ 

Azriel steadied his breath. ‘You said he had no thoughts. What did you mean by that?’

‘I don’t know.’ Rhys frowned skyward. It was unlikely of him to admit it so openly. When he had no answer, he preferred silences and riddles. ‘He could speak. He was aware of what was done to him.’ 

Just another daemati then—however, adept at hiding even from the most powerful one to exist. 

‘You need to stay calm.’ Rhys stated with utter lethargy, although his effort to steer the conversation away didn’t go unnoticed.

Azriel scoffed, stepping around him. ‘That’s rich coming from you. Have you forgotten how “calm” you were when Feyre acted as your spy?’

Rhys pursed his lips.

The war revealed their worst parts to them. Breaking the Hybern soldiers wasn’t as yielding as they hoped it to be, but Azriel had been making progress. As days passed and Feyre’s return seemed precarious, Rhys grew tired of waiting. Night after night, he returned to Hewn City. He ignored every warning and tortured the prisoners himself; he didn’t invade their minds, he broke them, limb by limb. Had Azriel not stepped in, they would have been left with no one to interrogate.

Neither spoke of it again. It was a secret the two brothers shared. Only darkness recognised darkness.

‘It’s why I’m warning you. I can’t have my torturer go berserk on me.’ Rhys looked him up and down, his gaze softening, and with a snap of his fingers, the blood from Azriel’s hands vanished. ‘I understand you worry about Ayla—’

‘You understand nothing.’

‘—I have a mate too,’ he said softly. ‘I live with that fear too, Az. Everyday. Feyre and I—we’ve lost and found each other more than once.’

It was not the same; Rhys had a mate to lose. 

Pulling a rag from a pocket of shadow, Azriel wiped at the stains on the Truth-Teller instead. He breathed in the stench of blood clinging to the air. It seemed the only constant in his life; it calmed him even. It proved he wasn’t in the waiting. It proved he wasn’t hopeless, useless. He had done something.

‘Fine, what now? Do you intend to carve everyone who looks at her?’ 

Azriel cast a glance up and lifted a brow. He wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

Rhys slipped his hands into his pockets, the portrait of his usual cool. ‘You need to be stealthy. After all, you wouldn’t want her to learn of the bond this way.’ When Azriel’s eyes hardened, a smirk etched onto his face, smug that he had hit the right nerve. ‘That’s twice she’s been targeted now. We need to know what she’s hiding, and you’re the only one she may be inclined to trust.’

His instincts were right. It was for Ayla that the two had been so brotherly. Azriel growled, struggling to keep the bite from his words, ‘You want to use me against my mate?’

‘No,’ Rhys said slowly, ‘I want you to protect your mate. What occurred tonight will ensure whoever is after her knows she is not alone.’ Azriel shoved the dagger into its sheath rather harshly and made to walk past, but Rhys stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. ‘This isn’t about her, Az. You are bound to her.’

Every minute standing in that alley was a wasted moment to find that stalker or the mystery female. Azriel levelled a look at Rhys, ‘You didn’t follow me here out of concern for my mate.’

The hand slipped off him. Rhys poised himself, the softness marking his face and voice vanishing. ‘It’s quiet in the South. It doesn’t look like Tamlin is eager to revive his court anytime soon.’

Guilt filled him briefly, yet Azriel hid it well like everything else. ‘I’ll have someone look into it.’

Rhys frowned, ‘I want you to do it.’

‘My spies are capable of handling this.’

‘You will leave at dawn,’ continued Rhys, ignoring his words and glare, ‘Lucien should be in the mortal lands. Still, I’d suggest you stick to the shadows.’

Azriel stepped closer, ‘You want information,’ his voice as quiet and lethal as his shadows, ‘It doesn’t matter where it comes from.’

‘Need I remind you, shadowsinger, you are my spymaster.’

Dark power skittered over Azriel’s skin. Soothing and ravenous. The longer he resisted, the stronger it suffocated him, snuffing even his shadows out. His body strained against the urge to bow to his High Lord.

Through it all, the vision of that stranger in Pharus filled his mind—smiling at Raya, talking merrily with Uri. Had he run off to the bar again? Ayla was home that night, alone and unaware.

Had the male been instructed to only spy? Was he the only one sent after her? 

Azriel’s breath froze, his body grew cold.

Had they been invited into her home already?

Shadows cut through the star-speckled darkness and writhed around him. His wings flared. Rhys’s eyes glimmered with his power, Azriel snarled back and shot to the sky.

[gunnrblze]

Kick x Hesh

NSFW, 2000k+ words, pt. 2 here

A lazy little thing for these two, idk what it really is lol but I love shipping them. Very teasing, very sappy sweet (it was actually supposed to be horny shit but I lost the plot like three times. will probably write something else actually smutty for them)

CW: no actual sex but mention of dick and what not, 18+ MDNI

Kick couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something intriguing about one of the newest young additions to the task force.

Hesh was a smart kid in his eyes. A damn good soldier, trained well and bred with enough ambition and determination for a lifetime. Not a kid, actually. A man. One he found himself lingering on for too long sometimes, amber eyes tracing the outline of Hesh’s biceps all the way down to the belt constricted around his waist. One whose voice made his stomach twist when it rang in over comms. One who had started to drive him up the wall.

It was that little grin that usually did him in. When the man would dote on Riley or joke with Logan, his mouth would curve up, and it made Kick’s heart stutter behind his ribs. He’d willfully ignored it for a while, until Hesh began talking to him more. Asking more questions, unnecessary ones, really. Kick didn’t mind, he could chat if the time called for it. But he couldn’t focus with Hesh standing over him at his desk. He had to will himself to look in those pretty green eyes instead of at the pretty mouth yapping over god knows what.

The worst part though, above all he reckoned, was the dreams he’d started to have about the man. Dreams of lips glued to one another, hands up shirts and mouths going down in directions they shouldn’t.

Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he stared at the sway in Hesh’s hips for too long sometimes. Maybe he shouldn’t admire the way his tac pants wrapped taut over those thick thighs, corded with muscle and littered with enough dark hair to make anyone salivate a little. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Or maybe Hesh just had a charm that could drag down even the strongest of men.

——————

“Hey man, have you seen Merrick? Got paperwork to do” Hesh would linger in the doorway of Kicks office. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was the younger man before he spoke, and frankly he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to fuck up his focus, is what he decided on.

“Nah, probably lurking around here somewhere though” the amber eyed man shrugged, clicking at some bullshit on his desktop while his fingers curled around the mouse a little tighter than necessary. He’d curse himself for being so goddamn affected by the kid one day, all it took was that smooth, honeyed voice and he was no better than a sailor being dragged down by a siren at sea.

He could hear Hesh walk up behind him, no doubt eyeing said bullshit on his screen. Kick could smell him too and god, he thought he’d have to force the poor soldier out of his office before he did anything regrettable.

“Watcha working on?” Hesh asked with more intrigue in his voice than he knew the boy really had. He’d been doing that lately. Along with the questions of genuine curiosity he’d throw at him, Hesh would do exactly what he was doing now. Linger. Kick felt both lucky and psychotic about it.

“Workin on work, kid” Kick would reply easily, his free hand biting the nail off his thumb, a habit he couldn’t recall when he’d picked up as of late.

He could feel those mossy eyes on him as Hesh stood behind his desk chair, observing too intently at the way Kicks mouth moved over his thumb. He distantly wondered if the nearest insane asylum had any beds available, because he was certain he was being driven to madness.

“Ya know, Logan told me how gross it is to bite your nails, lots of bacteria-“ Hesh would start to ramble, and Kick wasn’t sure why he was still here, but he couldn’t complain. He’d never complain. It was just difficult to focus with a six foot one, brick wall standing behind you, the dizzying scent of his musk and something faintly pine scented filling his nostrils.

Kick let him rant, and he nodded, chuckling at Hesh’s insistence that he stop the habit before it gets worse. That he should find something else to chew on.

Goddamn himself for taking the whoreish route everytime, but his mind filled with so many other options of items he could sink his teeth into. Things he’d chew and bite and lick at until they were raw-

“Just saying, kinda gross if you really think about it” the soldier would cap his rant off with, reaching a hand around Kicks shoulder to knock his fingers away from his mouth. A grin would form on both of their faces, making the amber eyed man turn to look up at his office intruder, ignoring the way his heart flitted too hard at the contact.

“Don’t ya got something better to do than insist what goes in my mouth and what doesn’t?” He’d ask Hesh, and honest to goodness, he wasn’t sure if he could take the sight before him when he actually did turn around.

Wide grin on the man’s face as he chuckled deeply, the type that made his stomach lurch and his dick twitch a little. Staring down at him with those deep eyes and a comeback settling on the of tip of his tongue.

“Trust me, what goes in and out of your mouth is your business, not mine” Hesh would retort, making Kick smirk deeper than necessary as his mind filled in so many blanks. He debated for only a moment about whether or not he should voice those fill ins.

“Yeah? You seem to care quite a bit about my mouth” he’d settle for something cheeky enough as he swiveled around in the desk chair, thick arms crossing over one another as he faces the soldier now.

It made Hesh blink plainly for a second, a gear visibly turning in his head as the grin faltered for a moment. Kick worried for a second, if he should shut the fuck up and never speak again, but the blush that started to bloom on the man’s cheeks in front of him had his own mind stuttering.

“So what? Nail biting is a bad habit” Hesh recovered quickly, giving a perfectly pretend nonchalant shrug. Kicks brain geared into autopilot, unable to talk himself through whether or not he should bite his tongue now.

“Not biting them anymore…still concerned with the state of my mouth though, aren’t ya?” A little grin found its way on his lips, looking up at the man to admire the way the worsening pink of his cheeks contrasted against the green of his irises. The momentary widening of those eyes was just the cherry on top for him.

“No, just…just saying” Hesh would shake his head, and Kick could see the way his fingers dug into his thick biceps, curling around the firm muscle.

“Yeah? That why you’re still in my office instead of Merricks?” Kick would add swiftly, wondering how far he could take it. How far Hesh’s leash would run before he let himself detach from it, and hit Kick with the comebacks he knew the soldier wanted to give him.

The amber eyed man wasn’t stupid, he knew this wasn’t an equal playing field. That Hesh was younger, less experienced. Too dignified to let himself flirt with an older team member, one that outranked him regardless of actual rank. But Kick knew he wanted too. Wanted to test the waters with him because why the hell else would he still be here? Why would he linger so much? Why would he drive Kick crazy and then let him flounder? Why, why, why, would he let himself get worked up over the resident computer nerd of the bunch?

“Yeah” Hesh nodded, not very subtly biting the inside of his bottom lip as he gazed down at Kick, whose turn it was to be at a loss for words now. His eyes flicked to the open door of his office, and back up to Hesh, eyeing him down and ignoring the way his throat felt a little tighter all a sudden.

Hesh stepped a little closer to him, eyeing the man himself. The way Kicks thighs were spread in his desk chair, tactical shirt tight over his upper arms and shoulders, the delicious week old stubble on his jaw.

“What if…I did care?” He’d ask the operator below him with enough confidence to surprise them both, fingers in a vice grip around his own arms, crossed taut over his chest. Kick merely stared up at him, a smirk forming on his pretty mouth.

“What if you did, hm? Would that be so bad, kid?” Kick would ask, head tilting slightly as he felt his brain start to turn to molten lava at just the simple sight of Hesh biting his lip now.

“Would it?” The younger man asked a bit more seriously, voice deepening. Confirming all of Kicks suspicions. He didn’t want to get in trouble for this.

“No…” Kick answered easily, shaking his head softly. All he wanted was to reassure him, to run his fingers over his buzzed hair and kiss those pretty lips red until every worry drained from Hesh’s head.

“…wouldn’t be a bad thing at all” he was becoming less and less concerned with the state of his office door being open, trusting that he could rely on the sound of any footsteps down the hall to make him act more professionally than he was about to.

Kick stood up, stepping too close for comfort toward the soldier in front of him. His hand extended, cupping Hesh’s cheek with more tenderness than he usually exerted. He could feel the man’s jaw clench and unclench under his roughened fingers, and it made him smile. A smile that Hesh couldn’t help but return.

It was far more warm and inviting than Kick ever thought the world would allow him. Especially with someone who deserved that whole world in its entirety. Someone who deserved a world sweeter than the one he was given.

It became a blur as Kicks other hand cupped Hesh’s face, leaning in only halfway before the green eyed man reciprocated, lips pressing firmly enough to make both men weak in the knees.

Hesh was backed up into the wall behind him, boots squeaking against the linoleum flooring, his own hands flying to Kicks shoulders for support as their mouths fought for first place. One of Kicks hands slid down the man’s cheek to the back of his neck, grasp firm enough to belay his own need, the all consuming heat that was spreading throughout his body.

Sighs turned into groans, hips pressed flush against one another as both men fought to control themselves, all too aware of the open door, and the fact that they’re both very much on duty.

“God, this is even better than I thought it’d be” Kick rasped against the other man’s mouth, willing his dick not to harden up just yet. He could feel Hesh smirk against his lips, the soldiers hands leaving his shoulders to grip his hips with enough firmness to make Kicks knees even weaker, damn near threatening to give out on him.

Somehow Kick could hear footsteps coming down the hallway over the pounding of his heartbeat and the melting of his brain. He regrettably pulled himself off Hesh, catching a bit of oxygen as his eyes roamed over the man’s swollen red lips. A sight he wanted to sear into his brain.

The footsteps drew closer and Kick backed away from the wall, walking toward his office door to shut it before catching sight of Merrick ready to peer into the room.

Merrick immediately noticed Kicks equally disheveled state, but thankfully chose to ignore it, instead, asking if he knew where the lieutenant was. A moment of silent understanding passed between them, before he mentioned a little too loudly to tell Hesh his ass is due in his office if Kick just so happens to see him. Followed by what looked like an eye roll.

Both men fought not to laugh after Kick shut the door and put his lips right back where they belonged.

[m4g3114n1c]

You have my attention. Don’t waste it.

Midas (Fortnite) x Fem!Reader

tags: NSFW!, explicit, pretty raunchy 🥰, AFAB Reader, Established Relationship, Smut, Aftercare, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Backshots, WHO WANT BACKSH💔TS??, Porn With Plot, slight plot, Creampie, degradation kink, Spanking, Midas is kinda sadistic, Mild BDSM themes, Unsafe Sex, Light Sadism, Dom/sub Undertones, CROSS-POSTED

im back also im writing a smut prequel to all this bs with slight plot into what the reader and Midas’ relationship was, so next thing I write is going to be intern reader x boss/ceo Midas

jus a warning he’s not going to be like he is now and is strictly about sex and no feelings he’s kinda cold guys 😞 but leaning more about sub/dom next part

You and Midas knew it felt appropriate to separate yourselves from each other for now. He needed to focus on this, you weren’t really helping him focus. As smart and useful as you were, it was far too difficult for him to have you in the room with him.

An apt Midas was working away on the monitor already on the desk, and trying to keep himself focused with contacting his team properly after being gone for so long.

Every now and then, he’d spare a quick glance to the side where the large window had displayed you outside. You were relaxing with a two piece bikini on, with no motivations to even dip in the water.

He figured you were just sunbathing. His suspicions did grow, however, on what your true intentions were with wearing that because you sat right next to the window where he’d be.

You sat on the sofa instead of the area where the group of beach chairs were, designed for that kind of thing. He considered that, possibly, you liked how more cushioned and comfortable it was.

In spite of all his conjecture, he knew you wanted him to be tempted. Beguiled, he might say to your successful attempts at making him shy his attention away from his work.

Now, you might as well be in the same room as him right now because he absolutely could not keep his eyes off.

After a few failed attempts at working, he blankly stared ahead. His eye caught the bed, which was now tidy and made, prior to the events yesterday. Well shit. The peaceful and clean bed only made him think about you pleading for more under you the other day. That didn’t help with progressing more in his work.

Midas glanced outside again, to which you had now placed your sunglasses on. You leaned over as you were sat up on the sofa, thoroughly spreading what seemed to be sunscreen. He felt like he was eyeing his prize if he got to finish his work.

Sitting outside, you could feel just how Midas’ gaze was locked in on you while still separated from the thick glass; his stare making the glass separating you both deemed useless.

He looked pissed in a way, his eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth tightly pressed in a tight line; the thought of him pissed at you turned you on a bit.

It was amusing seeing somebody who is usually locked in on his work a lot of the time get distracted by something tiny like his girlfriend wearing a bikini.

While you smeared sunscreen on yourself, your legs, your arms, the sun immediately caught against it which in turn made Midas look at you like pure gold, his most prized treasure.

You placed the sunscreen back on the table, picking up your book and reading where you left off. The sound of the waves helped you settle yourself into a calmer environment, than if you were inside it’d feel way too quiet.

Birds flew past obnoxiously just as you thought that. You grumbled, trying to get back to your book, to which you were literally gripping at.

Soon your relaxing environment was now beginning to piss you off, the waves sounded repetitive and was driving you crazy, the sun felt too hot right now and the wind wasn’t even blowing in the right direction.

You sounded so bitchy and whiny, getting tired of everything outside, but you had the right to, you’ve been out here for at least two hours.

Wait.

You halted in your tracks when you began to pack up your book, your sunscreen, your phone, and your water bottle.

He would probably think you were trying to distract him from his work if you came back inside. Even if not in the same room as him, just knowing that you were in the interior of the yacht might’ve tempted him.

Another side of you wanted to go, because who cares? The other side told you to sit your ass down and deal with more of it until he was done his work.

The Gods answered your prayer, because as soon as when you packed up, Midas seemed to be finished. He looked like it. His body language was more open, body more relaxed, and he wasn’t staring at the monitor anymore.

He was absentmindedly pushing the chair around slightly. You shrugged to yourself, thinking this was the best time.

When you got inside of the room, placing your things at your designated table, Midas was staring at you. Although he didn’t want to overdo it at the point you felt uncomfortable.

“You finished?” You asked warily, not to piss him off. Midas caught on that quickly, raising an eyebrow that was one of confusion but he nodded. “Yes, sent the alerts out, might take them a while to find us though.” He leaned back in his chair, quite relaxed that he was finished.

You took the chance to go behind his chair, hands working at his tense muscles connecting his neck and his shoulder. You remember when you first pointed out how tense his shoulders were.

It still felt like yesterday when Midas still saw you as his intern, whom he didn’t trust much. He thought you were way too happy go-lucky to be a real person, nobody is sunshine and rainbows.

The fact is, he needed somebody like you in his life to balance out just how shitty he is. You knew you were working for a villain, yet you were still sitting around in his building, supporting him as if he were the best man alive.

Without your outgoing personality, he probably wouldn’t have managed to approach you in the first place and ask you out for dinner that cost way more than your pay check.

Your attitude was beginning to rub off on him.

Your thumbs pressed harshly, but it was working. Midas sighed out of relief, needing you to come do this for so long.

“Is this alright?”

His breath hitched, the immediate moment your mouth was near his ear. The feeling of you so close was alluring him.

“That’s—yes, it’s alright.” He said under his breath in a tone that hinted that he was ready for what you were about to do next.

Heat bloomed on his face, blood rising up to cover his cheeks in chagrin. Still massaging him, you experimentally pressed your lips on his neck. He kept himself composed, not daring to make a sound.

He didn’t protest to stop so you continued, sucking hard, completely stopping the massage. Midas groaned under his breath, cursing.

Before he could even process it, you were now straddling his lap. In all of your bathing suit glory, he could already feel himself getting hard. He could tell you were impatient, just by how you clung to him.

You cupped his face, eyes closing as you kiss him slowly. The long drag of the kiss was passionate. Midas hand came down to squeeze your ass, pulling you flush against him.

Just by doing that, the immediate feeling of his cock growing harder, trapped in his slacks had you moan during the kiss. He smelt like aftershave, and his body-wash that you had no idea what the brand was but knew it was expensive.

The kiss then turned more eager, before you knew it, Midas’ tongue was already exploring your mouth, pressing itself against the roof of your tongue or sucking your tongue.

He had a bad habit of always kissing so rough. You felt him nip hard enough to break the thin barrier of skin of your lip. He pulled away, eyes wandering brazenly onto your kiss-bruised lips. He definitely had some sadistic tendencies. Midas chased your lips once more, making you moan when he pushed back against your tongue.

You rubbed yourself against him, the only thing separating you and him were your bikinis and his stupid fucking slacks. You wanted to rip off his clothes and you were so sure, he wanted to do the same.

Midas pulled away, eyes were low-lidded, stare intense and it felt like he was stripping you with just his eyes.

“I wanna fuck you so hard right now,”

“What’s stopping you?”

That set him off. The moment you said that, it was over. You stood up from your position, only for Midas to turn you around, roughly bending you over the table.

You wish nobody was cruising around in the ocean today. There was no space where there was a solid wall was obscuring the view, the room was just all full body windows. The thrill of being so out in the open did make you grow even more embarrassingly wet.

“Remember when I fucked you the first time like this in my office?” He basked in the view of you bent over, and so easy to access. You remembered just how rough he was with your intern-self. Your relationship back then was complicated, and he didn’t even know if he wanted a relationship with you.

It was a strict sexual relationship, if that made sense, which then slowly eased into an actual relationship. Which then included all of the feelings, and all the softness of his heart that you found so hard to believe actually existed to come to light.

“Yes, I remember,” You fared to say, voice shaky. Midas pressed his clothed erection against your half bare ass.

His fingers he then placed in front of your mouth. The sun glinted on his golden hands, he brought his fingers closer.

“Suck.” He pressed himself firmer, leaning forward to say in your ear. The fullness of his voice slightly startled you but you obeyed his commands. You came forward to take his fingers into your mouth yet he still coaxed you to practically push them farther.

You hummed, withdrawing his fingers before pulling them back in again, tongue dragging across the underside and the pads of his fingers. The hot wet feeling of your saliva covering his fingers had him breathing more intense than usual.

“Just like that,”

Midas breathed out, rolling his hips against your ass again as if imagining he was fucking you already. The way he was getting impatient made you moan around his fingers.

He withdrew them, pushing the fabric of your bikini, slowly, he stretched you out with one finger. Then his second finger, pumping them in and out with a steady pace. Midas’ eyes were glued at how wet you were and how you tightened at every movement of his fingers.

You began whining, not being able to do anything with your hands due to the fact Midas left hand was pinning them behind your back.

“You’re so wet, and we haven’t even done anything,” He laughed softly, not out of complaint but out of shock. The shock of pleasure made you jolt, as he curled his fingers in your cunt, the tip of his fingers pressing against your spot.

He continued, the squelching of your pussy had him quickly unbuckling his belt with the hand he was pinning your wrists behind your back with. At such an awkward angle, you turned around to meet his eyes for a split second. He was still fully clothed and you were in half a bikini.

The soft clinking of metal made you moan even more desperately, wanting him to hurry up and fucking put it in already. He pulled his fingers out, sucking and licking his fingers clean of your arousal.

“Let’s see if you feel just as good as you taste, yeah?” His voice was dripping with a tantalizing and warm tone.

The sound of Midas spitting on his palm and stroking his cock filled the room.

“Hands on the desk,”

You followed, resting your palms against the edge of the desk.

“Fucking take that off,” He shortly huffed, but not having the heart to not help you. He tugged down your bottom piece of your bikini, throwing it and leaving it on the floor.

He prodded his tip at your soaked pussy, before purposefully missing to part your labia; his slick length just brushing up against your clit to give a small amount of friction. You whined.

“Sorry, baby,” He laughed softly, even though he definitely did that on purpose.

That was definitely a first. He’s never called you baby. Never in the relationship he’s ever called you nicknames, especially something as simple as that. Only you’ve called him nicknames, not him. It made you feel special, because shit, who the hell is just casually getting called baby by Midas? Nobody. Ever.

Maybe he called his past wife that.

You didn’t really care when he was so close to being inches deep in you.

“Tap my thigh if it’s too much, alright?”

He didn’t even have to slowly go in when your cunt was soaked. You gasped out his name when, hearing him groan behind you. He bottomed himself out, balls deep with just one movement. Whenever he prepared you with his fingers, it never really prepared you due to the fucking size of him.

“You’re so tight,” He sighed sharply, not stopping to wait anymore.

He pulled himself out until he was fully out of you, before slamming back in. His momentum continued, settling on a neutral pace, keeping you on a level to not immediately cum. With every drag of his cock, a moan pushed itself out of you both.

“Come on,” Midas rasped out.

“Tell me, has anybody fucked you as hard as I do?”

You sometimes forgot how conceited he was about that. You remembered the first time you walked through his building and spotted his statue of himself made out of gold. You thought, wow, he must really love himself.

Well, you know you got your assumptions right.

He had every right to be that goddamn egocentric, he was hot, smart as hell and also knew how to fight. He got out of the underworld for Christ’s sake, of course his ego would be inflated.

You found it extremely attractive that he found himself this capable during sex, because he was right. Nobody has ever done it like he does.

A sharp pain on your rear end had made you instinctively whine.

Did he just slap your ass?

Your assumptions about him being sadistic were now proven to be true. His hand that slapped your ass was still on it, rubbing the swollen skin to alleviate some of the pain. His gentleness paired with his perverted dispositions had you feeling confused. You liked it.

“Are you having trouble hearing?” He kept his strokes to a steadying momentum as if to try and teach you a lesson.

His hand made sharp contact with the same spot again. You leaned more forward on the desk, elbows resting on the actual desk.

“I’m sorry—I, nobody has. Only you, Midas.”You were practically drooling, getting fucked out of your mind like this by your own boss was something you thought you’d never get to do. It was still something else working under him while being your boyfriend.

If there was a photo for the word, “cock drunk,” you’d be on the front page.

“I better be,” Midas found that answer particularly pleasing so his strokes picked up its pace. “Yes, don’t stop—please,” You gasped out, the sounds of skin smacking against skin filling the room.

Midas’ hand gripped on your waist, hard enough to bruise, guiding you with his pace. His free hand managed to snake its way to your clit, his large fingers pressing and rubbing circles against it. The pain but also pleasure tore another moan out of you.

The extra stimulation had you feeling like your legs were about to collapse beneath you. His pace picked itself up even further, his cock unforgiving and ruthless. Your breaths were now staccatos, short and cut off with every thrust of his hips.

“I’m close, Midas—God, I need it.”

“Fuck, yeah. You need to cum? Say it.” He sternly spat out in between breaths.

“I need to cum, please Midas. Let me—“ He smacked your ass one last time, and the feeling had you on the brink of cumming.

“I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it, alright?” He leaned forward to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, his voice hardly audible. “Yes, I’ll take it. Please. Just let me cum.”

His finger kept rubbing against your clit, yet he came first. He filled you with his hot cum to the hilt, groaning as he continued to give you your orgasm. “Shit,” He hissed, feeling you come and follow shortly with mewl. You tightened around his still semi-hard cock, and he had to pull himself out with ease.

You almost felt the weight of your legs take you down to the floor but Midas’ strong arm caught you, leading you to the bed and gently lying you down face up. Your chest heaved heavily, forehead damp with sweat, feeling the cool air hit your skin. Midas’ hair was slicked back awkwardly because of the sweat as well.

“Are you alright?” He worried, eyebrows knitted as his eyes wandered to your hips which were bruised.

“Were you trying to kill me?”

He breathed out a short laugh.

He said your name with a sigh. “That was one round,” His tone seemed to be about how he does go harder when it’s more than one round. He does, you know, you haven’t forgotten when you went specifically four rounds non-stop and you got sick the day after. He felt bad that morning.

You laughed at the ticklish feeling, feeling his nose nuzzling into your neck. “Okay, yeah, yeah,” You said with a smile and he pulled away.

His libido works differently and oddly enough, he never seems to get tired.

“Whatever,” You rolled your eyes playfully, standing up and giving him a chaste kiss on the lips.

“Where are you going?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at your sudden departure.

“The washroom, I need to pee your cum out, idiot,” You said, now farther away, but he still could hear.

“You want me to get a UTI?” You scoffed, shutting the bathroom door with a click.

“Of course not,” Midas laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck.

[ilikereadingactually]

The Book of Love

The Book of Love by Kelly Link

all i knew going into this book was that i adore Kelly Link's work, particularly for its absorbing quality. her stories are dreamlike, and stay with me in the same way the memory of a dream does--everything in the memory seems both impossible and completely sensible and correct. this book really captures that same feeling! surreal, a little creepy and a little funny, intriguing, and written in what I think of as Link's typical style: a sort of syncopated rhythm of straightforward sentences in surprising patterns, straightforward words in surprising combinations, and little gems of imagery that pop out sparkling. there's a cyclical fairy tale quality to her work that appears here also, a real sense that these events have happened before and will happen again and i should be paying attention in case i'm involved next time.

and it IS a book about love as the title proclaims, but messy, muddy, difficult love. love in this book is smashed guitars and ill-fated gifts and spontaneous hookup choices and centuries-old vengeance, about embracing power or resisting it and how it changes you either way, about working around obstacles (there are so many obstacles). as Schmendrick says, there are no happy endings, because nothing ends.

it is a LOOOOONG book though. there was never a time when i wasn't eager to read more or wasn't enjoying the experience, but my personal preference is for things to be a little bit tighter. it's a sensation a bit like old movie musicals that have a ballet or some other extended wordless dance sequence in the middle--it's very beautiful to watch, it has that lovely dreamy quality, and it's related to what's happening in the plot but it's not necessary to what's happening in the plot. there are parts of this book that felt like watching the ballet Kelly Link's beautiful writing unfold--i would never fast forward through it, because it's beautiful, but i woudn't miss it if it wasn't there.

that said, i really loved this book--it was surprising, it was intriguing, it felt deeply archetypical and at the same time delightfully specific and real. the four main characters' voices and perspectives were so distinct, as was each new voice that cropped up to take over a piece of the story--a whole ensemble of imperfect people making imperfect choices and loving imperfectly.

the deets

how i read it: an e-galley from NetGalley! and i gotta say, i'm pretty excited to see this chonker in person! that red color on the cover is gonna look so nice on a thick spine. i'll definitely be buying this one when it's out.

try this if you: dig lyrical prose and stories that feel like mythology, enjoy memory fuckery, inevitably root for star-crossed weird ancient beings to finally be together, or were ever in a band in high school.

some bits i really liked: hard to pic faves in a book this long!

A girl wakes up in her sister's bed. "Laura?" she says. No one answers. Oh, she shouldn't be here. The one who should be here isn't. The girl's name is Susannah. She is too tall, lamentably tall, and she has bad dreams. Shouldn't her dreams be comforting? Restorative? Shouldn't she see the ones she longs with all her heart to see? But in dreams, too, they are inexplicably missing.

---

Like Mo, Mr. Anabin was brown in the way that made white people feel they should ask you where you were really from. Although at the moment Mo really did want to know where Mr. Anabin was from, because surely there weren't a lot of people living in Lovesend who could raise the dead. Right? Mr. Anabin: supernaturally ambiguous. Maybe Mo would ask. Or maybe he wouldn't. Mo: smarter than a lot of white people.

---

Kids brought their notebooks, because there were no plugs for laptops, and wrote poetry or Korrasami AU fan fiction or very sad and secret thoughts in their most beautiful penmanship.

---

"You guys are the three-time Olympic champions of poor decision-making in relationships. Like a figure skating pair who does the same routine every time: one Ina Bauer, one curve lift, spread eagle, two make-outs, one breakup, one makeup, followed by a messy-ass dismount." "Dismounts are gymnasts, not figure skaters," Susannah said.

pub date: February 13, 2024!

[homosexuality-at-its-finest]

To love a hero

A/n: So I'm really sad right now and I'm gonna project that onto my writings, sorry in advance

Plot: Loving a hero is a difficult and heart wrenching task

Pairing: Peter parker x male reader

Y/n: Your name

L/n: Last name

N/n: Nickname

H/c: Hair color

Warnings: lotta angst, happy ending because I’m not a monster, cussing, major character injury

Word count: 1774

Y/n L/n and Peter Parker went way back, even farther than Peter and Ned. The two had been friends since Pre-K, and only grew closer as the years went by. The two were almost interpretable, if one of the boys was seen, the other was close by.

No one really understood their friendship, but no one questioned it either. In high school the two boys became impossibly closer, Y/n was the first to know about Peter’s abilities, the brunette couldn’t keep something so big from his best friend. Y/n was there and helped make his first suit, the boy was there to soothe his aching bones and to nurse his blossoming bruises.

The pair shared an unbreakable bond, they were what love stories depicted. The love between them was seen by everyone but the two. Of course, Peter knew he was in love with Y/n and vice versa, but for two genius’ they were both dumbasses. Hell, even Tony stark noticed the young love blossoming, the billionaire could see how much the pair adored each other.  

On multiple occasions he’d tried to coerce the young superhero into admitting his feelings but was always given the same response.

“Y/n doesn’t like me like that Mr. Stark, I’m not ruining our friendship over my feelings.” Simple and to the point, but it drove Tony insane that the young genius was so fucking blind. He opted against bringing it up again after seeing such clear pain in Peter’s eyes every time they talked about it, being a bystander as time passed by.

Maybe Peter couldn’t see how enamored Y/n was with him, but Tony could. Especially as he clutched the said boy against his chest as he let out guttural and heart wrenching sobs.

It had all started off as a normal Saturday, Peter was over at Y/n’s the two sitting on the couch and watching some unknown movie, it was purely background noise. The two boys were to focused on each other and their conversation to care about the movie. The domestic peace was ruined by Peter’s phone chiming, a familiar sound that always caused dread to run down Y/n’s spine.

It was the sound of Peter’s police scanner, hearing the radio chatter begin. “Unknown entity in central park, currently creating a perimeter and pushing back civilians, backup requested.” The look of determination crossed over Peter’s features, and if Y/n knew Peter would listen, he’d beg for him to let the avengers take care of it.

“That’s my cue, I’ll see you later N/n!” Peter did a mock salute to his best friend, easily escaping the home via window. For some unknown reason Y/n felt on edge, his gut tightening painfully. He immediately flicked on the news, only having to wait a few moments before the familiar figure of spiderman flung into frame.

The fight was nerve wrecking, watching as the Villain and superhero alike exchanged punches and kicks, and Y/n knew Peter was probably making stupid quips to keep his anxiety under control. The H/c haired boy gnawed on his bottom lip as he watched the fight escalate, getting more violent by the second.

The villain had hit Peter with all their might, and Y/n could only watch as the boy he loved more than anything was flung against a building before he crumpled to the ground. It was as the world stood still, stealing all the breath from Y/n’s lungs as the figure of spiderman didn’t budge, he didn’t get up. Peter promised he’d always get back up.

He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and stomped on, air was to thick to breathe and he could feel the moisture running down his face and the devastated cry that left his lips went unheard. The boy couldn’t really remember when Happy arrived at his house, a grim expression on his face as he looked at the disheveled teenager.

Y/n couldn’t remember the drive to the compound, it was as if his brain had just shut down, leaving him devoid of any life. Maybe that’s what Peter was like right now, devoid of life. His constant chatter silenced, his jittery movements stilled, his beautiful face pulled into the blank look of death.

The teenage boy could remember that Happy had to pull over so Y/n could vomit on the side of the road, silent sobs clenching his lungs in their vice. Never in all of his short life had he felt so much pain, never had he begged for the sweet release of darkness as he did now.

The H/c haired boy begged any god that would listen for this to be a nightmare, that he’d wake up and he and Peter would still be on the couch. The brunette would tease him for falling asleep, but he’d take anything to make this pain go away.

When he finally got to the compound and saw Tony waiting, the same grim look on his face as happy, it felt like every last shred of his strength and control was gone. Y/n collapsed into Tony’s arms, breaking into pieces. He only processed a few words “surgery” “critical” and “I’m so sorry.” Everything blended together as the billionaire led him to the medical wing, holding onto the breaking teenager, as if his touch would mend him.

Hours felt like eternity, it was hellish. The sobs that once left the teenager were turned into deafening silence, the occasional sniffle leaving the boy, comforting Tony that the child was in fact still alive.

May had shown up at some point, Y/n couldn’t honestly remember when, or honestly care. Not when he felt like part of himself was missing, leaving a gaping hole where Peter once was.

Good news came in the form of a doctor informing them, at hour 4 of waiting, that Peter had survived the surgery and was now stable. If it wasn’t for his healing factor, the teenager would’ve been dead. He was under sedatives currently, so his body could work solely on healing.

It felt like a weight off of everyone’s chest, he was okay, alive and breathing. The 3 walked in silence to Peter’s room, May and Y/n taking their respective sides on Peter, as Tony sat at the foot of the bed.

Hours were spent in silence, May haven fallen asleep not to long after receiving the news that Peter was okay. Tony and Y/n stayed awake, both lost in their own thoughts. The teenager held Peter’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles silently. His eyes rarely left the still form, scared that if he looked away the boy would disappear from his grasp.

“Yknow what sucks about loving a hero?” Y/n’s broken voice cut through the silence, starling Tony from his thoughts. He didn’t reply, his gaze falling on the teenager. Y/n looked over at Tony and fuck that look should never be on a child. He looked so broken, so tired.

“I know he’s going to die long before me, and I’ll be stuck in this fucked up world without him.” A humorless laugh broke through the boys’ lips, it sounded watery and oh so broken. “I’m not ready to live without him Tony.” A quiet sob left his lips, his free hand going to stifle it.

“I love him so much, and it scares me so fucking bad.” Y/n’s eyes moved back over to Peter, shakily bringing the sleeping boy’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Tony felt his chest tighten painfully; this was really a reminder that they were just kids who grew up way to fast.

“He’s not going to die Y/n, not if I have anything to say about it.” Tony replied in a surprisingly gentle but determined tone. He’d be damned if he let this pair get separated, Peter and Y/n deserved to be together. To grow up together and create a life.

The room fell into silence after that, neither of them wanting to broach the topic again. In the early hours of the morning Peter’s doe like eyes opened once more. Every inch of his body ached with an indescribable pain, and he had to hold back a grimace. He was surprised to see the 3 most important people in his life strewn about the room, two fast asleep. Y/n was still awake though, clasping Peter’s hand like a lifeline has his tired eyes burned into the sheets.

Peter gave his best friends hand a gentle squeeze, but it was enough for the boy’s head to shoot up so fast Peter was scared he’d get whiplash. “Peter! Oh, thank God.” The H/c haired boy breathed out, and even through his eyes were red and puffy from tears and purple bags so dark they looked like bruises bloomed under his eyes, he was still the most gorgeous creature Peter had ever seen.

Peter gave a weak smile, squeezing his hand once more. “How long have I been out?” He questioned; head tipped to the side like a curious puppy. “About 12 hours.” Y/n replied, voice cracking slightly.

The gentle aura Y/n held around him quickly disappeared into one of anger. “If you ever do that to me again Peter I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.” Y/n spit out angrily, but the anger was gone as fast as it had appeared.

“I thought you died, and that was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. I love you, and I’d rather you be with the land of the living.” The confession was made by a boy to tired to process he had said it.

Peter felt a wave of guilt crash over him at the boy’s confession. He knew now wasn’t the time to talk on the subject. “I’m okay N/n and trust me I won’t be doing that again any time soon. Why don’t we sleep and talk again in the morning?”

Peter was exhausted, and he knew his best friend was too, they could talk about this at a later date. As Y/n made a sound of agreement, laying his head against the mattress, Peter knew that everything would be okay. It didn’t matter what horrors he faced, or what pain he went through. He had made a promise to Y/n. He’d get up every time, and he’d be damned if he ever made the Boy he loved go through that pain again.

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 6 - Festival

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Your best friend Rina is curious about what's been keeping you so busy, and the two of you run into Gojo and his student at a food festival.

A/N: I have been working on my jjk fics but this chapter was a little bit difficult for me to write. A little bit of backstory and plot building here. Gojo and personal space? Non-existent. You can't tell me that the man wouldn't abuse his flirting rights.

- - - 

“Aren’t you a little warm in that top?”

Rina glanced at the high collared t-shirt you were wearing under your mini dress. The top covered the marks that Gojo left on your neck but the material was a little too thick for the summer heat. Thankfully, there was a breeze cooling you off otherwise you would be dripping with sweat.

“I’m fine,” you replied, directing your attention onto the vendors instead of your best friend’s narrowed eyes.

Rina asked you to come along to check out a food festival set up in the city. The entire district was lined with painted stalls which made for a picture perfect scene. The rich aroma of cooked food danced around you, enticing the bustling crowd that was growing in numbers. From golden battered fried takoyaki balls to mouthwatering barbecued yakitori, rainbow cotton candy that sent strings of sugar into the air and sweet kakigori to cleanse the palette…

Everything was making your stomach grumble.

“Oh, let’s get okonomiyaki!” Rina suggested.

After picking up your orders, you both sat at an empty table where you could enjoy your meal. You were ignoring the way Rina continued looking at you suspiciously, clearly not letting go of her obsession with the top you were wearing.

“Okay, that’s it. Let me see it.”

“See what?” you questioned, covering your mouth as you tried to chew on your food.

“The hickey you are hiding.”

You nearly choked as you swallowed but Rina didn’t flinch at your reaction. You patted your chest lightly, clearing your throat as you gathered your thoughts.

“I’m not hiding anything!” you replied defensively.

Rina rolled her eyes at you, “then at least tell me who the guy is…”

You waved your arm nonchalantly in her direction, desperately trying to avoid getting into a losing battle with your best friend. If there was one person in the world who didn’t need superhuman abilities to tell what you were thinking - it was Rina. She read you like an open book, making it near impossible for you to keep a secret from her. How you managed to go this long without her figuring out you were hooking up with Gojo was a miracle.

“I just want to know exactly what has been keeping you so busy recently,” she continued, “I’m having a hard time believing it’s work because you would be in a miserable mood if you were spending all your free time at the office.”

“ Or we can talk about how absolutely delicious this is...” you blurted, letting her words travel in your ear and out the other as you pointed at the meal in front of you.

Rina lifted her brow, shaking her head in disapproval. She calmly placed her chopsticks on her plate, leaning forward a little closer to you before hooking her finger in the collar of your shirt and tugging it down to check your neck.

“LIAR!”

You clasped your hand over the mark, your eyes widening as you prodded your best friend with your other finger.

“Oh, you are in trouble!” a sly smile spread across her pretty face, “when did you start dating again? I thought you swore off men after what happened with the fitness instructor..”

“Please don’t remind me of him…”

“Then who is this mystery man that you are hiding?”

You pressed your lips together, hesitant to reveal the truth about the deal you and Gojo had made. Yes, you were having fun together and none of it was supposed to be as serious as you were making it out in your head. In fact, Rina would probably applaud you for initiating this to begin with.

But…

Rina also liked to ask hard questions: why were you using him instead of confronting your heartbreak? Why were you chasing after something false instead of trying for real love again? Do you really want to risk ruining the friendship you both have?

Those were questions that you didn’t have the answers to.

“It’s...It’s some guy at work, you don’t know him…” you stated, finally settling on a good enough excuse to satisfy her curiosity

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Just a few weeks…” you fibbed.

“Tell me what he’s like?”

“Uhh…he’s fun, I guess …handsome, kind of charming…but it’s only been a few dates, I still don’t really know him well yet.”

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for not having the courage to tell Rina the truth. Your best friend continued throwing questions at you while your brain spat out the answers before you could even think things through, your guilt twisting your insides with all the lies you were spewing.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner…”

Rina smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I just want you to be happy. If you like this guy, you should give him a chance. Who knows, maybe this could turn into something serious…”

“I am not really looking for anything serious,” you admitted, allowing yourself to be vulnerable. “At least not right now…”

How could you want something serious after what happened?

You and your ex-boyfriend were together for five years. You met him when you were both at university and he swept you off your feet. His handsomeness showed through his kind personality and he always managed to make you smile. He was your first of many things, including this painful heartbreak.

You hated yourself for getting comfortable with him, for allowing your mind to plan a future that you both could share. You were disappointed that he made you fall in love with him but more so, that he abandoned you to piece together what was left.

You always felt like you never had your closure. When you asked him why he cheated, he never gave you a solid answer. He was ashamed for keeping his infidelity a secret for so long that his only response was a pathetic apology.

Who was this woman that he was willing to jeopardize your relationship for?

Why did he stop loving you?

You blamed yourself because you couldn’t understand.

One minute you were happy and the next you found yourself betrayed in the worst way possible.

You had enough respect for yourself to know that you couldn’t stay with a man who would treat you this way. When you broke up, you expected him to beg for your forgiveness. He was your prince charming, of course he would come crawling back.

You only knew that he had moved on with his lover when you caught the two of them at the supermarket together. They were buying peas, completely entranced with one another and the adoration that your former boyfriend used to look at you with was now passed on to the woman with golden hair.

He was your weakness and you…

You still loved him.  

Rina’s eyes shifted to the crowd, pausing when she recognised a face among the sea of strangers.

“Oh! Look who is over there!”

You glanced over your shoulder, following her line of sight until you saw your dirty little secret wave at you from a distance.

Gojo was eating ice cream, mindlessly swerving around the crowd and looking exceptionally fine in his summer fit. Adorned on the top of his head were cat ears, a little souvenir trinket that some of the vendors were selling at their stalls. His free arm was draped across a teen boy’s shoulder, whose unamused face indicated that he was not keen on being here.

“Rina-chan!” Gojo sang as he approached your table, “it’s nice to see you!”

“You too! How are things?”

“Great! Busy with the usual but today I decided to stop by with my student. This is Megumi…”

The boy awkwardly bowed to greet you and Rina.

“It’s nice to meet you both…”

Gojo’s shades slid down his nose slightly, and you caught a glimpse of those blue eyes. When he winked in your direction, you couldn’t help but blush.

“What are you two up to?” he casually asked.

“Well, I finally got Miss “Busy All The Time” to myself today and we just had some okonomiyaki, that guy over there is selling it…”

Gojo hummed and swirled his tongue around his vanilla ice cream before calmly replying, “I know, she’s been so preoccupied lately! Oi, when are we going to have our catch up session?”

Your face grew warmer, Gojo was good at keeping secrets and him playing off like he hasn’t been the one taking up all of your spare time only resulted in you staring at him with furrowed brows.

Thankfully, Megumi interrupted the conversation.

“I’m going to walk around for a bit,” he stated, turning his heel to walk away from your little group.

“I’ll meet up with you in a minute,” Gojo replied with a nod.

“I’m also going to use this opportunity to find the restroom. Gojo can keep you company until I get back,” Rina added, as she stood up from her seat.

Gojo gave her a thumbs up, “happily!”

The sorcerer took Rina’s place, sitting down across from you while his long legs bumped into yours as he adjusted his position. He paused for a moment, watching your friend and his student disperse into the crowd before finally returning his attention back to you.

“Nice outfit by the way but a little warm for today’s weather in my opinion.”

“I wonder whose fault that is…” you mused, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling at his teasing comment, “I bet you think you’re so cute assuming you’re completely innocent in all this.”

Gojo smiled, “Actually, I know I’m cute.”

You couldn’t deny it, even right now as you watched him with those ridiculous cat ears that pulled back his white locks. He definitely was catching the eye of every girl and guy who passed by.

You flicked one of the black ears on his head,  “this is a new look for you…”

“I bought it for Megumi but he wasn’t too pleased wearing it around, kept saying that I was embarrassing him...” Gojo explained with a frown.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on your thighs and bringing the ice cream in his hand to your face.

“Want a taste?” he asked innocently.

Your heart skipped a beat, unaware that Gojo would get this close to you in public. He knew that you hadn't told anybody about what you both have been doing and you wondered if he was deliberately trying to put you in an awkward position. You subconsciously scanned the crowd to see if Rina or Megumi were around.

You tilted your head back slightly before asking, “do you understand the concept of personal space?”

“Relax,” Gojo said in a low voice, “no one is paying attention to us.”

“What if they come back…”

“I’ll see them before they see us,” he replied with confidence, grazing his free hand over your thigh. “Besides, you look like you could use something to cool you off…”

You arched your brow, deciding to give in and play this little flirtation game. You bit your bottom lip, gently wrapping your hand around his slender fingers and slowly leaning forward to lick the ice cream off his cone. You kept your gaze on Gojo, focusing on the devilish smirk that spread across his lips as he watched with approval.

“Mmm, that is good…” you moaned, before looking at him with glittering eyes, “wait, I didn’t get any ice cream on my face, did I?”

Gojo chuckled under his breath, “you’ve got a little something right here…”

His hand moved up to your face, his fingers holding your chin as he brought your lips to his. You inhaled, holding your breath as you were caught off guard by him stealing a kiss. The moment was fleeting and before you knew it, he parted his lips from yours but trailed his hand down your neck to take a peek at the hickey he left on your skin.

“I usually don’t care about where I mark you but if it’s a big concern I’ll make sure to do it in places where only I can see…”

Even though he spoke in a low whisper, you felt like it was loud enough for the whole crowd to hear how flustered you just got by his words.

You cleared your throat, turning your face away from him to regain your composure. “Behave, Satoru…”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “I could keep going but Rina will be back in any minute…”

You sensed a hint of annoyance in his voice when he said that.

The sorcerer leaned back, inviting the space that separated you both as he ate his ice cream with indifference. Sometimes you wish you could flip the switch as easily as he did but you found it impossible.

Rina arrived before you could even respond to his statement.

“What did I miss?” she asked, patting Gojo lightly on the shoulder to request returning to her seat.

“Nothing special,” Gojo answered with a shrug as he stood up , “I think I’m going to head back and find this kid before he leaves without me knowing.”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening! Also, you should stop by the candy shop sometime. I’ve been working on some new treats I think you might like…”

“I will,” he promised, stretching the lying game even further. He proceeded to remove the headband he was wearing, his white hair flopping over his shades as he handed you the cat ears. “Hold on to these for me won’t you…”

You took it, puzzled by the sudden gesture.

“What for?”

“Just an excuse to pick it up from you later,” he remarked innocently, “otherwise I’ll never see you!”

Rina laughed, clearly not catching on to his hidden invitation. Gojo waved goodbye and walked away, leaving you both to return to your date.

For a moment you thought your lie was about to catch up to you but realised that it was easy keeping this secret because nobody would expect you to hook up with Gojo.

You guys have been playing this song and dance for a while, saving your flirtatious banter and curiosities for when you two were alone together. Maybe you’ll come clean eventually, but for now you wanted to enjoy the bubble you were in.

You played with the cat ears in your hand, completely unaware that you were smiling to yourself.

- CHAPTER 7: GAMES - 

[mysticalrambling]

Love Conquers All (The Originals)

Part 10

Part 10/10

(Y/N) means your name and (Y/LN) means your last name.

Warnings: none. Angst and fluff all the way.

Summary: Dad!Klaus. (Y/N) finds out that you are pregnant and runs away from Klaus. After five years of avoiding him, Freya discovers your secret and it will all be revealed in time. At last, love will conquer all.

._._._._.

Today was the day that the plan would be put in to action and to say the least, you were on edge. To put a cherry on top, Hope was being extremely difficult. Miss Hope thought that she was a big girl now and can pick out her own clothes. The rustic orange t shirt with an emerald skirt was the best outfit that she could come up with. However, the only problem was that you couldn’t let your daughter roam around wearing that monstrosity.

“Hope Andrea Mikaelson, listen to your mother!” Klaus knew that you were already stressed out and was on the verge of crying. You all stood in shock the moment those words left his lips.

“Mikaelson is not my last name.”Taking her elephant dummy out, she voiced her confusion. You knew that you sometimes had to tell her that she was a Mikaelson. Sure, she knew that Klaus was her dad but she didn’t know the depths of that sentence.

“Hope, your dad’s last name is Mikaelson and he would really like you to take it as your last name.”You gently rocked the little girl in your arms and tears welled up when you realised she will outgrow your arms in just a few years. She was getting so big and you didn’t know how you felt about that.

“I am okay with it if you also change your name.”

“I don’t thin-” “She would love to.” Both of you spoke up at the same time and then looked at each other. You wanted to become his wife from the moment you met him but you didn’t know if things had changed. Maybe it was still the same. You bribed your child with some chocolates and she wore the pastel pink dress that you had initially picked out for her.

The drive to Mystical Falls was uncomfortable to say the least. Hope’s voice was the only thing cutting the thick silence in the car and when she fell asleep in her booster seat, you just tuned in to the radio. Daliah was tracking Hope and you had to use your daughter as a bait. No one liked it but it was a necessity.

“You need to stay in this car with our daughter.”

“No way. I am coming with.” Unbuckling your seatbelt, you were going to open the car door but his hand stopped you mid movement. He made a valid point when he tells you that Hope could not be left unprotected.

Davina and Freya were already there and were quietly preparing for the ritual. Klaus knew that there was roughly twenty minutes to set the plan into motion before Aunt Daliah arrives. At the last moment, Kol went with Elijah because Hope got sick again and she only wanted to cuddle with her dad. You protested, saying that she was being spoiled and it would not end well for anyone. Safe to say, everyone ignored you. Now both of the brothers were on their way with the knife.

“Who is ready to kill some family members?” Clapping his hands together, a devious grin appeared on his thin lips. If he was not careful, the old Klaus might just make an appearance. That might not be such a bad thing.

“I am. The only thing that you need to know is that I will yield the knife and-”

“But why do you get to do the most important part?” Klaus interjected as Freya got to explain a new part of the plan.

“Stop interrupting me for once. I will use the knife because only a witch can activate it and you get to kill her.” Shaking her head, she continued,”Elijah and Kol will hold her down and you would simply finish the job.”

“And what about your two minions?”Nudging his head in to the direction, Klaus scrutinized them under a smug look.

“They are going to make sure that our beloved aunt does not get out of this circle. She will be weak inside it and we will have enough time to finish her off, for good this time.”

Meanwhile, procuring the knife was not a difficult task for the Mikaelson men and they arrived at their final destination in no tome. Aunt Daliah followed suit and the moment she saw Klaus standing with a girl in the middle of the field, she peed walked towards them. She didn’t even realise that she was entering a circle.

“You are a foolish boy for inflicting the same pain on your daughter just like your parents once did." The moment she step foot in the circle, the small figure beside you disappeared. It was an illusion.

"Unlike you, he is not cruel." Freya showed up behind her and stabbed her worst nightmare in the back. Literally. "Klaus, now."

He quickly retracted his fangs but Daliah quickly regained some of her composure. She threw Freya out of the circle with a magical force and was knocked unconscious when her head hit a boulder. Kol and Elijah came into assist their brother but she quickly snapped their necks with a flick of her wrist.

Suddenly, you started to hear commotion and when you tuned in your hearing, you instantly knew everything was going wrong. Speed walking through the land, you instantly went to aid your boyfriend.

"Hurry up, guys. We can not keep her in the circle for much longer."Davina called out as they kept chanting with difficulty.

"The circle isn't helping much, love." He choked out as Daliah suspended you and Klaus in to the air. You struggled to breathe as your throat constricted in a painful manner. "Let's talk in a peaceful manner, please."

None of you noticed Hope sneaking from behind because she heard her parents voices in the car. Seeing the two most important people of her life, she didn't know what came over her. It was like something snapped.

"Leave my parents alone!" The little girl screamed as a magic blast erupted from her. Knocking her great aunt out of the circle, she released her parents from Daliah's death grip.

"Hope, get away from her. Right now!" You didn't care about anyone except your daughter. Klaus started to get up from his place to protect his little girl but he was too weak.

"It's okay, mommy. I just have to concentrate really hard." Hope reassured you and before you could protest, she started mumbling something.

Aunt Daliah started screaming incoherently as blood oozed from her eyes and nose. Both of you were horrified when you saw your daughter like this. No one could imagine an innocent girl like her could do something like this. Daliah started choking on her own blood and in a few seconds, her heart stopped beating.

"Hope." breathlessly, you didn't know what to say. All these years, you thought you were protecting her from all this. But this was a part of her and she had to embrace it as well.

She slowly approached you and Klaus and you softly embraced her. "I am so proud of you, baby."

"You are my daughter, for sure." Laughing wholeheartedly, Klaus took you both in his arms. "Now, lets go home. My siblings will find their way home by night.'

"Stop it. Help me load them in the car." Finally, this was all over and now you can focus on your family. This was your time to be happy and nothing could change that. No one will ruin it this time. It was a promise. Always and Forever.

Hope you guys enjoyed it!! Like, comment and reblog.

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A/N : There will be an epilogue but this series has comes to an end. Really enjoyed writing this. When I first came up with the plot I really didn’t wasn't sure if I wanted to complete it. Thank you to each one of you for giving your love and support to this series. Hope you like this. Let me know what you think.

If you want to send blurb requests based on the series (dad!Klaus) I'm more than eager to write so send me your ideas. I would love it❤️

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[panda-noosh]

lost in translation {draco malfoy x reader}

words: 11.8k 

summary: draco finds a notebook filled with beautiful, painful words. he keeps it for himself. he promises he’ll give it back to the rightful owner when he eventually finds them. 

genre: angst

notes: support my writing or ask about commissions! - masterlist - i literally don’t know what plot is any more okay. also i listened to i love you by billie eilish on loop whilst writing this so feel free to put that on if you want. 

---

    draco sees the words every time he closes his eyes.

   repeated stanzas, never leaving him alone. a mouthful of words no mind should ever be able to conjure. a haunting imagination capable of driving even the sanest people out of sanity.

   he found the book on a winters day at hogwarts. christmas time was just round the corner, meaning most of his friends had already fled the castle in favour of homes, somewhere out in the muggle world, where they could spend the holidays with families who cared for them as families often cared for each other.

   draco decided to stay at hogwarts.

   he didn’t want to - not really. his father was just being difficult, and he wanted to face the man even less than he wanted to spend the holidays with people like potter and teachers who didn’t like him because of his family name. 

    he is entirely on his own this holiday season, and it depresses him more than he would ever be willing to let on.

    because, you see, the thing with draco malfoy is, weakness has been a taboo subject amongst his family for as long as he can remember. his father drilled  into his conscience that malfoys always have their heads held high, that they must be able to cope entirely on their own in any circumstance, because that’s what strength is. needing no one. fending only for yourself. living life to get what you want without worrying about anybody else.

   this is why draco doesn’t sit with the other students during the christmas feast. instead, he finds himself traipsing through the library, poking at spines of books so old the writing has been smudged and worn, the contents made up of words once spoken in england, now lost to time.

    the place smells dusty. it makes him sneeze, and he grimaces when he pulls his finger away from a shelf to see it coated in a thick layer of dust which he hastily wipes on his already gravy-stained robes. his stomach grumbles with the reminder of the christmas feast waiting downstairs for him - all he needs to do is pull a chair up and dig in. none of the teachers will mind. the students might be a bit iffy, but when has draco ever cared about what they think?

    instead, he slumps against the wall, pulls a book into his lap and starts to read.

    he’s so engrossed in the old text that he doesn’t hear the library door opening. he doesn’t hear peeve’s taunting cackles until they’re right over his head, peeves pointed toes very nearly scraping his slicked back hair.

   draco’s head snaps up. above him, the poltergeist laughs, throwing his head back. 

    “peeves!” draco scrambles to his feet, swatting at the poltergeist. “oh, for christ’s sake, do you ever give it a rest?” 

    “all alone for christmas, are you, malfoy?” the poltergeist taunts. “surely daddy can afford you a way home with all that money the dark lord’s been shovelling into his pockets!”

   draco’s face burns. “go away, you annoying little roach, before i get the hoover!”

    peeves only laughs harder. “what a threat that was! wait till i tell the headmaster about that one.” and before draco can say anything else, peeves has grabbed a single, tiny book from the edge of a bookshelf and dropped it on draco’s head. 

    it crashes against the crown of his skull and bounces to the floor unceremoniously, flipping open upon the carpet. draco makes to yell, his fury bubbling over, but his voice is lost to the sudden emptiness of the room as peeves does what peeves does best and disappears.

   draco groans through gritted teeth, rubbing the spot the book bounced from. it aches a little bit, which is surprising considering the size of the book. not a textbook. not really anything any of his teachers would ask him to check out of the library. instead, it’s spiral bound, the words not typed, but handwritten in sloppy scrawl, like the author was in a rush when transferring their thoughts onto paper.

   draco frowns; why should a book such as this be in the schools library? 

    he picks it up by the corner, as if afraid the book might bite him - it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. the book, however, makes no strange movements. draco feels no strange, magical pull coming from the pages. in fact, if he were to use his common sense, he would believe the book to be straight from the muggle world.

   that alone should have been enough to deter him, but his father isn’t here, so he opens it and starts reading.

    the first few pages are awkward poetry. awkward essays, a person’s thoughts and opinions filtered with the fear of someone reading over their shoulder, perhaps. draco can tell the author was holding back, but the further he flips, the looser said author seems to become. they start using words. just words, so beautiful and magical and heartfelt that draco finds himself enraptured with every one. he struggles to put the book down, curling into his tiny corner in the library, enamoured by such language. he wonders for the brief moment he is able to take his eyes off the page if perhaps the book has been cast under a spell, if perhaps there is a spell in this world that puts heaven and hell into words and has transferred it to the very book he holds in his hands.

    draco has spent so long getting lost in the talents of wizards that he sometimes forgets muggles have talents and hobbies, too. there are creatives in the world who can create emotions from such small things. there are people outside the world of magic and wizardry who can do magical things, too.

    he has the evidence in his hand.

   ---

    he keeps the evidence in his hand all throughout the year. 

    he comes back to it after particularly stressful classes to remind himself that not all is bad; that’s the magic these poems and essays have on him. he could probably recite each one word for word, but he never does, because they belong to him now. he’s claimed them as a comfort blanket, something he needs to get through the day. he’s found an addiction within these words that he can’t let go of, not just yet, not until he figures out who wrote them.

    and that’s really all it boils down to - he wants to put a face to the mind that created the world he so desperately wants to share. 

    it’s a tuesday afternoon in feburary when blaise asks him about the book. 

    “are you ever gonna share what’s in that notebook you keep carrying around?”

   the question startles draco. he thought he was being so subtle. he hardly ever brings the notebook out to face the light of day, only ever reading it behind the curtains of his poster bed in the dorms.

    nonetheless, he doesn’t deny it’s existence. he doesn’t want to sound stupid. 

    he pokes at the vegetables on his plate and, without looking up, mumbles, “not really any of your business, is it?”

    blaise scoffs. “alright, be like that then. you carry that thing around like a little girl and her secret diary.”

    “are you trying to tease me, blaise? because you just sound stupid.”

    blaise rolls his eyes; he’s one of the few people that don’t get properly offended when malfoy fails to bite his tongue.

    “and anyway,” draco continues, “i don’t carry it around. it stays in my bed.”

   “oh, really?”

   “yes, and that’s where it’s staying.”

    “so is it yours, or did you take it from someone?”

    draco pauses. “it’s mine.”

    “i’ve never seen you write in a notebook before. not even in class.”

   draco shrugs; he hasn’t got a very good answer to that, because the statement is true. he tends to get others to write his notes for him when he can get away with it.

    blaise sighs. he leans back in his seat, folding his skinny arms across his chest. “so are you a poet now? some kind of shakespeare?”

   draco raises a brow. “some kind of what?”

   blaise waves a dismissive hand. “it’s a muggle thing. just answer the part you understood.”

    “i’m not a poet,” draco grumbles. “the poems in the book aren’t even mine. i found it when i was in the library a few months back, and thought it was interesting.” he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like this notebook has always just been a background prop in his everyday life. “it’s stupid, really. muggle stuff.”

   “so why are you so obsessed with it?”

   “i’m not obsessed!” draco’s grip tightens on the edge of his chair; he’s tired after a long day of quidditch practice, and honestly, he doesn’t want to deal with his friends bullshit any longer than he has to. “now, blaise, can you start minding your own business before we have some issues?”

   that shuts blaise right up. together, they eat the remainders of their dinners before draco excuses himself and leaves the table. his mind is reeling, heart thumping both with embarrassment and annoyance; he knows he’s popular amongst the slytherins. in a way, he asked to be centre of attention when he started mouthing off about the importance of the malfoy household all those years back, but it’s frustrating that he can’t even do a bit of light reading without getting asked about it. he thought he was being so subtle, keeping the curtains closed every time he read, never taking the notebook from the confines of the dorms, never uttering a word about it to-

    his shoulder crashes into yours.

   “shit.”

   draco stumbles back, catching himself on the wall. he’s too dazed to say anything, but his anger is rising, and he’s prepared to start yelling-

   but then he opens his eyes and sees you there, fumbling with a pile of posters that have spilled across the glossy corridor floor. draco blinks, glancing from you to the posters and back again.

    “i’m so sorry,” you mumble. “so sorry. i knew the pile was too high, but hermione had to go to-”

    “why don’t you just-” draco flicks his wand. immediately, the posters gather in a whirlwind and fly into his outstretched arms, a neat little stack, good as new.

   you look up, dazed. your eyes are gorgeous, plagued with evidence of exhaustion, but riveting nonetheless. draco recognises you only vaguely, and the few memories he has of these quick glimpses have never left him dissatisfied.

    “oh,” you say after a moment. “right. spells. magic. i forgot about that.”

   draco narrows his eyes. 

   you stumble to your feet, wiping trembling hands on your robes. it leaves a streak of dirt against the black, and that’s when draco sees the red and gold lining of house gryffindor.

    “sorry,” you repeat. “i mean, thank you, for - like - helping me. i completely forgot i could just-” you swish your hands in a mock gesture of wand-movement before laughing awkwardly. “weird, right? that i would - uh - forget that in a school of magic. when i’m a wizard. ha ha.”

   draco nods, because he really has nothing to say. he can’t keep his eyes off you, your awkward movements, the way you don’t even flinch at the sight of him. most gryffindor’s would be hurling insults at him by now - hell, he would be hurling insults at the gryffindor’s, too, but his words are caught in his throat and he can’t even properly function.

   so he looks down at the pile of posters in his arms.

    “CREATIVE WRITING 101!”

    you snatch the first poster off the pile as if that will stop draco from reading it. “it’s nothing. something stupid, really.”

   he looks at you again. “you like creative writing?”

   you shrug.

   “that’s such a muggle hobby to have. where’s the fun in it?”

   and for the first time this entire meeting, you scowl. you hastily snatch the posters out of draco’s arms, struggling to keep them neat and tidy in your own, but when draco raises his wand to help you out a second time, you swat his hand away and say, “i don’t need your help.”

   “you’re going to drop them again-”

    you’re already backing away. “you don’t need to come, you know. me dropping these in front of you wasn’t a bloody invite.”

   draco blinks. “i didn’t mean it like-”

   you run a hand through your hair, nearly stumbling over your own shoes yet again. draco lunges forward in his attempts to catch you, but you yell something incoherent in his direction, apologise profusely to a first year you nearly elbow in the nose before you turn on your heel and head back the way you came.

    draco stares at your retreating form, unable to fully comprehend what he did wrong. he doesn’t think he said anything offensive, let alone anything that would prompt you to nearly wipe yourself out in your attempts to get away.

    but then again, he isn’t really sure why he cares.

    ---- 

    it’s weird how - after one brief meeting - you suddenly appear at every corner draco takes.

    he never noticed you in his potion’s class before, but now he can’t avoid you. you sit at the back, a pen lodged between your teeth, brows furrowed together; despite your eventful meeting with draco only a few days prior, you don’t seem to have nearly as much interest in his sudden presence as he has with yours. he keeps glancing at you, not-so-subtly turning in his chair every now and then just to make sure you’re not some kind of illusion. nobody in the classroom is acting like anything is out of place, so maybe you have been his classmate for a while, and he just never noticed.

   he finds that a little hard to believe, but he has to take reality as it comes to him, or else he’ll go insane.

    he doesn’t talk to you for nearly a week, because he’s a little afraid of what you’ll have to say. he’s a little afraid you’ll say nothing at all, that you might have forgotten who he is entirely. 

    it’s you who makes the first move.

   it startles draco nearly out of his skin. he’s packing up his stuff, ignoring goyle’s ramblings to his left, when you slip your hand in his robe pocket. he jumps, spinning around just enough to dislodge your grappling fingers, and he’s seconds away from whipping out his wand to hex you when he freezes, eyes meeting your own, heart immediately plummeting into his stomach.

    you smile, wide and polite. “hello, old friend.”

   “can you get out of my pockets?” draco hisses, swatting your hand away when you make another attempt to dive into his robes. “what do you want?”

    “a pen,” you reply. “i broke mine.”

   “i don’t have a pen.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his quill. “i have a quill.”

   “aaaah, my bad.” you snatch the instrument from him before grabbing his hand. he yelps, stumbling a little bit. he beams bright red when the noise he just made actually registers in his head, and he makes a mental note to scold goyle for snickering behind him.

   “what are you doing?” draco demands. he tries not to get too flustered at the height difference between you - your head could very easily rest in the crook of his neck, and he hates that he kind of wants to experience what that feels like.

    you scribble words into his palm. “this is the time and place for the creative writing clubs first meeting.”

   draco blinks. “what?”

   “time and place for the-”

   “why do you want me to go?”

   you scowl, not once looking up from the jagged lines of draco’s palm. “i don’t, but hermione’s asked me to gather as many people as i can find, and i think you kind of owe me one after being so rude the other day in the hallway.”

   draco falters; so you remember.

   “i wasn’t being rude at all,” he grumbles. “you’re just sensitive.”

    “maybe.” you drop his palm and shove his quill back in his pocket. “if you want to come, be my guest; it’s going to be a lot of fun. lots of - uh - writing and stuff, i can assure you.”

   draco scowls. “i won’t be going.”

   “okay.”

    “so this entire conversation was pointless.”

   you fold your arms over your chest, as if challenging him. “okay, draco. i’m not forcing you to come if you don’t want to, but - you know - i’ll save you a seat or whatever.”

   and draco doesn’t understand why that is the promise that tears him down, why that is the thing that makes his mind up for him. even as he gives you no solid answer, he knows he now has plans automatically built into his schedule to see you again, no matter how much he dreads the thought of it. 

    he looks down at the writing on his palm, and his heart stops.

   just for a second. a brief moment of death, before life is pushed back into him when his brain kicks into overdrive and he’s certain he’s going to pass away for real with how fast his heart is suddenly beating.

   he blinks rapidly. goyle is saying something, and the students are filtering out, but draco is lost, lost, spiralling as he recognises the messy scrawl, smudged even though it shouldn’t be, messy but coherent, familiar and amazing.

    he’s read heaven written in this exact same handwriting. he’s read heaven, and hell, and earth, and space, and the moon, and the stars, and he’s experienced an entire new existence written in this very handwriting. it’s the same handwriting that covers every single page of his sacred notebook, hidden in his pillow case back at the dorms. it’s the same handwriting that gives a form to the aches and pains and anxieties of the person who has just walked away from him, the person who’s brain draco has lived in since christmas.

    ----        

   “you’re actually going?”

   “it’s the least i can do.” draco fixes the collar of his robes, ruffles his hair a little bit. “i did nearly wipe them out in the hallway a few days ago.”

    “that was an accident.” pansy throws herself across draco’s bed, as she often does when she wants the attention he has never given her. he simply glares at her reflection through the mirror, silently willing her to get up and leave so he can set off for the history of magic classroom in which the creative writing club is meeting tonight.

    pansy, however, doesn’t take the hint.

   “i just think this y/n person is trying to get in your head,” she continues. “your head, your bed, all of the above...”

    draco’s face warms. “you can think whatever you want, pansy, but i’m going whether you like it or not. in case you’ve forgotten, you have absolutely no say in the way i live my life.”

   pansy rolls onto her stomach, tugs on the back of draco’s robes. “oh, you’ve made that very clear, malfoy. don’t come running back to me when you show up to this stupid muggle club and get ostracised for being who you are.”

    draco clenches his jaw, stepping out of pansy’s reach all without turning round. he knows she’s right, of course - there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to show up tonight, only to be met by the usual hostile glares he gets from everybody outside the slytherin house. he brought it upon himself, and he knows that - but he’s trying to fix it. he’s trying to prove himself as a good person to you.

   to the world. not just you.

    he swallows and turns. pansy stares up at him, hands curled beneath her chin, that sleezy little smile on her face. draco grimaces, points to the door and says, “the girls dorms are up the other staircase.”

    pansy’s smile falls. she scowls, stands up and leaves without another word. draco doesn’t care that he’s pissed her off - pansy, in recent months, has become a little bit too much. he’s given her the most wiggle room he can provide, and she has done nothing but bombard him further.

    he shakes the thought of his friend from his mind as he walks over to his bed and digs around in his pillow case. inside, he finds the poetry book he so desperately cares for, flicking to a page he has marked; he’s highlighted a few passages, and he reads them over as he steadies his breathing. this is such new territory for him. if his father finds out what he’s up to right now, he’ll be getting a very stern speaking to, possibly even a back-hand to the face if his father is in a particularly bad mood.

   but then draco remembers your expression, your hand digging around in his pocket, your stumbled words that somehow manage to pull together so beautifully when you want to express yourself.

   he has to see you tonight, whether it’s in a creative writing club or not. he’ll take just running into you in the hallway again, but to reach that point, he has to actually leave the dorms.

   he stuffs the book back into his pillow case, flattens a particularly frustrating strand of hair, and walks out the door.

    ---

    the history of magic classroom is dimly lit. 

   draco has seen pictures of muggle poetry readings before; they kind of remind him a little bit of exorcisms, and the set-up he’s currently walking into is no exception. 

   there’s candles lit upon every desk, the lights dimmed to create some kind of ambience that draco doesn’t understand. people are sat in a circle - people in every colour of robe, though draco is the only slytherin, it seems. this makes him a little nervous, and he hovers in the doorway, eyes tracing the scene in desperate search of you.

   he spots you in a matter of seconds. you’re leaning over a candle, frowning into the flame like you can’t quite understand why it’s flickering like that.

   draco makes a b-line for you.

   you look up only when he’s by your side, and immediately your expression brightens. those eyes of yours widen a little bit, a smile adorning your face. you straighten up, grab draco’s arm, and he’s certain he’s going to explode.

   “you made it!” you exclaim. “i can’t believe you actually came, mate; full of surprises, you are.”

   draco frowns, feigning frustration, like this is something he went out of his way to attend. “why are you staring at the flame so intensely?”

    “i’m staring at the flame so intensely-” you put on a pompous british accent, just to tease him, and draco doesn’t mind, “-because apparently you can turn the flames a different colour with the right spell, but it’s not working for me. watch.” 

   you elbow draco in the side, prompting him to shuffle over and give you more room. draco folds his arms over his chest, watching as you kneel down until your cheek is very nearly pressed against the desk. you point your wand at the flames and wave it, just once, but nothing happens. the flames barely even flicker.

    you blow it out in frustration. “fuck that.”

    draco laughs. he doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s bursting out of him at the sight of your furrowed brows, and your pouting lips. you scowl at him, and it startles him how unsurprised you are to hear such a noise escape a man like draco malfoy. 

    draco shakes his head and nudges you to the side. “watch.”

    you grab his wrist. “no. nope. absolutely not.”

   “what? i’m gonna-”

   “you’re gonna show me up, is what you’re gonna do, and i didn’t ask for it.” you pluck his wand from his fingers and stuff it back in his robes. draco has to fight the urge to shudder, your fingertips tracing across his ribcage as you fumble for his inside pocket. 

   you pull away then, shaking your head. “it doesn’t even matter, anyway; you show me up in every other class we have together.”

    draco scoffs. “and i can assume you’re going to show me up tonight, so we’re even.”

    you grin, because draco is right, and you both know he is right. 

   you make a bit more idle chat before the final people make an appearance, and you’re finally asked to sit down. draco is confused to see hermione granger being the leader of this group of creatives, as he’s almost certain he’s never read anything more beautiful than your work; surely you should be up at the front, guiding people through the craft of writing, a craft you have so brilliantly perfected.

    draco sits beside you and says nothing. he fiddles with his fingers, coughing into his fist, rolling his eyes anytime someone makes a stupid suggestion. honestly, granger can talk forever, and draco is starting to get bored within the first ten minutes. all he wants is to hear you recite something, or for you to just. . . say anything about any of your pieces; draco could probably do it for you if that didn’t look creepy and uncalled for. he could stand at the front of this group and recite whatever piece of poetry he wanted from the notebook he took so long ago, and then maybe you’d get the recognition you deserve. maybe then you’d be able to share your potential instead of just sitting by draco’s side in a circle of poet-wanna-be’s.

   finally, hermione turns her attention on you, however.

    “y/n,” granger chirps. you jump, fumble with your wand, let it drop on the floor to roll beneath draco’s chair. he rolls his eyes and picks it up for you as you struggle to respond to hermione’s summons. 

   “uh, y-yeah? yes? did you ask me something?”

   hermione’s brows furrow. “do you ever pay attention to anything i’m saying?”

    “sometimes,” you reply, sheepishly. “definitely sometimes.”

   hermione rolls her eyes. “anyway - i was just wondering if you’ve done any writing recently that you’d like to share.”

    draco tenses. he flicks his eyes to his left to see you awkwardly ringing your hands in your lap, biting your lower lip.

   “uh....”

    “none?” hermione demands, eyes popping. “but i thought-”

   “i’ve been a bit busy,” you grumble. “it’s not that big of a bloody deal, hermione, goodness me.”

    “well, yes, i - i know that, but-” hermione gestures vaguely. “this is a creative writing club. i asked all of you to bring something with you. do you not even have an old piece of writing you could share with us?”

   “nope.”

   draco’s heart leaps. “what?”

   and suddenly, all eyes are on him.

   he slouches in his seat, but keeps his gaze on you. you stare back at him, eyes wide, clearly shocked at his contribution. 

     “you’ve got nothing?” he prompts.

    you can’t even reply. you just stare, and draco knows he’s being confusing, is aware that maybe he should just shut his mouth. or, better yet, do everyone a favour and walk out before he says any more stupid things that will do nothing but embarrass both you and him.

    “okay,” he grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. “okay, fine. that’s fine.” he looks up, meets hermione’s eyes. “you know what, granger, i don’t think this little club is my cup of tea. i’m going to head back to bed.”

    hermione blinks. no one says anything when draco stands and walks out, but he expected nothing less. he wasn’t welcome there in the first place. he should never have even made an appearance. he should have stayed in bed and let his feelings fester until he fell asleep.

    feelings are stupid anyway.

   ----

   he ignores you.

   in fact, he starts treating you how he treats everybody else - like they’re beneath him. a habit he once wanted to escape from has yet again become his comfort blanket, the thing shielding him from talking to you. every time you try making conversation, he sneers and walks off, barely even giving you the time of day.

   in truth, he knows what happened is no big deal. everyone probably forgot about it as soon as he left the room, getting absorbed in their own works of poetry. however, draco knows you want to discuss it, that you probably want answers he is far too afraid to give you. if he starts explaining why he said what he said, he’ll have to talk about the notebook, and then you might ask for it back, and draco is selfish because he doesn’t think he can give it back just yet. it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

   and so, he just ignores you.

   he sits in potions and pretends you don’t exist. he walks past you at lunch and doesn’t even give you a smile. he looks over your head every time you stand to wave at him. he doesn’t want to risk any inkling of conversation trickling in between you.

    pansy notices this, of course, but draco isn’t surprised. with how closely pansy has taken to watching over you and him, it would be more surprising to think she hadn’t caught on to the situation.

    she sits beside him at lunch, slamming her tray of greens down just loud enough that a few heads turn - including your own. draco quickly snaps his eyes down to his plate, trying to pretend he wasn’t just staring at the back of your head.

    “so,” pansy begins.

   draco licks the stuffing from his fork.

   pansy leans in, elbow hitting against his. “so. how did it go?”

    “how did what go?”

    “your little date with y/n! you never updated me on it!”

    draco scowls. “that was days ago, pansy.”

    “exactly. so now that i’ve got you trapped, you can fill me in on all the details.” she leans even closer, if that is possible. draco can smell the old woman’s perfume wafting from her robes and has to take a glass of water to quell the itch it summons to his throat. “y/n doesn’t look too happy with you, i’ll say that much. i sit behind them in care of magical creatures, and they’ve been awfully quiet since the club meeting; care to explain?”

   “why is it any of your business?”

   pansy grins. “because i told you someone like y/n wasn’t worth the trouble; a gryffindor, draco, really? were the robes not a big enough red flag for you?”

    draco scowls. “first of all, pansy, y/n and i are just friends, and have always been just friends. i’m not doing anything to impress them.”

    pansy scoffs, finally moving away to start spearing at her dinner with her fork. “how stupid do you think i am? how stupid do you think we all are? goyle doesn’t keep your little infatuation a secret, you know. he told us all about how close you and y/n get in potions together.”

    draco’s grip tightens on his fork. “close isn’t really the right word.”

   “the bickering? the way they make you laugh? the way you help them with their potions when they’re struggling so snape won’t tell them off? that sounds awful close to me, draco.”

    he has no answer to that. his chest aches, memories of such delightful times flooding his mind and making him crave it all again. he remembers those times when he would glance over his shoulder to see you running your hands through your hair, struggling to comprehend what on earth snape has just ordered you to do; if it was anyone else, draco wouldn’t have given them the light of day, but seeing the fear in your eyes every time snape gave you even the briefest flicker of attention saw draco abandoning goyle to come save the day at your desk.

   “so what went wrong?” pansy continues. “a lovers tiff?”

    draco closes his eyes. “it was nothing, pansy; just me being an idiot again.”

   pansy gasps, eyebrows shooting up her forehead. “you? being an idiot? and you’re openly admitting to it! goodness me, y/n must be a lot more skilled at magic than they let on, huh?”

    “i don’t know what to do.”

    it’s a plea. draco knows it’s a plea. in his heart, the cracks are beginning to form, and he can’t pretend any longer. he watches the back of your head - has been watching the back of your head since the meeting, because that’s the only glimpse of you he will let himself have. it hurts to see you laughing, smiling, slapping ron weasley on the arm. it shows you’re healing, moving on from your attempts to get draco to listen. 

   he’s ruined everything.

    pansy leans forward. her voice is softer now, surprisingly kind. “draco, are you serious about this? i know i’ve been teasing, but do you actually like y/n in that way?” 

   draco bites the inside of his cheek. he remembers the times he had with you, how he used to laugh so freely with little care as to who heard. you teased him and made him feel normal, and he isn’t sure when his appreciation for you went past the poetry you wrote and emerged into you as a human being, but it’s happened, and he’s nodding to pansy’s question before he can think better of it.

   pansy draws back, letting out a shaky breath. “wow, okay. . . this is definitely new territory for me. for you. i’m not sure how to go about it.”

        “i took their notebook from them,” he mumbles. 

   pansy raises a brow. “their - their notebook?”

    “y/n writes,” he explains. “beautiful things. addictive things, and i found their notebook in the library over christmas and i kept it for myself. i only found out it was theirs a few days ago, but. . . i never told them i have it. i got scared to.”

   pansy pauses. draco’s never used that word in a sentence before. it sounds fake, like he’s made it up and just thrown it at the end of his sentence for the fun of it.

    “well, that would be a good place to start, i think.”

   his eyes snap up. “what?”

    “give them their notebook back.” she says this like it’s obvious, raising her brows. “it’s a good way to start a conversation, and once the conversation’s been breached, you can go on to explain everything else - it’s pretty simple when you get your head around it, draco.”

    he blinks. it does make sense, but again, there comes that burning protectiveness he can’t seem to shake. 

    selfish, selfish, selfish.

   he glances over at the gryffindor table. you’ve got your head thrown back again, laughing so loudly and so carefree that draco’s heart trembles because he isn’t the one making you laugh like that. it’s ron. it’s harry. it’s everyone who thinks he’s an awful human being, bringing joy to the one person who’s ever seen him as decent. they’ve probably told you a joke about how draco’s scum, how he’ll never amount of anything, how he claimed his spot at the top purely because of his father.

   fury pools in the pit of draco’s stomach. he spears his food with his fork, pushes away from the table and walks out of the dining hall before giving pansy an answer as to whether he simple plan is one he’ll actually take into consideration.

   but now that he’s storming through the halls towards the slytherin common room, he knows it’s not something he can just consider. he can never move on with you with your notebook stuffed in his pillow case. he needs to be honest, and he needs to apologise, and these are all things he struggles with greatly, but all things he needs to learn before he loses you for good.

   ---

    the notebook hasn’t seen the light of day past draco’s dorm since christmas.

    it feels weird carrying it so freely now, slowly making his way through the halls with it pressed against his chest, the spirals digging into his lower arm. people look at him, but nobody bats an eye at the notebook, and why would they? it’s not suspicious. most of them probably think it’s nothing more than a school notebook, used for taking notes in classes. 

    still, his anxiety runs at a million miles per hour. he wants to yell at anyone who even glimpses the tiny square peeking from over his arms. he wants to tell them it’s none of their business.

   but he doesn’t. he keeps walking until he’s reached the gryffindor common room.

   it’s just his luck that ron weasley is the one stood outside. the ginger lad spots draco immediately, and it’s reflex when draco scowls and says, “got nothing better to do, weasley?”

   ron glares. “what are you doing here, malfoy? the slytherin common room is back the way you came.”

    “good thing i’m not going to the slytherin common room.” he nods towards the portrait hole. “is y/n in there?”

   ron pauses. “what do you want with y/n?”

   “i need to talk to them.” he swallows before gently unravelling the notebook from his arms. “i accidentally grabbed this in potions - i need to give it to them.”

   “right, give it here then.” ron reaches for it, and draco stumbles back. he stumbles, not even bothering to swat ron’s hand away as pure panic seizes him. ron pulls back hastily, eyes widening at draco’s response.

   draco, through gritted teeth, says, “just go get y/n for me, will you?”

    ron stares at him a second longer before turning on his heel and walking back into the gryffindor common room. draco tries calming himself down in the minutes it takes for ron to reappear with you at his side.  

    the attempts are futile.

   the minute he lays eyes on you, his heart starts thundering in a way that confuses him to no ends; he shouldn’t feel like this over someone so ordinary, and in truth, that’s what you are. you’re a student, just like him, struggling through school life, just like him. you go about your day in almost the exact same way as he does, and yet he’s never before felt so intrigued by another individual.

   when your eyes meet his, you don’t smile. you don’t even look surprised. you grip the front of your night gown, glaring at him, not saying a word in greeting; draco’s mouth has gone dry, however, and saying anything is the absolute last thing on his mind when you’re standing in front of him, hair a mess, more beautiful and casual than he’s ever seen you.

   ron is the one who has to break the silence. “he said he’s got a notebook for you.”

    draco inhales sharply, suddenly remembering the artefact clutched in his hands. your eyes drift to it, and for a moment, you look puzzled. your eyebrows scrunch together, head tilting a little before you say, “that’s mine?”

    draco thrusts it in your direction. “please take it.” he turns to ron. “and you - please leave.”

   ron looks offended, looking at you for back-up, but your eyes are peeled on the notebook, not paying even the slightest bit of attention to ron. in the end, the weasley man rolls his eyes and stalks back into the gryffindor common room, leaving the corridor empty besides you and draco.

   and draco feels every sliver of tension like it’s been injected into his bone marrow. flashes of his behaviour play on loop in his brain, the way he ignored you, the amount of times he scowled at you every time you tried speaking to him; he never meant any of it, of course, considering you’re the most fascinating person he’s ever come across, but he did it anyway, and that’s what he has to patch up.

   somehow, he has to patch this up.

   he looks to the floor, tucking the notebook back against his chest when you don’t take it from his hands. the silence is crushing, but draco has absolutely no idea what to say to fill it in - pansy made this all sound so easy; he would hand you the notebook, and a conversation would immediately stem from that. 

    but no. draco’s mind has gone completely blank, and you still look furious, and neither of you are doing anything to resolve the mess he has made.

    finally, however, draco can’t take it any more. “i found your notebook.”

    “yeah. ron said.” you pluck it out of his arms. “where did you even find this? it’s so old.”

    “in the library.”

   “the library? what was it doing there?”

   draco shrugs. “how would i know that?”

   “considering you’re the one who stole it-”

   “i didn’t steal it. i just didn’t know who it belonged to.” a lie. he shouldn’t be lying. that’s a bad way to go about things. “i mean, i took it back to my dorm with me, kept it safe, but - like - i was of course going to give it back once i figured out who the owner was.”

    you hum. “i’m sure you were.” you flick open the pages, immediately spotting a passage draco has highlighted in bright orange pen. “you tabbed it?”

    he shrugs. “sometimes i read it when i got bored.”

   “i should be angry at you for that, you know - that’s a big invasion of privacy.”

   “yeah. you should be.” he looks up sheepishly. “are you?”

    you pause, eyes continuing to drift over the pages of your own work, work you haven’t seen or reread since at least christmas time. you don’t look impressed, or angry, or anything at all, really. you just read the lines and nod, as if taking inventory.

   then, you look up and say, “i’m more angry at the way you’ve been treating me this past week.”

   draco wilts. he knew it was coming, that this was the main source of hostility for the both of you, but he really thought the presence of the notebook would somehow buy him some time, maybe make this conversation a bit easier. 

   you snap the notebook closed, shoving it into the pocket of your night gown. “you didn’t even tell me what i did wrong!”

    “you didn’t do anything wrong!”

   “then why were you acting like that? why couldn’t you just talk to me?”

   draco squeezes his eyes closed, trails his hands through his hair, tries to calm down before he says something he’ll immediately regret. “you know, it’s a lot more complicated than you’re making it out to be.”

   you pull back, puzzled. “how is it complicated? you’re nearly eighteen years old, draco! it shouldn’t be complicated to talk to someone when you’re mad at them!”

   “ i wasn’t mad at you! i thought you were mad at me!”

   you throw your head back and laugh, and this is the very noise draco has been craving for days, but he doesn’t want to hear it now, not here, not in this context. you’re not taking him seriously. you’re not listening.

   “this is the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard,” you cackle. “is this about the fucking club meeting? you think i gave a shit about what you said?”

   draco shakes his head. “again, love, it’s not as simple as that.”

    “then explain it to me. explain to me what the hell was going through your head to make that switch flip so suddenly.”

    something inside draco snaps, a string he didn’t even realise was being pulled so taut.

   “do you wanna know what’s been going through my head recently?” his voice drops, your expression faltering. “it’s that fucking notebook of yours. it’s been all i can think about for weeks, because i can’t wrap my head around the idea of you being the author of those poems.”

    you blink. “w-what?”

   “you’re so carefree. you’re so. . . so you, y/n, and it seems impossible to me - unfathomable! - that you could be thinking such harrowing thoughts and not a single person has picked up on it besides me - and i’ve only done so by complete accident.” he inhales, runs a hand through his hair. “i’ve read your poems a thousand times over, and even though i know they came from you, i still can’t put your face to the words. i still can’t figure out how on earth you and that notebook are related in any way, and it’s been driving me insane. i want to help you, and it’s driving me insane.”

    again, you blink. the corridor goes quiet. draco’s breathing slows, stabilises, and he has no idea what he’s just said, or if any of it makes sense, but there is a weight off his chest that provides such a great amount of relief he wants to cry.

   finally, you swallow. your knuckles protrude from your hand with how tight your grip on the notebook is. your eyes stray to the ground, throat bobbing, mouth opening for just a second before you seem to think better of it and go silent again.

    draco takes a step back. “look, you can have it back,” he says. “i don’t want it any more. i don’t - i don’t need it any more. but i just want you to know i’m sorry, and i never wanted to hurt your feelings. i was just. . . feeling things, and it wasn’t normal for me, and i got scared.” he raises his hands in mock surrender, taking another step back. “feel free to never talk to me again. i’ll understand.” 

   he waits for another second. hope springs to his chest, hope that you will tell him not to go, that you’ll forgive him on the spot and the two of you can live happily ever after, but it doesn’t work that way. you meet his eyes and nod, before turning on your heel and heading back into the gryffindor common room.

    ---       

    “how did you mess that up again?”

   draco presses his knuckles into his eyes, as if pushing goyle’s words out of his brain. he should never have told the other slytherin about his encounter with you, but goyle was the first person on the scene, and malfoy just lost control; he needed to rant to someone. he needed to get it off his chest.

   and it seems now goyle has suddenly developed a perfect memory, as two days after the meeting in the corridor, he has not let the subject drop.

   the two sit together in defence against the dark arts; their teacher has long since left the classroom in search of some more work sheets for them to get cracking with, and the class has erupted into an expected chorus of conversations. draco wants nothing more than to put his head on the table and ignore the world, take this break as a chance to catch up on some of the sleep he has been robbed of these past few weeks, but goyle doesn’t let him go that easily.

    the bigger boy leans over and taps draco on the back of the head. “come on, man, talk to me. there’s got to be something we can do.”

    “there is nothing,” draco barks through gritted teeth. “and i’m sick of repeating myself, goyle, so shut your trap before i shut it for you.”

   goyle sighs, leaning back in his seat. “so y/n just. . . didn’t even say anything? they just walked off without a word?”

    “they did, which i took as a clear sign they never want to see me again.”

   “do you not think you might be looking too deeply into that reaction?”

    draco glares, eyes bloodshot, probably more terrifying than they have ever been. “tell me where on earth i could have looked too deeply.”

    goyle shrugs. “well, you did admit to spilling this massive, emotional speech over them in the middle of the night - maybe they just didn’t know what to say at the time. i bet if you go up to them now and ask for a follow-up conversation, they’d be more than willing to sit down and discuss everything.”

    “there’s nothing to discuss. i said everything i wanted to say, and y/n rejected me - i’m man enough to take it at face value and move on.”

   a lie, of course, but draco just wants goyle to shut up. he wants to continue sulking on his own, because that’s what he does best. he doesn’t need friends patting him on the back, trying to cheer him up. he knows he’s messed up, and he’s willing to suffer in solitude for his stupidity.

    “i’ve just never seen you act like this around anyone.”

   draco’s head snaps up. “what do you mean?”

   but he knows exactly what goyle means, because goyle is telling the truth. nobody has ever made draco this stupid. nobody has ever plagued his mind like this, and it’s driving him insane.

    goyle folds his beefy arms across his chest. “i’m not saying it’s a bad thing, draco; sometimes it’s nice to see you unravel a little bit. god knows you’ve had a stick rammed up your ass for long enough.”

   draco rolls his eyes. “well, there’s no point in dwelling on it; nothing is going to happen. whatever friendship y/n and i had is gone, and i’m just gonna have to accept it.”

    goyle scowls, but draco pays him no attention. instead, he goes back to idly tapping his pen against his bottom lip, trying desperately to put his own words into play. he just needs to get over you. he needs to go back to the cold hearted, uncaring wizard he was raised to be, because that was the only version of himself that never got hurt. he never let himself get hurt. it’s strange how you walk into his life, and suddenly that entire side of him is being stripped away, replaced by this oversensitive, overthinking, annoying piece of shit who suddenly relies on someone else to get them through the day.

    draco hates it, but he hates the idea of not having that even more.

   ----

   “so are you going to tell me why y/n won’t talk about you?”

   draco looks up, his scowl a reflex when he makes eye contact with ron weasley. he stands over him, arms folded over his chest, wearing a set of school robes with little burn marks pecked into the material; draco has half a mind to tease him for it, before finding he has absolutely no energy to do such a thing right now.

    instead, he leans back against the tree he has been sat under, gazing at the sky as mountains of homework piles up in his dormitory - piles of homework he has yet to touch, because every time he tries focusing his mind on a single task, it veers off and he can’t do anything.

    ron raises a brow at draco’s silence. “no? you’re both gonna keep your mouths shut?”

   “i don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

   “no, of course you don’t.” and then, ron does the most surprising thing - he slumps down next to draco, their shoulders clicking. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you fucked things up again.”

   draco swallows, closing his eyes. “again, none of your business, weasley.”

   “good answer. it makes perfect sense now.” ron nudges his arm. “what happened?”

   and draco knows it’s out of character. of all the people he could rant to, ron weasley should - and always has been - the absolute last on his list, but he looks at ron and he’s reminded that he is your friend, that ron makes you laugh, and he’s probably cheered you on during this uncomfortable time with draco. with that knowledge comes a sense of warmth, a gratefulness he’s never felt before, one he doesn’t completely understand.

   but he leans into it, because he’s too tired to fight it off. with his cheek pressed against his knees, he tells ron the whole story, from start to finish. he goes back as far as christmas, that god-forsaken day in the library when he wanted nothing more than to enjoy a nice bit of light reading whilst he ignored the rest of the students downstairs, how peeves had dropped that notebook on his head, and he’d grown attached to it, rereading the poems every day until the day he had to surrender it back to you.

    “sounds quite stalkerish,” ron comments.

   draco scoffs. “it does, doesn’t it?”

   ron sighs, shifting slightly. in the distance, a group of first years run screaming away from the whomping willow. a stone gargoyle shakes its winds atop the astronomy tower. such beautiful sights, and yet draco can’t feel a thing.

    “okay, look,” ron says. “don’t get any of this twisted, alright? i still hate you. more than i thought humanly possible.”

    “cheers.”

   “but, i care about y/n. a whole lot. they’re like family to me. they’ve been miserable these past few days, and it’s starting to take a toll on me. so, i’m here to give you a bit of advice.” he turns, leans in, lowers his voice. “don’t give up so easily.”

   draco jerks away. ron snickers, leaning back against the tree, gazing out at the green grass without a care in the world; draco, however, is stunned, heart racing though he doesn’t even know why. those words just hold so much hope, a hope he hasn’t let himself feel since it happened. he was slowly coming to terms with the idea of never talking to you again, and here ron weasley walks into the scene, ruining everything - like always.

   draco splutters, swallows, pulls himself together. “w-why do you say that?”

   “i thought it was obvious, mate,” ron replies. “y/n clearly has a soft spot for you. god only knows why, but that’s neither here nor there. all i care about right now is the fact they’ve been moping around for days, not even laughing at my jokes or anything. it’s getting exhausting when all you need to do is talk, and this entire thing could be resolved.”

    “it’s not as easy as that.”

   ron raises a brow. “oh? and why not?”

   draco opens his mouth to respond, because he’s certain he has one. however, when he thinks about it, there really isn’t a decent answer to that question; he’s young, dumb, embarrassed. he stole your notebook, gave it back, confessed his feelings and then fled the scene - the only reason he hasn’t spoken to you since that fateful day is because he doesn’t want to bring up his own embarrassing gestures ever again. the quicker he buries them, the better.

    but at the cost of you? maybe he should rethink it.

   ron laughs. he stares at the side of draco’s face, pure amusement dancing across his features. draco scowls, because that’s what draco always does when he sees even the slightest flicker of joy on the weasley boys face; it’s become routine by now, even if he doesn’t feel the same contempt he’s so used to.

    “it’s bizarre, isn’t it, that i’d be the one giving you relationship advice,” he says.

   “it’s bizarre you’re helping me out at all, to be honest.”

   “i’m not as heartless as you like to think i am, malfoy.” he stands, wiping his hands down his robes, smearing muck on the already dirty cloth. “if anyone asks, we were arguing and i won.”

   draco blinks. “thank you, weasley. i mean it.”

   ron rolls his eyes. “i’m sure you do. now never speak to me again.” he turns on his heel and strolls back down the hill without a second glance in draco’s direction. 

   ----  

    draco’s heart is going to burst from his chest. 

   he’s been in this state far too often these past few weeks. he wants it to stop. he wants to go back to a life where he didn’t have a care in the world, where he owned this school, where he had the confidence that has carried his family name for decades.

   the only way he’s going to reach that point again is by sorting things out with you.

   or at least letting you know how he feels, because he can’t deny any of it any more. he can’t go around pretending you mean nothing to him. no, he still can’t explain where these feelings came from, if they started with the poetry and grew, or if they started that very day he laid eyes on you in first year and thought you were the prettiest one of his lousy classmates. he can’t explain any of it, but he doesn’t need to try. he doesn’t need to go as far back at that. all he needs to do is talk to you, let you know that you have changed him in very scary ways, and then he can move on. no matter your reaction, he can move on.   

   at least, that’s what he tells himself as he walks through the school corridors in search of you. it’s already getting dark, the january days lasting what seems like only a handful of minutes. students are flooding from their last classes of the day, and it’s only when draco spots a gryffindor bustling through the crowd does he stop.

   he grabs the unsuspecting student by the arm, not even surprised nor offended by his look of pure disgust. draco simply grins, because that’s reflex for him, before saying, “have you seen y/n l/n anywhere?”

   the boy furrows his brows. “i saw them talking to filch when i was walking to class. what do you want with them?”

   draco raises a brow; talking to filch? what could you possibly want with argus filch of all people?

   draco shoves the gryffindor away, thanking him with a nod before he turns and starts towards the caretakers office. he’s never been there before, mainly because he’s never wasted his time trying to hold a decent conversation with the caretaker, but he finds it in good enough time - an ordinary brown door, decorated only with the name ‘argus filch’ written across it in what looks like normal, muggle sharpie pen.

   draco racks his knuckles against it, uncertain if he’s doing any of this right. in all his years at hogwarts, he’s seen filch in his office only a handful of times, and even if he just happens to be in his office now, what will draco even ask him? what he was talking to you about? if he somehow knows where you went after the conversation was over? 

   he waits there, however, because he has no other leads, and he needs to talk to you. he needs to get this over with, or else he won’t be able to sleep, and he can’t afford to be groggy during quiddith practice; he’s been performing bad enough these past few weeks, and if he can just get this off his chest-

    the door swings open.

   it isn’t filch.

    “argus, i promise i’ll be done in-”

   you pause. your eyes widen. your mouth snaps closed, grip tightening on the door frame, and draco is certain he’s going to explode at any moment.

    “y/n.”

   your name is a whisper, barely audible over the sound of his racing heartbeat. he doesn’t even know if he said it, or maybe it was just a thought. at this moment in time, the two things are interchangeable. 

    “draco.” you swallow, shuffle awkwardly, look to the floor in a rare look of timidity. “w-what are you doing here?”

    “i was looking for you.” he speaks fast, like he’s running out of time, and maybe he is. maybe you’re only giving him a few seconds before the memories flood back and you slam the door on his face, ruining his chances once and for all. maybe you think his attempts are idiotic, embarrassing, and you’re only letting him talk out of pity. 

    but you don’t slam the door on his face. not at all. you stand there, looking more beautiful than draco has ever seen you, even though nothing has really changed. 

    draco swallows, curling his fingers into fists. “someone told me you - you were in here.”

    your eyes snap up. “i didn’t tell anyone where i was. that was kind of the whole point.”

    draco nods like he understands, because part of him kind of does - hiding away, pretending you are the only person to exist. it’s a comfort sometimes. 

    “what do you want, draco?”

    and just like that, everything he wanted to say is swept from his brain. 

    you fold your arms over your chest, one foot tapping rapidly against the floor. “d-did you have anything to say to me?”

    you almost sound hopeful.

    “ron told me not to give up so easily.”

    you pause.

   draco rushes on, because he knows he hasn’t done this right. he’s gone so far off script, and he hasn’t even got to the main point of his argument.

    “i don’t listen to weasley - ever. quite frankly, his advice is usually more detrimental than helpful, but - but he told me earlier to come find you. he told me you weren’t doing so good-”

   “ron-”

  “and i don’t know if that’s true on your end, but it’s true for me.”

    you blink. 

   draco exhales shakily, running a ringed hand through his hair. “i’m not doing so good, y/n. i don’t like the way we left things. i don’t like the fact that we left things at all. i should have explained myself a bit better, or come to you sooner, but you know how i am. god, you know how i am better than anyone else in the world, so please, please understand that i’m trying so hard to put my dignity aside to let you know how much i care about you.”

       there is a silence. a silence so heavy that draco feels crippled beneath it, unable to do anything but wait in anticipation for a response he might not even deserve. he’s done so many things wrong - not just with you, but with life in general. he is a bad person, and he knows this, and he’s trying to change, because you don’t deserve a bad person. 

    you swallow. he watches your throat bob. 

    “i don’t know if i believe you.”

    your words are a whisper, but they shatter everything around him like they were screamed at the top of your lungs.

    he shakes his head dumbly, like that is answer enough. he wants to say something to argue his case, but his tongue feels heavy and a cloud has passed over his brain.

    “draco, i don’t know if i believe you,” you correct, sounding almost desperate. “y-you treated me like shit for no reason. you took my notebook and didn’t give it back. you’re a dick to my friends-”

    “i know,” he bursts through gritted teeth, like he is in physical pain. “y/n, i know. i know, and i’ve been beating myself up over it for weeks. but that’s what i do - that’s what i’ve always done. i play the victim card and blame everybody else for my wrongdoings, and it’s childish. i’m trying to stop. i’m really, really trying.”

    you open your mouth to respond, but draco takes one look at the tears in your eyes and barrels on, suddenly desperate to dig himself further into the dirt.

    “you know what? i don’t even know why i’m here. i’m sorry. i should just - i should just leave you alone and let you get on with your life. you and i were never meant to be together, and i just need to accept that and move on.” he can’t stop talking. he can’t stop hating himself. “i’m sorry, though. for everything i did to upset you. for every stupid thing i said or did - know i didn’t mean it. from the bottom of my heart, y/n, i would never hurt you. never. so that’s why i’m gonna go. i’m gonna leave you alone. i’m g-gonna support you in whatever you want to do in the future. as long as you’re happy.”

   he tries for a smile, because that’s the way you’re meant to end these things, isn’t it? you smile, and you shake their hand or something, but draco can’t bring himself to do that, so he turns on his heel instead. he turns away from you, knowing this will be the last time, that there is absolutely no going back, no matter what horrible advice ron weasley gives him. he needs to get over you. he needs to let you go once and- 

   “draco.”

   you grab his wrist and he stumbles. he stumbles because of your grip, but he stumbles, too, because his name on your lips will never get old. it’s music to him, music he never listens to because his father always said it was a waste of time. he basks in it, spinning around to meet your eyes, and his heart crumbles at the tears now rolling down your cheeks.

   his own eyes widen. “y/n-”

   “you’re so stupid,” you sob. “so fucking stupid, do you know that?” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a desperate hug. you sob into his shoulder, and draco is frozen, hands hovering over the small of your back, unsure how to take this reaction. “you’re literally the most idiotic person i’ve ever met in my life. how is it you? how is it always you?”

   draco blinks. “how is what always me?”

   “everything!” you wail, hugging him tighter. “it’s just always you, draco. always.”

    and draco still has no idea what you mean, but he’s learning to understand that maybe he doesn’t need to know what you mean all the time. maybe he just needs to be there for you to yell and cry and make no sense, and that will be enough.

   he wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. he’s never been any good at hugs, but he’s melting into this one. 

    “idiot,” you whisper into his neck. “thinking i’m just gonna let you leave like that. . . thinking i don’t like you back. . . thinking i’ve stopped thinking about you for even a second these past few days. . .”

    draco holds you tighter. 

   you pull away after a moment, quickly swiping your hand beneath your eyes. they are puffy now, red-rimmed, and draco knows he will have to explain this to ron in some way or the other without giving ron the benefit of knowing his advice might have actually been beneficial for once.

   “i think we both messed up a little bit,” you mumble through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve. “my reaction wasn’t exactly very helpful, was it?”

   “well. . . no, but-” draco exhales. “i meant what i said, y/n; i never meant to hurt you. i would never do that.”

   your smile trembles. draco has only a second to smile back before you’re throwing your arms around him again, pulling him in for a hug that he is getting strangely fond of.

    ----        

    your pen scratches against the paper. draco can’t sleep; he doesn’t really want to sleep, despite the hours of classes and quiddith practice he has to endure in a few hours time.

   you never sleep. not really. draco is convinced you live entirely off caffeine and words, staying up into the early hours of the morning with that notebook of yours, your muggle pen darting back and forth over the pages. he scolds you for it sometimes, but he’s always smiling, and you always roll your eyes in response.

    now, however, he has one arm thrown over your shoulders, watching you work. it’s already three in the morning, but he’s too enamoured to bother falling asleep; he’d rather stay up and watch you work.

    “bic,” he says out of nowhere, shattering the hours of silence the two of you had collected.

   you pause, looking up. your eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. draco smiles. 

   “what?”

    “bic.” he nods at the pen in your hand. “that’s the name of your fancy muggle quill, isn’t it?”

   you frown, taking another second to catch onto what he means, despite the clear explanation he has just given. however, it eventually dawns on you, and you frown even more.

   “oh, right. yeah. bic. that’s the brand name.” you place it in draco’s hand. he holds it close to his face, squinting to read the tiny letters written in the plastic. “the best pens in the world, i’d say; much more practical than those bloody quills we have to use in class.”

   “nothing wrong with our quills,” draco says, tilting the pen back and forth, examining every inch of it. “mine cost me a good lot of money.”

   you scoff, snatching the pen back. “i’m sure it did. waste of a good lot of money, too, when you could have just bought a pack of twelve bic pens for a fiver.”

   draco furrows his brows. “a fiver? what’s that in real money?”

   you roll your eyes, smiling fondly, and it’s that very smile that has draco leaning forward to peck you on the lips. it takes you out of your work, which he knows will frustrate you in the morning when you wake up to see you didn’t get as much done as you might have liked, but for now, he doesn’t really care. not when you’re melting against him, dropping your dumb bic pen into the crease of your notebook so you can cling to him with both hands. 

   there are some days when draco thinks you love him only out of pity. he was the boy who lost himself to his feelings for you. he was the boy who came crawling back, the boy who was lost when he didn’t have you by his side. some days, draco has to ask you if you really want to be part of this relationship.

   but then you go and kiss him like this, and he is left with no doubt that you’ve meant every single “i love you.” then you go and hold his hand at the gryffindor table, smile fondly at him as he bickers with your friends, and he knows this relationship is not a chore for you. maybe, if he lets himself hope, he can convince himself that you love him as much as he loves you. 

[novantinuum]

Hi, I was just wondering if you had ever thought about what would have happened in your story "Hollowed Moon" if you had continued it. I always thought it was such an interesting setup that could have gone in so many different directions. And there really aren't other stories focusing on Stevonnie and Spinel, so it was unique!

Hiya!

So, I do have some half-written, half-plotted out material to share. I gave this story some consideration the other day, and came to the decision that I don't have the desire to finish it out, alas- I have far too many other active WIPs to add it to the list. There's a few good reasons why I discontinued it, anyways... intimidation over the huge surge of attention it was getting back in 2019, some rude comments from overzealous Spinel fans, (I know everyone isn't like this, but a certain segment of the Spinel side of the SU fandom kinda burned me over time, hhh), and a future chapter containing a sensitive topic that I wasn't in a good headspace to write about at the time.

But! Anyways! Below the cut is all the existing material I have for Hollowed Moon past chapter 14, consisting of a mixture of descriptions, sketchy dialogue, and prose. It honestly feels nice to finally be able to put this story to an official rest.

__

Chapter 15

“I... I saw her.”

“Who-?”

“I saw Pink Diamond. I saw you, in this exact garden, in a dream. I- it was like I was experiencing everything through her. She explained your game, tapped your nose and told you to smile, then warped away—“

“That’s it, that’s what happened, almost exactly! But how could you even know that, I never—“

“I don’t know,” they blurt out. “I have empathic abilities, and sometimes that makes dreaming a little weird, but I have no idea how or why I saw any of this.”

[Pause for Stevonnie to think]

“Spinel, I’m so, so sorry,” they whisper brokenly. “But I think... she left you here.”

“What...?”

“She said she’d return, but before she warped away she whispered goodbye, like she didn’t actually intend to make good on that promise. She was lying to you,” they choke out, voice thick.

“No. No,” she says in clear denial, “no she’s not. She can’t be! She told me she’d come back! I can wait! I just have to wait—“

“But she’s not! She... she can’t, because Pink Diamond is gone. She- she was shattered, Spinel. Five thousand years ago, on the Earth. I- I should’ve told you this from the beginning, and I didn’t, and I- I’m so, so sorry—! But she left you behind, and now she’s never coming back.”

[Silence. Tears brim in Spinel’s eyes. Her eyes grow dark, pained, and then she glares at Stevonnie with such venom it almost knocks them backwards in alarm. ]

“NO!” she screams, tears streaming down her faded pink cheeks.

[She tears her feet up from the roots and runs away, using her arms like an orangutan to vault herself forward super fast so Stevonnie can’t catch her.]

___

Chapter 16

AN: Content warning for self-shattering attempt. Part of the reason why I had to stop writing this story at the time. I considered pushing the plot another way, but it didn't feel authentic to how I believed this scenario would play out for Spinel when she didn't have a direct target for her anger. Without someone to actively be jealous and upset AT, I could only imagine her breaking inwards instead of outwards, feeling that she's utterly failed in her life's purpose. Nothing more than a description for this chapter... and it'd be a short one.

[When Stevonnie finds her, she’s smashing her fists against her gem in her sheer anguish. She’s already cracked it. She’s glitching. It looks terribly painful. She’s about to strike her gem again when Stevonnie intervenes.]

___

Chapter 17

[Post timely intervention. Spinel is still cracked at this moment, though... her form glitching as she cries.]

“I was... her best friend,” she cries, fat, glistening tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was supposed to make her happy! Why wasn’t she happy? Why didn’t she come back?“

[Spinel reasoning that maybe if Pink came back for her, she wouldn’t have been shattered in the first place]

“What did I do wrong?” she whispers hoarsely, gazing pleadingly into Stevonnie’s eyes. “Wha- what am I doing? Why do I wanna hurt myself so badly?”

“Shh, now,” they reply, tears of their own brimming at the crease of their eyes, and pull Spinel’s head to their chest. “I’ve got you...”

___

Chapter 18

They know their throat is tight, and their voice scratchy. They know they’ve never sung this song in front of another living being, since it’s something personal they composed alone on one of their late nights back on Earth, thinking about all the difficult days Steven and Connie have had to face over the months. Pair this with their active crying, and there’s no way their singing will be anything pretty.

But pretty doesn’t matter right now.

Stevonnie opens their lips, and— clutching the broken hearted Gem close, rhythmically rocking with her back and forth— lets the wandering melody emerge from within.

“I guess I have to face That in this awful place I shouldn’t show a trace Of doubt...”

“But pulled against the grain I feel a little pain That I would rather do Without...”

“I’d rather be Free, free Free...”

[Hoarse, Spinel starts singing with them.]

“I’d rather be Free, free Free...”

“Free, free Free...”

“From here...”

[Stevonnie holds her tight while crying, their tears healing it back up.]

___

Chapter 19

AN: Don't have anything but a single bit of dialogue in this chapter note- I'm assuming I intended it as being a good few hours after the events of chapters 16-18... when Spinel has calmed down a little and has a moment to reflect on the upsetting news she's just received.

“I think... I always knew,” she says, voice hoarse. “In a way. It was so obvious how she felt about me.

___

Chapter ?

AN: From here on out, the plot hasn't been split into individual chapters.

[At some point shortly after chapter 19, Lars and his crew locate Stevonnie in the garden, and pick them and Spinel up. The next few bits of dialogue and description takes place on the ship.]

Rutile twins: “I haven’t heard of Spinels being produced in over five millennia.” “Me neither!”

Rhodonite: “Yeah, I heard they stopped making them entirely after the rebellion on Pink’s colony.”

[A bit of overwhelming conversation later, no one really noticing Spinel's conflicted emotional response to so many Gems hovering around her at once.]

Padparadscha: “I predict that you’re both going to make Spinel feel very uncomfortable aboard this ship.”

Rhodonite: “I’m sorry, we don’t exactly meet new Gems every century.”

Rutile twins: “Yes!” “It’s just been us until we met our captain!”

Fluorite: “Our new huuuuman friend helped us escape the tunnels on Homeworld. Now... we’re slooowly making our way back... to Earth.”

Spinel: “Earth?? You’re going to Pink’s world? But why? I heard she... was shattered.”

___

[Spinel feeling a sense of kinship with the idea that there’s other Gems who didn’t serve their rightful purpose and are now escaping their life on Homeworld to be free of that. Because now, without her Diamond, since she was unable to keep her happy, she’s an Off Color too. She failed her given purpose same as them.]

[Discussion of Earth, and the rebellion, and how there’s Gems living free there. And how Pink’s colony was siphoning life away, and that’s what these Gems were fighting to protect. Stevonnie points out all the plants and wildlife that used to live in the garden, and asks her if she felt happier when it was around. Spinel says yes. Stevonnie says that this is what the Diamonds are destroying, with each lifeless colony they forge. Everywhere they go, dead wildlife lies in their wake.]

Spinel: “I... guess I never thought of it that way.”

[(Stevonnie adds...) And while they’re very sorry for the personal connection there, and can’t imagine how painful that must be, that’s why Pink Diamond was shattered.]

[Spinel is given an open choice... Lars gives the invitation to stay with him and the Off Colors, and Stevonnie offers for her to come with them back to Earth. It's not a hard decision for her in the end, though. She's always dreamed of seeing what was once Pink’s planet, ever since she heard the Diamonds bequeath it to her.]

___

Stevonnie: “Okay, so… before we go, I need to be honest with you about something." [deep breath] "I’m actually a fusion of two separate people who are close friends. You... know what fusion is, right?”

Spinel: “Duh, o’course! What, d’ya think I was made yesterday?”

[...]

Stevonnie: “But even with that, I can’t be together as me all the time. Steven and Connie, the two who come together to form me... they love hanging out with each other so much, but they also have their own lives! Other friends, other hobbies, their own families. They still talk when they’re apart, but they know it’s okay to do things alone, too. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

Spinel: [shakes head no] “No...?”

Stevonnie: [sighs] “I understand you’ve been left behind. Believe me, I know how bad that feels. So the last thing I wanna do is make you think I’m doing that too.”

Spinel: “Y-you— you’re going away?” Stevonnie: “Unfusing, yes.” Spinel: “But Stevonnie, you—“ Stevonnie: “Spinel. No matter what, you are my friend. Steven and Connie consider you a friend, too. And my hope is that you’ll keep making a whole bunch more on Earth, so you’ll always have people around who know and love you. But that can’t always be me, okay?“

___

[At home... on Earth. There's a bit of a close call for Pearl when Spinel arrives, and recognizes her as Pink's second pearl. This is news for Garnet and Amethyst and Steven, the first of which had somewhat suspected that Pearl used to be in the diamonds' service, but never knew for sure. Pearl, of course... can't say much on this due to her gag order... not that anyone else knows about that yet... but does manage a very concise and PD=RQ free explanation about her past in Pink's court, and her transition towards being a Crystal Gem:]

Pearl: “Rose Quartz set me free, and I’ve been a part of the rebellion ever since.”

___

[At some point between the last scene and the next, mention how Spinel had a bit of a relapse... she ended up poofing herself, and reformed differently. A little bit closer to the smudged mascara and frayed pigtails look of canon, but no rotated heart. Unlike in canon, she has a solid support system amongst the Crystal Gems, and she's working hard to recover from the heartbreak of Pink's abandonment.]

___

[Final scene is set post A Single Pale Rose. Steven and Connie fuse, and Stevonnie goes to find Spinel to check in on how she's taking the news. The final line of the fic is as follows:]

Spinel: “I know you’re not her, not really. And I know you’ll always be a better person than she ever was. But in some silly cyclical way... back in that garden... it’s almost like Pink came back for me after all.”

[the-silentium]

Folded messages

Masterlist

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Words: 4900 words

Warnings: TUA season 1 and 2 spoilers, swearing.

Requested by: Anon

Hello!! I just recently read you 11 Five fic and I have to say it was incredible. I have no words to describe it, your writing is so good💖💖 with that, I was wondering if you did fics based on songs, if you do, would you mind doing a 5xreader based on “sway with me” by Micheal Buble? Idk what the plot could be, maybe they are in a mission from commission and have to go to a fancy ballroom. Maybe they are enemies. Maybe reader pulls him to dance around S2. The choices are endless, go crazy :”)

A/N: Finally I found time to write! I've had insomnia for too long because I couldn't write! Damn day job! 

On a better note, I really hope you guys like this little piece of fluff 💜 I swear, this started as a small idea and then it just got bigger and bigger. Sorry not sorry!

Was it even possible? The prospect of falling in love for someone of his nature was almost as high as his targets' survival rate. He wasn't an emotional man, his feelings were deeply buried in the depth of his heavily guarded heart, locked away in a three inches thick chest that was itself hidden in an impossible maze where traumas and demons were furiously protecting the paths. 

Add this to the fact that he never saw her, not even once, the only proof of her existence being the small animals made of colorful folded paper that appears in his jacket pockets whenever he crossed her path, the possibilities of developing such feelings were in no way probable. The origami aside, the woman seemingly took pleasure in throwing wrenches into his work. He was asked to assassinate a brilliant inventor who was getting too close to discovering the secrets of time-traveling? It would have been an easy job if it wasn’t that every single bullet he had in his possession suddenly disappeared, forcing him to finish the job with his knife. 

There was another time, he was tasked with the termination of a group of people meeting in the back of a bar, his guns were loaded, his knives were sharpened, he was full of juice, there was no way that this job would take more than one minute and forty-three seconds. He made his way to the door leading to the room hosting his targets when he noticed a small dark purple llama on the door handle. He pocketed the folded piece of paper for later and tried the handle to find out that it wouldn't even turn on itself. The assassin rolled his eyes at the futile attempt to keep him from completing his mission, he closed his hands into fists but his ability decided to fail at this right moment.

The door behind him closed on a loud banging noise, a delicate click following closely behind, indicating that the door was locked from the other side. Five remembers it clear as day, the moment he knew he had found his equal. He heard you giggling lightly on the other side of the door and his heart started speeding up. Not in anger, not in annoyance nor in embarrassment. He couldn't say what it was, but he knew for sure that he wanted more of it. 

It happened four times, you making his job more challenging and him receiving a small gift before Five decided to do some research. In a box carefully concealed under the double bottom of his drawer were stored every paper animal he found during his missions along with books about origami and colors. 

An olive green and lavender cat, a dark blue dragon, an orange fish and a dark purple llama were now aligned on his desk in order of acquisition. The different books were opened on different pages and then Five started his information gathering. He scribbled in his notebook the different significance associated to each color and animal and an hour and a half later, he was contemplating his findings. 

The cat was a symbol of independence and mystery among other things. Its olive-green body with the patches of lavender told him that the first gift was, in fact, a peace offering from a feminine person. Her very own olive branch that he took long enough to decipher. 

Then there was the dragon, symbol of power, wisdom, mastery and success. The dark shade of blue told him that the dragon was full of knowledge, power and seriousness. He frowned, thinking and slightly hoping that maybe this was how she saw him. 

He didn't know what to think of the orange fish. Happiness, freedom and energy. He couldn't relate to this one, having not been free for many years now as stipulated by his contract with the Commission. He was a slave, used for his ability and his will to do everything to survive one more day and save his family from their imminent doom. 

Maybe the fish was a reference to yourself. This was the only explanation he could find. You were a young adult from what he deduced of your giggles and were pretty happy and free if the folded paper was anything to go by. 

The last gift proved that Five's theory stipulating that every origami was a metaphor about yourself and himself was correct. 

A dark purple llama. An animal representing hard work, endurance under difficult situations and responsibility. His heart accelerated at the possibility that you knew that he was trying to buy some time and betray his employer sooner than later. Would you rat him out? He really hoped that the olive cat meant that you were on his side and not against him, he would really hate to put an end to the warm feeling dancing in his chest whenever he realized that you were around and ready to play a trick on him. 

Now if he followed your logic, the next one he will receive will say more about yourself and he couldn't wait to be assigned to another mission so that he had a chance to learn more about you or even possibly see you. You, his little time traveler. Five had thought about this for the longest of time and he came to the conclusion that you were indeed a time traveler. The Commission kept very close control over their briefcase so there was no way that you had one in your possession, he would know, after all, he checked the lost briefcases records and they were all reported destroyed. 

To his dismay, his next mission was uneventful. He got in and got out. No hiccup, no paper animal. Nothing. It went like this for his next six missions and with every passing success, Five found himself getting irritated. Every night he found himself chasing your shadow in his dreams and every time you managed to evade his attempts at catching you. One morning when even his first coffee of the day wasn't enough to ease his frustration, he thought of a plan that would allow him to finally see you. 

To avoid making his kills personal, Five always prioritized a long-range way to kill, meaning with guns. Guns had a way to remove all responsibilities off his shoulder and lighten his soul at the end of the day. He had enough demons consuming more and more of his conscience on a daily basis, he definitely could do without this kind of remorse. Sure, he was the one who pulled the trigger, but ultimately, it was the bullet that killed the target, not his hands. 

But tonight, Five decided that he would complete his mission with the idea that you were around. If you were, then he would finally meet you. If not, he would need something strong to accompany his coffee. Whiskey maybe. 

He abandoned his prized sniper in the deserted building next to the one his target was currently dancing in and made his way to a back door. There he space-jumped inside the building and quickly blended himself with the crowd. He found himself straightening his suit in the case you were around and made his way to the bar. 

A glass of whiskey in hand, Five turned his back to the counter and analyzed the crowd in search of his wealthy bastard who was enjoying his very last evening on this Earth. There he was, dancing around, totally unconcerned of the people around him. 

Unconsciously, Five reached into his pockets where the gifts usually appeared out of thin air, his fingers searching around as they did a hundred times before but ultimately finding nothing. With a frustrated groan, Five grabbed his glass, emptied its content in one gulp, smashed the glass back on the counter and pushed his way to his target. Another night without your little schemes meaning another night chasing your shadow in his sleep. If this was how the night would unfold, then he wanted to finish this quickly. 

Five's hand reached for his target, grabbed a hold of his upper arm and pulled him in a nearby hallway before jumping the both of them in the nearby abandoned building where his weapons were patiently waiting for him. 

Five turned around to face his target, knife in hand and ready to strike when his breath caught in his throat and every muscle in his body contracted, stopping every movement. Where his prey stood mere milliseconds ago was now an elegant woman in a beautiful gown, all smile and giggling at his reaction. He knew it was you the second he heard your giggles, causing his heart to skip a beat and his fingers to let go of the sharp weapon. 

He stopped himself from moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear, instead choosing to release his grip on your arm and take a step away. You were too beautiful, so much more beautiful than what he imagined, with your shining eyes, your soft-looking hair, your perfectly curved body, he tried to burn every detail into his memory. 

"Dance with me?" You asked, closing the distance and reaching for his hand. Your movement got him out of his thoughts and everything came back full force. The mischievous glint into your eyes caused a smirk to form on his lips.

"You just want to keep me from my job." And you were doing a magnificent job at it.

"Is it working?" You batted your eyelashes in an innocent way, making Five roll his eyes before he positioned your hands correctly and pull your body so that you were almost touching each other. 

You smiled in satisfaction, following his steps flawlessly on a tempo only he could hear. The blue-eyed man enjoyed the silent minute, savoring the feeling of your soft skin cradled into his palm and the warmth of your waist radiating through the fabric under his opposite hand. The comfortable silence was soon replaced by a soft song playing in the background, stopping Five in his tracks and almost causing you to fall if it wasn’t for his strong arms keeping you up and close. 

Five eyes finally left your face and widened at the new scenery surrounding him. The once dusty floor was now pristine and exempt of all the trash and needles that were once lingering around, the tagged walls were perfectly painted in a new shade of light grey, giving the room a nice glow under the gleam of the light strings hanging from the ceiling. 

Five didn’t know his mouth had opened in awe before you chuckled and your hand left his shoulder to caress his chin, effectively causing him to close it. 

"I take it that you like it?" Your eyes were shining under the soft lights and the pride he saw in them almost got a smile out of him.

"You made this?" He was still stunned about the complete makeover of the room. Even the lingering moldy smell disappeared, letting a pleasant smell floating around in its place. 

"You’re not the first one the Commission took a liking to, ya know. I’m kinda like an illusionist, but my stuff is the real deal. They saw my potential and offered me a job, which I refused and they’ve been on my tail ever since." You shrugged, replacing your hand at its rightful place on his shoulder. 

Five was truly amazed by the woman standing in front of him. Her ability had so many possibilities and she managed to escape the Commission for seemingly a long time. Add this to the fact that she can time-travel and play tricks on the best assassin this planet has ever seen, Five has never been so interested in someone like that before, not even Dolores who has been his everything for many years. 

"I can see why they were interested in you." He resumed his dancing, this time following the rhythm of the soft music playing around them. "Having two abilities is pretty rare."

You shook your head, before clarifying. "I only have one. I don't know where you get the second one from." You frowned in confusion, which reflected on his own face. 

"But you time-travel." He remembered finding the folded fish in the 1800s, the dragon around the 1950s and today was September 23th, 1987.

"Yeah, the same way as you. With a briefcase." You nodded toward the black briefcase neatly placed near the window. Five only got more and more confused. 

"But they were all dest-" He cut himself at your cheeky grin. "You created your very own. Impressive."

"Thank you." You were beaming at that point and Five felt proud that he was the source of your happiness. 

The slow song ended but neither of you stopped moving your feet in unison. Five was enjoying himself like never before and he wasn't in a hurry to end it. The corner of his lips quirked upward when he realized that you pressed yourself against him when the song ended, your way of saying that you didn't want this to end either. 

You silently danced the second song in its entirety, living every second like everything would disappear at any moment. Five was scared that this was a one night deal and that he would never see you again. Why did you reveal yourself tonight of any other night? 

Before he gathered the courage to ask you, the song reached its end and a completely different kind of music floated in the air. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

Five pulled away slightly, not much, only to be able to see the sheepish smile on your lips. "I love this song." Was your only answer to his frowned brows. 

Five laughed softly before stepping away and made you spin. He pulled you back to him, your melodious laugh bouncing around him like the greatest melody ever written. 

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

It was clear that neither of you knew how to dance on this song, but you didn't care. You were both moving around freely, Five making you spin from time to time. 

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have that magic technique

When we sway I go weak

Five's heart was beating quickly, not because of the physical exercise, he was trained to accomplish way more than dancing without breaking a sweat, but because the sight of your delighted face stroked something deep within himself. A primal need. The need of a life partner. Someone who he could trust blindly and love without holding back. 

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

A too-quick step made you trip on your own feet, in an attempt to keep you on your feet Five reached for your arms but it was already too late. Instead of helping, Five only unbalanced you more leading you to fall to the ground and drag the man with you. Thanks to his sharp reflexes, Five caught himself on his forearms before he crushed your small form under his larger one. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

For a moment the assassin's heart stopped in fear. He hasn't felt afraid in years and it definitely wasn't a feeling he had missed. Your laugh flicked a switch in his heart, making it beat again in an erratic rhythm that he was almost embarrassed of. He guessed that if feeling that good meant that sometimes he was going to be afraid, it wasn't a big deal. He could deal with his fears if at the end of the day you were fine and happy in his arms. 

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

"I'm so sorry Five!" You managed to say after catching your breath. Tears rolled from your eyes and into your hair, the reflection of the lights above creating stars in your eyes. 

"It's fine." Was all he could say, for his brain had stopped working when he realized that only a couple of centimeters separated the two of you. His body started heating up to his dismay, Five pushed on his arms and sit on his heels to help you sit up. 

When marimba rhythms start to play

Hold me close, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

"Thanks." You muttered while passing a hand through your messy hair. 

The sound of a metallic object falling on the ground made you jump. Five frowned, confused as to why the Commission would send him another assignment right now and not wait until his return. 

"What was that?" You whispered. 

"My employer." He was beyond annoyed by the interruption. They couldn't have chosen a worse time than tonight. 

Offering you a helping hand, Five got up and helped you when your hand closed on his. He couldn't stop himself, he enlaced his fingers through yours, the tightness of your grip made him chuckle. 

"Don't worry, they are not here." He lightly hit the wall near the window with the underside of his fist, searching for a spot on the wall that wasn't hollow. When he found it, he searched for the dissimulated door and took the canister with his name written on it. 

Releasing your hand, Five opened the canister, took the folded paper and read the words. Terminate Y/N L/N. How was he supposed to terminate someone he didn't even know? This job was so frustrating! He folded back the paper, storing it in his pants pocket. This would have to wait. He turned back to you and the sight bring a genuine smile to his lips. 

You were smiling at something outside the window, the light of the moon joined to the string lights gave you an angelic glow. He would have loved to contemplate you longer, but duty called and he now had two targets instead of one. 

"I have to go." He didn't dare say it too loud, maybe time would stop and let him live this perfect night for all eternity. 

You turned around with a small smile on your lips. He could see that you were disappointed even though you nodded like it was nothing. "Well, tonight couldn't go on forever." You walked up to him, with each one of your steps Five felt himself growing weak in the knees. Oh how he didn't want to go. "It's fine. I'll find you again." At that, you tenderly reached for his cheek while your lips pressed a delicate kiss on the other one, stealing his breath. 

You giggled, surely at the blush covering his cheeks and walked away, the illusion fading along with your steps. Just as you were about to walk down the stairs, Five remembered something. 

"Wait! I didn't get your name!" He quickly space-jumped in front of you to block your path. 

"Y/N L/N." Her smile dropped when a dark expression fell on his face. Even if he tried, he couldn’t have repressed it, the surprise and the anger were too much. 

"You have to leave." He didn’t know how they found her, he always made sure he didn’t have any bug on himself before going on a mission. 

"N-not that I wasn’t doing that anyway, but w-why the long face?" His fingers twitched at the waver in your voice. It wasn’t his intention to scare you, even less to scare you off. 

"The Commission knows you’re here. I don't know how, but they know." Five was starting to get tired of them pretty quickly. Maybe one day he would get out of there with explosions resonating through the hallways. Maybe he could use grenades. Yeah, grenades were good. 

You started to walk down the stairs when you stopped and turned to him, one last time. "Be careful."

Five smirked although your concern was touching. "I should be the one telling you that." 

With one last giggle, you walked out of his sight. Five returned to his very first task of the night, took place at his spot by the window and finished the initial job. 

Back at the Commission that night, Five removed his jacket, eager to go to bed and find himself dancing in your arms again to the sound of soft slow music. A sound caught his attention when he threw his jacket on the back of his chair, the sound of crumbling paper. 

His hands searched his pocket, grabbing the grey fox that somehow found its way into his jacket without him noticing. A smile stretched his lips before he carefully slipped the fox under his pillow and went to bed. 

A whole year passed before the next animal appeared in his pocket. As frustrated as he was of being away from you for a whole year, Five knew why this was necessary. The Commission was close on your tail. Apparently, he wasn't the only agent tasked of your termination and some got lucky enough to find your location but not enough to hurt you. 

The whole year he kept tabs on the Commission's information on you and kept worrying that someday he would find a red stamp crossing out your picture.  As of today, his worst nightmare hasn't yet come true, so he pushed his worry aside and continued his job. 

He assembled his sniper, preparing himself to kill the president of the United States in 1963 when something hit him in the head. It didn't hurt or anything, it was light as a leaf. Frowning, Five pulled away from the scope of his weapon to discover a brown frog made of folded paper lying on the ground next to his feet.

Receiving one of your signature gift after all that time caused his heart to skyrocket in his chest. All those feelings he had repressed, fearing that one day you would be gone for good and that he would definitely be alone in this cruel world, came rushing back at full speed, making him drop his gun and look around for you. 

You weren't far, waving at him with a tired smile on your face, dark shadows marking the underside of your eyes. He didn't take the time to run, simply jumping to you and engulfing your body into his arms.

Many times he thought about how much he had fallen for you after only one dancing night and five tricks followed by origamis. If it were someone else, he would have told them that they were being stupidly influenced by their primal urges that forced them to find a partner and procreate, for this was the circle of life since the dawn of time. In his case, he knew it was much more than that. It was more important to him than a need to procreate. He had found his equal, someone that sparked an insatiable interest in him and showed him that there was way more in this life than what he originally knew. 

Five tensed as soon as he heard the first sobs. Immediately he started to scan your body for wounds or blood, anything to show that you were hurt. However, his analysis was cut short by both your hands cradling his cheeks. 

"I'm fine. I'm just real' tired and I'm so happy to see you." Your arms wrapped around his neck forcing Five to hug your body closer. Not that he minded. 

He whispered words of reassurance into your hair while thinking of what to do next. You couldn't keep fleeing the Commission alone, not in your state. They would catch up to you in no time and he couldn't have that. He couldn't say that he killed you to get them off your back, the higher-ups would request physical proof of your death. It only left him with his last resort. He would have liked to find the good variable, but time was against him so he would have to deal with it. 

"I have a plan, don't worry." He dried her tears with his thumb when she lifted her head to look into his eyes. "I'll get us out of here." 

You managed a smile before chuckling. "I know. Why do you think I gave you a brown frog? A frog to ensure a safe return of your journey and brown for home." 

Five shook his head, once again amazed at how perfectly you could read him despite everyone else describing him as unpredictable. 

He grabbed your hands in his, mentally reciting the equation he passed the last 45 years developing. Before the portal appeared, Five stopped everything in a hurry, scaring the shit out of you. He let go of your hands for two seconds, enough time for him to run back at his sniper, grab the brown frog and run back at you. You rolled your eyes when he secured the frog in his jacket pocket, quickly saying that it has sentimental value, before concentrating on the portal again. 

The blue vortex appeared, its power pushing them away. It took every ounce of strength into Five's body to pull you with him through the portal, your weakened state left you helpless in front of the blue resistance. 

Five did his best to catch you during the fall, your body falling directly on top of his, stealing his breath for a moment. 

You managed to roll off of him, allowing him to take a nice bowl of air to fill his lungs. He made it. You weren't 100% safe, but he could have help now. He cou-

"Five." The worry in your voice along with your hand closing tightly on his forearm pushed him to sit up quickly and find the source of the danger. He understood your reaction when his eyes fell on his siblings who looked like hell. 

"You guys didn't change one bit." He deadpanned. His usual unimpressed face was back in service at the gaping fish-like faces of his siblings. 

"We should be the one telling you that. You haven't aged at all!" Klaus yelled, his outstretched arms moving up and down in his direction. 

Confused, Five glanced at his body and realization hit him like a brick. He knew something wasn't right! 

Your repressed giggles caught his attention, he found your 13 years old body, a hand on your mouth desperately trying to keep a full-on laugh in. He couldn't help but notice how much more tired you looked in your younger self. 

"It's not funny." Was all he said before he spacial-jumped the two of you to his old bedroom. There he guided you to the bed where he helped you get under the covers and watched you get comfortable. 

"It is funny." Five scoffed and went to the door, knowing his siblings were gathered behind it and very probably listening to their conversation. He hit the door with his foot and as expected, Klaus yelled in pain, complaining about his hurting ear. 

"I'll be downstairs to talk in a few minutes so get lost." He told them through the door. He was awarded by some angry muttering and finally, fading footsteps. 

He walked back to your side when he was sure that everyone went on their merry way, sitting on the nearby chair with your hand in his. 

"You need to rest. You'll be safe here." He kissed your hand at your tired smile. "I'll stay until you fall asleep, that okay?" You nodded, already your eyelids seemed pretty heavy. 

"I missed you Five."

You were out in less than two minutes, your breathing became deeper and slower, your facial muscles relaxed and your mouth opened slightly allowing Five to hear your even respiration. 

The boy didn't notice exactly when it happened, but the demons were now silent and the traumas shrank in size, forming a clear path toward the center of the maze that was his heart. There, the three inches thick chest that was protecting his feelings was now wide open, strings were delicately wrapped around them, not too tight as to not suffocate them, but with just enough contact so that he could permanently feel her affection enveloping him.  

"I missed you too."

[A/N] This passed SO close to having an angsty ending! So close! I figured you guys had enough angst with 11 already… and the part 2 that's coming next. 

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame XI

Author’s note: This chapter kept going on for a while so I had to cut it off somewhere which means next chapter will have Hvitserk and Ivar in Vestfold. This chapter progresses readers part a lot though and I’m very pleased with how it turned out. I’ve also reached 200 followers so I’m considering making a writing challenge for fun. Thanks to all of you who have made this happen!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 2716

Warnings: The usual

After many days and nights at the open water, you came to land by notice of a raven. The birds were intelligent creatures and held a deeper context in their religion. You were beginning to feel the early traces of curiosity rearing. When the longboat had slipped into silent spells, you would try to listen to pieces of conversations and make sense of the strange fables and gods. By the time you were passing into the fjord, you were struck with the guilt that a day had passed and you had forgotten to pray to God.

The sight of the foreign city had you leaping up and hanging over the ledge of the boat to catch a better glimpse. The idea of different lands always seemed so fantastical to the point of myth, yet here you were pulling into a dock. It was a dark and cold place, besieged by tall cliffs of iron rock. The sun was already low, and it wasn't even midday yet. 

For all of its murky preface, you still couldn't shake your excitement at arriving in Kattegat. It appeared you were the only one wearing a smile. The rest of your shipmates were stricken with sullen faces, and Ubbe was addressing the warriors.

"Lagertha's watch will already know we're here, so be prepared for questioning when we tie-up," He said. "Remember, we aren't here to start a war, or to win back Kattegat. We're looking for answers about the spy sent into our army."

"But Lagertha is your enemy," One of the men piped up. "Aren't you going to fight her regardless of that matter?"

Ubbe appeared frustrated. "Only when all of the sons of Ragnar have come to an agreement will we fight."

There was more chatter and bickering in hushed whispers as Ubbe tried to reign in the rabble. You watched on, wanting to help the eldest brother, but you knew your powerlessness. Audhild was beside you observing as well, and she made a harsh noise in her throat that resembled a laugh.

"Ubbe doesn't care to avenge his mother," She said offhandedly.

You paused a moment, not knowing if she wanted you to answer or if it was just her way of airing her outrage. "What do you mean?"

"Lagertha was the one who murdered Queen Aslaug. Some say to win back Kattegat, while others would have you believe it was revenge on her luring Ragnar away."

Ivar had spoken briefly about his mother, but you weren't aware of the entire history until this moment. "And what do you believe?"

"I believe Aslaug wanted to die and bewitched Lagertha into being the one to do it. She was a sad woman, made empty by the disappointing King Ragnar. There's no question that Lagertha is the better Queen, but reasoning won't reach slighted loved ones. Ivar will never allow Lagertha peace."

You looked into the healer's eyes and saw the truth of what she spoke. It was tragic. "How will you Northmen ever triumph over the Saxons, when you're too busy killing each other?"

Audhild barked out a brisk chuckle. "Smarter leaders than you or I have said much the same, yet here we are plotting to steal back Kattegat while Harald Finehair plans to launch an assault to win him rule over all of Norway. These are bold choices, and actions worthy of Valhalla. There's much you don't understand, nun."

"I wish I did," You murmured, feeling foolish. 

Audhild studied you and seemed to determine you were genuine. "Perhaps you will, now that you're here. I don't think you'll see England again."

The mention of that didn't alarm you as much as it should have. You felt a pang of sadness, but not for the loss of England. That place had never felt like home. Nowhere ever had, and that was the root of your melancholy. You didn't have a place to belong, just a series of unfamiliar destinations had come and gone.

As the ship slowly coasted up to the wharf, there weren't many onlookers, and you chalked that up to being that these people witnessed boats coming and going at all times. One ship wasn't enough to warrant too much attention. If anyone took a second glance, it was because of Ubbe. Those sons of Ragnar drew attention wherever they went, and it must have been unusual for him to be seen without the others present. 

When the boat docked, the crew immediately leapt to unloading the few provisions that had been packed aboard. You kept close to Audhild, unsure where your usefulness lied. You wanted to go and have a gander at the city, but you knew you couldn't just spring out on your own.

"Ólaug," Ubbe called, and your head snapped up at attention. "I want you to remain with Audhild for now. I'll likely be called to meet with Lagertha. I can see some of her shieldmaidens have been sent to treat with us."

You stared over his shoulder to the three women approaching. They were dressed in boiled leather and metal and armed with swords and bows, not unlike the maidens you had seen serving in the army.

"Ólaug? Did Ivar tell you to call me that?"

Ubbe flustered as if it had escaped him unnoticed that little slip-up. "He might have mentioned it, and I don't know your real name."

You sighed, but more from contentment than anger. The name had stuck, and it was something else to remind you about Ivar. "It's alright. I will try to keep out of trouble to make things easier for you."

"Good," He nodded in relief.

Ubbe was the first to hoist his way onto the dock, and you followed close behind him with Audhild and a group of warriors. By then the three shieldmaidens had made their way down to the water, and a golden blonde with intense eyes ringed in kohl stepped forward.

"You're missing something, Ubbe," She started, gathering a look at the rest of his party. "Where are your brothers?"

"Not missing, just separated. What I thought was best for the army no longer aligned with where Ivar and Hvitserk wanted to take it."

The warrior woman appeared unconvinced. "So you thought you'd return here, after threatening to overthrow Lagertha with Ivar the last time."

You tried to contain your surprise at that. Apparently, the feud between the sons and this Lagertha ran deeper than you could comprehend.

"I wished to return home, and to my wife. The ones who came with me sought the same," Ubbe explained. "Please, Torvi. I will give my share of the raids to Lagertha if that's what she wants, but I did not come here for title or glory."

The woman, Torvi, pondered over his words. "I would be less inclined to believe you if Ivar were present, but our scouts reported that you were the only ship to cross the fjord. Perhaps I can have Lagertha grant you a private meeting, but just with you, not even Margrethe would attend."

"I accept that," He agreed. "Do we have permission to disembark? My crew are tired and thirsty."

Torvi took another glance at all of you, and you found it difficult to meet her eyes when they fell upon you.

"You may, and have all of your gold brought to the Queen."

That was where the negotiations ended at least for the time being. You didn't know what task had been entrusted to Ubbe by Ivar, and you thought it better if you didn't know. Torvi led her two companions away back through the streets of Kattegat, and all while Ubbe watched her depart.

"I'm sure others are watching," He commented. "Don't mention Ivar or Hvitserk while out in public."

There was a collective agreement that reverberated from the group, and Audhild took a step forward.

"If Torvi is here, does that mean Bjorn is still in Kattegat?"

Ubbe shook his head. "I'm sure he made for the Mediterranean as he wanted to. Besides, even before we made for England, there were whispers of their marriage failing. Torvi serves his mother now."

As more names were idly tossed in the air, you began to grow more confused and out of place. The Northmen had as many struggles in their leadership as the Saxons, and you wondered if there was a place in this world that wasn't rife with betrayal. 

"Come, Ólaug," Audhild's voice broke through your internal fretting. "There's something I must tell you, and it shouldn't be done with so many eyes around."

You frowned in confusion, but when you looked to Ubbe he gave Audhild a swift nod of dismissal. Whatever it was regarding, he knew about it. 

You departed the dock, leaving the others to unload the heavy boxes of gold and treasures. Some of it you knew was from the ransacked church in York, but it didn't bother you to see it brought back into foreign lands. What Ivar had said before about the church hoarding wealth was true. Better it to be distributed among this trading post than in the hands of old men who preached righteousness but committed avarice. 

You had been anticipating with some excitement to walk through the market stalls of Kattegat, but Audhild was not leading you to the city. She was headed in the direction of a path through the woods, and you weren't sure if you should feel nervous. The sounds of the crowd were growing distant, and you wondered if you should be preparing to run. Audhild may have been a healer, but she was thick in the shoulders and could still likely beat you in a fight.

"Where are we going?" You asked, and your voice shook.

Audhild tossed a glance your way and let out a laugh. "Don't look so nervous, Christian. Do you think I'd kill you now when I could have disposed of you all those times we worked alone back in York?"

It sounded silly out loud, and you ran a hand through your growing hair. "Sorry, I guess the forest made me nervous."

"You are paranoid, but I suppose it's better to be cautious. I would hold onto those instincts if I were you," She said while stepping over brush and deadfall. "And we're headed to my home. Ubbe and I agreed it would be better to keep you out of Kattegat until you've adjusted more. Some might not take to another Christian among us, not after Athelstan."

That was Ragnar's monk friend. Ivar had only mentioned him in passing, and it seemed he was not held in high regard. You supposed if the situation were reversed, and it was a heathen among Saxons, they would feel much the same.

Audhild continued to lead you along this long and difficult path, and the more the forest twisted, the less certain you were of your wayfinding skills. If you had to find the docks again, you didn't think you'd be able to. The dense trees provided decent shelter from the winds, however, and you had lost the prickly feeling on your skin that came from the cold. 

"It's not much further now. I don't think I'll have much in the way of food, but I can provide drink and get a fire going," said Audhild.

You were used to going long bouts without a meal, but the fire sounded like heaven. Sleeping on a boat in constant motion wasn't the same as a bed or even a solid floor, and your aching back would welcome either.

The trees were beginning to thin until you found yourself in a small clearing in the woods. The ground was sun-dappled and leaf-covered, and a small house sat vacant in the center. You let out a small gasp, unable to describe what you were feeling at the sight of it.

"I know it isn't much, but it's all I've ever needed. I have no children, and I left for raids more than I was here."

"I think it's wonderful," You admitted. "But I've never had my own home before, and I gave up the need for one when I joined the abbey."

"Strange custom. What's a woman without a home?"

Had you not been a nun, it was likely you would not have had your own property anyway. It would have belonged to the man you would have chosen as a husband. You didn't bother to mention that to Audhild though. She was already looking at you as if you were the most peculiar creature. 

"Can we go inside?" You asked, a sudden longing to be sheltered. 

"In a moment," Audhild replied while holding you back. "I want to finish what I have to tell you now. Ivar wanted me to do this when we reached Kattegat and not a moment earlier."

At the mention of Ivar, your heart fluttered in both anticipation and concern. "What did he want you to do?"

Audhild took your hands, and she let the gruff expression on her face ease. "You are now made a free woman."

You blinked. If it wasn't for her strong grip on your hands, you were certain your arms would have fallen limp at your sides like dead meat on hooks. The words held much meaning, and you were afraid for whatever came next. You would have to fight the fear if you wanted to be seen as anything more than a coward. "I'm no longer a slave?"

"Yes, you stupid girl," Audhild said, letting go of you before you caught on to how soft she could be. "To be free amongst us gives you certain privileges and ensures you should be kept safer."

You didn't know what privileges she was speaking of, but the bit about being safe put you into a state of ease. "Why did he not free me himself before sending me here?"

"Can you not think of the reason?"

Shame perhaps? No, you banished the thought. Ivar was nothing if not prideful and likely would have wanted to free you himself if he could. You forced yourself to think of the circumstances of why he sent you away to be free, and then…

"If he freed me in York, I could have refused to come here," You spoke aloud and Audhild gave a resounding nod. "He thought I would refuse to stay with him."

"I'm not well acquainted with the Prince, but everyone in Kattegat knows of how he has been abandoned and lost those he cares for. I guess he wouldn't risk the same of you."

You felt guilty, but you didn't know why. As for whether or not you would have chosen to come to Kattegat yourself, you knew in your heart your answer. When you met Ivar again, you would have to make him understand how you felt. You wished he was beside you again, but you knew he had something more important to deal with and you refused to be a burden.

"What do I do now?"

"You come inside to warm up," Audhild said as she started for the door of her home. "And afterwards, we'll have to make sure you start to behave like a proper free woman because for the moment you look as lost as a fish on dry land."

You wanted to be insulted, but you knew the healer was right. You were far from home, and with a tenuous grasp of the language. What did it mean to be free, and among such strange folk as these Northmen whose religion you didn't fully understand? 

You gathered the skirts of your slave frock and hurried after her. Perhaps to start you could buy new clothes. You also had not a coin to your name, and though you were capable with a needle and thread you couldn't make an entire new wardrobe with such paltry efforts. It seemed you would have to rely on the kindness of strangers for the time being, though the thought of that felt like charity. You would do what you could to assist Audhild in place of proper payment. She was calling for you again, for Ólaug. Only this time you didn’t spurn from the name, you ran towards it and the new freedom that Ivar the Boneless had gifted to you.

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[jmalkki]

From head canon to on-screen reality 

Episode 6 of Season 3. You, guys.

My. Goodness.

What oddly specific joy.

One has secretly hoped a scene of this nature to eventually make it onto the show, and the promo images promised it was coming now. So, one went in expecting to finally see on screen the sweet sweet scene of the couple all domestic, chilling on their bed, sharing thoughts; the one one has imagined so many times in various forms, be it in text or in illustrations. Seemingly topped with a kiss, as well -  gorgeous for the unremarkable mundanity of itself, without any story points or grand gestures tied to it.

Though the promo image promised kiss was not to be seen, what the domestically set scene itself delivered in substance was such a validating treat one could not feel one bit amiss; something one couldn’t have expected, hoped for, or imagined to come worth.

The end scenes of the episode made some major personal head canons true on screen! Namely the fact of Paul immediately recognizing the nature of one talking by oneself as if to a lost loved one, and admitting carrying Hugh similarly with him after Dear Doctor’s death. And, the fact, that both of the men hate the augmentations on Paul’s arms.

Seemingly tiny things perhaps, but these have both been some of the most persistent themes in my past writing of these two. And much as I abhor to go back to my past scribbles, I felt compelled to quickly go through whole of the Honey Mushroom series, and collect below all of the narratives focused on Paul talking to Hugh in his mind, and the instances mentioning the shared bother of the spore drive augmentations.

Which now suddenly as if offer possible context for the on-screen dialogue:

“God, I hated those things.” “I hated them more.”  

I realize this is quite individual a glee, specific to curious personal head canon nuggets (and perhaps to those who might’ve enjoyed the nuggets / nursed any similar own ideas), but I am beyond ecstatic for those nuggets to have now made it on screen and/or fit into the canon, complementary to the narrative!

How ever coincidental, I think one must thank at least Anne Cofell Saunders, the writer of the episode, for including these specific allusions / plot directions, and in doing so making reality of one’s particular head canons. And, that gratitude must also be extended to anyone else, who might’ve been involved in what ever capacity in the process of bringing these into the show’s in-universe reality.

Feels like such an immense affirmation of one’s year(s) spent passionately imagining these unmentioned-in-canon dimensions (regardless how ever fumblingly). Such joy to see these once dearly envisioned behind-the-scenes aspects brought on screen, and into the canon.

More small, but notable glees: Paul’s PADD on the nightstand. And the men sleeping on the ‘correct’ sides of the bed, which has also been a theme in exploring the character of Paul.  (And, in fact, Paul scratching the augmentations/residuals, too *heehee*).

Okay. Let’s go.

Passages of the augmentations being a bother:

From my second ever narrative, and the first to mention the augmentations, if not yet for the precise shared discomfort factor. Also the first to feature Paul talking to Hugh after the death:

[He shifted on the chair and reached for his forearm. Feeling out the hard plastic augmentation with his fingers. Rubbing it in a circular motion on top of his muscles, letting the gentle pressure push against his bones.

They were another reason - the augmentations - why he had felt so bare at the gym dressing rooms. He had only ever really bared them in the engineering for their designed purpose, and with Hugh around in the sickbay or in the confinements of their quarters. He had showed them to few others of course on occasion, but on his own discretion. He wasn’t comfortable letting them ‘hang out’ like he had just done. It too left him feeling exposed.

“They keep insisting I go in for a medical examination”, Paul muttered out quietly, while skimming through his calendar, like he was expecting Hugh - his resident consultant on all things medical - to actually answer.]

- We Are Undone, But Soldier On

From my only ‘alternative future’ story, with the first ever allusion to the shared discomfort with the apparatus. Also the narrative, which solidified the idea of Paul harboring Hugh ‘alive’ in his mind well after the death:

[ Paul smiled. He put his hand in his hair again, mussed it around a bit, adjusting it from side to side, observing it closely from the mirror. “And you won’t mind this either?” He asked with a faint look of apprehension on his face, “it’s still getting thinner and thinner each year.” “You know I always loved that”, Hugh spoke to him with most affectionate tone, as Paul could feel fingers play with the little swirl of thinning hair on the back of his head, “it makes you look irresistibly manly.”

“Like these”, Hugh continued, as Paul raised his arms in front of himself, displaying the thick, fluffy white hair covering his forearms, “I love falling asleep into this softness.” “Well, you’re in luck then. They sure aren’t thinning any”, Paul snickered, “I think the hair on my head might be migrating there in fact”. He could hear Hugh chuckle and felt a light encouraging pat on his hips.

Paul turned away from the mirror and walked slowly to the small kitchen cabin in the corner of the room. “Always hated shaving any of that off for those spore drive ports, just so you know.” he could hear Hugh’s voice commenting back at him. Paul was replicating his morning drink. “You won’t mind me saying then, how glad I was to get those off eventually”, Paul conversed in his head as he watched the replicator form a cup of tea.

“Of course not, Mushroom”, Hugh sounded to respond from the bed, “we’ve been through this many times. You don’t need to feel sorry for getting rid of those.”

“Yeah…” Paul muttered as he walked back to the room with a fresh cup of tea in his hands, “it just felt then like I was throwing something of you away”, he thought sitting down on the bed, “I know it’s silly.”

“It is. You know I wasn’t too keen on those things ‘hogging’ your arms either”, Hugh let out a little laugh, “and you really haven’t thrown any of me away.”

Paul looked sheepishly down to his tea. He knew what was coming.

“Don’t you think you should?” Hugh asked with a slight hint of worry in his voice.]

- Becalmed

A short, based solely on the premise of the discomfort of the augmentations:

[ Hugh wakes up to it again. To Paul’s arm wrapping around him. Dang, it used to be one of the best feelings in the mornings to wake in the safety of his Honey Mushroom’s manly arms. Now, there’s often this unforeseen complication. And Hugh has in part himself to blame for it too.

“Mushroom”, Hugh tries to carefully arouse the sleeping man’s attention by shaking him a little. He gets no response.

“Honey, can you move your arm a bit”, Hugh tries a little louder and attempts to wiggle himself from the man’s grip, but Paul just mumbles something in his sleep and won’t move. The arm wants to hold on to Hugh. Dammit. He loves it, but just not like this.

“Paul!” Hugh makes no attempt to discretion anymore, “will you let go of me!”

“What!?” Paul wakes up shouting irately at the abrupt wake-up call.

“Your damn augmentation is boring into my hip again”, Hugh lets the understandably agitated response get to him and snaps back in equal tone, which is far more harsh than necessary.

“Well, who the fuck’s fault is it, it’s there!?” Paul huffs back, fiercely as only provoked Paul would - even when half asleep, like he is right now.

“I know, I know. And you’re very welcome, by the way”, Hugh sneers, “just move it”.

“Fine!” Paul scoffs and yanks his arm to his own side of the bed, turning his back to Hugh as he does so. Hugh turns back to face his side as well.

The doctor then immediately feels regret for having gotten so agitated. He’s upset for the situation - lamenting over losing those comfy arms for the good of this ship -, not mad at the man.

How difficult for the man himself it must be to adjust? And Paul hasn’t once complained. Oddly so.

Hugh had just let his own less than satisfactory wake-up ruin Mushroom’s morning as well, hadn’t he?

“I’m sorry, Paul”, Hugh turns to look at the man over his shoulder,  "I didn’t mean to yell. I’m not upset with you".

“I know”, Paul’s sleepy voice sounds faintly somewhere behind the man’s back. He’s not turning back around.

Hugh worries his outburst might scare Paul to thinking twice before embracing him again. And he loves his cuddly Paul.

“Of course you’re still welcome to snuggle”, Hugh assures Paul, letting the regret sound in his voice.

But the man doesn’t hear him, he’s fast asleep again. And Hugh’s bed feels that much emptier without the safety of his man’s arms around him.]

- Losing Your Arms

From one, which references events referenced on screen, namely the introduction of the (preliminary) augmentations by revealing them installed on Paul’s arms:

[ Maybe it had indeed been but a dream after all. Like all of this. Perhaps like all the other times he remembers too. Those instances when they had been somewhere quite surprising - and admittedly quite exciting -, getting distracted by each other from their intended tasks.

Like, when at the Medbay, setting up these brand new spore drive ports on his arms, for a brief stolen moment before the evening shift had arrived to relief Hugh.

Indeed, occasionally he had been back as they were in the middle of hurriedly moving that task to their quarters to follow up on those distractions. Like they must have done just now, judging from the state in which their clothes lay scattered around the room and by the selection of tools haphazardly laid on the coffee table next to them. Like they ever really had any intention to use those once here on this couch.

Paul regards the augmentations on his forearms.

He’s getting a lot of extra orientation practice to the devices through these repeats however, Paul muses. Would Hugh notice anything? Will Mushroom have hard time explaining to the doctor after all of this, how he’s so well adjusted to these things so soon after installation?

He realizes this right now as he catches himself cursing them, positioning his arms so that the ports wouldn’t chafe against their bare skins. Is it too late to rethink these apparatus?]

- Come Again

From one, where Paul regards the augmentations at Hugh’s wake:

[ Paul remembers wrapping his arms around that waist each and every night.

He shifts his arms. The spore drive ports on his forearms, beneath the layers of sleeves, suddenly feel so alien again right then.

It’s not his first time in civilian clothing with them (thanks to his insistence on own comfort wear out of the uniform), but it is the first time with them off duty, since he’s off the ship. And they feel grossly out of place in these Earthly settings.

Hugh too had come to dislike them - his own invention - as soon as it had become apparent how they were an obstruction between their embraces.

Paul should get them removed, if they’ll no longer serve a purpose.

He takes his hands out of the pockets, folds his arms over his chest and goes back to staring across the room with what must appear quite a stern look.]

- Honoring One’s Heart

There was also one about the conceiving of the idea of the augmentations, where, however, the bother factor was not yet in sight:

Doctor, Not an Engineer

And this one, which doesn’t technically count for similar 'shared bother’ reasons either, perhaps, but is a whole narrative very much build around the inconvenience of the augmentations:

Performance Issues

Plus, couple saucy ones, which I won’t list here, lest I actually ever want to share this post *ha* More below:

While at it, (and, perhaps more importantly) here are the narratives build around the idea fact (!!) of Paul living with Hugh ‘alive’ in his mind after the death - in narrative order (some already featured above, too). Hardly captured by a single quote, but for a taste:

[ He had finally heard it. The voice. Hugh’s voice trying to calm him down, “Paul. You need to let yourself be upset. You need to let the tears come.” ]

- We Are Undone, But Soldier On

[ ‘Honey? Are you drunk?’

A delightful, relieved curiosity filled Paul’s mind momentarily as he peered into the darkness of the room wide-eyed, to see where the gentle, familiar voice calling him out was coming from.

Then he remembered, and with a loud, derisive scoff sank back into his darkened state of mind, slumping back down on the couch.

“So fucking what!? If I am.” ]

- A Better Man

[ None of this should matter. Not the suit, not the event, not the crowd. Paul is not here, and Hugh is not gone. Not yet anyway. They are still very much together, and just about to leave somewhere off by themselves, once done with this circus. To enjoy each others’ company somewhere away from all of this dreary pretend. Such a presentation, and for whose sake? “You don’t mind, if I’m not honoring you in accordance to the Fleet standards, do you?” He still gets no response. Hugh hasn’t talked to him since Paul disembarked that cursed ship. He’s still here though, isn’t he? Paul would surely feel it, if the man left.]

- Honoring One’s Heart

[ “Yes. We are too damn young to be thinking about retiring yet.” Paul said and turned to look by his side instinctively, only to see there was really no-one there, of course. He let out a little huff and smiled to himself. Then turned back to face the beach in front of him, and paused to think again. “It will surely be painful to be near it all on the Discovery”, his mind went on, “but I’m not quite ready yet to let go of what we had there either”. “Our only home together?” Hugh came back beside him. “Our first home together”, Paul specified, “so far…"]

- First Home

[  “Dear, I’m home”. He can just imagine himself standing there at the door of their cabin, staring into the empty, cold room that used to be. All the pleasant memories now tainted. How exactly will this be helping him to get over? “But please, do remind me again”, Paul whispers to himself, and hears a heavy, sympathetic sigh in reply, as if preparing itself for telling him of all the ways he’s doing the right thing to move on, and how it’s proud of him for not giving up, and how it supports him, and all that fucking sentimental nonsense, it’s had to tell him already, over and over. And which yet Paul needs to hear. To keep faith. To not forget. ]

- Watching Over You

[  “Hmh”, Paul shrugs, taking in the thought, suddenly a slight twinkle in his eyes, “…but I have too much ‘unbridled passion’ you say?” he then yields, disregarding his persistent gravity, as he apprehensively turns his playful smirk at Hugh, readying himself for this blessed dream to end short. But the man stays here. Startlingly, staring right back at Paul’s surprised gaze with almost haunting clarity. Paul’s grip on the newly corporeal man tightens in a moment of incredulity. For the first time in weeks - but which feels like a year - Paul is able to see the man, to look into those loving eyes again, bathe in that radiant smile, and respond to all of the emotions he now thirstily reads from the man’s beautiful face. And fuck, if there aren’t tears on Paul’s own. The man really is right here.]

- Passion of a Vulcan Like Mind

[ He could feel Hugh’s gaze on himself. “You realize, you actually wanted me gone today?”, he heard Hugh speak out gently, “I got in your way”.

Paul’s smile turned to an anguished frown. The tone of understanding in Hugh’s voice hurt him. “Never”, he attested firmly. He lay there as still as possible, staring at the ceiling, afraid to move too much, or turn to glance at his side, lest it chased away this sensation of Hugh beside him.

“You are being stubborn again, Mushroom”, Hugh whispered with a hint of worry in his voice, “why do you still cling on so desperately?”. He was so close Paul could almost feel the breath on him - or was that the sea breeze perhaps - “You said you’d be okay, if I left - why won’t you let me then?”]

- Becalmed (alt)

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 8

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down. 

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Completed.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Smut, blood, violence, gunfight, choking, rough, angry, unprotected sex, foul language, bodily fluids.  

A/N: Okaaaay, it’s time to fuck shit up. The moment you’ve been waiting for. I lost sleep over this chapter, writing action sequences is HARD!!! So please leave feedback! Thanks, @agniavateira​ for editing my work and being my muse.💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Maw of the beast

Following the coordinates given to him by Knight, August steps through the muddy ground in the darkening evening sky. He listens to the squelching sound as his shoes sink into the moist mud, making sure the steps are his and his alone. His hand pushes a curled-up cooper fence that blocks the way and ignores the warning sign as he continues forward, following a man-made path of wooden planks.

A monstrous abandoned building towers in front of him, looking like something out of an Italian horror film. Scaffoldings and metal bars surround the dark concrete brick of what appears to be a spire or a gothic opera house of some sort, construction not nearly halfway finished.  

August narrows his eyes with deep suspicion, making careful hesitant steps while looking around him. His hand reaches for the gun holster beneath the long beige jacket, ticking the clasp off in preparation of whatever awaits him tonight. 

The entrance is guarded by two large gargoyles, leering at him from above a large archway. He stares back at the sculptures, focusing on their empty eyes before stepping through the open gate.

A great hallway welcomes him, accompanied by large pillars that guide the way inside. They’re engraved by winged creatures-angels or demons, he cannot tell. The corridor is showered by red construction lights chained to the floor, laid next to each tall column. 

Bright enough to determine shadow from light, yet not strong enough to conclude if the deconstructed hall is a church, an opera house, or the gateway to hell itself. 

Only one thing is certain: it’s most probably a trap. 

August’s own steps echo in the acoustics of the tall ceiling. Marble shines on the floor through the wooden debris, and large sheets of nylons huddled on the floor. His soiled shoes step between them carefully, trying to listen to whomever walks with him among the darkness. 

There in the umbra, a stalking predator moves behind the pillars. August pauses, his right hand resting on the grip of his gun while his ears capture the tapping sounds of small steps. An odd sensation spreads through each of his nerves, it almost feels like deja vu yet not as quiet.  His heartbeat accelerates, her name rolling on the tip of his tongue even before the outline of her petite figure becomes clear. 

‘How the fuck…?’

He might as well have summoned her into appearing by his endless thoughts of her. He can almost see her face as she moves with him with a succubus grin and shining eyes. She can tell he sees her, yet she does not bother hiding. 

This is a game.

Aggravated, August sighs and moves to seclude himself behind one of the pillars. His gestures are nearly graceful, displaying a lack of panic even though the blood in his veins begins to boil. This will be the second time she is messing up his plans.

The petite woman moves through the columns like a playful ghost; she is silent yet in his mind, he swears he can hear her demonic giggles. August begins to slowly mimic her behaviour, stalking behind the opposing pillars like a large feline creature, watching her face and learning her movement methodically. 

There is a loud drum in her heart, her muscles slightly quivering beneath the skin from the thrill of finally seeing him. The chase was prolonged, and even now where they’re finally sharing the same air, there is an unforgiving distance between them.

‘I will kill him with my own hands if I have to.’

Perhaps that’s the intimacy he deserves.

“You really value your life so little, princess?” August's deep voice finally graces her ears, and the baritone makes her heart flutter. Not out of fear, but the rush of having him close after days of chasing him with sick intent. 

“On the contrary, Mr. Walker,” she replies with a smile on her soft-spoken voice, her eyes alternating between his figure and the path which is nearing its end. Arriving at the last wide column, she pauses, half-hidden behind the angels and demons that embellish the pale stone. August does the same, staring directly into her eyes from the other side. 

No festive facade this time, just plain jeans and a black t-shirt. She grips her gun low to the side of her hip, her finger circling the trigger while her eyes stalk down his suited form, trying to learn as many details as possible. This time there will be no surprises, no hidden knives, or sins of vanity and arrogance which made her fail in the past.

“I told you, I will keep coming for you.” 

“And I promised you, I won’t be merciful.”

A gun would be quicker, yet he would very much love to kill her using his bare hands. For a week the ghost of her face haunted him and now as her vision appears in the flesh all he fancies is to mount her small body and have his hands around her throat, squeezing hard until the breaking sound of her hyoid bone will fill his ears.

‘I wonder how many people know that it happens while choking someone to death.’

“I finally read your manifesto.” 

The many images of him pinning her to the floor fade by the softness of her voice. His gaze pierces through hers. A shimmering glint sparkles in her eyes which are now painted twilight red by the lighting of the room. 

“Do not mock me,” he warns while sliding his gun out from its holster. The sound of hard metal scratching against boiled leather makes her shiver with anticipation. 

“I’m not. It’s beautiful, I mean it,” she replies with sincerity. Her eyes focus on August’s long index finger as it ticks the safety off. “The suffering I bring you is the bridge to ultimate peace.”

August scoffs as she recites his own words to him, mesmerized by how her voice speaks his own written vows. 

“Are you trying to get me hard, princess? Because I’m halfway there.”

She offers him a slight chuckle, her mind tempting her with visions of his naked form, yet she brushes them away, her smile quickly fading. “Too bad, you have to die.”

“Too bad,” he answers back, his eyes drinking her pleasing sight one last time before a final farewell. He takes a hasty mental photograph of the facility, planning his strategy carefully, memorizing every exit route and possible guarding point.   

“Well then, do we do this like in the American western films?” she taunts with a grin on her voice. “We count to four and draw? ”

He chuckles and shakes his head with amusement. 

“However you wish to die, babycakes.” 

“Alright then, on four,” she answers and turns to lean against the pillar with her back while cocking her gun, now switching to hold it between her hands while they are folded up, the barrel pointing to the ceiling. 

“One…”

Stripping his jacket off quickly and throwing it on the ground, August prepares himself for the assault. With his back shoved against the thick column, he holds the gun close to his chest and glances at her from the corner of his eye. One eyebrow crooks up as determination paints his chiselled face.

“Two…”

The sounds of shots being fired shudder through the hall and ring painfully in their ears. Too loud to be able to hear the expensive stone blasting and falling apart at the floor. There is a high-pitched hum buzzing in Ingvild's ear as she crouches down to defend herself. Her hearing becomes somewhat impaired from the loud blast, making it near impossible to hear his movement. 

He counts two shots from her weapon and sneaks on his knees to switch positions. Now hiding behind the doorless frame, which leads to another room. The lighting of the facility makes it difficult to see movement, and the gunshots have temporarily damaged their ears. He wants to praise her for selecting such a perfect location for a showdown, but he knows she won’t hear a damn thing if he will. 

Breathing slowly, Ingvild sticks her head out carefully, just enough to seek his location. A whiff of violent wind grazes her cheek as a shot is fired too close to her face. She crawls back to her hiding position, glancing at the bullet that is pierced through the wall. Quickly, she sneaks out from her hiding place and sprints as fast as possible to stand at the same row of columns that August previously occupied.

He spots her movement and empties his gun four times, trying to hit her before she makes it to a barricade.

“Fuck!” he yells, missing her on all four shots. Her slender limbs and small figure make her far too agile for long-range combat, and he already spent 5 bullets. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he quietly slides down the wall and disappears into the back room. His eyes quickly run through the next corridor, finding nothing but construction equipment, the scaffolding that holds the wall, and a half-exposed wooden floor that seems unstable as it creaks beneath his shoes. 

There is a disturbing silence coming from August’s frontier. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she attempts to sense his presence, trying to remember Liam’s training. Yet her heart pounds too fast in her chest making her forget everything she ever knew. She had endless successful terminations since she was 14, yet fighting August is like fighting Lucifer himself.

For the first time in her life, she feels doubt. 

Grabbing a rock that fell from one of the pillars, she throws it into the room, hoping the movement will fool him and evoke him to shoot yet there is no reaction from him, which makes her conclude he escaped to another room. 

Taking a deep breath and trying to keep silent, she presses against the wall, smoothly advancing toward what seems like a crooked door frame. Her hands reach inside first, her head turning back for a swift second to make sure he is not lurking behind in her dead-zone.  

She makes her way into an unfinished hallway of some sort, her eyes seeking for August in desperation, trying to determine movement, her feet nearly floating in the air as she hopes to remain unseen. The stern silence is needling and pricking her skin. 

The hunter is caught by her own trap.

Cold sweat covers her forehead, and a sharp intake of air is forced by her lungs as she feels his presence behind her. She attempts to turn and face him, but something hard hits her on the back of her head. Her knees lose the battle to the physical trauma, her gun falling from her shocked fingers as pain blooms through her head like an electric shock. 

Feeling triumphant for a split second, August seizes her by the neck with incredible force, eliciting a distressed scream from her lips. 

“Shush now, beautiful angel.” he coos at her and points the gun beneath her jaw. “You already died before, you know what awaits you.”

‘Nothing.’

August watches as she stares at him, helpless. Her big eyes reflect his face in cherry hues. She is drenched with fear, even her sweat is soaked with it. Darn. Doesn't it smell amazing, combined with her natural body odour. 

It’s an aphrodisiac, making him semi-hard, drawing him to smell it.

Ingvild scowls with shock as he nuzzles her neck, his moustache scratching at her skin. A terrifying chill flutters through her spine, adding to the harrowing sensation of death’s welcoming invitation. 

She is not accepting it yet, though. 

Her hands grab onto his and struggle to hold the gun away from her face. She claws her nails onto his fingers, leaving bloody trails across his fists.

The gun fires five more times, emptied into the ceiling until it runs dry, shooting desolated clicks again and again until August grunts with wrath. Still holding her neck, he shoves her toward the wall and slams himself against her back. The wooden floor creaks beneath them, its foundations starting to become unstable beneath their chaotic dance. 

“Why did you have to make this so fucking complicated?!” he barks at her, his hand lacing itself with her hair, pulling her head back against his chest. She can hear the stark sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath and watches as her eyes reflect on the sharp silver. 

“Why do you have to be such a fucking cunt?!”

August rasps at her, attempting to anchor the knife against her throat. Bracing a leg against the wall, she counters herself and pushes both of them back, also managing to knock the knife out of his hand and set herself free of his grasp.  

August’s shirt is stained with circles of sweat as she turns to face him; he is trying to catch his breath while glaring at her with blazing eyes. His infuriated gaze begins to travel lower, falling to the corner next to her and fixating on the floor. Bemused, she follows the direction in which his eyes are staring, finding her lost handgun resting on a pile of nylons. 

Their eyes meet together in a piercing glare, trying to read each other’s thoughts and calculate their next move. There is nothing between them but their loud breaths and the throbbing in their ears as their hearts pound heavily. 

Arrogant as ever, August is the first to make his move, lunging forward with ferocious speed. Infuriated, she moves to block him, her knee lifting high enough to kick his chest. Coughing violently he stumbles on his feet, his ankle thudding back through the rotten wooden flooring, causing the planks to fall through the basement level.

Ingvild stares horrified as the floor crumbles as if Hellmouth has opened in the ground. She attempts to step back, watching August fling his hands in the air as he loses his balance. His hand grasps the collar of her shirt, pulling both of them through the pit in the ground.

~*~

The air jolts from his lungs at once as his back hits the ground with incredible force and a twinge in his spine rips through his body, letting him know he is still alive. The sound of his own husky grunt is a plea in the darkness as his body remains stiff and immobilized. 

A sharp chill prickles his skin, moments of distilled fear are cold on his sweat. His mind begs to move yet his muscles ignore it.

Somewhere in the eclipse of the room, he hears Ingvild’s suffering grunts. Small movements catch his attention from the corner of his eyes. Attempting to find her, he slightly sticks his head up, watching her crawl on the floor with immense effort. Her black jeans are torn at the knees, blood and dust cake her chafed flesh. She coughs, holding one hand over her chest while the other supports her weight on the basement floor.

Scratches and blood stain her once porcelain face, her hair is a mess while her eyes are glossy from both the struggle to breathe and the burning hatred that boils within her. Dragging her limbs, she breathes so loudly every exhale comes out as a shrieking mutter. 

“You look so beautiful.” August mocks and chuckles in a rusty voice, his laughter melting into a pitiful cough. He manages to regain some of his motoric abilities, turning on one side, yet his body betrays him, every muscle screams with exhaustion as he attempts to get up. 

While watching August trying to get back on his knees, the bile rises in her throat. A spike of adrenaline shoots through her heart, and like a screeching cat, she lunges at him. Her hands push him back down on the dusty ground, securing his neck. She thrusts his head down and tightens her grip, strangling him while screaming with despair.  

She never hated anyone in her life as much as she hated him right now. 

August stares at her maddened face as she lies on top of him. Tiny wrinkles from between her brows as savage cries tear from her mouth. Her thumbs suppress his intake of air and force at his jugular. All the while, tears seam at her beautiful grey eyes, he can see his own reflection in the translucent glass. His lips are parted open, face turning purple. It almost feels like falling asleep. 

As his mind nearly drifts away, he thinks of Lacey. 

‘Was I the last thing on her mind?’

Aching as they are, his hands find their strength, reaching around Ingvild’s delicate throat. She hisses in disdain, trying to lift her upper body away from his reach yet he pulls her flat against him with all that remains in him.

Tiny spasms shock through her entire body as his lips crush against hers.

Her whimpers are divine, so gentle and delicate. He hums as if he is eating the most decadent desserts and devours every angelic sound her body produces. His hands are large and stark, restraining her head. Coarse fingers latch around her jaw, tethering her every movement while he dominates her mouth.

The scent of his own blood fills his nostrils as her claws paint his jawline threads of crimson, a pathetic attempt to resist him. Gory trails sear his skin, yet he is distracted by sugary-sweet lips. Capturing her, he suckles hungrily, flirting between the south and north of her maw while his thick moustache leaves the skin above her upper lip red and irritated. 

The devil’s kiss leaves her in daze, the touch of his lips made her heart beat to an irrational speed, fuming in her ears and between her thighs. 

It’s as if her nightmare came to being in order to haunt her, or perhaps the pit they fell through is hell itself. 

Fruitlessly she tries to pull away. Yet his grip is iron, her small breasts mash against his chest as he holds her and entangles their legs together. Somewhere amidst her impossible attempt to escape a dangerous throb awakens between her thighs.

‘No, I don’t want this.’

August’s sharp teeth nip at her succulent flesh, his tongue stubbornly fights to exhaust her defiance. Yet it’s not his mouth that tricks her into submission but a rogue gasp that rudely forces her mouth open as she feels him bumping his hips and grinding his rock-hard erection against her torso.

August smirks in vanity and exploits her disarray. Penetrating the hot velvet cavern of her mouth and groaning at the sweet cinnamon of her tongue. He licks and swallows every tender whimper while molten bliss dances through his tendons. 

Fear of death is replaced by a whole new strain of terror, making her squirm as August conquers her mouth. Ingvild’s mind whispers dark words, keenly reminding her that August Walker will not settle for just a kiss. The thought of his Adonis-like naked body pressed against hers sets a wild shiver in her arms. Horrified, she releases his neck and begins hitting his chest, exploiting the last drops of strength that still stream in her muscles. Her fist ploughs at him, seeking for that weakness until finally, his punishing mouth tears away from hers with guttural growl. 

Ingvild inhales sharply. Rage is hot and loud on her breath as she glances down on the man who violated her mouth. His unforgiving hands slide from her nape to her shoulders, caging her forcefully while his tongue flicks to clean himself from her taste provokingly.

A malicious smirks sparks his face as he watches her grey eyes turn into crimson. The sight of her mouth engorged and glistening from his abuse is enough to make his cock twitch with sheer anticipation. He wonders how hot and wet she is for him down below, how wonderful she will sound taking the entire length of his cock.

“I bet your cunt tastes even better.”

The blood seethes in her. Any coherent thought is lost, there is nothing but hatred as she bestows him a sharp smack across the face, causing him to turn his head aside from the force of her slap.

Iron caresses his tongue as he tips it at the small gash that formed in his lower lip.

‘Just like Lacey.’ 

He growls at her dangerously, his eyes narrowing and his grip tightening. He readies himself to hit her back but is stopped by delicate lips that smear blood across each corner of their mouths. 

Like an animal licking her prey, she drinks him. 

For a moment she feels weightless, floating feather-like, anchored by nothing but the gravity of his strong body beneath her. But the yearning to brutalize him grounds her back to reality. She bites and sucks, her fangs creasing small cuts at his chin and the apex of his lips before moving to torment his mouth which kisses back at her in a wet synergy. 

‘I knew it’d be fun to break her.’

August's hands travel south her spine, capturing her taut ass and squeezing it tightly. The heartless succubus tries greatly to be aggressive, yet he finds her kisses delicate as butterfly wings flapping on his flesh. The warm hums of her voice tickles his throat and her taste, a fear and lust mixed elixir. 

He could swear he has never been this hard in his entire life. 

Unrelenting desire flows through him, having had enough with letting her explore. He takes the reins and flips her down into submission. His tongue writhes into her mouth, snake-like and slippery while his hands ravage her body. He kneads and gropes, making sure to be as crude and ruthless. He hopes to hurt her every possible way. 

She wriggles beneath him, legs locked, entwined between his, her boots kicking the ground helplessly. Sharp talons tug at her shirt and her bra at once, huddling it up beneath her chin. Just enough to expose her perky breasts to feast upon. August breaks away from her lips, staring at her naked chest while his teeth chew at the gash in his bottom lip.

A rosy blush spreads down her naked torso, the cries that leave her mouth speak of just as much pain as they tell of pleasure. August’s fingers thread between her peaked nipples before reaching to kiss and nip at her breasts. Ingvild shakes beneath him, exclaiming small hisses as his teeth leave purple marks across her body. 

“Remember how I promised I’d fuck you, princess?” He asks darkly, a twisted fascination marking his face as his finger traces the stitches on the wound he gave her. 

“I wish you’d die.” she bites back with loathing to which he replies with a cold smirk.

“You can’t even get that right, little girl.”

Snarling like a possessed thing, she finds herself clawing at him. Berserk, mind twisted, sick with desperation, her hands seek through the shadows, nails ripping and yanking at fabric and skin, shredding at whatever she can find until his battered body is exposed to her.

August huffs at her, his nostrils flaring. The small vixen beneath him awakens his every primal instinct; he wants to gnaw at her bones, to reduce her to nothing as he fucks her through her tears. 

The violent scuffle to remove her jeans takes seconds. Sturdy fingers tug at both her undergarments and her trousers, pulling them down the bones of her hips in sheer brutality while she snakes her hips and kicks her feet. Exposed to the chill of the room and to August’s darkest needs. 

Alarm spikes in her chest, beating with anxiety as his hand runs smoothly up and down her creamy limbs. Her legs shut together instinctively yet the beast shoves his knees between her thighs, starved to enter the warmth of her body. He fumbles with his belt, and the noise of the buckle clicking makes her jostle with fright. She attempts to catch that whimper before it leaves her mouth yet fails. August sneers, pulling out his large erect cock and letting the base grind against the wetness of her slit.

One hand cradles her skull, his thumb pressing against her lips, holding her head in place. The horror feeds him, stupendous panic, making her shiver beneath his large body. 

The frozen girl who never feared death is afraid of him.

Feasting on her sight, he reaches his fingers to his mouth, letting his slippery tongue flake the tips. His thick saliva coats them before he sends his hand down to lubricate her inviting slit.

Ingvild’s breath suspends as scenes of her nightmare come to life. August hovers above her like a great incubus, and she muses if this is all but a dream, yet the brush of his wet fingers between her petals proves to be the only thing that feels real in her existence. There is a pulsating void in her chest and between her thighs, aching at his touch.

“Fuck.” he calls out ecstatic as the tip of his fingers finds her sleek and hot. Unable to wait anymore, he immediately grips at his cock and positions himself in her narrow slit. ”You’re soaked, you want this.”

Frozen in time, her breath takes away as the hard velvet of his manhood breaches her entrance, desecrating her with sin. His invasion into her body is brutal, ripping through her fresh core, while chanting moans of the most divine pleasure.

Every sensation becomes vivid inside her as he is buried in her depth, the astonishing, overwhelmingly tight grip around him, the nails that bite into his biceps, the small body that shudders unstoppably. 

It almost feels as if he just broke something inside her.

“Oh…”

Realization seeps into his mind as she remains still but for the twitch in her muscles. Frowning bemused, he tilts his head down, noticing the quiver in her lip and the wetness beneath her glassy eyes. Ingvild watches silently, white with shame as August reaches his fingers to the space where they’re connected and returns them stained in crimson.

“Huh,” he exclaims, playing with the blood between his fingers before landing his palm next to her head. Sick pride poisons his beautiful blue eyes, his tarred heart singing of great victories. He didn’t think it was possible to be even more aroused, having wanted her for so long, but the fact that he just stole something from her that she will never gain back drives the degenerate feral animal inside him wild.

“Did I just pop your cherry, princess?”

Ingvild answers with silence, ignoring the arrogance that beams on his face and the searing pain inside her. She feels the warmth of her blood and the righteousness of her walls trying to defend her lost honour while his manhood throbs inside her with excitement.  

Ever so slowly, he pulls out, his mouth ghosts over hers, aphrodisia coursing through his veins, fueled by the despaired gasp that leaves her mouth. 

“Aww…” he coos at her yips and cries with false sweetness, his hand snapping at her inner thigh, handling it against his hip to force another punishing thrust. Pain surges through her cervix as he hits too deep. His low groans are languished, guttural melodies of pleasure.

“You feel so good, princess.”

Unwilling to succumb to his cruelty, she growls in anger. As he pulls back for the third time, she pushes hard to meet his thrust, taking his thick cock all the way into her chasm. Still raw, her muscles scream with protest yet she grits her teeth and smiles twistedly, unwilling to let him triumph over her. 

August closes his eyes with delight, an onslaught of curses spilling from his lips at the sensation of her succulent walls engulfing him with woven warmth. He couldn’t be gentle with her even if he wanted to. His entire existence calls to shred her, to see her lips parting to small pathetic sobs of pain and pleasure as he conquers her. 

Pain still spasms in her core as he drives into her in a lewd manner, yet the odd sensation of fullness achieved with the reach of his cock to the pit of her cervix evokes a new pleasant tingle in her essence. Like a gentle chord it vibrates, playing the sweetest music and blooming within. 

Every time he pulls away, she suddenly grows desperate for his return. 

‘More please, more.’

Deep whimpers and laboured groans fill the empty spaces between the shadows, creating a violent harmony as August fucks into her in a wild, primal rhythm, ending every thrust with a slam which makes her arch against him and tear his skin with her nails. 

They can feel themselves pulsating in rage against one another, flesh slapping into flesh, blood and fluids, hot, savage like animals, reduced to nothing but their carnal lust. Their bodies move in unison, lips and tongues collide, teeth nipping at each other. 

“You like that?” August rasps, his voice cracking into groans as he continues to pump in and out mercilessly, feeling her walls growing tighter, milking his cock in demand to drain him from his generous offering. 

A hazed memory of a long time ago brushes through his mind. There’s a familiar sensation to this, surging through his ribcage, a desire to unload all his anger and hatred into someone else, to be baptized by her essence. It makes him fuck her harder, mistaking the thought that he could experience the slightest moments of redemption. 

‘She doesn’t feel like that ungrateful bitch, nothing about her does.’

Ingvild bites her lip tightly, withholding from crying his name. There is a wholeness in her she never felt before. Tears well in her eyes, loving and hating the way his body fits inside her, making every sensation she ever felt in her life become insignificant. All that matters is his lips, heart, and cock as it sinks into her in an unstoppable pace until the colours and tunes dance in her heart, and a burst of white flames explode within her.

For the first time in her life, she comes around something, feeling complete. 

‘She looks beautiful when she comes.’

“I’m going to come inside that virgin pussy of yours.” 

August gasps a threat as he rocks above her, astonished by the sight of ecstasy on her face. His balls clench against the seam of her cunt, and his cocks swell between her clutching muscles. Spiralling out of control his fingers snap at her feeble throat, choking tightly as he’s thrown beyond rapture. Ignoring her desperate fight for air, his orgasm takes him by force. He moans deeply and spills his seed into her virginal womb.

Sobbing gasps leave her mouth as he strangles her. Tears roll from the corners of her eyes, falling down to her dusty hair in the dim light. Too meek to fight him off, she watches as his stare turns black, lost in some trance.

‘What are you doing to the girl, August?’ 

As if waking up from a dream, he snaps back and gazes down on her, surprised by the vulnerability and fright in her grey eyes as his hand holds her down. 

‘End this.’ 

He frowns at himself, nearly frustrated, his hands releasing her slowly, backing away in the air, allowing her to breathe once again. 

‘You fucking idiot.’

August watches her heave, sobbing beneath him silently. Her skin trembles beneath his heavy body. Shock and grief storm in her eyes at her lost innocence. As his knuckle grazes her cheek, she suddenly flinches and looks at him oddly. 

The blue ocean in his glance shows no emotion, yet he croons at her and comforts her with the soft hush of his lips. His coarse thumb dries her tears, wiping them away and stroking her hair to cease her from shaking. 

“Shhh… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

His touch is tender, almost relaxing. But the more she stares at him, the more chaos charges in her chest, making her want to scratch her own eyes in anguish. Pushing him away, she forces him off, guilt-ridden and ashamed. She tugs her shirt back down and fumbles for her pants desperately. A pink mixture trickles down her inner thigh as she pulls her jeans up.

Her blood, his semen.

His cock is coated by her innocence as well, tainted by a thin layer of blood. He chuckles to himself, coldly while sitting up and holding himself from making a humiliating joke about it while she moves around between shadow and twilight. 

Unaware of what to say or do, he pulls his trousers back up and stands on his feet, trying to find his remaining piece of clothing before deciding what to do with her.

The sharp sound of a gun’s barrel being stretched pauses his musings before they even begin to take shape. His glare lifts up slowly to meet hers. There she stands, the untrustworthy whore, her gun gripped between her hands. A distressed look on her tortured bleeding face.  

‘Just like the rest of them.’ 

Her lips tremble as she speaks, her brow rising up as if out of mercy. 

“I have to kill you.” 

A burst of light flashes in the room, making her grey eyes shine so bright they glisten like stars in the darkest skies.

It’s the last thing he sees before his world goes black. 

_____________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise and/or August Walker

[unmanageable-day]

Come to me

PART 1 - next

Summary. After what happened in a relationship in the past, you found it difficult to trust someone with the gentleman image. 'Gentleman' seems like merely a concept and it was probably impossible for someone to be a genuine one. Now that you're stuck with the number one gentleman at campus for a group project, how would you cope with the one and only Joshua Hong?

Genre. College!au, non-idol!au / friends to lover

Pairing. Joshua x y/n x a little bit of S.Coups, and a sprinkle of Wonwoo

a/n: my brain cannot make plots with ‘y/n x ???’ like those awesome smau writers. anyway this is the first svt series i write! as i’m practicing smau, there will be some parts with texts and social media too! i’ve gotten into svt not long ago and yeah picking a bias in svt is like you pick one and you get 12 for free. if you have time to let me know what you think of this, i’d appreciate it somuch! i can’t update regularly so i don’t think im gonna make taglist like other writers. but if you’d like to be tagged, don’t hesitate to say so! stay safe and stay healthy everyone!! xoxo

"I guess it's just Jisoo now," Johnny informed you for a group project.

It was surely not the first time you encountered people with the same name. Since your school days, there would be at least two Lee Jieuns, three Kim Jonghyuns, and many Minhos or Jaehyuns with various surnames. You just had to ask which one of them if any of your friends mentioned their names without the surname. This, of course, happened until college. One day when you were assigned for a group project, Johnny Suh, the oldest member in your group, asked you to find someone named Jisoo so all of you could gather and start working on the project. Unusually, you didn't ask which Jisoo it was. You were quite certain that you had met two Jisoos since the first day of college. So you thought it would be a piece of cake to find one of them.

"Hey, I've met Kim Jisoo and she said she had taken this class. I spoke to other Jisoo, that guy who goes anywhere with Jieun. He also didn't take this class." You looked at your groupmates, confused.

"I asked Choi Jisoo too. She does take this subject but not the one with Professor Choi," added Suhyun.

You tilted your head, slightly curling your eyebrows. "Is there another Jisoo?" you mumbled with your lips pouted.

"That would be me."

You and the other friends look up at the deep voice that came out of nowhere. The puzzled look was not only appeared on your face, but also on all your groupmates.

"Joshua?" you said his name in confusion, exchanging looks with Johnny and Suhyun.

"Wait a minute." Johnny rushed to dig his bag, searching for a piece of paper that he got from the professor's assistant regarding the group members. Now that he remembered he might not have told you which Jisoo that should be on your group. "Hong Jisoo? Hong Jisoo is Joshua Hong?"

"That's correct," he answered with his unfazed face.

Joshua Hong was a transferred student who came in the second year. You were 200% sure that on his first day, he introduced himself with the name Joshua. That was the one and only information you knew about him. How were you supposed to know that he officially enrolled with his Korean name? Even all the lecturers call him Joshua too. Even Johnny, the social butterfly who knows everyone, who was also a transferred student from the States didn't talk much to him. But again, you never really noticed who your classmates were. The class was always too big, which was the excuse you'd always use.

"Anyway," Suhyun broke the silence. Finally. You were too dumbfounded that you just froze still, trying to process and make sure that Johnny didn't mistake the group members. "Let's just get started because we still have a lot to do, shall we?"

You let Suhyun and Johnny divide the workload for the four of you. And somehow Johnny decided to make pairs so you can work in 2 subgroups. Being a wise man as he claimed to be, he wouldn't let you pick Suhyun to pair with you, saying that every process had to be fair and square. You gave him a judging look, since you knew he also wanted to be with Suhyun because it can be said that she was one of the brightest in class.

"Let's draw," Johnny initiated. He got a pouch—your pouch which he took with force—that was filled with markers and continued, "There are 2 pink and 2 black markers. So, good luck with your hands."

The four of you took turns to pick the marker, starting from the boys. Johnny, who got a pink marker, grinned wide at you, slightly giving a victory vibe, just when Joshua picked a black one. You glared at him. When the chance was 50:50 between Johnny and Joshua, you couldn't even think of anything. First of all, you were not familiar at all with this Hong Jisoo. You had no idea what his pace was like. And you might not be able to order him around. Second, when it came to Johnny, obviously you were much closer with him. You were friends after all. But you knew his pace. You can give him orders and commands but it didn't mean that he would do it. So there were possibilities that you might have to do all the big work unless you were willing to have adrenaline rush, since Johnny was that deadliner type.

"Let's take it at the same time," Suhyun suggested, in which you agreed immediately. You gritted your teeth, hoping it would help you to not lose the poker face you were wearing. Then the markers of fate were revealed. Johnny almost jumped out of joy when the pink marker was in Suhyun's hand. He immediately gave Suhyun a high-five. Meanwhile you quietly turned to Joshua who had been silence since he joined the discussion. You tried to read his expression, but you looked away when his eyes searched yours.

"Anyway, let's get along and get this work done with good marks," Joshua initiated speaking.

You almost startled yourself after hearing clearly how soft Joshua's voice was. Like, it had somewhat a soothing effect to your ears. "Yeah, sure." You flashed him your best smile.

"Do you mind if I leave, like, now? Because I have to run some errands," he asked, still with that gentle, calming voice. The way he spoke and his aura certainly hit differently; it made him the weird one within your group which consisted of loud people. Sometimes you thought yourself to be a calm person too. But now looking at Joshua Hong, you started thinking that you might not be as calm as you thought.

"Yeah, no problem. We've got everything covered. Johnny will manage everything, including the online worksheet so you can just look up everything there. I'll let you know when it's ready."

"Okay, cool. I think Johnny has my number. So you can ask him."

You nodded, pretending to look just a little bit excited. After Joshua left, the fake smile on your lips disappeared and you let out a heavy sigh. Your face landed on your thick textbook. A small groan slipped off your mouth, showing your frustration which Johnny and Suhyun can't really find the reason why. They just didn't see why being grouped with someone like Joshua who had nothing but positive track record in public could be troublesome.

Johnny nudged you on the shoulder. "Hey, don't be like that. You don't even know him."

"I'll tell you a fun fact about him if that makes you feel any better." Suhyun unusually used her cheerful tone. You just knew it must be something unnecessary or something that you didn't want to know about. "Lately he becomes the it guy because he was spotted helping some freshmen, and suddenly he earned title of being a gentleman. Some of my friends also said that he always behaves with such a manner in parties. He doesn't get drunk and does stupid things, because he drinks in moderation."

Raising your head, your brows furrowed with your eyes squinting. "And why do I want to know about this?"

"She's saying that he's a catch. Who knows you're gonna get laid." Johnny clicked his tongue and winked at you.

Your eyes rolled as you sighed. "Not gonna happen. His first impression of me was not really good. I mistook him for an exchange student I was supposed to guide, so I dragged him here and there, causing him to be late on his first class—the evil Professor Lee's class! The next day I tripped over my own feet and basically threw my coffee at him." You groaned as you recalled the memory of meeting Joshua Hong for the first time. He was still as calm and quiet as now. But you can't really forget his expression when Professor Lee scolded him, and when he silently tried to wipe off the coffee stain on his white sweater. "Seriously, if you were him, you must hate me too. Even I hate me sometimes."

"Yeah, but you didn't do it on purpose?"

"Whatever." You stood up as you put back your stuff in your bag, getting ready to leave. "I'm not sure why but I feel guilty for mistaking him for another Jisoo. It's already awkward between me and him. Unless you want to switch partner—yes, I'm talking to you, John."

"It will only worsen the awkwardness between you if I say yes to switch."

Ugh, this giant has a point. But it was not like you wanted to make up to Joshua Hong. Or eventually, you had to? At least for the sake of this group project?