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jaehyunfirstlove · 3 years

Note

Can you write a smut in which Jaehyun is one of the members boss and y/n is their girlfriend but jaehyun took a liking on her and he became a little too obsessed with her. So he sabotaged the members into making y/n sleeping with him (maybe because she loves her boyfriend too much that she would do anything for him)

Pairing: boss!jaehyun x f.reader

Genre: smut (18+ only)

Warnings: infidelity, fingering, protected sex, spanking, slight degradation?

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: i dialed down the intensity of this request, i'm so sorry, but i'm not too comfortable writing jaehyun like that (sorry!), having said that, obvs 'immoral' things happen (pls remember this is only fiction!)

“I can’t leave anytime soon, sorry Y/N.”

You heaved a deep sigh on the phone with your boyfriend, Mark. It was the fourth day in a row that he had canceled plans with you, citing a busy workload that needed his attention. It was his first ‘real’ job outside of college, and you knew he was trying to make a good impression, but he’d been working there a month now and stayed late almost every day. His boss sounded really demanding, and you couldn’t help but think he was taking advantage of Mark’s eagerness as a recent college graduate.

“Tell Mr. Jeong he’s an ass and that he needs to let you have a life outside of work,” you grumbled, but Mark just laughed humorlessly.

“You tell him that, no one here puts a foot wrong because they’re scared of him.”

You rolled your eyes, hating the idea of a man with that much power, taking advantage of people below him. “Ridiculous,” you scoffed, “he can’t be that scary.”

“You’ve never met Jeong Jaehyun,” Mark replied ominously.

---

The next day you decided to see for yourself, showing up at Mark’s office unannounced. He was flustered at seeing you there, and when you told him you wanted to meet his boss he got even more panicky, his eyes going comically wide and his mouth opening in shock.

“No!” he protested, putting his hands up in front of you, “no, you can’t do that! It’s not gonna happen!”

“What’s not gonna happen?” A deep voice said from behind him. Mark turned his head slowly, a look of pure terror on his face.

“Oh Mr. Jeong!” he bowed deeply, and you finally got a good look at Mark’s boss. He was tall and slim, his bespoke three piece suit fitting him perfectly. His hair was beautifully coiffed, pulled back with just a strand falling onto his forehead. His face was stern, but when he caught sight of you something flashed across his face, before he settled into a practiced smile.

“Oh, I believe we haven’t met,” he brushed past Mark’s bent figure and extended his hand to you, “I’m Jeong Jaehyun, and you are?”

“Mark’s girlfriend,” you responded drily, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Behind Mr. Jeong, you could see Mark’s panicked face as he waved his arms at you, signaling you to stop. You ignored him.

Mr. Jeong smiled widely, clearly appreciating your boldness. His smile brought out the most delightful dimples, you couldn’t help but notice, and you shook your head trying to fight the attraction to your boyfriend’s boss.

“What brings you here today, Mark’s girlfriend?” he asked cheekily, eyes dancing with amusement.

Mark was now begging, putting his hands together in a pleading gesture, but still you ignored him. “Just wondering what kind of sweatshop you’re running here, Mr. Jeong. You know, everyone working late with no overtime pay…”

He smirked, while behind him Mark slapped a hand onto his forehead. You were aware you were playing with fire, very well risking Mark getting fired, but you couldn’t help it. You’d always been a shit-disturber.

“I’ll tell you what, Mark’s girlfriend, how about we step into my office and discuss this in private?” he was smiling, but there was an edge to his voice and a dark look in his eyes. You shrugged, following behind him to his office while everyone, including Mark, stared at you in fear.

---

“Close the door,” he commanded with a wave of his hand, and despite your aversion to people telling you what to do, you obeyed him. Something in his tone of voice made you comply without question.

“So you have a problem with how I run things here?” he didn’t turn to you, didn’t look at you, just moved slowly to his desk and took a seat. You swallowed drily, the effect he was having on you both baffling and intense. You were exhilarated by his commanding presence, by the deep baritone of his voice, by the way he was staring at you now, eyes deep and dark and boring into your very soul.

“Perhaps…” you said, somewhat unsure of yourself now.

The corners of his lips turned up into a smirk, probably fully aware of his effect on people. He knew he had you, and he was going to use that to his full advantage.

“Well I should probably fire Mark for that little outburst you had just now, in front of my entire staff,” he tapped his pen on the table, eyebrows furrowing as he regarded you.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, internally shocked and angry with yourself that you were caving to this man. But he had gotten up from his chair, walking towards where you were standing near the door, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he got closer. It was a simple act, just walking, just unbuttoning, but the way he did it sent a thrill down your spine. He stopped maybe a foot away, close enough that the heady scent of his cologne invaded your senses.

“I can’t look like a weak boss,” he said, his voice gruff as he put his hands on his hips and towered over you, clearly trying to be intimidating. “So tell me what you’ll do for me so I won’t fire your boyfriend.”

You didn’t realize it but your chest was heaving, his effect on you so maddening. Despite yourself, your eyes roamed over his body, stopping at the obvious bulge in his pants. You looked away quickly and he smiled devilishly.

“I think I can work with that,” he said seductively, leaning his face close to yours. “I have a proposition for you then, Mark’s girlfriend.”

Your head snapped back to him, eyes going wide as you knew exactly what he was going to propose. “What is it?” you had to ask, hoping he wasn’t going to ask what you think he was going to ask, but worse, hoping that he would.

He leaned close to whisper in your ear. “You let me fuck you right here in my office, and I’ll let your boyfriend keep his job.”

Your entire body shuddered, from the heat of his breath against your ear, from the close proximity of his body, from the proposition that you had hoped, beyond your better judgment, he would offer. He stepped back after he said it, the absence of him leaving a tangible hole, and walked back to his desk, taking a seat. He was calm, cool, completely collected, as if he didn’t just proposition you to have sex with him so your boyfriend wouldn’t get fired.

“What do you say?” he asked breezily, “Do we have a deal?”

You could say no, and Mark would lose his job, but that wouldn’t be the worst of it. You knew Mark wanted to do well at this job, and you knew he would blame you if he lost it since you had made a scene accusing his boss of bad practices. You had put yourself in this situation and there was only one way out.

“Deal,” you nodded, your heart beating faster at what you had just agreed to. Mr. Jeong raised his eyebrows at you, and then broke into a dazzling smile.

“Smart girl,” he hummed, then motioned for you to come to him. You walked towards him, legs moving of their own accord, and when you were close enough he patted his knees. “Sit on my lap.”

You did as you were told, perching lightly on his knees, but he grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him. You inhaled sharply when you felt his hard bulge rub against your ass.

“Thank you for wearing a skirt today,” he whispered slyly, his hands on your thighs, pushing your skirt up to your hips. You were breathing even more heavily now, your heart beating so fast you thought it would explode out of your chest. When his hands reached your core you held your breath. “Mm,” he hummed, fingers rubbing your slit over your panties, “you’re wet already, baby. Were you thinking of me, or Mark? Be honest, please.”

You started to pant, his fingers applying just enough pressure that it was making you crazy. “You, just you,” was all you could say, your body aching for more.

He tsked, shaking his head at you. “That’s naughty, baby, thinking of another man instead of your boyfriend.”

He was scolding you, but the sound of his voice and the way he made you feel so dirty just made you more aroused, your panties getting wetter by the second. He felt it, and he chuckled.

“You like that, I see? You like being naughty?”

You just nodded, moaning as he applied even more pressure. At the sound of your moan he suddenly shoved your panties aside, fingering your pussy bare.

“Damn, so wet,” he murmured, sliding his fingers up and down your slit, teasing you so deliciously your eyes brimmed with tears.

“Mr. Jeong,” you panted, “please…”

“What do you want, naughty girl? Hm?”

“More,” you whined, and he finally complied, plunging his fingers into your wet hole.

You arched your back, your head falling onto his shoulder as he pumped his fingers inside of you. His fingers were longer than Mark’s, hitting you in that spot that made your toes curl so fast and so easily that you already felt the knot in your stomach forming.

“You gonna come for me, dirty girl, come on another man’s fingers?” His voice was so deep and so husky in your ear that it made you come, your body shaking and thighs coming together to trap his hand. When you were done he pushed you off of him slightly so he could pull his cock out, and since you had your back to him you couldn’t see what he was doing. You heard a plastic packet rip, realizing he was putting a condom on, then he was pulling you back onto him.

“Turn around,” he commanded, “I want to watch your face as I fuck you.”

Your brain was hazy with your orgasm but you would’ve complied either way, and you turned around so you could straddle him, your legs on either side of his hips.

“That’s a good girl,” he hummed, “so naughty, yet so good for me.”

His praise made heat flood your body, and then he was positioning his cock for you to sink down onto it. You took him in, sinking down on him slowly, feeling him stretch you unlike anyone had ever done before. Your breath caught in your throat, your hands gripping his shoulders as you finally took him all the way in.

“Oh fuck,” you cried, biting your lip to keep from screaming as the pleasure from his cock filling you spread throughout your entire body. You started to move your hips, and the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of you made you throw your head back. “Oh fuck,” you repeated it like a mantra, unable to form anything more coherent than that.

“Mm, you’re so good, baby,” he cooed, holding onto your hips as you rode him, “your pussy feels so good. Mark’s a lucky guy.”

You were aware you probably should have felt shame, but the way his cock felt inside you was too good, igniting every pleasure center in your brain. The only thing you could concentrate on was how it felt as his cock spread you apart.

“Your cock feels so good,” you moaned, thighs burning as you chased your high. You gripped harder onto his shoulders as your orgasm started to build, and he watched your face with a look of smug satisfaction.

“You’re gonna come again, baby?” he asked, his hand coming around to smack your ass. You cried out but it also made your pussy clench, and he was clearly delighted with the discovery. “I should’ve known you liked getting spanked, since you’re a naughty girl,” he smirked, smacking your ass even harder. You whimpered, pussy clenching again, and that flipped something inside him. He grabbed a hold of your hips, eyes hooded as he started to rut up into you.

You wanted to scream, his cock hitting so deep and so hard into you it was making you delirious. You put your hand to your mouth, stifling the whimpers that came out instead, your entire body bouncing at the force of his hips thrusting up into you.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice rough, “take my cock like the naughty girl you are.”

You came with a soundless scream, your mouth falling open as your fingers dug into his shoulders. Your legs shook as your pussy clenched hard around him, and he groaned but continued to fuck into you.

“Naughty girl, you’re gonna make me come,” he growled, squeezing your hips hard with his hands as he came, with one last thrust that hit you so deep you lost all breath at the feeling. When he was done, he patted your thigh while looking up at you appreciatively.

“That was good, baby. I’m satisfied,” he said with a smile, “I’ll let your boyfriend keep his job.”

You sighed with relief, but the severity of what you’d just done suddenly hit you. Hastily you got off of him, fixing yourself up to look presentable before you stepped out of his office. Taking a deep breath you opened the door, only to catch sight of Mark looking at you expectantly. You smiled at him, trying not to give away what just happened in Mr. Jeong’s office, and gave a thumbs up. Mark broke into a relieved smile, just as Mr. Jeong stepped out of his office, coming to stand beside you.

“Mark, your girlfriend can be very persuasive,” he said casually, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, “because of her, there will be no more unpaid overtime.”

He winked at you before walking back into his office, as all the employees who heard cheered you, Mark coming up to you to give you a big hug.

“You’re awesome, Y/N, thank you so much,” he said, squeezing you in his arms.

Swallowing your guilt, you just smiled back. “I did my best.”

---

Thanks for 1.4k :)

#jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun smut #nct imagines #nct smut

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1engele · 3 years

Text

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 3. frogger

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[warnings: cursing, smoking, light violence, blood]

"i don't want to be friends. i want all of you."

—

"Can I get your number?"

You and Larry both whip around to face Sal, the person who'd spoken that sentence. You're stood at the foot of Addison's Apartments.

"What?" You blink. "Me? My what?"

You assume Sal mirrors your nonplussed expression because he bats his eyes just as startled as you did. "Uh- your phone number. So we can be in touch easier. You know, for school and stuff."

Eager anxiousness in the form of butterflies batted their wings in your gut and your ribs. You reached into your back pocket, flipped your flip-phone open, and handed it toward the blue-haired boy. "Here," you blurted. "Put it in there." You gloss your eyes toward Larry. For some apparent reason, he's wearing a wide, shit-eating grin.

"You can put yours in too if you want."

He waves a tan hand. Your attention is on Larry, but it somehow drifts and you're glancing toward Sal. His veiny hands are jerking which each movement of his thumbs as he presses numbers on the keypad.

"No, that's okay," Larry replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'll get it off of Sal."

"Here," Sal holds the flip phone out to you. It's small in his hand.

He has long fingers, you thought.

"Oh, thanks." Your fingers brush his as you reclaim your phone and return it to it's place in your back pocket.

Your heart is beating unnecessarily loud by the time they've walked you to your apartment. Your hands are in your coat pockets to conceal the mild trembling in your hands. You're almost nervous that they can hear the rushing of your blood as your heart rapidly pumps it through your body—because you know you certainly can.

"I had fun today," you smiled, your expression nothing but sincerity. "Thanks for everything. I appreciate it."

Larry grins. "That's cute. No need to thank us, alright?"

You twitch the corner of your lips upward and nod towards him.

Sal tucks a strand of blue hair behind his ear—you'll never get used to the color. In a good way. You could look at it for hours—and fiddles with his backpack strap. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," you respond, your teeth making an appearance. "Goodnight, you guys."

With that, you're inside of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. You hear their muffled voices and unintelligible words through the wall as they retreat from your door and towards the elevator.

You drop your bag at the door and make haste to your room. You sit on the side of your bed and hurriedly open your phone.

The first phone number you'd ever had—save your mother, which doesn't count— was "c you tomorrow :)", sitting right beneath "Mom" on the contact list. After changing his name to "Sal :)" you breathed out shakily, and slowly pushed enter on his contact.

Should you send him something? Isn't that a bit weird? You'd just seen him a few minutes ago. Should you wait a little longer? What if he's still with Larry, and they see what you'd sent a message so quickly and make fun of you?

You shake your head. That was unlikely. All they'd been was great to you.

"c you tmrw."

You inwardly linger over the thought of pressing the send button.

Why the fuck were you so nervous, anyway? Because a boy with nice hands and a pretty laugh said he'd see you tomorrow?

Yeah.. okay, maybe that was it.

"c you tmrw." The message was sent.

You slapped a hand over your face. Should you have said something else? Should you just have not texted him at all? You fell back into the mattress, draping your arm over your face and blinking into your wrist. The feeling of exhilarated dread churned in your gut.

A subtle vibration reverberated on the comforter. It buzzed in your ears momentarily. You paused, before lurching upward and snatching the phone back into your grasp.

"you too. let's try not to rouse mrs. packerton's suspicions tomorrow like we did today lol."

You grinned, and replied before you could stop yourself. "might not be possible. you may need to answer another math question for me."

Sal replied after a pause. "can't say no to that. goodnight, y/n"

You breathed out slowly, typed out a goodnight message, and slowly dropped your hands back down to the comforter.

Your fingers shook and your heart was beating itself against your rib cage. Not long after, you dozed off into sleep thinking of the way your body felt when the warmth of his palm was flush against the nape of your neck.

Getting up the next day is a bit harder than getting up the previous one. You couldn't seem to rub the sleep away from your eyes, and, for some reason or another—you'd waken up in a cold sweat, and your sheets stuck to your body. Not only that, when you'd went to shower, the water was freezing, for no apparent reason. You'd come to terms with the fact that this building had multiple personalities.

Standing beneath the shower head felt like being pricked with itty-bitty pitchforks. Topped with miniature ice cubes.

You'd gotten dressed in an oversized black sweater (over a long-sleeved, black top for added warmth), along with an a-lined plaid emerald green and blue skirt on top of your sheer black tights. The skirt was not short—not amongst your standards, it was mid-thigh—but nowadays teachers were weird about how girls dressed so you'd have to keep an eye out about that.

Also, surprisingly—instead of the usual beat up and raggedy sneakers you usually wore you decided on some of your chunky Mary Janes you'd thrifted not long back. You'd never given them a go outside before. The only time they'd been worn was in your room and by yourself.

When you were fully dressed, you let yourself examine your outfit in the mirror. While doing so, your phone chimes in your hand. You snap it open hastily and read the notification.

"it's larry. sal gave me your number :P meet us outside when ur ready"

You grinned and walked out of your room. You grabbed your bag and made for the door. When you'd gotten outside, what greeted you there was not exactly what you'd expected.

"Oh! Ashley, is this yours?" You inquired, gazing over the pale silver Ford Fiesta that sat in the driveway. It was a cute car. Ash sat in the driver's seat with the window down and her forest green eyes attentive and on you.

"Yeah! My little brother had an allergic reaction while eating out at some big corporate food chain and we got it in compensation. We already have a family car so it was given to me."

What a nice story, you thought, making sure you maintained your pleasant expression.

"Oh," you passed your gaze over the vehicle again. "Cool!"

You noted Todd's place in the passenger seat. You met his eye and gently waved. He returned the wave, with that neutral look on his face he always seemed to have.

"You're going to be cold," a voice behind you says rather abruptly. You jump, whirling around.

"You scared me," you laughed, your face burning as you made eye contact with none other than Sal Fisher. "What do you mean?"

"Your skirt," he replies, glancing away momentarily. Your eyebrows raise comically.

"You don't like it?"

"No-" he rushes out, a bit too fast. "Uh, no. It's g- it's nice. I meant you're going to be cold in it."

He was right. It was nearing the end of August.

You pass your eyes over your legs, from the a-lined skirt, the sheer black tights, and the chunky Mary Janes. You return your gaze to his—not before catching a glinting glimpse of what seemed to be rings adorning his fingers—and shrugged.

"Oh well. All I'm worried about is being dress coded," you look to Larry, who's near Sal. "Good morning."

"You too," he grins. "Let's get in the car. It's chilly."

You all clamber into the backseat. You're in between Sal and Larry. Hot air blew from the car vents and hit you in the face as Ashley turned the temperature up further. While doing that, she turns on the radio and channel surfs until she's found some sort of soft rock station. She turns it up to a moderate volume.

A car freshener in the shape of a red tree dangled from the rearview mirror and swayed as Ashley put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway. It had a charming illustration of what resembled two strawberries on the front.

The car smelled nostalgic—like the smell of the hair on one of those Strawberry Shortcake dolls you owned as a child.

The wistful scent is abruptly overpowered by the smell of smoke and the autumn air. Larry had rolled a window down and had just lit a cigarette to your left. On your right, Sal has pulled out his flip phone and is playing some sort of shit quality version of Frogger.

Interested, you lean over.

"How'd you get that on there?"

He looks over at you. He's close. You can hear him slowly inhaling and exhaling through his nose. "Todd did it for me," Sal replies. He gestures toward you with the phone. The phone makes a sound. The digital frog had fallen into the water. "Wanna play?"

"Oh," you pause, and smile. "I like watching you."

His eyes flicker over your face. "Okay."

He returned to the game. Finally, you had an excuse to stare down at his hands. Multiple silver and black rings adorned his hands. They fit him perfectly—snug on his pretty fingers and accenting his veiny hands perfectly.

During your examination, you hadn't exactly realized it but your cheek was now flush against his shoulder and your hair was tickling his neck.

No, you weren't smelling him, but it was hard not to scent it when you inhaled through your nose. He smelled of delicate laundry detergent—fresh, clean—and of minty vanilla. Breathing that in made you feel what was probably the most at home you'd felt in months.

You glanced up from his hands, to his Adam's apple, to his prosthetic face—his gaze remained attentive on the flip phone, dark lashes moving along to accommodate his flickering eyes. You looked away before he'd noticed, and paid attention to the game.

"You're good," you commented.

He didn't reply immediately, almost as if he'd looked over at you. The side of your face remained on his shoulder and your hair still brushed against the skin on his neck.

"Well, it's only Frogger," he remarked. "I bet you're better. Try it."

The sudden scent of ashy smoke consumed your senses. Larry must have exhaled halfway inside of the car. The vapor floated for a moment before dissipating into nothing.

You took the phone from Sal's hands and shifted in your seat to sit straight up. You pressed play on the game, and within seconds your frog had fallen into the water.

"I suck."

"No, you don't. You're just not trying hard enough."

"Potato, Potahto," you reply, shortly laughing at yourself and pressing play again nonetheless.

Suddenly, the vehicle slammed to a halt. You held onto the phone tight in one hand and steadied yourself on the passenger seat in front of you with your other one.

Sal seemed to have the same idea, except he seemed to panic and had braced yourself on your knee instead. You could have sworn you saw white for a split second, your insides jumping and chills fluttering down your spine. He quickly retracted his touch, catching your eye immediately.

"Sorry," Sal uttered.

"That's okay," you'd done a fine job gathering yourself together. "Perfectly fine."

"Jesus Christ, Ash! What the hell was that?" Larry calls from your left, the cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers. He was halfway through exhaling his smoke when he spoke again. Vapor spilled from his lips as he stared at the front of the vehicle. "Trying to kill us?"

"Whoops! Sorry guys, I almost missed the red light."

"That wasn't very wise," Todd remarked from the passenger seat, turning his head to look at Ash. You couldn't help but shortly giggle, looking back down at Sal's phone.

You heard Sal slowly exhale a breath of relief beside you.

"Yeah, anything but fucking wise," Larry scoffed. "Thought I was about to die, dude."

"I said I was sorry," you could hear the roll of Ashley's eyes in her voice. "My parents would kill me if I got a ticket. Also, who told you that you could smoke in my car?"

"I did." In your peripheral vision, he was staring blankly. "What're you going to do about it?"

In the rearview mirror, Ashley squinted her eyes but said nothing.

"This is a shit show," Sal murmured, looking back to his phone in your hands. You'd returned to the game, still attempting at getting past the first level. The digital frog continuously leaped over lily pads and logs. It was almost therapeutic.

"Sorry you don't want me back here, Sal." Larry's tone had transformed from mildly annoyed to slightly bitter. His cigarette had been held unattended for a decent amount of time so it had begun to burn out. "I didn't ask to third wheel."

You blinked and convinced yourself you'd heard him wrong.

You weren't looking at Sal's face. He was silent for a few seconds.

"Just chill out, alright?"

"I'll say what I want."

"It's too early for this, Larry," Sal bit out. "Cut it the fuck out."

Your heart pumped furiously.

"Where do you want to take this, Sal?"

Ashley jumped in incredibly quick, the car jerking as she turned the wheel abruptly, pulling the vehicle into the school's parking lot. "Fuck no. What the fuck are you thinking, Larry? Going to fight Sal because you're in a pissy mood?"

"I'm not going to fucking fight him, Ashley," He shook his head. "It's just- apparently he's got some kind of vendetta against me today so I guess we could talk somewhere else-"

"That's in your head, Larry," Sal said honestly. "I don't know what makes you think I have something against you today, but I don't. I don't know how you want me to prove that to you."

Larry settles into silence as Ashley pulls the Ford Fiesta into a parking space.

"Just- put the cigarette out and calm down, okay?"

It didn't look like the smoke had much left in it, but Larry still drew one last hit out of it before he stepped out of the car and crushed it beneath his shoe. He throws his bag over his shoulder and slams the car door behind him.

You look over at Sal, who was reaching for the door handle. Ashley and Todd had already exited the vehicle, and Ashley was standing by and waiting for you both to get out so she could lock the car.

"Hey," you murmured before he could leave. The blue-haired boy turned his head and inquired you with raised eyebrows. "Try to be patient with him, when you two talk it out. I haven't known him long—but I can tell he's the sort of person that wouldn't act like that unless something's bothering him."

Sal looks down at you thoughtfully, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. You hear him swallow thickly. "Yeah," he muttered. "He is that type of person. I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

With that, you both exit the vehicle and Ashley locks the car. Todd and Larry had already walked up a measured distance ahead of the three of you.

"Do you know what that might have been about?" Ashley asks, directing the question toward Sal by holding eye contact with him. You walk to Sal's left, looking ahead as to not be intrusive on the conversation.

"Uh.." he trails off. A cool breeze filters past your face and legs and it makes you shiver. "Not really. Usually, it's about his mom. Whenever they've argued about something, it puts him in a bad mood."

Ashley seems to give herself a moment to reply.

"Anything else?"

Sal does the same.

"Not that I know of."

Your eyebrows twitch downward.

Ashley walks slightly ahead of the two of you. She calls your name, and you look up from the ground, startled. "How are you liking the apartments? Anytime I've been there, they're kind of creepy."

You giggle. "Yeah. You could say that. I'd say they're alright—it gets kind of cold. The water was fucking ice cold today. Could barely shower."

Ashley mirrors your laughter. "Anything else?"

You pause. "Larry has this really great treehouse. I don't know if you've been, but it's honestly pretty cool. It's homey."

She looks up to Sal in surprise. "She's already been? When did you guys show her?"

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. "Uh, well, we didn't necessarily show her.."

Ashley looks at you curiously. You sarcastically pout towards Sal, finding his eyes to be twinkling with amusement. "I may have broken into it."

"Oh, you didn't break into it," Sal protests, exhaling sharply through his nose in a gentle chuckle. "You just didn't realize it was inhabited."

You look towards Ashley. "Long story short—I found a cool treehouse. Thought it was abandoned. Climbed into it. Coincidentally, Sal and Larry climbed into the treehouse while I was in it. It was embarrassing."

"It wasn't. It was funny," You could hear Sal's grin. "She smoked for the first time that day."

Ashley's jaw dropped in faux-astonishment. "You've tainted her innocence."

You smile. "It was honestly kind of horrible at first."

Before you knew it, the three of you had entered the school. After a few more minutes of banter and friendly conversation, you and Sal parted ways from Ashley to head towards your first class of the day: math.

Once again, Mrs. Packerton had given the class a math sheet. For god knows why she expected you to know all of these things off of the bat and get all of the questions right with barely any assistance. You were stuck on one problem like it always went.

Someone nudged your arm. You looked to your left and smiled at who was looking at you. He glanced down at your paper. "The answer's-"

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Fisher?"

Fuck, you thought, slowly looking up to your elderly teacher. Glancing over to Sal, his eyebrows were raised and he peered up at the woman at the front of the classroom with something akin to surprise in his eyes. "Uh-"

Before he could explain himself, Mrs. Packerton's entire facade did a 180 and her eyebrows were suddenly furrowed and her frown was deep-set. It was almost comical, and you strained to keep the laugh in. You weren't looking to break a rib, so you unfortunately giggled beneath your breath.

Her dark brown eyes slid over to you. After a moment of being examined and feeling extremely uncomfortable, she sighed.

"I'm administering detention for both of you, after school. I will let you finish the test, but next time this happens it'll be an immediate fail for both of you. Understood?”

You and Sal exchange both equally supposed expressions, before nodding together.

Before class is over, you see Travis giving Sal another sour look. Oh my god, you thought, twirling your pencil around in between your fingers. Is this going to have to be another talk, Travis?

The bell rang. You and Sal jumped up and fled the class as quickly as you could.

"Oh my god," he breathed, as you both stepped into the hallway and began maneuvering through the countless amount of students flooding the halls. "She's super fucking scary. I was so wrong."

You abruptly laugh. "Yeah. She's got that look in her eye." You pause. "I'm sorry, Sal. You wouldn't be getting a detention if it wasn't for me."

Sal tilts his head just slightly. "It's no big deal. It was my fault, anyway. It's not like you asked for my help either times I helped you out. It's not like my dad's going to be mad, anyway—he'll probably be relieved. I've never really got detention for anything, especially involving talking to another person. Probably'll be glad I'm being more social, haha."

You frown. "I'm still sorry."

"I appreciate it, but you don't have to be-"

"If only your friend wasn't so dumb, Sally Face. It's a shame that your perfect record is all tarnished."

Sal appears as though he knew who was talking a few words in. He inhales, turns around to face the blond boy behind him, and backs up a step. "What do you want, Travis?"

Your fingernails sink into your palms. It stings. You told him yesterday!

"Nothing. Just wanna know why she's so stupid."

Sal's eyes flicker. "Mm, think you're forgetting about how close you were to failing mid-terms last year. You're not very bright yourself."

Travis grows a bit red but he looks as though he's trying to ignore his growing frustration. It boggled you—the fact he was so easy to anger because of the fact Sal was defending himself. Defending.. you?

"Whatever. Why am I fucking arguing with a fucking satan worshipper, anyway?"

That genuinely surprised you. What kind of insult was that? And where did it come from?

"Whatever, Travis. God doesn't like bullies, either. I hope you don't kiss your daddy with that mouth-"

You're glad the hall is relatively empty because the crack you hear when Travis' fist meets Sal's prosthetic face is loud and startling. Your heart is in your throat. You place your hands on Travis' chest and push him into the lockers. The metal cages rattle beneath the sudden weight.

"What the FUCK is wrong with you?" You shout, red hot anger coursing through your body and pumping through your veins. "Get the fuck away. I swear to god, I'll-"

Sal murmurs your name, gripping your wrist. "Stop. Don't push him."

You give Travis the bitchiest expression you can muster. He scoffs and walks away. You're surprised he didn't throw one last insult into the air—but he instead walked down the hall with heavy footing, turned around the corner, and disappeared.

As soon as you're done watching him down the hall, you whip around to Sal with wide eyes. He was cupping the place where the mask cut off, collecting blood that dripped down.

"He's got a mean right hook," Sal breathily laughed.

The rage you currently felt made your head hurt. You quickly grabbed him by the wrist and hurried him towards the restrooms at the opposite side of the hall. On your way, the bell rings. You couldn't care less whether or not you were going to miss your class—it's not like you didn't have detention already.

"Hey, what're you-"

You pull him into the girl's bathroom, which was empty. You make sure to turn him away from the entrance. His eyes are as wide as two dinner plates.

"Huh. Smells nice in here," he comments. The fact that's the first thing he says tells you he's clearly in shock from being clocked in the face.

You grab some paper towels and look him in the eye.

"I'm going to clean you up now,"

You reach around his head.

"Hey, I- wait, you don't-"

You unbuckle the clasps at the back of his prosthetic and pull the prosthetic off of his face. You set it aside, and set it on the edge of the sink.

He slowly meets your gaze. The amount of internal fear that's held inside of those eyes—fear you know that's been held in for so long—is astonishing to you. Your eyes soften. You slide your gaze over his face, and all you can feel is an unbelievable amount of happiness and satisfaction.

Butterflies swarm your insides and beat against your ribs at the sight of his mouth.

It's just as kissable as you'd imagined.

Shut the fuck up, you snap back at yourself. Not the time.

You're unable to hold in the large smile that grows on your lips as you bring the paper towels toward his face and wipe away the blood that dripped from his nose, down his mouth, and fell down his chin—there was so much of it that it had made its way down to the collar of his shirt, staining the material scarlet red.

"You can give that to me later," you uttered. "I know a thing or two about getting blood out of clothes, haha."

His lips twitched, but he remained silent and let you do your thing.

After thoroughly cleaning his face off, you return the prosthetic to him, handling it with care.

"Here you go."

After he'd put it on, you met his eyes.

"Hey, Sal, I'm-"

"It's okay." He peered at you sincerely. "That went.. better than I thought it would. I just hope you don't think of me differently."

The thought appalled you.

"No!" You exclaimed, a bit too forceful. You gathered your composure and tried it again. "No. Um- I could never. Seriously. Your face doesn't change who you are, Sal. It doesn't make me think of you any different. You're still you. Besides, I- um... I liked it."

His eyebrows jump and he jerks his head upward. "What?"

"I liked it. I liked your face."

He was silent like it was taking him a little bit to process that. Your eyes wandered during this time, and they landed on the collar of his shirt, again. You cursed.

"Shit. Hold on."

Suddenly, you'd crossed your arms around your midriff and began pulling the sweater upward. The noise Sal made was almost comical.

"No, uh, you don't have to! It's fine, I can-"

Before he could stop you, the shirt was up and over your chest and it was off of your head. Thank god that you'd remembered the black top beneath, or else you'd feel really bad that you couldn't give him the sweater—it wasn't like you could walk around in just a bra (as much as you'd like to sometimes.)

He grabbed the article of clothing from you, hesitant. "You're sure?"

"Yep!"

"Alright," he murmured, cautious, pulling your sweater over his head and pulling it down his torso. Once he'd done so, he looked back to your eyes and inquired you with his own. "So? What do you think?"

Heart beating so loudly it thrummed in your ears, you replied: "You've never looked better," and grinned wider than you ever have before.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

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thatsamericano · 3 years

Text

My Missing Puzzle Piece

Pairings/Characters: America/Romano, with background FrUK and FACE Family and mentioned Cankraine. Human AU.

Ratings/Warnings: Teen, for cursing. No warnings.

Word Count: 1564

Summary: According to the words written on his arm, Alfred will initially be more of a nuisance than a hero to his soulmate, but he’s eager to meet them regardless.

A/N: Written for @aphrarepairweek2021, Day 5 “soulmate.” Title taken from “Teenage Dream” by Katy Perry.

Alfred woke up on the morning of his sixteenth birthday more excited than he’d ever been. He was getting closer to adulthood, and like all teenagers on their sixteenth birthday, he would finally be able to read the first words his soulmate would ever say to him on his arm.

He ran into the bathroom, turned on the light and read what his soulmate had to say to him. Or to be more accurate, he tried to read it. At least it was in the same alphabet he was used to, unlike Mattie, who had woken up three days ago with a Cyrillic script on his arm. But it obviously wasn’t English.

Che cazzo di problema hai?! Mi hai fatto inciampare, stupido stronzo!

From what he could tell, his soulmate was having some kind of problem with a stupid person. That wasn’t an ideal situation in which to meet the fated love of your life, but Alfred, optimistic as always, spun it in a positive direction. He smiled as he thought of rescuing his soulmate from whatever stupid person was bothering them, showing off how cool and heroic he was, and impressing them so much that they fainted right into his arms, just like Superman had met Lois Lane. It would be totally epic!

His hopes for a heroic, comic book worthy meeting were dashed a few days later. On the morning of his birthday, Alfred explained his soulmate tattoo to his curious family, and his Papa Francis was able to determine that he probably had Italian on his arm. The following week, their other dad, Arthur, brought Alfred and his brother to a language learning center in order to have their tattoos assessed by the specialists working there. After knowing the language written on their arms, they would begin receiving tutoring in their soulmate’s language.

The expert in Slavic languages was able to determine that Matthew had Ukrainian on his arm. His soulmate had lost their cat and was asking Matthew for help. Matthew’s new language tutor took him into another room for his first lesson, and then it was Alfred’s turn to be assessed. When the Italian instructor, a balding, middle-aged man who introduced himself as Mr. Moretti, read what was on Alfred’s arm, he started chuckling.

“What’s so bloody funny?”

Mr. Moretti addressed Alfred rather than his father. “Your soulmate is annoyed with you. And they weren’t exactly polite about it.” He explained what the tattoo said. The “stupid person” (asshole, really) they were having a problem with was Alfred, who had apparently made them fall over, and his soulmate was wondering what the fuck was wrong with them.

“Oh.” Alfred frowned down at the desk he was sitting at. “When I saw that they had a problem, I was kind of hoping I could be their hero. Does this mean my soulmate’s gonna hate me forever?”

Mr. Moretti smiled sympathetically at him. “That’s generally not how it works. But helping you learn as much Italian as you can before you meet your soulmate will probably go a long way to smoothing things over.”

After that, Alfred said goodbye to his dad, who promised to pick him up later, and started his first lesson in Italian. He learned how to say “I’m sorry,” and how to tell his soulmate what his name was.

Nearly two years later, Alfred had graduated high school without meeting his soulmate or bumping into any other Italians. Matthew hadn’t met any Ukrainians looking for their missing cat either, so instead of a more traditional graduation present, Alfred and Matthew asked to go on a trip to the places where they would be more likely to meet their soulmates. First, they would visit Italy for a couple weeks, and then they would go to Ukraine so Mattie could get a chance to meet his soulmate.

After flying into Naples, Alfred was eager to immediately go out and explore the city on the off chance that he might meet his soulmate. The rest of his family, however, was exhausted by the long flight and insisted on checking into the hotel so they could catch up on their sleep and adjust to the time difference. Alfred went along grudgingly.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast at the hotel, Alfred, his dads, and his brother all left to go sightseeing. They’d visited the ruins of Pompeii and had been wandering around the Piazza del Plebiscito for a while when his Papa brought up the idea of stopping to get lunch.

“I think we should give it another half hour. Statistically, I’m more likely to run into my soulmate out here than in a restaurant.”

Matthew laughed. “You’re actually objecting to the idea of eating? That’s not like you, Al.”

Alfred pouted at his brother’s teasing. “I just want to meet my soulmate,” he muttered.

“Perhaps if you could tell us your type, it would narrow down the search a little, mon chou,” his papa suggested.

Alfred thought it over. “I don’t think I have a type. I hope they’re around my age so we can be together for the rest of our lives, but other than that, I’ll like my soulmate for whoever they are.” Matthew was fairly sure his soulmate would be a girl, but he was open to other possibilities. Alfred had no gender preferences, so it could theoretically be anyone.

His dad sighed. “So the plan is to walk around this city aimlessly until some Italian calls you an arsehole.”

Alfred glanced behind him to speak to his dad. “Pretty much.”

“And if they’re not here?”

“Then we’ll wander around aimlessly somewhere else in Italy. And then, if that doesn’t work, we’ll go to another town, until I meet whoever it is I’m supposed to—”

Alfred was interrupted in the middle of talking to his dad by a body colliding into his. He heard a startled oof, then whirled around to see a brunet man falling to the ground. He managed to avoid faceplanting on the pavement by throwing out his hands at the last minute, then quickly scrambled to his feet.

Alfred knew Italian pretty well for an American kid who had a French and English parent. He knew that in this situation he should say mi dispiace or ask him ha bisogno di aiuto, but Alfred couldn’t get his mouth to work. His heart was beating too fast, his stomach was filled with butterflies, and he’d scoffed at the idea of love at first sight so many times before, but he couldn’t explain his reaction any other way.

The stranger he’d knocked over because he hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going was beautiful.

Of course, he started yelling at him, with that phrase Alfred had first learned nearly two years ago and that was now making his arm tingle with recognition. The stranger was glaring at him, but Alfred was too mesmerized by his gorgeous hazel eyes to feel intimidated. He was gesturing furiously, but Alfred was awestruck by how cute it was.

He was grinning by the time the stranger had finished ranting at him, and he said the only thing he could think of. “God, you’re perfect.”

Alfred’s soulmate’s eyes widened, and he grabbed onto his right arm in disbelief. Alfred laughed and went over to hug him. But he was too exhilarated from hugging his soulmate to stay still. Alfred picked him up and spun him around. His soulmate hissed at Alfred to put him down, but he ended up clinging to Alfred’s neck in a way that suggested he didn’t really want to let go.

By the time he set him back down on his feet, his soulmate was blushing and smiling a little in spite of himself. Alfred beamed. “You’re the cutest person I’ve ever seen!” He turned towards his amused family. “Isn’t he the cutest person you’ve ever seen?”

Matthew chuckled. “Alfred, you might want to find out his name before you start telling us about him.”

“Oh right.” Alfred cleared his throat. “Mi chiamo Alfred. Lei… come si chiama?”

His soulmate snickered at him. Maybe it should’ve bothered him that he was being made fun of, but Alfred was too focused on how adorable he was and how much he wanted to kiss him. “Your accent sounds ridiculous,” he explained. “And my name is Savino.”

“Well, Savino, I’ve got the rest of my life to get better at it. Especially if I have you to help me.”

Savino’s lips twitched up into a grin. “I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Alfred introduced his soulmate to his brother and dads then mentioned that he and his family had been thinking about getting lunch before Alfred ran into him. He asked Savino if he would like to join them for lunch.

“I know a place not too far from here. I’ll take you there.”

Savino linked his hand with Alfred’s and started to lead them forward confidently across the piazza. Alfred snuck glances at his soulmate’s face and squeezed his hand, marveling at how right it felt to hold Savino’s hand, and how right it felt to be with him, even if he was only beginning to get to know him. The piece of his life he hadn’t even known he’d been missing was guiding him through a foreign city, and now Alfred felt complete.

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imaginedcreaderinsert · 4 years

Text

Jason’s Room — Jason Todd x Reader (+ Dick Grayson)

SUMMARY: “Yeah?”You hear music; it’s loud, deafening probably, but you don’t have to worry about waking up your partner.Dick is out patrolling, and the bed is now cold. You try and warm yourself up in the duvet. Still doesn’t help, but there’s a rush that slowly burning up your body.No one talks, but you’ve seen the caller ID; enough to make you worry after checking the time, see if it was an emergency. But Jason seems to be frozen.“Jay, I saw it was you. Everything alright?”

WORD COUNT: 2140.

TW: Angsty, toxic relationship implied. Some cheating can be read, but is not acted on. Jason Todd is not portrayed as a good person on this one.

A/N: I have no excuse for writing this, other than really wanting to, which I think it’s a good step, seeing as I’ve abandoned writing for my own pleasure completely. So yeah, just have this.

LYRICS COMPLETELY TAKEN FROM “Marvin’s Room”, by Drake.

Bitches in my old phone

I should call one and go home

I've been in this club too long

He’s really so fucking drunk. He shouldn’t be allowed to go out on nights like that, but he still does.

(Maybe clinging to the idea that someone will call him up and say “hey, don’t go, I know you’re bad, let’s talk?”.

He’s stupid, really stupid. Stupid enough to-)

No, he’s already drinking up another shot, from that lined up column of alcohol in front of him. Jason’s pretty sure he’s at a new club, but he can’t say for sure: nothing is familiar and yet everything echoes in him for a reason: faces, blurred-out expressions of joy and a world going too fast around him; music beating too hard in his chest, making his heart almost leap out of it; laughter that he’s not sure that’s coming out of him really, even as he feels his smile growing, a charismatic and cocky attitude coming out of him.

He could have anyone he wanted; Jason knows he doesn’t have the suave attitude of the family, and yet “the bad boy” always attracts a certain crowd of girls he feels like he could go in for that night.

Jason knows he could, but doesn’t. His hand moves up and down this gorgeous girl at her side, a bronzed goddess, but his eyes move to check up his phone: no new messages or calls.

It’s obsessive really. It must have been the third time he’s done that since his last shot, but… It’s infuriating to know he’s not needed.

(He is; there’s always that stupid booty call, the fucking vigilante stuff he feels less and less like going in for – it now means something different, something that wrecks him up inside – or the casual reaching out he’s not really interested in deepening.

Just not by that one person he hasn’t heard anything from in the last weeks.

And you said you’d call by now (“in a week or so”), and yet--)

The woman that I would try

Is happy with a good guy

But I've been drinkin' so much

That I'ma call her anyway, and say

“Yeah?”

You hear music; it’s loud, deafening probably, but you don’t have to worry about waking up your partner.

Dick is out patrolling, and the bed is now cold. You try and warm yourself up in the duvet. Still doesn’t help, but there’s a rush that slowly burning up your body.

No one talks, but you’ve seen the caller ID; enough to make you worry after checking the time, see if it was an emergency... But Jason seems to be frozen.

“Jay, I saw it was you. Everything alright?”

“Fuck, I-Fuck, no, I’m-Agh, I’ave to get out of ‘ere… Excuse YOU!” He drags out the vocals; tone is sleazy, lazy, and you would recognize that anyone, of course.

“Are you drunk? Jason?”

You feel incredibly naked, even with your thick pajamas out; you’ve lived this out too many times, and you can almost see him climb your bed.

It’s been a long time since he’s done that, but it’s something you will always remember: the creaking of the wood, springs of the bed, rustling of sheets as he tossed sheets here and there all night.

(The stupid “I love you’s”, the lazy and very drunken make-outs, while groping each other).

“Jason, are you okay or not?”

I know you still think about the times we had

I say fuck that nigga that you think you found

And since you picked up, I know he's not around, oh oh

I'm just sayin' you could do better

Cause even if those VERY BLURRY nights that you can’t almost remember were nice, there were also the others; those which kind of made you hold onto Dick tighter in bed, at dawn when he sneaked in, cold skin, occasionally bruised. He felt so precious and delicate under the first rays of sun, as his dreams started to die under his eyelids, barely any movement in his body save the soft breathing out of his mouth. Too precious, and too yours.

You loved him entirely and completely. He made you feel so happy you wanted to cry at times; there was nothing lacking, not the sex, not the affection.

But Jason doesn’t think the same.

What about the rush, what about the times you’ve had?

“Why you pick up?” I know he’s not there, he implies, but doesn’t say. She knows too. “It’s late. Thought you were now reformed; no phone after 2AM or something like that, right?”

“Some of us have jobs. Unfortunately, I don’t have a fortune to fall back on”.

“Ouch.”

It’s very easy to just talk. They laugh, and she gets up on bed; Jason can picture her, duvet up to her chin, propping up her pillow (the best he’s had), to talk better, while still charging the phone. He hears the rustling on her side, meaning she’s staring at the side he used to sleep in. She always loved to sleep tucked into his chest.

“You still haven’t answered.”

“Right back at ya’. Are you okay?”

A really difficult question for a drunken and very honest man at 3AM in the morning.

If he was a better man, he would wish her a goodnight and hang up; no more talking, no more suggesting, no more playing with fire. If he was a better man, he probably wouldn’t be drunk-texting girls to “cheer him up” after this call, and he would just go home, sleep it off, and go at it again another night.

But he really is not, and it’s too late to go back now. That’s at least what he tells himself, what he tries to entitle himself into: he feels too much, he’s had it bad the last couple of weeks without you. So, he is owed that.

And that is his mistake, for no one is entitled to anything over anyone, no matter their own personal suffering.

“I guess.” Vague; but enough to let her get out, not dig in. Which is really a trap when he knows of your good nature, but he tells himself that it’s your choice (your fault!) for asking about it.

“That’s… Comforting, I guess. Friend calling at 3AM, probably lost and unaware of where he is right now, fucking drunk and in a completely safe neighborhood, I’m sure…”. There’s a sigh. He hates hearing you sigh; it’s always cause you’re so tired of him, he knows, he knows. And he hates himself for it, makes him feel so useless. “Just send me your location, I’ll guide you home.”

‘But aren’t you on Blüdhaven?’, he naïvely wants to ask, just to almost punch himself right after. She means the safe house or whatever place is near, that she might have still saved as her favorite or most usual locations at Gotham.

Tell me, have you heard that lately?

I'm just sayin' you could do better

And I'll start hatin' only if you make me

“So, why you pick up?”, he asks again, just enough sober. His stomach is in knots from the alcohol (and not waiting for your answer, just hearing your voice and talking to you). He’s on a taxi, and the yellow lights on him are making him sleepy. “I answered.”

It’s 4.38AM. Sending a cab there was easy enough once you had his location and Jason swore he wasn’t moving anymore. Bless technology, you think to yourself now a bit irritated for wanting to sleep and not being able to. Your lids are heavy, and the sheets too soft.

“Obviously cause’ I’m an idiot who forgot to silence their phone.” It’s a half-joke. If you had done just like Dick had suggested, you would not be having that conversation. You change sides in your bed, now looking outside, to the window; Jason’s sigh is audible. You almost feel a heavy and ghostly arm bracing you from behind. “If the info is correct, you should be arriving home soon. Wanna hang up?”

“I miss you.”

A beat.

Breath knocked out of your lungs and silence only interrupted by your dramatic mouth breathing. You literally forgot to breathe; that’s how being with Jason used to make you feel.

As exciting and exhilarating every night out or in with him was, it was not good for you. The nights that were good, but the bad ones, really made your feel like shit. And if someone loves you, they will never hurt you. You know, you so know, how bad he’s had it: but that’s not an excuse for his shitty behavior, his stupid harmful jokes or the way he made you feel.

“Jason, it’s been a long week, I know.”

“No, I know, I know-I’m not-I’m not trying to-“. A sigh. His sighs always broke you: too tired, too broken. Jason always had a way with words, but you managed to sometimes kill that off too. “I don’t want to start out anything. I just want to say sorry. I wanted to, but I know-fuck, I really KNOW-“

“Don’t scream, please.” Firm. Cold.

He’s losing you.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m an ass.” He laughs; it’s self-deprecating and you hate it, but you really don’t have the energy right now. “I…”. Nothing comes out. There’s a long silence. Inhale, exhale (“Jason, just breathe, please”): “I love you. Probably more than I would ever admit to do, and you mean so much to me, but I fucked up big time. And I know, I know-” He emphasizes, without elevating his tone. “-I know you’re so happy with him, fuck! It’s disgusting. It’s fucking bizarre to see you two together.” Poison that he spits, that’s eating him out; acid destroying everything inside, every little nerve of sanity still inside. “And yet, I can’t stop-I really think I don’t want to stop thinking on whatever we had, on the kiss we shared-“

“Jay, that was not-“

“No, I know. I know, but we shared it, and it brought me memories, and you closed off! Fuck, I had you to myself, we were-fuck.”

He curses out for a bit. You let him vent, sighing and putting your hand over your eyes, as if to stop everything from happening. No more 3AM calls.

Had it been pretty shitty of you to get with his “brother”? Maybe, but it wasn’t on purpose or with a malicious intent. It really had been pure coincidence that you had hit if off on one of the galas where Jason stood you up, with a considerable hangover and too sick to move anywhere. That, with the argument you had been having more and more often… Jason wasn’t sure you were even going to show up, but there they had met, and he regrets it every day.

(But sometimes…

Sometimes they look so perfect that he thinks they might just have been destined to happen, one way or another. If it was not in a gala, maybe a rescue, maybe a touch on the street, a crush, a rude Gothamite exchange of words as you clashed onto each other.

Whatever. It just happened and now you two were together.)

“Jason, I was never… “Only yours” to have.”

“On that we can agree. We never really settled, and I didn’t ever treat you nice.”

Not like she wanted; he knew. They were just… Casual friends who fucked every two weeks, who occasionally kissed and got jealous over the other receiving attention from the opposite sex (sometimes same sex). Despite what everyone else thinks, he is quickly to see others social intentions; her whispers on his skin, the brightness on her eyes whenever they would do it with such intimacy, the cuddling… No, he knew, of course he did, that she wanted more.

Jason just wasn’t ready for it. He might never be, but it’s not your fault; never was, never will. And he might just have lost forever the one thing he wanted.

But that’s the thing: everyone wants the chocolate scoop. But what they might need for a change is something they’ve never tried before.

“I don’t know what you’re babbling on about ice cream, Jay. I really…”. She’s tired, he knows. From him, from Dick and his waiting (she never really liked him going on rounds); from just having to bear with all the weight of the world on her naked and frail shoulders. “It’s not the time for this conversation. Can we… Talk another time?”

A beat.

Inhale, exhale.

“Yeah.”. Tired, so tired. Lids closing off,. “I’m here anyways, so I’ll hang up…”. Silence; insufferable silence. He closes his eyes for a second. “Have a goodnight.”

“You too, Jason.”

He’s not there, but he will be soon. He hopes for that, at least; everything will be easier.

#reader insert #Jason Todd #jason todd fanfiction #dcu x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #dcu fanfic #jason todd fanfic #dick grayson implied

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delicatelyherdreams · 5 years

Text

Pragma(tic) 2: He Becomes a Trespasser

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 4402

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 1: Her Morning Takes a Turn

The sun was golden against his skin, shining on the tan color he had come to acquire after so many hours out in the light. It beat down on the flesh, warming it and relaxing him. His arms were folded behind his head as he reclined on the grass. It was soft and cool on his skin; Crete always did have the best grass for lying on. His eyes were closed against the bright light, the rays illuminating his eyelids and highlighting the veins that ran through them. His chest rose and fell with even breaths. If one didn’t know any better, they’d say he was asleep.

But he wasn’t. The young god was just lounging about, listening in on the conversation that was being held not five feet away from him.

The two voices were of young men, one angry, agitated, and fidgeting, and the other slightly exasperated and amused.

Steve, a naiad, was talking with quick, jerky gestures. He was riled up, clearly upset, but not quite enraged. His fists were balled up tightly, almost as if he wanted to punch something. “...the bastard said I couldn’t do it,” he ranted and raved. “He thinks that because I’m a water spirit, I can’t get jewels like that.”

Sam, a dryad, was watching his friend skeptically. He tended to be the more level-headed of the three, always the mediator to calm Steve’s need to prove himself and Bucky’s somewhat erratic tendencies. He was the one to stop the two before they got themselves killed. “Steve,” he started in an attempt to reason, “it’s not worth your time. So what if you can’t get a ruby to prove him wrong? You’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“Like what?” Steve asked with scalding agitation in his voice. “Like guarding Bucky?”

The young god’s eyes opened at the sound of his nickname and he sat up to look over at the two.

“No offense Buck, but really, you can protect yourself most of the time.” Steve turned back to Sam, his gaze hardening once more. “I want to do more than just be a bodyguard.”

“Like what? Like getting a ruby to prove some stupid nereid wrong?”

“Exactly!”

Bucky’s eyes danced with amusement, catching the sunlight up above and shining. He was always finding humor in his friend’s need to prove himself. Steve has always wanted to be the bigger man, be the one who’s worthy, be the one who can be more than he is. Ever since they were little, when Steve was small and scrawny, he’d been taking on dangerous and daring exploits, fights, and anything else he could get his hands on to prove himself. And even now that Steve was an adult with body mass, muscle, and strength to rival the gods, nothing had changed.

Steve frowned as he began to plot. “Now where can I find a ruby?”

“At a mortal jewelry store, probably,” Sam quipped. “But you know we’re not allowed to go there. Winnifred would have our heads. Besides, we don’t have any money to buy them.”

Steve’s lips turned down in a pout. “Dammit.” He scrunched up his face as he thought. “There’s gotta be some other place we can find them.”

“I’ve heard they’re usually in caves,” Bucky chimed in.

“Caves…” Steve repeated when suddenly his eyes lit up. “I’ve got it!” His whole body turned to Bucky, his eyes wide, his lips parted, his body straight and ready for action. “There’s a ton of caves down under. And the queen is literally the goddess of wealth. If anyone anywhere were to have a ruby, it’d be down there. Now, Bucky…” His voice quieted and his eyebrows knitted together, silently begging Bucky to do something.

Bucky simply chuckled, knowing full well what his best friend was asking of him. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t be giving me those puppy dog eyes. You know my mom would kill me if I went down there.”

“But Hades is dangerous and you’re a god, man,” Steve moaned. “You can’t die down there, I can. Your mother will never need to know about this. C’mon, do a brother a solid?” He tilted his head to the side. “I’ll owe you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t do it, Buck,” Sam piped up. “Your mom will find out some way or another and we’ll all be screwed. Steve doesn’t need to get a ruby to prove himself. He’s just asking for trouble.”

“Oh come on, it can’t be hard to sneak in and grab one small ruby,” Steve whined.

“Or it could be extremely difficult and get Bucky in trouble.”

“He’s in, he grabs a ruby, he’s out. Easy!”

“No! Not easy. He’s gonna—”

“I’ll do it.”

“I’m sorry, you’ll what?”

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ll do it. I’ll run down and grab Steve a ruby.”

Both Sam and Steve were shocked. Neither of them thought the young god would actually agree to this crazy plan. But Steve just beamed at him. “You are the freaking best.”

“I know.” Bucky barked a laugh and rose to his feet, the grass wedging in between his bare toes. “But how the Hades am I going to get down there? I don’t think the Underworld is on a map and has a giant sign saying ‘Congratulations, you’ve reached the Underworld.’”

“Well duh.” Steve rolled his eyes and looked around at their surroundings.

They were in a clearing on the island of Crete. It was a quaint little place separated from the mortals and their cities. Sitting at the base of Mount Ida, the clearing was directly below the Dikteon Cave where the Olympian queen had been hidden as a baby. The whole area was coated in her magic, especially that cave, and her magic did some weird things to the rift between worlds.

Steve pointed up at the cave’s mouth. “See that up there?”

Bucky had to squint, but he could see it. “Yeah.”

“When Hades was finishing up the Underworld and securing it, she wasn’t able to close the rift between the Mortal World and the Underworld in that cave. The familiar energy from her sister was too strong and it’s been open ever since. That’s your in and out. It should deposit you right next to a cave if you’re lucky.”

“Please, I was born lucky!” Bucky brushed off his jeans and started walking towards the mountain. “I’ll be back!” he called to his friends before pushing on to find a path up to the cave.

The mortals had tried to pave paths to the cave, but none of them got very far. The residue from Queen Carol’s aura kept them far away from the cave. No mortal could get within a hundred yards of the mouth of the cave. Luckily for Bucky, he was a god.

He marched right up the side of the mountain to the mouth of the cave and stepped inside. He could feel the temperature drop about ten degrees as soon as got an inch inside and the hairs on his arms bristled. A shiver ran down his spine to the tips of his toes, setting an uneasy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He shouldn’t have been there. He was a god of spring and new life; he had no business being among the dead.

If his mother saw him now, she’d be furious. Winnifred, the goddess of the harvest and agriculture, may have seemed kind and gentle, but she was strict and her wrath was untamable and wild. If she were to be disobeyed, she would guarantee that those that opposed her direct orders would pay for it.

Bucky loved his mother to death, but even he had to admit that she could be way too strict sometimes. She insisted that Bucky always dress properly and in a modest outfit, never permitting him nor his friends to dress in anything less than a pair of nice jeans and a pristine shirt. She required them to have limited access to the Mortal World, stating that they should only go if it was absolutely necessary. She didn’t like them frolicking among the mortals because they were Olympians, and above the humans.

She didn’t have many rules, but she did have one that was absolute: never have any contact with the Underworld or the dead. They were too dangerous for a young god like him.

Bucky couldn’t believe that he was breaking his mother’s most important rule, but at the same time, he was exhilarated. He’d never dared to do something so bold and it was showing. His palms were sweating despite the freezing chill in the air and his heart was racing fast in his chest. He was nervous. He shouldn’t have been there, but it was too late to go back now.

He pushed on, going deeper and deeper into the cave. The air changed around him, growing cold and unforgiving. It was dark and empty and lifeless. He was not in the Mortal World anymore. Bucky took a breath and took a final step, coming out of the cave and entering a chasm.

His breath got stuck in his throat.

He’d heard stories of the Underworld before, he’d heard descriptions of it, but nothing could’ve prepared him for what it actually was.

It was magnificent, regal, and impressive. With towering mountains in the distance on which a large mansion stood on top of, expansive fields of flowers, and hundreds of thousands of people milling about, Bucky was in awe. He couldn’t believe how organized and calm the realm was; he’d always thought that the Underworld would be savage and ugly, but here it was calm and silent.

He could’ve stood there for hours staring at everything around him and taking it all in, but he was on a mission. He had to find the ruby.

He put his head on a swivel, looking from side to side as he searched for a cave. Rubies formed in caves; they had to be there. It wasn’t long before his eyes landed on a single cave carved into the side of a wall, a single river flowing into the mouth of it. Granted, that river was made of fire, but Bucky didn’t think anything of it. He assumed that most rivers in the Underworld had some quirk about them and that this one was that it was on fire.

He slid along the side of the Underworld, getting closer and closer to the cave. He wanted to be in and out before he could be caught. He slipped into the mouth of the cave he saw and turned to face it.

The place was colder than the main part of the Underworld. His hairs were standing on end and he had a dreadful weight sitting in the pit of his stomach. Something was not right about this place. It felt bad; it felt evil.

The young god clenched up on himself, his shoulders rolling in as he attempted to shake the feelings but they refused to disappear. Yet, he pushed on.

It was dark in there, he had to give his eyes some time to adjust to the absence of light. When he could finally see again, he scanned the walls of the cave, his eyes peeled for anything shiny and red. It couldn’t be too hard to find a red jewel, right?

Wrong.

Upon further inspection, he noticed that there didn’t seem to be a single sparkly object in this godforsaken cave. Every rock was bleak and dull, only clothed in greys and blacks. There was absolutely no color in the cave. Bucky was starting to wonder if he’d ever find a ruby here. Maybe they just weren’t in this cave. Maybe he was in the wrong place. But he didn’t have much time to ponder that. The sinking feeling in his gut was growing heavier and heavier with every step he took in. He shouldn’t have been there. There was something massively wrong with that place. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

But it put its finger on him.

Bucky jumped when he felt something thin, hard, and bumpy touch his skin and latch onto his ankle. A scream tore out of his throat as he snapped his head down and kicked wildly.

A hand, skeletal and white, had grabbed him and was holding on for dear life. It didn’t want to let him go and it pulled him closer to the body that was attached to it.

Bucky had been too preoccupied with searching the walls to notice the mass of bodies that were starting to pile up around him. There were dozens, maybe more, of skeletons and spirits crawling their way to him. They almost seemed drawn to the life that oozed from him. And, surely, as soon as they touched him, he could feel them trying to steal the life from him. He felt listless and drained when they touched him, and he could tell that they were nothing but evil.

How had he gotten so far in without noticing? Was he that much of a fool?

Apparently so.

The spirits around him collected around his feet and reached up, clawing onto his pants and dragging him down.

He struggled in their grasps, doing his best to fight them off, but every time he shook one off, two more would take its place. They were slowly overpowering him, pulling him closer to the ground where more of them could absorb the life from him. He could feel the toll they were taking on him, and he hated himself for feeling so weak. He’d never been so powerless before, and it scared him. For the first time in his relatively young life, he was truly afraid.

With his mother around, he’d never had anything to fear. But his mother wasn’t here now and he was alone. And this was the end.

The spirits dragged him down to the cave’s floor and swarmed him, clamoring on top of him to maximize their hold.

“I don’t want to die” was the only thought running through his head, but Bucky simply closed his eyes, too afraid to do anything else, so he could wait it out. It’d be over sooner or later, and he was too tired to do anything to stop them. His energy had been drained. Maybe a nap would be nice and when he’d wake up, this would be all over. Yes… A nap sounded delight—

“Hey!” an angry and powerful voice boomed, the sound filling the cave and drowning out everything else.

The hands-on his body stopped dead in their tracks. It shouldn’t have been possible, but now Bucky felt their fear instead of his own.

“Get your hands off of him!” the woman yelled again, her voice filled with more power than Bucky could’ve ever imagined hearing.

The spirits obeyed, at once letting go and scurrying away from something—or someone—behind him.

Footsteps slammed against the rock beneath them, growing louder and louder as the mystery woman marched to Bucky. A hand latched onto the collar of Bucky’s shirt and yanked him back away from the spirits. A two-pronged bident took his place, swinging at the spirits menacingly and driving them away. It glowed the faintest blue in the darkness, illuminating the faces of the damned.

The ghosts and skeletons shied away, curling up on themselves and scrambling to get away as they hissed. They were obviously afraid of the person it belonged to.

Said person tightened their grip on Bucky and began to drag him out of the cave, the bident staying in front of him as they aimed to protect him.

Bucky tried to turn his head back to see his savior, but he couldn’t turn his head very far without being stopped by the hand on the back of his neck.

She pulled him out of the cave, past the river of fire, and threw him on the dead grass outside.

He landed flat on his ass with a satisfying “oof”. His hands shot back to catch him before he could fall on his back and he looked down at his body.

His once white shirt was now a dark shade of grey and torn and his jeans were torn nearly to shreds. There were scratches, scrapes, and bruises covering his legs. Little rivers of ichor ran down from the cuts, coating his skin with gold. He looked like a war-torn battlefield. His mother was going to kill him. If those spirits hadn’t finished the job, she sure would. He was dead meat. Steve and Sam better start planning his funer—

“Just what in the Hades were you thinking? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” the same voice from the cave demanded, only this time, she seemed more pissed than powerful. Her voice had lost the booming effect it had previously, but it was still sharp enough to send shivers down his spine.

Slowly Bucky lifted his eyes. The first thing he saw was a pair of black flats below black pleated pants. Looking further up he saw a black blazer covering a dark grey shirt, and further up still, he saw the face of a woman. She was quite beautiful in the way that something cold and hard like a statue was beautiful. He would’ve admired her features but he was too afraid of, and yet so enchanted by, her eyes. Her eyes, unlike most, weren’t a brown, blue, or green; no, they were red—a bright and fiery shade of scarlet that seemed to glow in the darkness of the Underworld. They held him trapped, hypnotized by the brilliant color.

He felt so small beneath her gaze, even though he was comparatively larger than she was.

She radiated power as she glowered down at him, the bident by her side making her even more intimidating. Her lips curled back in a snarl. “I asked you a question; answer me!”

Bucky flinched and started to stammer out, “I-I...”

She seemed exasperated by his loss of words and bent down to him.

He shied away, afraid that she was going to attack him, but she simply grabbed onto his wrist and pulled. Her skin was shockingly cold against his flesh and he inhaled sharply.

She dragged him to his feet and began to pull him after her as she walked away from the cave. She was beyond angry and that made her scary. The only saving grace was that her bident had seemingly melted into thin air, probably stored in some magical pocket somewhere. She was trembling with rage as she began to rant and rave, her grip never once loosening. “Of all the idiocy I have seen in my life, I have never seen someone as stupid as you. What kind of imbecile walks into the pit willingly? Do you have a death wish? Gods, it is not my fucking job to save daredevils from the edge of the pit.”

Bucky only stared at her, filled with confusion. His mind was racing a million miles an hour and he asked, “The pit?”

“Tartarus, you insolent fool!” she snapped, quickening her pace as she pulled him towards the place he’d come in. How she knew about the exit, Bucky didn’t know, but she continued speaking, “The prison of the worst souls known to man, the titans, and any monster you could dream of. How could you possibly—” She froze in her steps as if it suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t know who Bucky was. Rigidly, she looked over her shoulder, her red eyes glaring at him. “Who are you?”

“M-Me?”

“Yes, you!”

Bucky blanked. Who was he again? He could barely remember under her intense gaze. “I’m, uh… I’m Bu— James. I’m James, god of spring, son of—”

“Demeter,” she spat out, her voice dripping heavily with venom and contempt. “Great. Just fucking great. You’re a new god. And not just a new god, the fucking son of Demeter.” She pinched the bridge of her nose in between her thumb and forefinger and heaved a great sigh.

He stared at her, even more confused than before. “H-Her name is Winnifred,” he stuttered out, his voice cracking.

She rolled her eyes. “Same fucking difference. It’s the same woman.”

“Well, yes, I suppose. But wait! You know my mother?”

"Of course I know your goddamn mother. She hates my guts and I'm not too fond of her either.” The woman squeezed her eyes shut and let her head fall back with an even louder groan. “Gods, she's probably going to think I kidnapped you or something! Do you realize what you being down here means?"

“I—”

“Of course you don’t! How could you? You’re just some young, stupid, idiotic god who thinks he can go anywhere he pleases. Well, news flash, you’re not allowed to roam my domain without my permission. This is not a place for the living, and you’re lucky you escaped with only minor wounds.”

“Your domain?” Bucky furrowed his brows, his steps faltering. “Wait… Then, you’re—”

“Hades,” she confirmed. “But that’s just what the mortals call me. You need not know my name, you only need know that you have to leave. You were never supposed to be here in the first place and you will never get in again.” She dragged him towards the cave he’d entered the Underworld through and yanked him in.

Crossing the threshold, he could feel the immediate change in the air. He could feel life surging back to him as they entered the Mortal World. He could also feel Hades stumble as if the sudden rush of life was startling to her.

She pulled him through the Dikteon Cave and out into the sun at the mouth of the cave. “Where did you come from?” she demanded, her voice low and cold as her hands.

Bucky pointed down towards the clearing where he could just barely make out the figures of Sam and Steve.

She let go of his wrist and grabbed his upper arm instead. “Hold on.”

He didn’t get a chance to ask her what she meant, because she leaped up into the air and off the side of the mountain, pulling him with her. The wind whistled past his ears as they fell, and he had to trap the scream that was rising in his throat.

They landed on the edge of the clearing, the ground trembling beneath them. She released Bucky, throwing him forward a bit before straightening up and glaring at Steve and Sam who had started running over.

With her shoulders rolled back and her body completely in the light, Bucky could now observe her fully. The red had faded from her eyes, revealing a wonderful shade of (e/c) that had red-rimmed around the iris. Her skin was devoid of life and she had deep, dark circles covering the skin beneath her eyes. Bucky hated to admit it, but she almost looked dead. She was unsettling but in a gorgeous, powerful kind of way.

Steve ran over to Bucky’s side, his face panicked. “Buck,” he breathed out, “are you alright? What happened?”

“He went where he had no business going,” Hades answered, her voice agitated and disgruntled. “You two are his watchers, no?”

“U-Um, yes, Ma’am?” Steve responded, thoroughly anxious.

“Then fucking watch him,” she snapped, her voice suddenly growing in volume. “The Underworld is no place for fledgling gods who have no experience in the real world.”

Sam turned to Bucky, his eyes wide with alarm. He probably wanted to say something in their defense, but the only thing he asked was, “Did you get the ruby?”

Bucky could’ve smacked him.

Hades glowered at Sam. “What ruby? Explain yourselves.”

Bucky gulped. “It’s the reason I went down. My friend wanted a ruby and I thought I could find one in the Underworld and I…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence, realizing how stupid it was under her incredulous look.

“You mean to tell me you went to fucking Tartarus for a ruby? A single ruby that’s worth hardly anything to a god?”

“...Yes.”

She barked a bitter laugh, doubling over and placing her hands on her knees to steady herself. “I can’t believe this.” She held out her fingers, maintaining a small gap in between her thumb and forefinger, and a single, raw ruby, red as blood and the size of a large pebble, formed out of thin air. “Here. Take your damn ruby.” She chucked it at the ground at Bucky’s feet before narrowing her eyes at him. “You got what you came for, and now you have no reason to return. If I ever, and I mean ever, catch you in my realm again, I will teach you why the mortals call it Hell.” She spared the men one last snarl before taking a step away from them, digging something out of her pocket, and dropping the minuscule item on the ground.

At once, the ground trembled and shook and a hole opened up at her feet. The ground swallowed her, pulling her into the depths before closing up again like nothing ever happened. In her place stood a single flower with an elongated stem and a spike of white blossoms: an Asphodel.

Bucky’s gaze switched between the flower and the ruby until it finally settled on the jewel. Slowly he reached for the ruby and picked it up to examine it. It was heavy in his hand, beautiful and clear. It filtered the light that passed through it and cast odd shapes that mimicked its raw cut in red on his palm. But it wasn’t the ruby itself that mesmerized him, it was the color; the same color of her eyes. Bucky was certain that that shade of red would be burned into his memory for all eternity, and as he stood there with Sam and Steve fawning over him making sure he was okay and talking about getting him cleaned off and changed into new clothes because he “reeked of death”, he couldn’t help but think of her: Hades, the woman whose name he did not fully know, but whose face had suddenly washed over his mind and infiltrated every nook and cranny of his thoughts. His grip tightened over the ruby and he smiled to himself softly.

Next 3: Her Head Aches

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spaceyantique · 4 years

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five’s a crowd [beatles x reader] part four

chapter summary: George is sweet and comforting in the aftermath of the Battle of the Coffee Machine, and you’re not sure why your heart beats so fast being near him. Meanwhile, you’re getting closer to strangling John and poor Ringo doesn’t want to be involved. And it’s high time to make up with poor Paul.

warnings: bit o’ angst. way less of a crack fic oops i got emotionally invested haha

word count: 1.3k of FEELINGS

also peep john’s thighs in this pic hoy moly sorry i’ll take my john stan self elsewhere

one | two | three

masterlist

When the dust settles, you’re in your bedroom again, headphones on and listening to the Crickets on the highest possible volume. You’re kneeling on your floor, spreading out all of your papers across the ground, sorting them between the kind you used waterproof ink on (the Survivors) and the ones that you didn’t (the Deceased). Your hands are shaking, from some combination of exhilaration from shouting at Paul and anger and general despair for your now-hopeless midterms grades. You try to spread out the Survivors so they have enough room to air dry, but there’s just not enough room in your broom cupboard of a bedroom.

Due to the skull-rattling music of the Crickets through your headphones, you see George’s feet before you hear him. He’s wearing those fuzzy socks that you’d gotten all the boys for last Christmas (his are green) and he’s standing with one foot in the room like he’s afraid a single word from you could blow the door clean off its hinges. His hair is still curly, and you feel a strange rush of warmth in your chest.

You remove your headphones and he visibly relaxes. “Yeah?”

“I wondered if you needed any help.” George’s voice is soft. You nod at him and turn your focus back to trying to salvage a particularly wet notebook. He crosses your room slowly, taking great care not to step on any of the Survivors. You scooch over a bit as he reaches you, and then he plops down next to you, both of you leaning your backs against your mattress and surveying the damage.

“And I--” George’s eyes are focused on the floor by your foot. “I wanted to say sorry. Even though it was both me and Paul, I think… I think I could’ve handled it better.” You do a little half-laugh at that, blowing air out of your nose.

“Thanks. For apologizing,” you say, spreading the notebook out in vain hope of recovery. “And yeah, that could’ve gone better.” George nods, and you swear he leans slightly closer to you.

“What a day,” he sighs, slumping a bit more against the bed.

“What a fuckin’ day, indeed,” you agree, before a wave of despair overtakes you. “God, I’ve still got midterms starting Monday.” You curl your knees into your chest, wrap your arms around your legs and bury your head on top of it all.

“Hey,” George’s voice is even softer as he says your name. “It’s all gonna be alright. In the end, at least.”

You manage a weak noise in response, trying desperately to stop yourself from crying out of sheer frustration. George hesitantly drapes an arm over your shoulders and he’s so warm that it almost makes you forget about the lump in your throat.

“It won’t last forever, see. This week might be bad but we aren’t in it forever. We won’t always be in uni. You’re smart enough with or without these notes. And if it goes badly, these grades won’t matter forever.”

You sniffle, lifting your head a bit to rest your chin on your forearms.

“All things must pass. Whether it’s good or bad, and when it’s gone, there’ll be new things. And they’ll go too. So it’ll all be okay.” George punctuates each word of his last sentence with a shake to your shoulder, and you smile a little despite yourself.

“All things must pass,” you repeat in a soft voice. George grins, showing off those vampiric teeth.

“Right. ‘Sides,” George leans over to grab one of the Survivors in front of you, and in doing so, he presses his side to yours. He’s warm there too, and you feel strangely glued to him. “They look sort of cool now. Vintage-like.”

He holds the page up for you both to inspect. He’s right, honestly, it looks like when you had to ‘age’ printer paper for a school history project when you were about ten.

“Would you say it’s gear, though?” You deadpan, and George groans.

“Never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

You tilt your head as if to consider dropping his embarrassing slang as blackmail, but when you feel the tips of George’s curls brush your temple, you feel as if someone has sucked the air out of your lungs with a vacuum. You sit back up with a jolt and George’s arm falls from your shoulders and you’re left with the distinct sensation that the ground is spinning away from beneath you.

Calm down, Sandra Bullock, you think. It’s low blood pressure, just breathe.

“I think I should talk to Paul,” you blurt. “Make things right, y’know.”

Y’know. Since when do you say that? What’s gotten into you?

Dehydration, your brain supplies helpfully.

George looks a bit taken aback by your sudden change of direction but nods still.

“Probably a good idea,” is all he says. You’re still breathless and practically reeling, so without thinking, you wrap your arms around him in a quick hug.

“Thank you,” you say, still holding him close, but all George can think about is the smell of your shampoo lingering on your hair and how he hopes you can’t feel his hands shaking as he hugs you back.

As you pull away, you flash George the brightest smile he’s ever seen and suddenly his heart has jumped straight out of his chest into his throat. You pull yourself to your feet and, lithe as a cat, you step around the Survivors and disappear into the hallway, leaving George to calm his racing heart. As he listens to your footsteps recede, he’s struck with the sudden, crucial realisation of his feelings. His heart leaps again and all he can think is a resounding

oh fuck.

You enter the living room to find John and Ringo halfway through a game of cards. Ringo shoots you a sympathetic look and John throws his hands up in mock surrender, snatching up a paper napkin to wave like a white flag.

“We’re innocents!” John cries, and you roll your eyes.

“Piss off, Sergeant. Where’s Paul?” He’s noticeably absent from the common area, and the light is off in his and John’s shared room (which is directly off of the living room/kitchen).

“Cafe down the street, ma’am. Licking his wounds, ma’am.” John salutes you sharply with each “ma’am” and the expression on Ringo’s face rivals Jim Halpert’s most irritated looks on The Office.

“Piece of work, you are,” Ringo mutters, tossing another card on the pile.

“Hold on, if I’m a Sergeant, what’s Ringo?” John scoffs at Ringo’s play and looks through his cards again.

“Dunno. Lieutenant maybe?” You reply, pulling your shoes on. John salutes you again and he breaks into that insufferable shit-eating grin.

“How’s about George?” Now John’s leaning over the table at you, still grinning widely.

“Why’d you say his name like that?”

“Like what?”

“You know.”

“Sorry, birdie, I don’t.”

“I think you do.”

“I promise I don’t. Ringo’ll tell you, it was perfectly normal how I said it. Won’t you, Ritchie?” John nudges Ringo, who suddenly looks like he’d much rather be somewhere else. You turn your gaze to him too, and he sighs.

“Sorry, can’t say, because I know how to mind my own business.”

John throws his hands up again with a whoop.

“Oh, K.O.!” He crows, and you roll your eyes again.

“Okay, I’m choosing not to address you. It’s a choice,” you say, tuning out John’s hysterical laugh as you turn on your heel and leave.

“I’m going to find Paul!” You shout, and John yells something about you getting your eyes stuck up there if you keep rolling them, but by then, you’ve shut the apartment door behind you and you’re engulfed in the cold evening air.

#five's a crowd #the beatles x reader #the beatles #beatles fic #george harrison x reader #ringo starr x reader #paul mccartney x reader #john lennon x reader #john #paul #george #ringo #dee writes #crack fic #fluff #slow burn #modern au #modern beatles au

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vixey-chakraborty · 3 years

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The Investment [Part Two] & [Ratfox]

In which, after a meeting at InterPride, and after some encouragement from Tiana, Vixey reaches out to another investor...[takes place: late June, 2021]

@professorofcrimeratigan

[tw -- some scheming on ratigan’s part]

VIXEY: It had been her contact at InterPride that pointed her in the direction of Pedram Ratigan. She had never heard of him before, which was both worse and better. At least with Seamus, there had been some familiarity there. He knew her parents, and she supposed that had helped him agree--when he had been a bit skeptical. (Which, honestly, fair, in her opinion.) However, that familiarity also meant there was more pressure, because if he said no, it would not have reflected poorly just on Vixey, but on her parents as well. And that wasn’t acceptable.

Mr. Ratigan didn’t know her at all. They were a blank slate to one another. It meant she had much more to prove, but there were also fewer expectations. Due to this, she had chosen Tiana’s place and a proper dinner reservation to wine and dine the man.

He was led to her table by the redheaded hostess, whom Vixey thanked as she stood and offered her hand to the man.

“Mr. Ratigan, I presume? I’m Vixey Chakraborty. It’s nice to meet you. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me. I know you’re a busy man.” [outfit]

RATIGAN: An invitation to dinner had been extended to him.

This would not have been such a surprise had it been from someone he actually spent time with, such as a co-worker or Mrs. Robinson, but for it to come from a complete stranger had been a bit of a red flag. Always erring on the side of caution (paranoia) he looked her up. He would have done it regardless, but still. In his line of work one could never be too careful. Her last name had seemed familiar but it wasn’t until he had gotten the results back that he understood where from— her family owned a farm nearby.

Why someone like her would want to entertain someone like him was a bit of a mystery but that worked in Ms. (or did she still go by Mrs.?) Chakraborty’s favor. It made him more willing to go, just to see what would happen.

He smiled to the hostess and kept it as he took the woman’s hand. Polite. Formal— thankfully not here for any social reason. Business then.

Ratigan waved his other hand, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Even academics need to get out and see the sun every now and again. I should be thanking you for the excuse to.” He gestured to her seat, unbuttoning his suit’s jacket before he took his own. “So, what can I do for you, Ms. Chakraborty?”

VIXEY: Vixey’s heart was beating very fast as she shook Mr. Ratigan’s hand. She had never done something like this before and she found it extremely intimidating. Googling “how to ask someone for an investment” didn’t really yield the results she’d wanted. She had spoken with Jun a bit, and obviously had convinced Seamus, but Mr. Ratigan was a proper businessman. Not a family friend she was basically asking a very large favor of.

When he gestured, Vixey took her seat again, glad he’d indicated for it--otherwise, she probably would’ve remained awkwardly standing for a few seconds too long. Her leg started bouncing under the table. She hoped he wouldn’t notice...or, she would, if she had even noticed she was doing it.

“Right, well, I believe I mentioned in my email that I was looking for support for my business venture.” Vixey didn’t believe this, she knew it. She had stared at the email several times, had Jun read over it, had her parents read over it, had Tiana and Barbie read over it.

“I am looking to--open a thrift shoppe on Main Street.” She said it all in one big breath and then smiled, nervous and sheepish, but also--a bit exhilarated.

RATIGAN: Well. That was rather a let down— but what had he expected? A part of him settled back now that he knew this was just a small, mundane matter.

Tiana’s Place had been a good investment. The woman had done everything in her power to ensure its success, as he knew she would, and he hadn’t needed to do anything but keep her books. All the while he had his own business running within it and should anyone (though he very much doubted anyone would) find the threads of it they would be led back to Ms. Truitt.

It had been nice having something so close to home. Sometimes running a network from the telephone could get exhausting, especially when working with some of the dimmest people the criminal world had to offer.

If he could do that again, he figured, why not? Ms. Chakroborty did not seem to have the spine Ms. Truitt possessed, which made this all the more enticing.

“That’s a smart venture. Ever since the last clothing shoppe closed I am sure everyone has been waiting for someone to save them from having to travel elsewhere.” He smiled. “How can I be of help to you?”

VIXEY: Vixey let out a little breath when he didn’t immediately get up and walk away. She had been half expecting it. She had no idea how to negotiate a business deal. This wasn’t what she’d gone to school for. It wasn’t something she had ever thought she would need skills in. Maybe it was easier than she thought it was going to be…

“I’m glad you think so,” Vixey gushed, meaning it truly. If he had thought the shoppe a bad idea and ended things right there well...months of Vixey’s work would have gone to waste. That was the last thing she wanted now that she had come this far. Vixey had already, possibly, wasted months of her life getting a degree in nursing, just to turn her back on that profession the moment her life got hard. If this fell through too, she would feel truly lost.

She didn’t know how upfront she should be. Asking for money felt like such an intimate conversation.

“Well, I was--pointed in your direction by a few contacts of mine.” There, that felt professional. Even if those contacts had just been Tiana and Simba. “They told me that you--are interested in investing in small businesses around Swynlake.” That wasn’t asking for money, she supposed. At least, not outright.

“I, uh, I have all my business plans and such here.” She pushed the bulky folder towards him. “With budgets and design ideas, marketing plans...that sort of thing.”

RATIGAN: Despite her avoiding the word completely he knew what this was leading up to. (It was all anything ever led up to these days, wasn’t it?) Ratigan admired her wish to skirt around the question, seemingly waiting for the right moment or signs from him saying that she could go ahead and ask for the money she was looking for.

He leaned forward to retrieve the folder, holding the spine of it against an open hand while the other was allowed to flip through its pages. This he could admire, most people would have told him they sent him something on his email he could open or present him with their laptop to scroll through, but a physical copy held weight— showed effort.

Of course he did not actually care about this clothing store and whether or not it would benefit him. Either way he would walk out of this unscathed, even if it did fail, both monetarily and in reputation.

He was more interested to know who she was and if he would be able slip things under her nose without notice, just as he had Ms. Truitt.

“Well done. It seems you have a clear vision and goal in mind.” He glanced up, but returned to the pages in front of as he asked again, “Clearly you’re in no need of advice so, what is it I can do for you?”

VIXEY: Was that clear?

It didn’t feel clear to Vixey. In fact, she needed all the advice and help she could get. She still felt horrifically out of her element. Vixey hadn’t ever wanted to open a business. She had gone to school to be a nurse and get bossed around by other people! She didn’t know how to be a boss and run a business. The idea was incredibly daunting.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask: how do you hire people? How do you fire them? How do you budget how much they should be paid? How do you get stock for something like a thrift store? What kind of insurance was best? Of course, these were all things she could read online or in books and she had but—

Asking a genuine businessman was preferable and she couldn’t bother Jun for all of it. She’d feel horrible, using him like that when he’d already helped her so much.

But, as much as Vixey wanted to open her mouth and let all these anxieties pour out of her, she knew she couldn’t. Ratigan was not the person to ask. She needed to project confidence. Poise. He wouldn’t want to invest if he didn’t think she believed she could do it. Vixey wouldn’t blame him.

So, instead, she just smiled and fiddled with her fork.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say. Uhm, I am currently shopping around for investors.” Asking for money was not natural for anyone and certainly not Vixey. She had worked hard, her whole life, but it was her father who reminded her that he had started out that exact way. Moving to a brand new country and starting a farm. He had relied on investors and community members to help him through those first years. And then he had even given her the first loan—it was a modest thousand dollars, but Vixey was already anxious to pay him back.

“If you—flip to the budgeting tab, you’ll see I’ve worked out my first year of finances. I’ve already got enough to pay for most the rent from another investor. But, obviously, there is still a deficit in the budget.”

About 20,000 pounds, but saying that out loud was intimidating.

RATIGAN: No, it wasn’t, but if he was going to get this show on the road before the restaurant called closing time then he figured it best to attempt boosting her confidence level. If she thought he thought she was competent then it may be enough to get her say what she meant.

Other investors. Ratigan wished he could roll his eyes. Honestly, he should have prepared for that given this woman’s financial situation and seeming polite sensibilities. She wouldn’t want to up and ask a stranger for all of what she was looking for. It seemed to be like pulling teeth even now since she wouldn’t just come out and say exactly what she needed from him.

Multiple people being involved would be rather annoying. More eyes on the books meant less of a chance he would be able to do much of anything. Especially if they were all going in evenly and no one had more say over the other— except if she knew them personally, then she would value their opinion above all else since this was a small town and relationships always seemed to win out in the end. Unless it was the right person at the helm and a nudge in the right direction could persuade them to listen to reason rather than their social obligations.

“I see.” He wished he could shut the book, tell her he wasn’t interested, and not have to deal with the, no doubt, ridiculous people she’d already gotten involved. Unfortunately, she was friends with Ms. Truitt and, not wanting to jeopardize what he did have, Ratigan knew he would have to hear her out. “And may I ask why you think I’d be a good fit for you?”

VIXEY: The truthful answer to Mr. Ratigan’s question was simple: because he had the money.

Obviously, Vixey couldn’t say that. She felt a bit bad even thinking it. It was true, however. She didn’t know Mr. Ratigan, he had no personal reason to invest. They both knew this. It made Vixey feel horribly uncomfortable. Doubting herself once again. She wasn’t as bold as Tiana nor as level-headed as Jun. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a business owner after all. But, she had already sunk so much time into this.

She had a plan.

So, after a brief pause—thankfully there was food she could shove her face with in the meantime (made sense to her now why so many people did business over dinner)—she swallowed and cleared her throat.

“You have a lot of experience with business. Tiana told me about some of your other ventures. And while I have done a lot of reading and learning, I know that there is still much more I could learn. I found you appealing because of that. And you’ve already invested in Swynlake, so I thought you might be open to it and that it was worth a try.” She tried for a winning, confident smile.

RATIGAN: Usually Ratigan was a big fan of games like this. Someone coming to him in need and not wanting to say it out right for one reason or another. It would amuse him to no end watching the other person squirm or bristle until eventually something gave and they finally admitted defeat. Here it was all just so— boring. They were discussing something of no consequence. (To him, anyway, which was all he cared about.)

But, again, what had he really expected?

He went through the motions, making sure his microexpressions were accurate to what she was saying to him. Sheepish flattery at the compliments, nodding as she shared her thought process, and rubbing a hand at his cheek as he pretended to think it over. He already had. There was no harm to him whether he gave her the money or not. If she failed then it was what it was, he lost nothing. If she succeeded then very well, he would have helped another person in this town gain a business. Either way his reputation remained. It was only if he didn’t invest that he may stand to lose something.

“Are you simply seeking a loan from me? Or am I to have some sort of stake in this venture as well?”

VIXEY: “Oh, well--” Vixey was rather taken aback by how blunt Mr. Ratigan was being, but perhaps this was how it worked in business. Vixey surely wouldn’t know. It made sense, she supposed, that someone who was sinking money into something wanted to make sure that it survived to see a return investment. Vixey wouldn’t blame them. It was a very practical thing to do.

She smiled, a bit uncomfortably, though she managed to swallow it down and smile brighter.

“My original plan was just for the investment, but I would be happy to hear if you wanted to be more firmly involved. I’ll admit that all of this is rather new to me, so I would, at the very least, appreciate any advice. I’m sure you--when--if you’d like to invest--want to make sure it succeeds as well. I’d be all ears. Truly. And very grateful.”

RATIGAN: He chuckled, sitting forward now. “Well, in that case, my first piece of advice for you is to not admit to such naivety. When dealing with money people tend to become less than sensitive to the well-fare of others and more inclined to focus on themselves. Even if you’re working with friends and family— perhaps more so since they think those are the people that will be more willing to forgive them for their actions.”

After all, where would he be if not for the sins of man?

“If it’s advice you seek then I will give you the same deal I offered to Ms. Truitt. Where she wanted to learn how to keep her books, I could help teach you how to run a business. Whether that be marketing, management, accounting, or financing. You’re asking for—” Ratigan glanced down to the binder. “10,000? If you give me 10% ownership then I can provide that, my personal experience, and should anything else come up, and it will as that is the way of life, then you can always come back to me for whatever else it is that you need.”

VIXEY: Oh, that--well, that actually sounded really good.

It took some of the pressure off Vixey, as there would be someone who actually knew what they were doing at the helm. And the way he spoke, it was obvious that he had a lot of experience. Something which she sorely lacked.

However, Vixey wasn’t one to make any split second decisions. This was something she would have to talk over with her father. And probably Jun. And also Tiana. She needed to collect all the evidence and organize it, then make a decision when she was ready. 10% ownership was a big deal, even if it sounded relatively small. They would have to set up guidelines for how much say he would have and what that would look like moving forward.

Her brain started whirring as she considered all of these options.

“Thank you, Mr. Ratigan. That is extremely generous. Much more than I would have hoped for.” It was, also, she realized, very business savvy, because it meant he would get a say in his investment. A higher guarantee of a bit of profit, or, at the very least, breaking even.

“I will have to consider it, but why don’t you send over a contract for me to read? If your firm has one on hand, otherwise, we could design one together, though that might take a bit longer. I can--get my answer to you in a few weeks? I am hoping to have my petition submitted to the board by the end of July and the shoppe opened by September at the latest, so it would certainly be before that.”

RATIGAN: Good, he had been anticipating that answer. As naive as this woman was she did have some sort of sense about her. He would have been more concerned had she simply jumped at the offer and agreed to it straight away if only because he did not want to deal with someone so ridiculous. They could be entertaining, like how the court kept a jester, but those sorts of people were not to be kept around and given a direct line of contact. So long as she remained competent this whole ordeal would be tolerable.

“That’s alright. I can have one drawn up and sent to you in no less than two days' time. I’ll use the email you’ve contacted me with in case they need any additional information.” It would take less time for him since the law firm worked for him (under a different identity), but in the interest of appearing relatively normal he would give it a few days. Just enough to let it breathe but not too long to allow the deal to be lost in the weeds of the rest of her planning.

“And please, take your time. If there is anything I have learned in my days it’s that it is better to be sure of yourself and your decisions than rush into something and be left with regret.” Ratigan smiled, closing the binder and handing it back over to her. “If there is anything else I can do for you in the meantime, please, don’t hesitate to ask. Now or in the future.”

VIXEY: This all sounded good to Vixey. Almost too good. But, that was Swynlake for you. Close knit communities allowed for a kind of opportunity Vixey had not seen before. As a girl, she had wanted the opportunities of the whole wide world! All the things that it had to offer. Now, though, she appreciated the opportunity of connections, more than she ever thought she would.

It was nice to feel as if she had a place to land softly, where her grief could be a gentle thing she carried with her. And that she did not have to explain herself. Everyone understood, because they knew her and her family and had heard, one way or another. She had thought that kind of gossip would bother her. It had at the hospital. Somehow, it was easier here. Vixey didn’t feel…judged or pitied. And she had made friends easily, sliding back into routines she had once hated for their simplicity and now cherished for the very same reason.

“Thank you so much. Your offer really means a lot. I will definitely keep that in mind.” And probably write up a list of questions, fret about sending it, then send it anyway.

“For now, let’s just leave it at that. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

#bdrpratigan #ratfox #the investment #part two #lookbook

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sylvies-chen · 4 years

Note

“I found a thrill, To press my cheek to, A thrill that I've never known” At last - Etta James

For Sylvie and Matt please!

“You’ve never punched someone before?”

The tone of Foster’s voice is indignant as they walk into the firehouse from the apron. The call they had just come back from was supposed to be simple and stress-free but had ended up irking Sylvie and grossing her out. She had been getting the stretcher for the poor old woman who had busted her hip when some drunken idiot came up to her on the street and flashed her. Sylvie makes a sour face just thinking about it.

Sometimes, men can be pigs.

That’s how the whole conversation of punching is brought up. Foster, who wasn’t present when the guy had flashed Sylvie which made her feel guilty, Sylvie guesses, because Foster had berated her with questions as they drove back to the firehouse, asking if she was okay and if she needed anything. Foster had then brought up taking self-defense classes as they had been parking the ambo, which eventually led to a conversation about punching people in the face.

“No, of course not!” Sylvie shrugs absentmindedly as they make their way to the bunk room. Because it’s true. She hasn’t punched anyone, she hasn’t taken any self-defense classes, she hasn’t done any of it. She understands where Foster’s coming from, but Sylvie’s always been more in the “lover, not a fighter” category. “Why would I?”

Foster laughs and her attention is drawn to Casey as he walks by. Because of course she does. Because it’s Matt, and Foster knows he’s Sylvie’s blind spot for some reason. “Casey!” She pulls him by the arm and drags him into the conversation. “Brett, here, doesn’t know how to punch. Isn’t that just the most tragic thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Hey, leave me out of this,” he warns. Sylvie smiles and feels her cheeks heat up, appreciating his comment.

“It’s not like I haven’t wanted to punch people before,” she explains, “I just don’t see how violence is the answer to anything.”

“I get that, but not even a self-defense class?” Emily counters. “What about the creeps you mentioned that were hanging out outside your building the other day? Wouldn’t it be useful to know how to throw a punch if they came at you?”

“Ok fair point,” she admits reluctantly. “But it’s not like I can afford to pay for fancy instructors right now. I already have my membership with Olivia’s spin class. Hey, do you know if she’s mentioned anything about offering self-defense classes? Karate? Boxing?”

Foster shakes her head. “Nope, she’s renting out her other room to a yoga instructor for a month but that’s it.”

Matt, still standing in on their conversation, looks at Sylvie hesitantly. “I could teach you.”

Sylvie knows what Foster’s thinking as she raises a suggestive eyebrow at Matt’s idea. “Oh, could you now?”

Matt glances at Foster for a moment, slightly confused, before turning back to Sylvie. “Severide goes to a boxing gym once a week, lets me tag along sometimes. I’m not a boxer or anything but I could show you a few tricks if you want.”

Sylvie considers it for a moment. Normally, she would have a lot of objections to this, like the implications that could follow it, the teasing she’ll get from Foster. But she thinks about it, figures she should probably learn some sort of self-defense at some point, and agrees to it despite her concerns. “Sure, yeah, I can do that.”

The overhead speakers start blaring for another call, and it’s all hands on deck as the three of them start heading towards the apron again. “I’ll text you the address,” he shouts out to her as he walks to his end of the garage, jumping into his gear and getting in the truck.

As promised, he sends her the address and she puts their-- well, whatever this is that they’re doing-- onto her calendar for the following week. The days go by fast, and she feels herself counting them down eagerly. It’s almost stupid the number of times Foster brings it up to tease her. Sylvie doesn’t know why she’s so eager to see him outside of work, really. It’s just a boxing class, right?

The day finally comes. She drives around trying to find the place for so long that she ends up being a few minutes late, and when she gets there she’s just. Wow. The place is so old-fashioned, she feels like she’s in the lair of a Batman movie. There are sturdy wooden pillars inside the place, scattered out and surrounded by walls of exposed brick. The light streams in through the windows in soft stripes, accounting for the majority of the light in the place. There are punching bags hanging from wooden beams, workout machines and weight spread out across the room, gloves, and other equipment in bags on the side. She spots Matt from across the room, waving at him shyly. He’s hard to miss, considering that he’s one of the ten people in the gym. Not to mention the best-looking, his gym shirt tight and accenting his muscles in all the right places.

“Hey,” she smiles at him, watching as he smiles back, his face beaming. He gets a wild look in his eyes, that excited, exhilarating look, and just. Ok yeah. Sylvie’s not normally showing this much skin around him. But it’s her workout clothes, so they’re tighter, and he’s looking at her and she never wants it to stop.

It does though, and Matt clears his throat as he points to the punching bag next to them. Sylvie sits on the bench on the side of the wall and looks for punching gloves. “People are staring,” she whispers as he sits next to her, his knee brushing against hers.

“Well, I don’t think they get a lot of women in here,” he explains, his face wincing a little. “Especially not ones like you.”

“Like me?” Her heart races as she raises an eyebrow, inquiring into his comment.

She can’t tell if she’s imagining his cheeks turning pink as he starts backtracking. “I just- I mean women who look like you. You’re very… well-structured, is all I’m saying.”

“Thanks, I think,” she teases playfully. She’s ready now and is kind of amped up about the whole idea of punching something. Her heart is beating so loud that she can hear it in her head. She blames it on the boxing instead of the ridiculously handsome firefighter standing next to her. “So where do we start?” She whacks the bag with her fist weakly.

He laughs watching her put her jokingly spar with the bag. “Your fist has to be balled, first of all.”

“Right, right,” she nods, watching him laugh even harder as she curls her hands into a fist and makes a menacing face that turns out more pouty and cute than intimidating.

“So why did Foster want you to learn how to punch anyway?” He says as he ties his shoelace, getting ready to teach her.

“Oh, some drunk idiot flashed me last week on a call. It was really gross. Anyway, I was talking with her and she wanted me to take jujitsu or something but I told her I hadn’t punched anyone before and--”

“Someone flashed you?!” His eyes go wide with worry and indignation and god. He’s just so damn gallant.

“Yeah. I’m fine, really, just grossed out by the whole situation. But that’s why she suggested I learn self-defense.”

He looks hesitant, nervous to touch on the subject, but she looks at him expectantly and gestures for him to come over with her head. “You coming or what?”

His worry turns into a smile again, and he walks over to her to start their lesson. “Ok, so… here,” he starts as he moves behind her, wrapping his arm around her side and putting his hand on hers. “You want to keep your elbows in, and let your fist move out in a straight line.” Her elbows tuck in as his hands guide her fist from behind into a straight line. It’s intense and even though they’ve only just started, Sylvie’s skin feels hot to Matt’s touch. She moves her fist outwards into a line, taps the punching bag only lightly as she’s more focused on getting the motions down first before adding power to it. “Like that?”

“Y-yeah, like that.” She hears him swallow hard as he speaks it softly into her ear, still behind her. Sylvie leans back into him just a little bit, lets herself feel the rush of adrenaline that she gets from being pressed up against him and feeling his breath on her neck. “That’s just a regular jab. Then, you can use your other arm, and if you go from the side,” he keeps explaining, moving his head to her other side and placing his hand on her left arm this time as he guides her arm to swing sideways, “then you have your left hook.”

“Oh.” The word comes out almost like a breath, her mind foggy and her heart palpitating. The punching tips are helpful even if she thinks she’ll never use them, but his presence, the way he’s there with her, and his arms are wrapped around hers, that’s the real thrill. The thrill that she never wants to let go of.

They keep doing the same motions for what feels like forever. He shows her jabs, right hooks, left hooks, crosses, the works. Eventually, she gets the hang of it, her arms getting used to the feeling.

“Not that I’m complaining, but when are you going to let go and let me really punch the bag?” She teases.

“Well seeing as how I stopped guiding your arms ten minutes ago, I’d say you’re ready.” He’s smiling cheekily at her, his expression proud.

“What?” She looks down at her arms and notices that his arms aren’t there anymore, her arms doing the movements out of pure instinct. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She whacks him on the arm playfully, breaking her stance.

“I thought you knew,” he laughs. “Here, let’s get you actually punching.” He steps away from her, her back suddenly feeling cold, and secures the punching bag in a tight grip. “You ready?”

“Oh god, ok.” She spreads her feet out slightly and bends her knees a tiny bit, breathing in and out.

“You got this,” he nods confidently. “Just punch. Jab in a straight line, hit it hard.”

She readies herself, winces a little before punching the bag, not even paying attention to see if she actually does it right. She hears a small thud, realizes that she’s hit the bag successfully, looks at Matt with a stunned look on her face.

“Did I just…?”

“Yeah, you did. And it was a solid punch too,” he smiles proudly.

“I can’t believe it. That was amazing,” she exhales, shocked and high on adrenaline. The excitement is rushing through her and the thrill of throwing a real, strong punch makes her so overjoyed that before she even realizes what she’s doing, she squeals and jumps into Matt’s arms, her feet lifting off the ground momentarily. They’re both laughing as he puts her down and she uses his arms to stabilize herself.

Then, all the messy complications with what she’s done set in and she feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Sorry. I got really excited there,” she backtracks as she starts to step away from him, still slightly winded, “It’s just, uh, all the adrenaline. And I really wanted to do that. And Foster says that I… well- you and I- that this boxing thing… I don’t kno--”

She doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore. Her rambling isn’t even ruled by her own head anymore, just pours out of her randomly. But, before she can ramble any longer, he yanks her in close to him by her arm, and that exciting thrill comes back as their skin touches, hot and sweaty, flush against each other. His hand still has a loose grip on her arm as he leans in and puts his forehead against hers, their cheeks red. “Can I, uh- can I…” his face is inches away from hers, his breathing heavy. She realizes that he’s asking for permission to kiss her, especially after the story about the idiot flashing her, and just. Matt Casey never fails to make her heart explode. He really is just… the perfect guy.

Her doubts and worries, her fears about complications, even everyone in the gym, they all melt away. For a split second, they’re the only two people in the world as she leans in and fills the space, pressing her lips against his firmly. He inhales sharply, surprised at her initiative, but reacts almost instantly. His lips push back and soon her mouth opens for his, letting his tongue sway in and out of her mouth.

“I have wanted to do that for so long” he exhales, dumbstruck as they finally pull away.

“Me too.” She can tell that she’s smiling like an idiot, and feels her face muscles hurt from it. She leans back in, kissing him again as his hands move up through her messy hair.

Apparently, there’s a “no PDA” policy at the gym, and they end up getting kicked out ten minutes later. Sylvie feels a little guilty for getting him kicked out of his gym, but he shrugs it off and claims it’s fine. “It was worth it,” he smirks. Her guilt melts away after that, because it’s true.

It was totally worth it.

#chicago fire #brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey #song lyric requests #i was feeling a little steamy today ahahaha #we love a consenting king though #this may or may not be based on a real life event i-

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

Mischief, Meet Your Match - Chapter Fourteen (Loki x Reader)

WARNINGS: Violence, Swearing, Smut, Loki

SUMMARY:

Being caught in the cross hairs of The God of Mischief would scare a saner person but not you, you enjoy it. There’s just something about Loki that draws you to him, and you couldn’t help it even if you wanted to. Tricking the Trickster is exhilarating but you quickly find yourself becoming attached to him as you’re unwillingly dragged on the adventure of a lifetime.

While The Avengers race to get you out of Loki’s clutches, you find yourself teaming up with him to try and defeat an enemy who threatens everything you hold dear.

When you’re tangled up with the God of Chaos, there’s no way of winning and it’s anyone’s guess which you’ll lose first, your heart or your life?

Masterlist

Chapter Fourteen - Outfitted For War

When one woke up with god of mischief hovering over them, a dagger in his hand, the sensible response wasn’t to yawn at him and lazily swipe his hand away.

“Good morning Kitten.” He purred, teasing the skin under your ear with the tip of the blade.

“Morning Mischief.” You sighed sleepily.

There was a tugging motion on your scalp and Loki moved away from you, standing up.

“Did you just cut my hair?” You frowned.

He held up a lock of your hair between his fingers and you grimaced.

“Why?” You asked in confusion, patting your head.

Your fingers found a thin braid pleated into your hair, behind your ear and you pulled at it, studying the plait.

“I’m sorry, is this some kind of Asgardian version of a friendship bracelet? Why have you braided a lock of your hair into mine?” You chuckled.

“So I do not lose you.” He shrugged, dumping a tray of breakfast foods onto your lap while you sat up.

You just looked at him until he graced you with a better explanation.

“It is to ensure that I can locate you, no matter where you might end up. I will not be able to stay by your side on Asylum, this ensures I can find you again.” He elaborated.

“Fair enough.” You shrugged.

You were trying to act nonchalant about it but there was something strangely intimate about what he had done, in a primal way and it was making your heart pitter patter in your chest. You toyed with the braid while you picked up the goblet of coffee with the other hand and sipped happily at it.

“Eat it all, you will need your strength.” He ordered in a tone that brokered no argument.

You picked up a slice of toasted yellow bread and made a big show out of biting into it which seemed to satisfy him.

“From what I was able to find out, Glahn-Betn not only still resides on Asylum but the army has grown considerably. We are running short on time to stop him.” He dictated.

Guess you weren’t even allowed to finish eating before you moved into the pre-mission briefing. At least he had given you breakfast in bed, that was thoughtful.

“Good thing we’re going now then.” You said once you swallowed a mouthful of fruit.

“Tell me again what you must do.” He said tightly.

That was when you realized it. Loki was nervous. Considering he wasn’t the one walking into danger, that meant he was nervous for you. You played along with him, trying to soothe his nerves by being as brisk and serious as you could be.

“I need to fight for a place within the army and continue to impress them so I move up the ranks and swiftly. I need to be skilled enough to draw attention but not so much that Glahn-Betn will see me as a potential threat. Once I am high enough up in the ranks I start watching his movements and patterns until I find an opportunity to strike. Then I kill him and run as fast as I can.” You summarised.

“You will need to lie about who you are, do not let them suspect you are from ‘Earth’. Show no signs of weakness or mercy, do not question your orders. Be a good soldier, obedient and loyal.”

“Be strong but not too strong, be obedient but not mindless, be noticed but blend in. Be a walking contradiction, I’ve got it.” You assured.

“Most importantly, be careful Kitten.” He reminded you.

“Stop fretting mother hen. I know what to do, I’m prepared and I know the price if I fail.” You said, finishing off the last bite of food and washing it down with a swig of coffee.

“Did you say goodbye?” He asked, nodding towards the door.

“Yeah, you missed a hell of a party.” You sniggered.

You had told Elder you were departing the next morning and the villagers had all come together to send you off. It had been a night of dancing around the flickering flames of a bonfire, hand in hand with the children you’d come to adore. You’d dutifully kneeled in the dirt and allowed people to say prayers to their gods on your behalf, your heart bursting with fondness and your eyes burning at the thoughtful gesture. You had drank cup after cup of amber liquor, proving to them that you had an inhuman tolerance for alcohol. You had laughed until your chest ached and danced until your head spun.

At some point during the festivities you had been pulled into the blue grass with Elder, the sage old man clasping his hands with your own and offering you a departing piece of wisdom.

“I don’t know what it is you are setting off to do but I can tell it weighs heavy on you Sky lady. It is clear you and your husband are warriors of a kind and knowing your heart as I do, I know whatever your cause, it is a righteous one. I wish you luck.”

“Thank you.” You said softly, squeezing his hands.

“We will miss you, you fit in well with us in a way few visitors have.” He mused kindly.

“Maybe… Maybe I’ll return one day.” You said wistfully, hopefully.

“You won’t. Your heart does not belong on this small corner of the universe, it belongs elsewhere. But I can see it is torn. You are stuck between who you are, who you want to be and who you think you should be.” He warned you.

Were you an Avenger or an assassin? A hero or an anti-hero? Or were you something else entirely? Were you Captain America’s daughter or the God of Mischiefs friend and could you find a way to be both?

“What do I do?” You asked, pleading with him to help you figure it out.

“There is no easy answer. Perhaps you think I will tell you that you should be true to yourself, but that is such an easy answer and yet the most difficult thing to do. You must live Sky lady, live your life and make your choices as you go. Let love and loyalty guide you and never stay stagnant between two choices.” He advised.

“I told you to rest.” Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I did. Will you stop fussing and let me go wash up?” You laughed, clambering out of the bed and breezing past him, towards the bathroom.

“Do not tarry, we leave as soon as you are ready.” He shouted through the door as you kicked it shut.

You rolled your eyes at him even though he couldn’t see it and pulled doff your tunic, turning the taps on.

It was sweet in a way you didn’t think he would be sweet. But if even Loki was worried about you, how screwed were you?

As you bathed you pondered the coming mission and tried to stuff your nerves into a box in your mind, locking them away as best you could.

You felt like something was missing, like you were forgetting something, but you knew what it was. A patented Captain America pep talk, with added Stark sass peppered throughout. You’d never gone on a mission without one. You’d never ever done this alone.

It didn’t feel right, not having Bucky hovering over you and checking all your weapons were properly loaded and holstered. You wanted Sam to come and double check you were hydrated and sneak chocolate bars into your pocket. You needed Clint to offer you a fistbump and a wink. You missed Wanda squeezing your hand, seeking assurance and offering it at the same time. You needed Nat to throw extra ammo at you and assess you with a discerning look before she gave a confident nod, telling you that you were ready. You even missed Tony blatantly complimenting how well the suit fit you while he side-eyed a seething Steve.

You missed your family. You needed them.

“You’re a grown ass superhero, you don’t need you daddy to come and tell you how to do this.” You hissed angrily, pulling yourself out of the water.

You dried and dressed as quickly as you could, metaphorically beating your doubts into submission.

Before you opened the door you took one last deep breath and readied yourself.

“You can do this.” You vowed to yourself.

“I wish I had my Avengers suit with me. I feel stupid going off the warn in jeans and a t-shirt.” You grumbled as you walked back into the room.

“I thought you might.” Loki said, tossing something at you.

It was a long black coat, made of tough but smooth leather. It wasn’t quite Midgardian style, but it wasn’t quite Asgardian either. You looked up at him in surprise and he nodded towards the bed where the rest of the ‘outfit’ was lain out. There were a pair of tight leggings made of a similar material to you Avengers suit, a solid but breathable material, a leather corset with a surprisingly modest and high necklined undershirt and a pair of knee-high leather combat boots.

You turned around to ask him where he’d gotten this and more importantly, to thank him but he was gone. Probably giving you privacy to change into it, so that’s what you did.

No offence to Tony and his eye for design, but you felt infinitely more bad-ass and put together in this than in the skin tight combat suit he’d provided. The material of this outfit was tight, but not uncomfortably so and there was a lot of give in it, allowing for ease of movement. There was a holster along your spine that held Mischief securely and you found that it was incredibly easy to reach behind your head and pull it out or slide it back in. Slipping the heavy coat on you found that it didn’t hinder your movements either. You were dressed as a warrior but you didn’t outwardly appear to be so.

You were outfitted like an assassin.

You had to hand it to Loki, he’d done good. You might have expected him to dress you in green but he’d opted for all black, except for one very important detail. There was a flap of material over your torso that when peeled back revealed a fabric insignia sewn in. Unless they knew to look for it, nobody would find it. The emblem of Captain America’s Shield contrasted well against the black leather and in the centre, where the star usually resided, was the Avengers A. He’d had the foresight and kindness to make sure you had a symbol of home pressed to your heart. He’d probably had to swallow a lot of pride and distaste to do it as well.

You strode out of the hut with a newfound confidence, your shoulder thrown back and your head held high. Loki looked up as soon as you walked through the doors and for a moment he froze.

“How do I look?” You asked, holding your arms out.

“Like someone to be feared.” He said with weight.

He stepped forward and pulled open you coat, sliding an array of his own daggers into the attached sheaths.

“Thank you, for all of it, but especially for this.” You whispered, tapping your chest where the secret insignia was.

“They would be proud, if they knew the truth about all this. They would be proud of all you have done and all you will yet do.” He said dismissively.

You hoped he was right.

“After all, you made an ally of one of their greatest foes. Without bloodshed, without fighting, you have defeated me.” He added with a sassy smirk.

“Are you defeated, Mischief?”

“Without a doubt.” He said without hesitation.

He gently tugged your coat closed and looked down at you, his face startlingly close to yours while his arm slid around your waist for a heartbeat, you thought he was going to lean in kiss you but your hope was shattered when you saw the Tesseract in his hand and the ground disappeared from beneath your feet as the blinding blue light filled your vision.

As soon as it cleared you were visually assaulted by a bevy of colours and a sycophancy of loud noises.

“Ah, my eyes!” You winced, shielding them.

Loki dragged you somewhere while you held your hand over your eyes and you didn’t dare look until your back met a wall. You opened them to see you were in some kind of small alcove down an alleyway and unable to resist, you peered out onto the street again.

“What Fresh hell is this?” You asked, scrunching up your nose.

“This is Asylum.” Loki said stiffly.

“Then why does it look like… well, the 80’s?” You asked.

It looked like a Bizzaro version of Earth, all neon signs and fluorescent colours and more diverse than even The Distillers Planet had been in terms of different aliens you could see walking down the street. It looked like what you imagined the inside of Elton John’s brain looked like but with a fuckton more aliens, a murky yellow sky and…

“Is that building made of bones?”

It definitely was, and now that you were looking you could see it wasn’t the only one. Apparently Asylum was where the Stone Age hooked up with the 80’s for an acid-fuelled apocalypse party. After the peace and serenity of Clarius, it was a shock to your system.

Loki tightly grabbed your elbow and tugged you around the corner again.

“Follow this street until you see the recruitment base, you won’t miss it.” He said, refusing to meet your eyes.

“Ok.”

“Remember what you have to do Kitten. You’ll need to battle another recruit to gain a place in the army, from there you need to impress them enough to work your way up the ranks until you find yourself close to Glahn-Betn. I won’t be able to help you or advise you. You’ll have to use your own judgement.”

“Fate of the universe depends on me using my brain… We’re all doomed.” You joked.

“No we aren’t.” He snapped.

Apparently he wasn’t in a joking mood.

“I know what to do Mischief. I’ve got this.” You said with as much bravado as you could muster.

You knew the plan, you knew what was required of you, all that was left was to see if you could pull it off. You took a step backwards, towards the alleyway and lighting fast, he grabbed you, pulling you back into the alcove and his hand closed around your wrist. You wanted to get on with it, to walk into the lions den before your nerve failed you. But in an ironic twist of events, Loki was the one in need of comfort and reassurance.

“I’ll be alright Mischief. I’ve got this.” You promised, twisting your wrist out of his grasp and sliding your fingertips along his arm softly, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

He exhaled forcefully and nodded stiffly at you.

“I’ll be close by, as close as I can be without risking running into anyone who may know me but I will be disguised. Do not remove your braid for any reason, promise me.” He demanded.

“I promise.” You said firmly.

“If you do… our connection will be lost. I will have no choice but to assume you are dead.” He warned.

And he’d flee Asylum was what was left unsaid at the end of that sentence.

You bit your tongue. His eyes were flashing dangerously, almost overflowing with emotion and you knew that he wasn’t refusing because he wouldn’t do it, he was refusing because he didn’t want to entertain the idea of you failing.

“See you on the other side. When the chaos starts, we meet back here.” You said with a note of finality, stepping away from him.

Your heart was clenching painfully and the steady, overpowering thrum of your nerves were making you dizzy. A few more steps and you would be separated from him and even if you succeeded in your assassination there was a high chance you weren’t going to survive. This was likely a suicide mission, which meant that unless you were very lucky, this may be the last time you ever saw Loki. He had your goodbye letters for your family but you hadn’t said goodbye to him. You hadn’t said what needed to be said.

Three words. Just three little words. You could say them and then leave with a clear conscience. You wouldn’t even have to wait around to find out if he would say them back, you didn’t need to take that chance. You could tell him what you so desperately wanted him to know.

I know you could never love me back, I know that you don’t need the affirmation from a mortal but I love you. I love you so much it’s consuming me.

“Mischief I…” You began.

“Don’t.” He interrupted, snapping out the word angrily.

“You will not say farewell to me Kitten, do not dare. Leave me as if you intend to return to me.” He demanded.

He lowered his head until his forehead was pressed against yours and let out a shuddering breath.

“Return to me.” He said, a plead and not a demand this time.

For the first time you felt something like hope building inside you. His torn apart emotional state was so out of character for him that it was making you wonder, was all this fear and concern really just for a friends safety? Or was it possible he felt something more for you?

“I will always return to you Mischief. Nothing could keep me away.” You swore.

His grip on you tightened almost painfully before it gradually loosened and he stepped back. You nodded once, more to yourself than him and made to walk away.

“Aren’t you forgetting something Kitten?” He asked.

He looked at you blankly, his expression giving no hint as to what he was alluding to but somehow you just knew what he was asking for and it made you smile.

Balancing on your tiptoes you reached towards him and the corners of his lips twitched as he leant down for you. At the last second you moved your head and the kiss you’d been about to place on his cheek landed purposefully on the corner of his mouth instead.

“I’ll see you soon Mischief.” You breathed into his skin.

You stepped away, walking backwards so you could hold his gaze. His eyes were dark with emotion as he stared after you, slack-jawed at your actions and with one last wave, you left the alleyway, stepping onto the street and you couldn’t see him anymore.

You exhaled forcefully, your emotions spilling from you in a gust of breath as you turned around and started walking.

The last time you’d been alone you had still been a regular human, wandering the world without a cause, living town to town. Now you were a superhero, with a family, with so much love in your heart that you could barely contain it. This was your first solo mission, the first time you didn’t have Bucky watching you through the scope of a rifle or Sam flying overhead. You didn’t have Steve stood beside you, shield in hand. You didn’t have Loki or his tricks keeping you safe.

You were alone again, but this time you were on an Alien planet with the fate of billions resting on your shoulders. But you weren’t alone, not really. You had Loki in the shadows and The Avengers in your heart and unconsciously touching the braid in your hair, you realized you’d never felt stronger.

You kept your eyes ahead, not wanting to look like an obvious tourist but even still, there was a lot to look at. While shopping wasn’t on the agenda, it was hard to resist peering into the stores you passed. Half of them looked like mystical apothecaries, and you were convinced you’d just walked past a blacksmith’s but there were a lot of strangely modern looking stores as well. You did a double take at what for all intents and purposes could essentially have been a Hot Topic, the alien edition.

There were Taverns and chic bars, a nightclub that you were itching to see the interior of, café’s and restaurants.

It was a mind-bending blend of several Earth era’s and distinctly alien. When Loki had told you the whole planet was an Asylum like it had been named, you’d expected a neat, clinical, cold, militaristic atmosphere. This was the polar opposite and despite how jarring it was, it was kind of awesome in a Las Vegas way.

Not all of it nice. Not all of it was fantastical and wonderful. You steadfastly ignored everyone trying to engage with you but you were fairly certain that you knew exactly what was being offered when a thin, seven foot tall, green humanoid sidled up to you and asked…

“Need a fix, you look like a being that needs a little fix.? I didn’t take mine, wanna make a deal?”

You’d sidestepped him and kept walking but it left a chill in your blood. If this was an Asylum, a hospital, then where were the attendants? The Nurses? The Doctors? Who was looking after these people?

Now that your attention had been drawn to it, you could see it everywhere. These creatures were sick. Blanks stares, nervous ticks, frenzied pacing, wailing and crying, agitated aggression… You could see people exhibiting signs everywhere you looked. Once again you felt a surge of anger for Glahn-Betn. This planet was supposed to be a refuge for these people, a safe place. He had taken that from them, he had brought chaos to a planet that really couldn’t handle it.

You quickened your pace. The sooner you got to the recruitment base, the sooner you could get on with your mission and carve that bastards chest open, just to see if he had a heart.

Like Loki had promised, you couldn’t miss the base. You reached the end of the long street and there was a crossroads. Ahead, more of what lay behind you, to the right, the same. But to the left, down a winding hill, there was a fortress.

At first glance you thought it was just a black mountain but your eyes adjusted and you could see it was man made, a collection of spires and towers carved from shiny black rock and surrounded by a moat. If this was an Asylum planet, that must be the maximum security ward. Before Glahn-Betn it must have housed the criminally insane and now it housed… the criminally insane. It took nearly twenty minutes to reach it, your heart picking up it’s pace as you drew closer and slipped into the crowds of people heading in the same direction.

You had just stepped onto the black stone bridge over the moat when the sky rumbled above you and you looked up to see a humungous spacecraft descending towards the fortress.

“Look, more conquests. Hope we get to fight one of the captives. Doubt they have much fight left in them.” An alien behind you sniggered.

As the craft slowed down it’s flight and neatly hovered behind the fortress, landing behind it, you tried to decipher what the alien had just said.

Conquests and captives. Glahn-Betn was waging war and forcing prisoners to fight for him. How many planets had already fallen to this tyrant? Why was nobody doing anything?

You’d thought this was a madman attempting a sinister plot but it went far deeper than that. This was already full scale intergalactic terrorism. Even if you killed Glahn-Betn and put a stop to his plans, he had already done so much damage that couldn’t be undone. Not for the first time you started to think that you were in way over your head. How could you, one woman, bring down an entire regime?

Because nobody would expect one woman to be stupid enough to try.

And this wasn’t your plan, it was Loki’s. Even if you were starting to doubt yourself, you didn’t doubt him. You had the blood of the greatest soldier of all time in your veins. You had been trained by literal gods, infamous assassins and the greatest minds your world had to offer.

So you squared your shoulders, put on your metaphorical big girl panties and walked through the wide doors into the base.

The cavernous hall was bustling with activity. It was teeming with crowds of hopeful recruits, nervous recruits and guards. Ignoring them all you strode purposefully to the far side of the hall, to the lines of recruits being admitted through the doors into the heart of the fortress.

You chose a longish line so you had time to study the admittance procedure. There were dozens of platforms raised slightly off the ground that were surrounded by a shimmering golden sphere, a force field of sorts. Every platform was manned by two guards apiece and, tall, statuesque, intimidating blue aliens with futuristic monitors in their hands. One by one the recruits stepped onto the platforms and had a short conversation with what you’d guessed were the recruitment officers. The platform you were in line for was manned by a beautiful blue woman with a stiff posture and eye catching black splotches on her skin.

As you got closer you could hear what she was saying and as you watched carefully, a man who could easily have been human stepped onto the platform.

“Why do you want to join the Commander of War’s mighty army?” She asked robotically.

The man looked around desperately, his jaw clenched. The woman leaned forward with a hard gaze, as if she was finally interested.

“Why do you want to join the Commander of War’s mighty army?” She asked again, harshly.

“Reconnaissance for the Nova Corps.” He spat out, looking terrified when he realized what he’d said.

He made a run for it but he didn’t even get one step away before he was shot, his body thumping to the ground. Someone grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him out of the sphere while the woman ignored it, looking at the next recruit in line who stepped into the sphere without care.

You subtly studied the sphere and put the pieces together in your mind. It was some kind of truth field, it must be. Which meant that nobody could lie when they joined the army, you couldn’t lie.

Shit.

You ground your teeth as the line moved forwards, mentally trying to solve this puzzle before you were called into the sphere. All to soon, you were at the front of the line and as a hulking creature was waved to the other side, having passed the recruitment questions, you had no choice but to calmly step onto the platform. The field caused no sensation as you walked through it and if you couldn’t see it, you wouldn’t have known it was there. The woman looked at you with cold disinterest as you stepped up in front of her.

“Why do you want to join the Commander of War’s mighty army?”

“I’m here to work my way up the ranks of the army, to prove myself, so I can make my father proud.” You said smoothly.

“Name?”

“They call me Kit.” You said.

Well it was true, some people did on occasion call you Kit.

“What planet are you from?”

“Clarius.”

You had just come from there.

“Race?”

“I’m the result of an experiment.” You said quickly, thinking fast on your feet and stretching the truth as far as you could without breaking it.

She didn’t blanche, just swiped something on the monitor.

“Give me your wrist.” She said, holding her hand out impatiently.

She snapped a black band onto your wrist and after a moment it flickered orange.

“We do not provide weapons to recruits, if you did not bring your own, tough.”

“I brought my own.” You assured her.

“Through the doors, find the corridor that corresponds to your band. If you observe any rituals or pray to any deities or gods then do so now, you’ll be dead by the end of the day.” She said dismissively.

You’d just stepped outside of the truth field but at her words you stopped and stepped backwards, back into the sphere.

“No, I won’t.” You said confidently, looking her in the eye.

You walked away, allowing yourself a quick triumphant grin. You’d done it, you were in. Now the hard part began.

A/N - I know the last chapter was a bit of a filler chapter that was there to point the plot in the right direction but I hope this makes up for it and I really hope you enjoy this chapter.

We're in the thick of it now, Kitten's got some trying times ahead of her. Wish her luck! (And wish me good luck in writing it!)

P.S - I think I’ll be stopping the gifs at the beginning of each chapter from here on in and maybe I’ll make a mood-board to use instead. Or maybe I’ll use gifs that relate to the chapter and aren’t always Loki ones. Or maybe just stick with what I’m doing right now. Thoughts??

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Tightrope

AU-gust Day Twenty-Five: Circus AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Golden Lace

Rated: T

Summary: High wire walker Lacey and ringmaster Gold share a flirtatious relationship that sometimes hides just how deep the feelings go.

Tightrope

No matter how many times he saw the sight, no matter how much he tried to reassure himself that there was a safety net below her, Gold could never get used to watching Lacey practising new moves on the high wire just below the big top’s roof.

Every time he saw her up there, his heart would start beating at least twice its usual pace, and it would not calm down until she was safely back on solid ground. Or at least at one end of the wire on a nice sturdy platform, rather than performing complicated acrobatics several feet in the air with strong but comparatively thin cable as her only support.

She was up there again now, and Gold couldn’t really say that he was all that surprised. She was constantly coming up with new ideas for her act and she would try them out at all hours of the day or night when the big top was not being used for performances. If she’d had an idea then it simply couldn’t wait, and off she would skip to her domain of choice, rigging up her safety net and gliding across her wire as if she was flying on the trapeze.

Gold had never been able to decide whether he preferred to go and watch her when she was practicing or whether ignorance was bliss, but he had gradually come to the conclusion that he would rather know what she was doing instead of staying away and his overactive imagination coming up with all kinds of terrible scenarios in which she managed to fall to her death or horrific injury in several different ways. At least if he was there with her, he would be on hand should something horrific occur.

It never did, though, and seeing it with his own eyes helped to reassure him that Lacey really did know what she was doing. Her sense of balance was absolutely uncanny; Gold wondered if she had been a cat in a previous life, always landing perfectly on her feet, without the slightest wobble.

He had not been surprised when Lacey had gone back to the tent as soon as the show had finished, and the last customers had filed out. She’d been antsy and abstracted all day, performing cartwheels and handsprings all over the shop with a focus that was clearly anywhere except on the ground with her. It would have been fun to watch had she not been getting in everyone else’s way all the time. In a way Gold was glad that she was finally back on the wire as it meant she was off the ground and would not be walking on her hands throughout their camp whilst other people were trying to get from A to B. Usually in stilts.

He made his way up to the top tier of seating, leaning back and gazing up towards the roof and the slim figure in spangled turquoise there, performing a perfect arabesque in the centre of the wire. She seemed to stay there on one leg for what seemed like an age, and as much as Gold could never get used to the fear that accompanied seeing her up there, he would also never fail to marvel at the sheer strength and flexibility of her body. It had certainly made for some interesting times in the bedroom which he could only be grateful for.

Presently, Lacey came out of the arabesque, both feet now firmly on the wire, but only for a split second before she was into a handstand, walking backwards and forwards on the wire with nimble fingers. For a moment she looked unsteady, her legs flailing a little, and Gold started out of his seat - although what he could do from so far down he had no idea. Then she was still and steady again, and Gold eventually sat back down, watching her with increased blood pressure until she had reached the platform at the end of the wire and stepped onto it gracefully, her body arching as she righted herself.

“Don’t say it,” she called down to him. “One of these days I’m going to give you a heart attack.”

Gold laughed. “You know me so well.”

She set out across the wire again, this time just walking it on her two feet, for which Gold was very grateful. She had done it so many times that she could walk it blindfold - and had indeed done so on a couple of memorable occasions. She was fast and confident, and she continued back and forth for a couple of minutes before stopping in the centre again.

“You might want to close your eyes for this next bit,” she said.

“What weird and wonderful idea have you come up with this time?”

“Oh, you’ll see. Well, you won’t if you close your eyes, but I know you. You never listen to me.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“I never listen to you because you’re normally telling me that I’m going to send you into an early grave. If you’re that worried about your heart you should have picked a girlfriend with a much more sedate act.”

Although he couldn’t really see her face clearly from this distance, Gold could tell that there was a smile in her voice, and she didn’t really mean it. She had a point though - her role wasn’t exactly the least dangerous even when she did have a safety net underneath her. Still, in a choice between being with Lacey and constantly fearing for his blood pressure, or not being with Lacey and living a quiet life, Lacey won every time.

Despite his firm decision, however, he still gasped with alarm as she sprung off the wire, turning a somersault in mid-air and landing back on her feet, crouching so low her nose almost touched the wire before straightening back up again and giving a little curtsy. Gold dutifully kept his mouth shut. There had been several times before when he’d been convinced that Lacey did in fact have sticky feet.

“All right,” Lacey called as she made her way back towards the platform and began to climb down to the ground. “I think that’s probably enough for tonight. We don’t want our ringmaster dying of fright before the Saturday evening crowd comes tomorrow.” She crossed the ring towards him and hopped nimbly up the steps, flinging herself down onto the bench beside him and leaning in with a butter wouldn’t melt expression. Gold knew that she was not contrite at all, but he was glad that she’d got her new ideas out of her system; hopefully, she would be a bit calmer now.

“With some of the stunts you pull, I’m not sure that we don’t get the audience dying of fright.”

“Ah, yes, but what do you come to the circus for if not to be entertained? And sometimes, that entertainment takes the form of being scared out of your wits. It’s the adrenaline rush. You can bet that none of the audience sitting out here would be able to do what I do. They’re living vicariously. And come on.” She prodded him in the ribs. “You love watching me really.”

He couldn’t deny it. There was definitely something mesmerising about watching her dance along the wire as easily as if it was the solid ground beneath his own feet. She was almost more at home in the air than she was on the ground, she moved so unnaturally well up there that it was natural in its own way.

“Why do you watch me?” Lacey asked presently. “You grouse about it all the time, but you’re still always in here when I’m experimenting.”

“I…” Gold had never really talked about the extent of his feelings for Lacey before. They had been together for a little while, and they had both been treating it as a pleasant little affair, a nice flirtation with added perks. The L-word had not been mentioned, or even really mooted as a possibility, and it was only now that he was really being forced to confront it that Gold realised that was where his feelings were going.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he admitted. “Seeing you fall would probably stop my heart, but I know that I’d feel even worse if you fell and I wasn’t here to help you.”

Lacey laughed, which wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting to his declaration, but it was soft and light, nothing mocking in it. She leaned in to kiss him.

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s nice to know that there’s someone out there who worries about me so much. It makes me feel… wanted.”

Gold had never pried into Lacey’s reasons for running away from whatever life she’d had before in order to join the circus, just as she had never really asked about his. They were both searching for love and belonging in their own way, and it was a thousand to one against that they’d find it with each other, but here they were.

There was a moment of heavy silence, both of them looking at each other. The confession was at the tip of his tongue, and he thought that perhaps Lacey knew that and was not yet ready to hear it, as she jumped up and grabbed his hand, dragging him down the seating to the ground.

“Come on, time’s getting on and Granny’s going to kill us if we’re late for dinner.”

Gold laughed, following her down willingly. His confession could wait. For now, he was content to keep walking the exhilarating tightrope that was life with Lacey.

#golden lace #golden lace fic #rumbelle fic #Lacey French #Mr Gold #Circus AU #AU-gust #Worry does AU-gust #Fic: Tightrope

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writingthingsisdifficult · 5 years

Text

I found you

What happens when you find out that you’re Loki’s soulmate?

In my head everyone’s alive. Warning for cursing. Also for me not having English as my first language. First time writing Loki too. Or anything Marvel, really.

Hope you like it. Let me know if you do :)

Word count: 8789

______________________________________________________________________

I should have known better than to venture into the archives that today; my premonitions have been acting up for days. But I ignored the signs, and now I keep staring at this photo, ears ringing with shock. I would have missed it if I hadn’t stopped to admire his sharp features – it’s not secret I think he’s attractive. Hell, even the guys in the compound think that.

If this is true, I’m in so much trouble… but there really is no mistaking it. The mark on his wrist – partially obscured by a trailing sleeve and only visible because he’s banging on the glass – is clearly the twin to my own. Not to mention the painful longing in my chest whenever I look at his face or hear his voice on the interrogation tapes. I haven’t met him in person yet, and I doubt I ever will. He is a known terrorist who has tried to kill and or enslave humanity after all, even though they say he’s reformed and isn’t in the business anymore. At least that’s what Thor says, but he always believes the best of his brother.

No one knows where Loki is at the moment. Not even Thor can find him – not that that means much; Loki’s had a lifetime learning to hide from him.

I didn’t think much of it at first. The pull in my consciousness and the black pinprick in my chest were weak enough that I just thought I was exhausted. Constant threats to the planet you live on will do that to you. But as the time passed I only got worse, so I arranged a little visit to the lab where both Tony and Bruce ran a bunch of tests I don’t even know the name of – under supervision of Dr Cho and Stephen Strange. Such an odd collection of geniuses. It’s a wonder they didn’t kill each other.

It was Helen who first realised my condition was soulmate-related after Tony suggested PTSD and anxiety as a half-joke. Everything clicked in place then. But I mean, I was embarrassed as hell. Couldn’t look any them in the eyes for a week after… I’m a grown woman; I should be in control of my own destiny. But Fury made me swallow my pride when he had an assignment for us all, and when we got home Natasha and Tony apparently made it their mission to help me out.

Tony wrote a little algorithm to scan for my soul mark, and Nat pestered me continually for information. But they found nothing. It’s not so strange, really, since my apparent soulmate is a master of disguises – he’s probably out there having the time of his life as a boa constrictor or something. Man, the stories Thor tells when he’s in the mood. CRAY-ZEE!

So how did I find out I’m knee deep in shit thicker than a southern accent? Well, I was looking through a couple of old files, trying to find a pattern to a new phenomenon we’d just discovered when I came across screenshots from the surveillance tapes from Hamburg and there it was. His mischievous grin and the blurry lines on his wrist… If I didn’t already get tested, I’d run to the infirmary so fast I’d probably trip over my own feet and smash my head on a sharp edge or something.

My heart is beating unnaturally fast, and every time I focus in on his face, it skips a couple of beats. And it that isn’t enough: my mark itches and tickles whenever I’m thinking about him, which is basically continuously. I’m feeling both ill and exhilarated at the same time, I hope I don’t throw up. The archivists will kill me if I ruin their precious system.

As the truth sinks in, I’m flailing for a solution, even though I know there’s nothing I can do about it. You can’t just un-soulmate someone, and I definitely can’t ignore it now that I’ve found out. People go crazy for less. But I can’t stay here. Thor might find it amusing, and Bucky might not judge me – much, but the others? Imagining the looks on their faces makes me dizzy. They will be disgusted. No, I can’t stay. I have to leave. Fuck.

In a flash, I’m on my feet, power-walking through the halls to my room. Once I’m in the elevator I can’t stand still, tapping my feet and my fingers. Thousand thoughts ram my brain all at once, and I don’t know how to shut them off. I’m lucky most of the others are on a mission right now. I don’t know what I’d do if I met any of them in the hallways.

I slam the door behind me, grab the nearest backpack and start throwing random shit in it. My brain is working overtime, and I can’t seem to focus, but at least I’m awake enough to stop myself from stealing a car and flee straight away.

I hoist the backpack up, securing the clips over my chest and hips. I thinkI’ve gotten everything, and I’m about to leave when there is a soft knock on my door. Crap. Not now. I try to calm myself down before I open the door a tiny bit so whoever’s outside can’t see the mess in my room.

“Oh. Hey, Wanda.”

“Hey, Y/N. You okay? I heard you slam the door.” She looks genuinely concerned, and for a second I’m worried she’ll try to enter my mind, but she has sworn she will never do that again, so I push that thought away.

“Uh, yeah,” I reply a little too quickly. Forcing a smile onto my face, I shrug and tell the first lie that pops into my head. “I, uh, just really had to pee, so I lost my grip on the door handle, you know. Didn’t mean to slam it like that.” Wow. That was almost believable.

Wanda nods, but I can see the suspicion lingering in her eyes. “Alright. You will tell me if you’re upset, right?”

This time it’s me who nod. I feel guilt stabbing my chest, but I can’t tell her. Not now. She won’t take my news well. “Of course,” I add. In my own ears it sounds false, but she seems satisfied, and returns to her own room.

This is a complication. She will be on the lookout now. I can’t sneak past her. So, what are my alternatives? If I leave my things behind I could probably crawl through the vents, but I don’t like cramped spaces and besides, I’ll probably run into Clint somewhere in there. The hallway is out of the question. I sigh. Guess I finally have to face my fear of heights. My room is only on the fourth floor, and there’s fire stairs going all the way down, but it’s still higher than I would like.

I tip-toe to the balcony, opening the door as quietly as I can. It’s silly of me. No one’s really expecting me to sneak out, and it’s not forbidden to use the balcony at all. But I’d rather they not knowing I’m gone before I’m far away.

Swallowing my fear, I carefully reach my foot down onto the top step. Suddenly I jerk back, and I swivel around, ready to tell Wanda to let me go, but it’s only my backpack caught on the railing.

Letting out a shaky breath, I continue, one step at the time, careful to keep to the shadows and out of sight from the other windows. The rest of the descent is without further problems, but I’m still relieved when I’m finally on solid ground again. From here it’s a short run to the garage, and then… gonna have to steal a car after all, but knowing Fury they’re probably full of tracking devices. I’ll have to ditch it somewhere along the way.

_______________________________________________________________________

There is a bright flash, and it keeps playing before my eyes. My head is swimming and I stumble around, flailing and trying to find something – anything – to grab onto. If only the world would stop spinning!

One hand grazes my forehead, and it’s almost painful enough to stop me in my tracks, but not quite. It feels like I’m on fire, but my brain is polite enough to tell me, through short and incoherent sentences, that this is to be expected when one is being hurled into the sun.

It’s getting darker. Each flash grows dimmer, and my shoulder bumps something hard. It’s flat, and it’s not moving, so I dare open my eyes for half a second. A fuzzy hallway comes into view. The light is fading fast now, and my legs make their own decisions, taking me all over the place before steering me with full force forward. There’s a loud crash and a thin creaking that sounds so far away. Someone is muttering, maybe it’s me, I don’t know, and then everything grows dark.

_______________________________________________________________________

The goddamn ELEPHANT in the hallway is making so much noise it’s difficult to concentrate on the book. Even magically sealing the flat doesn’t help much, so with a deep sigh and flickering flames in his eyes, Loki carefully sets it aside and moves silently to the door. He flicks the flap covering the spy hole away and peers through. There’s nothing there, but he senses a presence of sorts.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise. Have they finally found him? There’s no time to flee, and Frigga’s voice whispers in his ear, to fight, to go down with honour, to allow himself an end fitting of a Prince of Asgard.

It only takes a couple of seconds to decide, but when the door rattles with force, his resolve strengthens. He yanks it open, knives in hand, echoes to the side, ready to fight, when a body collapses into him. He stumbles back, supporting the woman as he does, making the door slam shut.

He lifts her gently into his arms, not sure where this sudden concern comes from. She’s a total stranger, but somehow he’s overcome with the need that she should be safe. He’s not sure he likes it.

_______________________________________________________________________

Something cold is pressed against my forehead, and it lessens the dull thump a little bit. I lean up and into it, but it pushes back.

“Shh, don’t move.”

I try again, and this time a hand pushes down on my chest, holding me in place.

“You really shouldn’t move; that’s quite the bump on your head you’ve got there.”

My body jerks suddenly. I still feel like I’m submerged in flames.

“You’re shaking!” The owner of the voice feels my face again. “Hel! You’re burning up! What…” There’s a short pause. “Ah. This is what you mortals call a fever. I was starting to worry. But a fever we can work with. Lie still, please.”

What feels like an ice-blanket descends over me, and I drift off with the silky smooth voice swirling in my mind.

_______________________________________________________________________

The pressure in my ears lets up a bit, and it feels easier to breathe. The coolness on my face feels so lovely and I lean into it with a content sigh.

The surface moves and I frown in my half-sleep, but it soon returns, caressing my cheek and neck. And as my consciousness returns in full, I open my eyes. The light is too bright at first; I can’t see anything, but then a face swims into focus. Initially I can only see the dark hair falling in waves over broad shoulders, but then… keen, watchful eyes, sharp lines, and a mouth bearing a mischievous smile.

“Loki?” It feels like the world shifts under me.

“I will not hurt you.”

Of course he doesn’t know who I am, so naturally he tries to look both calm and harmless. He can’t have a panicked person running around in his home, or worse: outside. It’s not difficult for me to believe his promise.

He helps me sit up, and though it’s thrilling to feel his hands on me, I’m too dazed to do anything other than give him a faint smile. The movement makes me queasy, so when he lets go, I grab an armrest for support. “Thank you,” I offer weakly.

“You’re welcome.” It looks as though he wants to say more, but apparently he changes his mind. After a long silence, he asks: “How are you feeling? Looks like you had a run in with a rhinoceros. While I quite like the beasts, I don’t think mortals would fare well from an encounter.”

“I’m okay, I guess. A bit bruised, but nothing is broken. At least I think so.” I move my legs tentatively. No problem there. My right arm is fine too, but when I try to lift my left arm, pain shoots white sparks from my shoulder. I hiss loudly.

He moves to examine me, but something makes me flinch. I’m not ready yet. He holds his arms up and back away.

“Sorry,” I whisper, looking down at my shoes. “It’s not your fault.” This is silly. I shouldn’t be afraid of him touching me.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he offers with a smile. “You may know who I am by name, but we are still strangers. Will you allow me to tend to the bruises and cuts on your face?”

I nod, steeling myself for the pain, but his touch is light and nimble, his skin cool. I find myself leaning into his hand.

“You crashed through my door,” he begins. “Bloody and beaten, half dead by the look of it. What did this to you? Who…” He cuts himself off, and he looks properly confused; he definitely did not expect to be this invested. A few seconds tick by, just enough for Loki to regain his composure, but his fists keep clenching and unclenching.

His voice is much calmer when he asks again. “What happened? I need to know so I can figure out how to deal with these…” He gestures to my bruises, but there’s a tremble there, like the emotions are just kept in check. But if it’s sorrow or rage or something completely different I can’t say.

I think for a bit, trying to picture the minutes before I woke up on Loki’s sofa. It’s just a big blur. There was someone there, I was struggling to free myself from a pair of arms pinning behind my back, but it’s all in shadow really. But I do remember fumbling for something to defend myself with. There was a… “The portal,” I blurt out, and Loki looks even more confused. “I… I must have pushed a button or something before I… stumbled. Fell. Whatever. I think it dissipated once it was used, though.”

Loki gets up in a hurry, knocking a chair to the floor with a lout clatter, and all but sprints out the door, except he doesn’t sprint, he powerwalks, and I surprise myself by finding it endearing.

Moments later he returns, a relieved smile on his face. “You were right. The portal is gone, and there is very little residue. I tried to open it again, but its source seems spent – permanently closed,” he adds to the benefit of my confusion.

“There are several types of portals. Some acts like doors that has to be summoned to fulfil certain demands, others…” his voice is eager, and I would love to learn more about the magical properties of portals, but I feel pretty tired. In fact, I am, and I can’t hide the grimace when a particularly sharp pain shoots through my shoulder.

In a second he’s next to me, supporting my weight and pressing his cold hand to my forehead. “Maybe it would be better if you lay down again.”

I shake my head. “I’m good. Just need to, to relax. Please, continue.”

“I wonder,” Loki says with a pensive look, then falls silent.

“What?”

“How you found me. This place is warded. No one is supposed to find me here, let alone stumble over me accidentally.”

Oh, I can think of a reason, but I don’t voice my theory, it’s too early and Loki hasn’t really shown any definite signs that he’s happy I’m here. Instead I say: “Like in Harry Potter?”

He looks at me, an amused smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. “Something like that. My point is: you should not have been able to find me at all. Even my oaf of a brother –“

“Hey!” I just can’t let him talk ill of Thor. “Your brother is a sweet man. He always made me laugh, and he was really upset when you disappeared. You know, he’s out looking for you every day. So yeah, he’s kinda like a big, bouncy sheepdog but he’s not stupid.”

Loki looks a bit taken back, like he wants to ask me if it’s true, but I know he’s a master of appearance, and my heart aches for him. From what I’ve read in his files and from the stories Thor told us, I understand why he’s so closed off.

“Never mind,” he says after a while. He looks me up and down as if he just noticed me sitting there. It’s clear he’s not unaffected by my presence, but he plays it cool. At least he’s not threatening to throw me out. Yet. “I expect you wish to clean up? And then perhaps you would join me for supper? I had planned to dine in silence, but since you are injured, you might as well join me.”

My stomach flips, and then his first question registers. My face burns. He can probably smell me from where he’s standing, too. “So much for a good impression,” I mutter as I hurry after him.

“This way.” He leads me through the bedroom to a large, decadent bathroom. I stare in disbelief. How has he managed to find a place with such space and luxury here, but then it hits me: magic. It probably wasn’t like this when he first moved in.

“Towels are in the cupboard to the left. There’s soap and, uh, shampoo in the shower.” His voice draws me out of my reverie, and I nod. “Right,” he continues. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Once the door clicks shut behind him, I waste no time shedding my dirty clothes on layer at a time. The socks all but flies off. My plaid shirt as well, but it hurts more with every movement and when the time comes to pull the t-shirt over my head, a lightning shoots from my shoulder, blinding me momentarily.

I stumble and crash into the wall, knocking things off the shelf and making a general mess of things. The pain has me reduced to a whimpering heap on the floor.

The door opens and the cold air sends shivers through me. Loki’s hands are gentle as he lifts me back on my feet, and I swallow my embarrassment as he helps me pull the shirt off.

Reaching for my arm to examine my shoulder, he stops mid-movement when he notices my mark. His eyes flick from it to my face and back again, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. I think he’s gonna say something, when suddenly he whirls around, rushing out the door, leaving me both shocked, confused, and more than a tiny bit hurt.

Thinking about it, I don’t blame him. I’ve had four years to come to terms with it. Up until a few moments ago he had no clue what we are.

I remove the rest of my clothes slowly, careful to not rip open any cuts. Loki could probably heal them with his magic or some Asgardian ointment, but I really don’t want to push him right now. For fucks sake, we only met a few hours ago.

The water pressure is perfect, and after a couple of minor adjustments, so is the temperature. Why does he keep the water so freezing? Oh. Right. I feel like a moron now. This is going to take some getting used to. I mean… he’s not even human. Wait, is he? Like a different species of human? I was so preoccupied with finding him that I never stopped to think about that. My mind fills with new questions I never thought of before as I work the shampoo into my hair.

Will he get sick like an ordinary human? Can I spread disease to him? Influenza? The cold? Or maybe he is immune. Probably, but I don’t know. I doubt anyone really knows. Jeez, I should go buy a notebook and write these things down so I can ask him later. If there is any later. What if he doesn’t want me the way I want him. What if… are we even compatible? I mean, I don’t even know for sure how his body works.

With all these what-ifs swimming around my head, I step out of the shower and reach for a towel. It’s so soft I stand still for almost a minute just pressing my face into it, stroking the towel like I’m a lunatic. Eventually, though, I dry off and wrap another towel around my hair. It takes me a couple of seconds to realise that my torn and dirty clothes are gone, replaced by a pair of black sweatpants and a dark shirt with green stripes.

Smiling to myself, I get dressed, savouring the feel of soft materials and the discreet smell of the fabric softener. This is exactly how I imagined his clothes would smell, and I’ve thought about it a lot.

The shower did wonders for my sore muscles and injuries. It takes almost no effort at all to comb through my hair, and looking in the mirror I deem myself almost presentable now.

When I emerge from the bathroom my stomach is churning; meeting Loki for the second time, trying to make a better impression – while wearing his clothes… It’s ridiculous! This whole situation is insane!

I find him in the living room. He’s standing with his back to the door, but I’m pretty sure he knows every movement I make. Deciding we have all the time in the world, I take a couple of moments to look around.

There’s bookshelves on all four walls, absolutely laden with books. Some look really old, too. A teacup rests on a low table in front of a grey sofa, a half eaten biscuit on the saucer. In one corner, under an old-fashioned reading lamp, sits a well-used leather recliner. A book is lying face down on the seat.

The light from the window falls on a huge, dark green kentia, and despite the unease in my chest, I feel a smile tug on my lips. Loki definitely isn’t as cold and heartless as some of the reports I’ve read said.

I approach him like you would an injured animal. He’s standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest. It looks like he’s spying on the neighbours, but I’m not even sure he’s looking at anything at all.

“Loki?” I try to keep my voice neutral, but I can’t hide the hint of insecurity and fear that leaks through. Hope he doesn’t misunderstand.

It takes a few breaths before he reacts. His shoulders move up and down, up and down. And then he turns. Slowly and on the spot. There’s a gleam in his eyes I’ve never seen before.

I take another step, but stop when it looks like he’s gonna bolt. Here we stand, watching each other, wondering… my heart feels heavy. He doesn’t want me. Of course he doesn’t. He’s a… what is he, exactly? A demi-god? It’s of no consequence. He’s my soulmate, and the one thing I want more than anything in the world is to hold him close, and that’s just what I can’t do.

Second by excruciating second ticks by. He’s observing me, calculating. Suddenly, he slides up close. He takes my arm and holds my mark next to his. As they almost touch, they light up, like shining mother of pearl; greens and golds flicker over the skin in a sort of unchorepgraphed dance.

Loki looks up into my eyes. I can see a thousand questions forming. A spark, something new, before his face closes again, and he turns from me. It hits me then: he is just as confused and insecure as I am. I reach out: touch his shoulder gingerly, hoping I haven’t read him wrong.

He slumps forward. “How…?” he whispers, probably more to himself than me. “I… I’m not… I’m a monster…” Trailing off, he tries to step away again.

“Loki,” I repeat, tightening the hold on his shoulder. “Look at me. Please.”

He does, and I feel our souls spinning around each other, weaving and melting together. I don’t know what to say next, but he must see something in my eyes, because he pulls me close and buries his face in my hair.

“I found you,” he whispers, sounding like he doesn’t believe it, like I’m gonna disappear if he stays silent. “I found you.”

“No,” I whisper back. “I found you.”

When he finally lets go, the vulnerable expression is gone again. Old habits, I guess. He looks at me for a long time, like he’s trying to decipher every secret I’ve ever had. Eventually he smiles, a big, genuine grin, and says: “I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh, It’s Y/N,” I sputter, wishing I could be a bit more suave. But no. He’s gonna have to take my awkwardness too.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he says, and my face heats up again. How come I’m so easily flustered when he looks almost unfazed by this? He looks me up and down. “It must have been a rough day for you. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Very well. There is this wonderful restaurant just down the street. What do you say we place an order and get to know each other better?”

I swallow and nod, trying desperately to look like the woman destined to be by his side. But the way he speaks to me has my insides on fire. Maybe it’s the soulmate thing, or maybe it’s just been too long, but his every word feels silky smooth on my skin, and the pull in my chest shifts, sliding to my core. I swear I can hear myself sizzling.

_______________________________________________________________________

“We must find out what did this to you. Something happened, and if you could only remember –“

“Well, yeah, obviously something happened,” I reply, slurping my noodles and trying hard to suppress the eye roll that’s fighting its way to the surface. The ache in my body is making me impatient. “I didn’t do this to myself.”

Loki gives me sort of an annoyed smirk. He’s not used to being talked back to. “Obviously,” he mocks. “What isthe last thing you remember, then?”

I close my eyes and think back. It’s hard to concentrate when he’s so close to me, but I remind myself that I can’t continue to be awestruck by him. Doesn’t stop the weightlessness in my stomach, though.

Flashes of colour and movement and smells pop up in my mind, but nothing recognisable. I go further back, tracing my movements since I left the compound. For a moment I’m struck by how much I miss them all, but I also know I can’t go back. At least not yet.

A computer swims into view. The screen shows a picture of… My eyes snap open. “I was doing research,” I say so suddenly I startle him. Soda sloshes over the brim of his glass.

“On what?”

Yeah, that. I know I shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but saying it out loud is mortifying. “You.”

“Me?” The question comes out like a sharp chuckle.

Nodding, I grimace to try to hide my shame. “Mhm. You know, because of… of this situation.” I gesture to my soulmark then vaguely wave in the direction of his hand. “The… hm-hm… soulmate-thing.” It feels weird saying it out loud. Like I’m a sham.

“Right.” Loki absentmindedly closes his hand protectively over his wrist.

“I was, I was trying to find you.” Obviously. It’s harder to explain than I thought. What I want to say is: “I want to be with you – you have been in the back of my mind since I learned of your existence. You are my world.” But what I dosay is: “Figured it would be nice to, you know, meet you and… you know, get to know you, and all that.”

I feel like an idiot. Why can’t I be articulate and smart and a better match to Loki’s intellect? He must think I’m an imbecile.

“A logical thought,” he replies, but he doesn’t sound sarcastic. “Then what happened?”

“Um… I was knocked over the back of my head. I think. Someone… took me? I think I remember a car ride. It was bumpy. And loud.”

That seems to worry him. “Do you know who? Or why?”

Shaking my head hurts a little. “No. Sorry. Just… the button and tumbling through the portal.”

“That’s okay. We will no doubt uncover more pieces to the puzzle along the way.” He stuffs an entire dumpling into his mouth. “Ang ou gow by boher?”

I laugh out loud. “What?” This whole situation is absurd. What am I doing? Oh nothing, just having dinner with my soulmate who I just met, and he’s already talking with his mouth full of food. So domestic I’m tempted to check if I’m dreaming.

Swallowing, he picks up another dumpling, stopping before he puts it in his mouth. “And you know my brother.” It’s not a question any more.

My heart sinks. He’s not going to like my affiliations, but I can’t lie. Not now. “Mhm. All the Avengers, really. I’mkindaanavengermyself.” I leave it there, hovering like a mayfly over water.

The dumpling slips through his chopsticks. “Oh.” To his credit, he regains composure a hell of a lot faster than I would have done. “Then I apologise for trying to… subjugate you some years ago.” He says it with a wink, but there’s sincerity behind the joke.

“You’re forgiven. I think,” I joke back. “But I wasn’t on the team back then. I only joined a couple of years after the… incident. Someone told Fury of my powers.”

He tilts his head a bit, eyes bright. “And what are those?”

“Well, it’s not powers as such,” I say, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “But I have some precognitive abilities.”

Loki blinks and freezes with the chopstick halfway to his mouth. “You’re psychic?”

I shake my head fervently. “Oh no, not at all. I can just… sense… if something bad is going to happen. It is quite useful on missions; more of a heads up and keep on your toes kinda thing. But I never know whatis going to happen, it’s more of a gut feeling –“ I shut up. My stomach flips and I would write it off as the food, except for the slight change in the air. It’s too minute to put my finger on, but it’s there, and the feeling grows denser with every second. Shit!

“What is it?”

“It’s… I don’t know. Something is wrong. My estimate is three minutes by the feel of the surge in the air.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The window explodes, shards of glass scattering over the floor. The only reason I’m not impaled on them is Loki’s quick thinking. He shoved me under the table, sliding in after me, and he’s hunched over me, shielding me with his body. His armour clatters as it appears, covering him from head to toe.

Several people jump through the shattered window, crashing onto the kitchen floor. Some tiles crack from the impact. Black combat trousers over shiny, black boots surround the table, and my head spins. How… What do they want? I look up at Loki above me, and try to convey a heartfelt apology through my eyes alone. I brought them here. I should never have come.

Loki shakes his head slowly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. As his helmet grows, he moves with superhuman speed. The table flies through the room, taking at least three swat team members with it before it smashes into the wall.

“That’ll get Mrs. Davis in number four grumbling,” he says with a big grin. “Oh well, she’ll forgive me. She always does.”

Is he often attacked in his kitchen? I can’t do anything but roll my eyes as I straighten up and fall into a fighting stance. Even if this is an everyday occurrence for him, I’m going to do my best to protect him. All the hours in the compound gym are going to pay off now.

The madness is shining in his eyes as he flings a hand out; releasing a dagger that finds is target without trouble. His ease with killing is oddly comforting right now, and I am slightly shocked. But I don’t get many seconds to contemplate this new side of myself. One of the intruders descends on me, forcing me to take action. Grabbing the nearest thing I can get a hold of, I swing my fist around, slamming a decanter in his face. It’s probably worth a ton of money, but I doubt Loki minds, as the man shrieks in pain. A large shard sticks out from his cheek, just below his goggles. Hot, red blood is streaming down, staining both his jacket and my shirt, but I don’t feel sorry for him. I twist around, kicking him in the knee, sending him to the floor with a sickening crunch.

I risk a glance at Loki. He’s fighting like a cornered predator. Our attackers have some sort of shield or protection against his magic, and he has to resort to old-fashioned close combat. It’s a chilling sight.

The walls are creaking with each hit, plates and glasses and cutlery smash to the floor, creating an ear-splitting din that almost takes my vision away. That fraction of a second’s distraction is enough for one of the soldiers to grab my hair. Grunting, I try to twist around, but his grip is too strong, and with a flick of his hands and a soft kick to my shin, he forces me to the floor. A piece a glass cuts through my jeans and stabs my knee, and I whimper like a lost puppy, kicking myself internally for letting him get the upper hand.

The soft sound from me makes Loki stop what he’s doing. His dagger is stuck in his opponent’s kidney, but he loses his grip when he spots me on the floor. And just like that, the fight is over. Three soldiers clad in black camo advance on him, holding some sort of electric spears on him.

“Don’t,” I start, and is immediately shut off by a knife to my throat. Its sharp edge is balanced perfectly on my skin; stinging, but not drawing blood. I swallow hard.

A new man strolls into the kitchen from the living room, stepping unfazed over the bodies of his writhing and dead colleagues.

“Well, well… what have we here?” he asks, and I huff a scornful laugh at his so very villainous entrance. “Loki and his…” He looks at me. “…Unfortunate lady friend. You should have taken our advice. Instead you run straight to him. What were you hoping for, huh? Were you hoping to tame the savage?”

The man spits in Loki’s direction, but Loki doesn’t even flinch, though his face hardens ever so slightly. I doubt anyone but me notice. It’s kinda nice to see him strain to keep control of himself. I bite my lip to punish myself for thinking like that.

“Get out of my home!” His voice is icy and would send most men running. It’s a credit to these people’s training that they’re still standing and not sprinting down the road with their tails stuck between their legs.

The newcomer ignores Loki’s seething rage. “You will come with us, Master Silvertongue. Ah-ah,” he tuts, gesturing to my captor. He pushes the knife harder against my throat. The sting sends ticks to my eye, and I try hard not to swallow again. “Do as we tell you, or the girl will suffer.”

“Do as you wish, I care not.”

The man barks a laugh. “They call you the Liesmith. But you don’t fool me. We’ve already done our research.” He grabs my hand and twists my arm so that I almost fall forward. My eyes fly open. The fabric tears with a loud rrratch, exposing my soulmark. It’s still glowing faintly.

Loki’s eyes flicks from the man to me and back, and it’s good to see there’s still some fight left in his eyes, and his lips curl into that mischievous smile I’ve come to love. God, it’s really gone that far. My heart thumps loudly, and I feel my face prickle with the realisation that I won’t get the chance to fall in love with him slowly like a normal person. Trust me to go all in all at once.

The soldier keeps me pinned to the floor, grovelling like a commoner in court. Every time I move, pain from my knee shoots up my spine and erupts in bursts of colour over my eyes.

Forgotten memories flits in and out of my consciousness, and a voice rings in my ear, blocking out the incessant taunting and blathering. I don’t even flinch when one of Loki’s daggers imbeds itself in the cupboard with a loud thwack. You will be the one to bring us to him.

As the soldier behind me kicks me in the back, I can’t even groan in pain; the realisation hits me like a freight train, and I lift my head to look at Loki fighting for his life; for mine… This is all my fault!

For a brief moment our eyes lock together. I quickly look away so he doesn’t get distracted, but I know it’s too late. A loud groan and a thump make me look up again, and the sight sends chills down my spine.

Loki is kneeling, a mirror image of myself, and he is bleeding from his temple. Defeat and defiance glows in his eyes, and I know that he knows. His eyes soften and my insides turn. They shackle his hands and pull him backwards to the door, a lot less gently than necessary.

“I will find you again,” I croak. Something hard hits the back of my head, and the floor comes rushing upwards. The last thing on my mind before the void swallows me is “I promise.”

When I wake up, I wonder why my face is smushed against the floor and how much I drank to warrant this level of a hangover, but when I move to wipe the sleep from my eyes, my hand comes away bloody. My left eye is so swollen I can’t open it properly and everything hurts.

Hesitantly I feel my nose. Relief floods me when I find it not broken. But lying face down on the floor with my ass up in the air has left it bruised and sore.

“Fuck!” I don’t really have the words, but I curse the pain and the world and the people who took Loki from me even before we could get to know each other.

_______________________________________________________________________

I hesitate. Pick up the phone and dial the number, then hang up for the fifth time. It’s clear I need help, but the tiny voice in the back of my head keeps reminding me that they don’t like Loki. They reallydon’t like Loki. But they like me, even though I left abruptly four years ago and have barely spoken to any of them since.

Steve sends me updates from time to time, and every few weeks he shoots a message begging me to come home, but I just couldn’t. I feared the day they’d find out the truth. And that day… is propelling towards me at an alarming speed. Might as well get it over with. If I’m lucky they’ll help me before disowning me. Wait, is it really disowningwhen the family in question isn’t blood related? I slap myself out of the distraction. It doesn’t matter. The universe has already dealt my cards. It has been decided, and I may not like it, but there it is. I have to play the hand I’m given.

With a shaky thumb I dial the number again. The green button looks like a great big danger sign, but this time my resolve holds. The phone rings two times before someone answer.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice is equal parts relieved and worried.

“Hiya, Cap,” I reply, feeling incredibly small. I try to keep my voice light, but it’s impossible to conceal my desperation. It’s been years since I’ve talked to him, and I’m so nervous I could puke.

There’s voices in the background, someone’s dragging a chair over the floor – probably Tony, I think before swallowing that hard lump in my throat. I’m really doing this. Now.

“Hang on,” Steve says and there’s a sharp beep. “You’re on speaker.”

“I’m impressed you know the right button,” a voice shoots, and I smile despite myself. I miss Natasha so much.

Steve scoffs and mutters something unintelligible. Multiple voices laughing. Great. The whole gang is there. My heart is beating so hard I can feel my sweater move.

“Y/N, you there?”

“I’m here,” I whisper shakily. “Fuck, I miss you guys so much!” There. It’s said. Whatever comes next at least they know it’s not their fault I left. Stupid universe.

“We miss you too, kid. Come home.” Tony sounds uncharacteristically vulnerable.

I shake my head as if they can see me. “I can’t, sorry. Not yet,” I add, even though I should say not ever.But that’s too much right now. I don’t even want to think about it, so I try to sound confident. “I need help.”

“Anything!”

They wouldn’t be so eager if they knew what I’m about to ask for. My eyes start burning, and I rub them hard. The prickly sensation is replaced by a dull ache and thousands of kaleidoscope stars.

“I might… might have to hold you to that. I…” I sigh. “I don’t know how to begin.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, before Nat interrupts.

“This has to do with why you ran away, right?”

Ran away.As if I’m a child running from strict parents. But she’s right, of course. She always seems to know what’s going on. There’s a pointed silence on the other side.

Clearing my throat, I study a bloodstain on the floor. It’s dark brown and almost perfectly round. It doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real anymore. “Sort of, yeah,” I begin. My voice is hollow. How do you go about explaining to your family that you’re in love with – no, more than that: irrevocably tied to a guy who has tried to kill them on more than one occasion? Gently, or rip off the band-aid?

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes and bang the back of my head on the wall. “I found out who my soulmate is... It’s Loki.” I grimace, waiting for the inevitable outburst of disgust from the other side.

There’s silence, then a loud “Aww, shit.”

“Hey, Clint.”

“Hey, Y/N. When are you coming home? Ow!” There’s a soft thwack. Someone, probably Natasha, has hit the back of his head.

No one says anything for a while. The only sound heard is the rustling of paper, a scraping chair, and something that sounds suspiciously like a giggle.

I’m getting antsy. Someone needs to say something. “Um, guys?”

“Yeah, yeah, uh, we’re still here. Just… had to settle something.” Steve sounds smug. “So. What do you need?”

What? This is not the reaction I expected. “Uh… you still want to help me?” I wince from my own voice. It’s so small and terrified, and it makes me disgusted from myself.

“Still want to… what the hell? Y/N! I thought you knew us better than that. You’re family.”

“But…” I can’t bring myself to say it out loud, but my thoughts spring to the fight Steve and Tony had when we found out Bucky was still alive.

“We’ve grown since that,” Steve answers to my unspoken thoughts. “We’re older and wiser now.”

“Speak for yourself, Captain Senior Citizen,” Tony injects, making everyone laugh.

My head is spinning.

“What do you need?” a quiet voice repeats, and my heart aches. Of all the people on the team, Bucky is the one I miss the most. He’s like a brother, a twin, almost, and I miss the comfortable silences between us. My heart bleed with guilt that I didn’t think I could tell him.

My voice cracks from the fear and sorrow and homesickness. “They took him. They took him from me and I couldn’t stop them. I need to find him, I need…” My voice trails off, leaving me in a bottomless pit of terror and what-ifs.

“Of course,” Nat says, and I picture the glance she sends to Clint. She knows how I feel. “I’ll come pick you up. The jet is ready for take-off.”

Smiling sadly to the phone, I shake my head. “Thank you. But I’m… I’m not even sure where…”

“We know where you are,” Tony says.

“What?”

“This is Stark we’re talking about,” Steve explains with a tiny chuckle. “Did you really think we’d let you wander off without backup?”

I don’t know whether I should be offended or relieved, so I laugh with him. “But how come –“

“Figured you wanted to be left alone,” Clint says. “And since you don’t like climbing the vents, well… We always have your back.”

Three hours later Clint greets me happily as I step out of the elevator. I’ve missed his hugs and positive pessimism.

“Y/N! It’s good to see you again,” he says as he lets go, keeping a firm grip on the coffee pot he’s using as a mug.

“You too,” I sign with a grin, wincing slightly when the smile tugs on a cut under my lip. Nodding to the coffee pot, I add: “Good to see nothing has changed.”

He tries to sign a reply, but spills coffee all over his shirt. “Aww, my coffee…”

I can’t help but laugh. “You know, if you drank it like normal people you’d probably have a lot less stained shirts.”

He looks between me and his shirt. “Well, when you say it like that, I feel a little stupid.”

Bucky is leaning on the wall when I enter the kitchen. One leg bent and his arms crossed over his chest. If I didn’t know better, I’d be scared. But skilled as he is in… assassinating people, he’ll never hurt me or anyone else he considers his family. When he sees me, his face lights up, but as I come closer, he scowls.

“Who did this to you?” His voice is low and menacing, and he reaches out to touch my black eye. “Did he –“

I shake my head frantically. “Calm down, Bucky. Loki would never – they did this. The ones who… who…” My voice cracks, and I can’t finish the sentence.

Bucky pulls me into a warm hug, and the moment my face hits his chest I start bawling. Every fear, every bit of frustration, all the anger I’ve swallowed the last few hours comes flooding out. I’m powerless to stop it. “What if… they kill him?” I sob, sniffing hard and almost inhaling Bucky’s shirt.

He stiffens for a brief moment, then relaxes again. “They won’t,” he says, sounding so confident I almost believe him. “If they wanted him dead they would’ve killed him on sight. Trust me.”

_______________________________________________________________________

We’re all gathered in the briefing room. Wanda looks at me, seeking permission to do what I’ve already asked her to. I nod again, and her eyes start to glow. My mind is whisked away in a red whirlwind. Images and pieces of conversation float to the surface before dipping back down. It hurts to be restrained like this, but I’ll endure anything if it can help me bring Loki back.

When she lets go of me, I collapse, and I would have crashed to the floor if Steve hadn’t been there to catch me. He lowers me gently into a chair, and someone hands me a glass of water.

As Wanda describes what she saw – she’s considerate enough to leave out all the irrelevant stuff – the rest of the team gapes. I don’t hear it all, but I catch enough to understand that there’s a vigilante group that consists of former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and that they’ve been after Loki for years. Something about bringing him to justice.

“I’ve heard about these guys,” Clint says and everyone turns. He fakes bashfulness and toes the floor before continuing. “I hear things. When you’re up high people tend to forget you’re there.”

“Out of sight, out of mind,” Bruce mutters, and I nod to him.

Clint scratches the scab off a cut on his nose. “They’re supposed to be shut down. According to the guys in the administration, S.H.I.E.L.D. nipped it in the bud before they could even meet up for the first time.”

“Well, apparently not.”

“And now these men has my brother?” Thor booms. He’s eager to get out there and find Loki, and for that I’m grateful. At least I’m not completely on my own in this. It’s just that we don’t know what we’re dealing with. If they’ve gotten their hands on portal tech…

_______________________________________________________________________

“Stand back!” Nat attaches the explosives to the wall while Bucky and I take cover. Thor takes a step to the side.

Ten seconds later the corridor lights up in an impressive display of yellows and oranges. I have to close my eyes to not go blind. When the spectacle dies down there’s a big hole where the wall once was, three guards on the floor, covered in rubble, and a very dusty and very confused Loki standing in the middle of the room. In one hand he has a dripping dagger. The other dagger is imbedded in the back of one of the guards.

“Brother!” Thor bellows, bounding over the piles of concrete and steel. Apparently one of the guards is still alive, because he lets out a muffled yelp as Thor steps on his stomach.

“Hello, Thor,” Loki greets coldly. He acts annoyed, but we can all see he’s pleased to see him again. “Get off me!” he grumbles when Thor picks him up, swinging him around like a child, sending dust flying everywhere.

Loki’s eyes are fixed on me the whole time, so I do the first thing I can think of: I give him a little wave, feeling slightly like Scotty in Star Trek when he can’t do the Vulcan salute.

“My apologies,” Thor says, following Loki’s eyes. He shoves him in my direction. “That was selfish of me.”

I try to tell him that it’s okay. We’ve got all the time in the world now that we’re together again, but my voice is gone. Only Loki exists at the moment.

“Ahem.” Bucky clears his throat, bringing us both out of our reverie. “You do know that if you do know that if you break her heart all of the Avengers will rain fire and sulphur over you, right?” He gives Loki his signature death scowl.

Loki nods once. “I would expect nothing less.”

Nat grabs my hand to get my attention. “Um, guys? Clint says he’s ready with the quinjet. We better hurry. The place will be crawling with guards soon, as much as we all love fighting, we’ve got a schedule to keep.”

“Yes, Mom,” I tease, sticking out my tongue, but I’m ready to leave.

Climbing back over the fallen wall, we hurry through the long, winding corridors; Bucky and Natasha in front, and Thor making up the rear guard.

Suddenly cold fingers entwine with my own. Heart in my throat, I glance over to my right. Loki’s eyes are glittering, and he’s smiling from ear to ear. “Hello,” he says quietly, lifting my hand to his lips. The kiss is brief, and soft, and sets off sparks in my belly.

“Told you I’d come find you,” I reply, slightly out of breath. I’m not sure it’s because we’re running.

_______________________________________________________________________

Because you asked for it, I’m tagging you:

@river-alice-wolf @oatballsoffury @80percentmarvel @kybaeza @tardis-is-mine @darkforestbl0g and also @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte , because I tag you in all my stories.

#loki x reader #oneshot #everyone lives #soulmates #loki laufeyson #mcu sort of?#I found you #fluff #angst #writing is hard

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puppywritings · 5 years

Text

pairing: kim doyoung x male reader word count: 1886 description: due to an unexpected mishap, yours and doyoung’s hotel room had only one bed. but that was no big deal. right? masterlist

When you stepped off the plane, a warm gust of air hit you instantly, covering you like a blanket. Even as night time approached and the sky grew dark, the weather was so much warmer than you were used to. And you weren’t sure how, but the air even smelled like a holiday. You loved travelling; gaining new experiences, meeting people from all over the world, taking in new cultures. This holiday was unlike any other you had been on, though. You were meeting Doyoung here.

The two of you had been internet friends for years, unfortunately separated by the continents – though you still considered him to be your best friend. A meet-up had been in the works for the longest time, and you had eventually decided to take a vacation together. He was flying out from Korea and you from your hometown. You were to meet at the airport, and your tummy had been filled with anxious butterflies your whole flight.

Doyoung’s flight was due before yours, although you hadn’t agreed upon a specific meeting place within the airport. Your heart pounding with excitement and anxiety alike, you grappled with your phone the instant you reached the building, turning off airplane mode with a swift tap. You furrowed your eyebrows as you scrolled through the notifications that were barrelling in; the flight had been a few hours long, and you had far too many idols on post notifications for your own good. You shook your head frustratedly, discarding them all with a swipe and opening your messages.

However, your senses were soon overwhelmed and your phone forgotten in your hand when a pair of arms grasped you from behind. “Y/N!” a familiar voice called out in your ear. You spun around in his arms as fast as your legs would allow you to without getting tangled and wrapped your arms around your best friend, your head buried in his chest as he lifted you a few inches from the ground, squeezing you tightly.

“Doyoung!” you squeaked, your voice muffled by his body. Your grin went unnoticed as you pressed your face to him, but you knew he must have been sharing a similar one. You took an intake of breath, inhaling his scent. Not that you were surprised, but he carried such a sweet fragrance. Fresh and slightly floral. How could he smell this good right after hopping off a plane? you wondered, suddenly growing self-conscious of your own scent after the journey here. Though he hadn’t recoiled yet so it couldn’t have been that bad, you considered.

You pulled away, finally able to admire him in real life after all this time. His gums were bared and his eyes crinkled in the widest smile you had ever seen; his dark hair sat gently and perfectly on his forehead, just a little fluffy. Again, you were left wondering how the flight didn’t seem to affect his aura of perfection in any way – he really was an angel, you concluded.

“You’re so tall in real life,” you remarked, after moments of stunned silence.

“And you’re so cute,” he responded, a baffled tone to his voice. You didn’t believe your heart could pound any harder, but you were proved wrong by this comment. You could only giggle, as a rosy tint entered his cheeks.

“A-Are you hungry?” he stammered. “Do you want to grab something here before we go to the hotel?”

“Hmm,” you deliberated. “Nah. We can get room service. It’ll be like a slumber party.”

He nodded as a reply, beaming with that glowing blush still present. Your shoulder brushed against his arm as you made your way to the baggage claim together, and you would’ve been lying if you said you didn’t feel a spark pass between you.

“I still can’t believe we’re finally together,” you said with a chuckle as you followed Doyoung into your shared hotel room.

“Oh,” he spoke, stopping as soon as he entered. You frowned, unable to see what had surprised him from the doorway. “I think there’s been a mistake with the room.”

You stood on your tippy-toes, peering over his shoulder to catch a glance. “Oh,” you parroted him. There was only one bed.

You couldn’t deny that you had fantasized about this. It went unsaid that you harboured some more-than-friendly feelings towards Doyoung, although you were certain he was oblivious to this. Fantasies rushed through your head at lightspeed – laying your head on the pillow and gazing into his eyes. His warm body just inches from your own. Those light and soft snores that you had heard on the phone so many times, but now in person. Could your heart even take that? Would you survive? Definitely not. But, at the same time, you were utterly exhausted from your flight and it was far too late to deal with such hassle.

“I’m so tired from all the travelling,” you groaned. “I just wanna stuff my face with greasy food then pass out. It’ll be okay for tonight, right? We’ll sort things out tomorrow.”

Doyoung nodded with a smile. “Sure,” he agreed.

“Where’s the room service menu?” you mused, heading into the room and discarding your suitcase. You heard a dose of laughter from Doyoung, and smiled to yourself.

You couldn’t help but pout when you woke up the next morning. The sheets were warm around you, and bright yellow sunlight filtered through the curtains. The other side of the bed was bare, but you heard the shower running in the ensuite bathroom, along with Doyoung’s quiet but audible singing. Things were rather perfect at that moment but nevertheless, you pouted. There had been no impromptu cuddles through the night, no silent forehead kisses. On the contrary, you had fallen asleep mere moments after your head hit the pillow, exhaustion getting the better of you.

Your pouting didn’t last long, however. The time you had spent with Doyoung last night was better than you could’ve imagined. Just reliving the memories brightened your mood instantly. You had shared an obscene amount of food as you laughed at some obscure comedy movie that was airing on one of the very few channels the hotel offered. After so many years of being close to Doyoung, you finally had the chance to spend some real time with him. It had felt better than you ever thought it would.

Just as you left the bed and began to rifle through your suitcase for the day’s outfit, the bathroom door opened with a click. “Y/N,” Doyoung spoke. “You’re awake.”

“Good morning,” you turned around to grin at him. His skin looked clear and radiant, and his hair was damp and tousled. He looked beautiful.

“I wanted to wake you up but you looked so sweet and peaceful I couldn’t.” His words brought a blush to your cheeks, and you turned back to your suitcase before he could notice.

You cleared your throat. “We should probably speak to reception about getting our room changed, right?”

There was silence for a few moments before Doyoung replied. “Let’s wait until after breakfast.”

You gave a hum of agreement, and tried to settle your racing heart.

As it had turned out, both of you had forgotten about speaking to reception. You had enjoyed the hotel’s buffet breakfast before venturing out into the city to explore and sightsee. Your heart had been fluttering and pounding intermittently throughout the day – when Doyoung dabbed at some sunscreen that hadn’t quite absorbed itself into your cheek, when Doyoung insisted you share a sundae at that cute café, when Doyoung existed with that perfect smile and those dazzling eyes. Perhaps your feelings were more serious than you had originally thought.

As it happened, you only remembered about solving the bed situation when you returned to the hotel that evening. Doyoung, always a gentleman, had offered to go down to the lobby himself and speak to the staff, while you retrieved the belongings that you had left lying around the room. The prospect of getting a new room with individual beds was a little upsetting to you, but you had to respect Doyoung’s boundaries.

You wiped away your gloomy expression when you heard the door open with a click.

“Did you get it fixed?” you asked Doyoung.

He gave a shake of his head. “They wanted to charge us to switch. I figured we were better off just staying here – it was pretty expensive.”

“Oh,” was all you said, trying to downplay the elation that was spreading throughout your body.

“Is that okay?” Doyoung checked. “We can pay the fee if you want to.”

“No, this is fine,” you assured him with a smile. Hope blossomed in your heart, and refused to die down though you tried to quell it.

On the last night of your vacation together, you slid into bed with a frown on your face. Although it had been a week, you were nowhere near ready to say goodbye to him. Your heart banged against your chest, a mixture of sadness and longing rumbling there, as well as the exhilaration you drew from being so close to Doyoung.

“I wish we didn’t have to leave,” Doyoung spoke your exact thoughts as he lay in bed next to you.

“Me too,” you sighed.

“Don’t pout,” he said, raising his hand to gently tap your nose. This brought a smile to your lips, to which he said, “That’s better. I love your cute smile.”

You blushed furiously, looking away from him and cursing yourself inwardly. “You’re cute when you blush too,” he commented. Why was he so bold tonight? Over the week you had spent together, your barriers had been knocking down gradually. The previous night, Doyoung had held you in his arms from the moment you got into bed to the time you had to get up.

“You’re pretty cute yourself,” you complimented him in return, your voice hardly above a whisper.

He spoke without missing a beat. “Kiss me then.”

“W-What?” you stuttered gently, genuinely wondering if you had misheard.

“Only if you want to.” He shared a blush similar to yours now, a furious scarlet colour spreading across his face – you saw it easily despite the dim lighting in the room.

The two of you were still and silent for a few seconds, although it felt more like a few eternities. You built up your courage, leaning in far too slowly before you met his rosy pink lips with a gentle peck.

You gulped, before asking. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“What is it?” he whispered back.

“I really like you.” The silence that met your words was deafening, and you were all too aware of how fast your heart was pounding.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He responded eventually. You gave an affirmative hum. “The hotel didn’t want to charge us to switch rooms. I didn’t even speak to them. I only pretended to because I didn’t want to get a new room. Also, I really like you too.” You couldn’t stifle the happy giggle that bubbled within you. “I really wish we did this sooner,” Doyoung spoke again.

“Me too,” you agreed. “We’re idiots.”

Doyoung replied by pressing a kiss to your cheek. Meanwhile, you were already mentally planning your next trip to see him.

#doyoung #kim doyoung #nct #nct 127 #nct u #kpop #kpop male reader #doyoung x male reader #nct x male reader #doyoung imagines #kpop imagines #nct imagines #nct fluff #kpop fluff #kpop lgbt #kpop mlm #nct lgbt #nct mlm

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hillnerd · 5 years

Text

The Wonderful Won Won - ch 5

ff.net A03 tumblr Chapter word count- 11524 [PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

[start at the beginning]

BIG, GIANT, HUMONGOUS THANKS TO @diva-gonzo- for being so kind and being my beta/editor for this! It was a GIANT chapter to go through!!! Go and check out their work!!! Diva is an amazing writer!

Trigger warnings: cursing, hospital, medical injuries (brain damage, memory issues, agraphia), negative thoughts about one’s own disabilities

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CHAPTER 5- Bedpans and Broomsticks

The first few days awake in the hospital wing were bleary ones. Ron had difficulty remembering all the various daily moments without consulting an ever-growing stack of parchments with reminders. Any lapse in memory was fine though, as he had Hermione there to remind him of anything he forgot. He forgot quite a bit, considering how much Hermione had to remind him.

Ron felt exhilarated to see his friends on a weekday. It was excruciating being remanded to the hospital wing, waiting for people to come to him, and with very little to do. He loathed sitting still for too long. Sure he loved to laze about, but it’d be with the knowledge he could do anything he liked later. At home having the freedom to read comics, eat some ice mice, play chess or go for a fly made even a lazy day where he did nothing but sleep and do chores pleasant.

Having nothing to do in a hospital wing was a different thing altogether. Enforced laziness wasn’t fun. Harry had brought him his chess set, and a couple of chocolate frogs. Ginny brought him some Quidditch magazines. Hermione brought him loads of homework and her highly detailed notes from their shared classes. He couldn’t do the work, though. Not that he didn’t try. The moment he’d start reading an assignment by the end of a paragraph he’d have forgotten most of what he’d read.

He tried taking notes, but holding a quill and controlling it enough to even ink the quill made his whole arm spasm within five minutes, and the concentration it took to process words and spell them made him rage with frustration. He wasn’t a genius like Hermione but he’d always been bright enough that school wasn’t that hard for him and he could float by without much effort. Now it took all his willpower to write his name legibly and he even struggled to spell it. Pomfrey called it Agraphia, or the inability to process words to write them, and assured him that this would all come back, that it was all temporary. It was of little reassurance when experiencing the strange fear and crazed feeling of being unable to spell and write your name, a task he’d been able to do easily since he was four years old.

His family had all written to him, sans Percy, with Mum sending a few follow ups when he hadn’t replied. They sat unanswered. There was no way for him to reply. He could barely sign a letter, much less write one. He kept trying to will his way through them, but all it lead to headaches and fatigue.

Despite spending all his days in bed, the hospital wing thoroughly exhausted him. No matter what activities his friends brought him he was unable to enjoy them, and it wasn’t relaxing in a hospital. He was in pain or at least uncomfortable all day and night. Pain potions didn’t help much and when they did, he slept. Every night he was awoken a few times as Pomfrey came to administer spells and potions, or just check the room. What sleep he got was light and restless, plagued by nightmares of choking to death or being unable to control his body. The fear would jerk him awake and it would take hours to fall asleep again.

“How did you sleep?” Pomfrey asked, as she did her early morning round, waking him a good hour earlier than he ever woke on his own.

“Fine,” Ron lied, sitting up fully in bed as she spelled the bed to support him. “I think I can manage class today. I’m feeling good, now.”

She looked at him with a hint of agitation. Maybe he gave it away by not looking at her directly. She knew he was exaggerating, but Ron couldn’t help but hope she’d let him out of his prison, even if for an hour or two. He saw a hint of a smile on her face before she squared up in front of him.

“Oh? You’re ‘feeling good?’ Well let’s test you just to make sure. Please raise both your arms straight in front of you.”

Ron quickly complied. That was easy enough. They almost immediately began to ache as he held them aloft. He was so weak he could feel them imperceptibly begin to shake.

“I am going to press down on them, and I need you to push back to keep your arms in the same position.”

Ron nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as he concentrated on keeping his face neutral, and his arms firm and unshaking.

She gently pushed down on his arms. He forced himself into keeping his arms aloft, but his head began to swim, and they were quickly pushed down to his lap by the Matron.

“I’m sorry, Mr Weasley. You haven’t regained the strength and stamina needed to attend your classes. Just getting to one of them right now would be too much for your body.”

Ron nearly cursed and wanted to throw something, but he was too exhausted to do it. He hated being weak like this. It wanted to bash his brains in, feeling so useless. He always felt a bit useless, which he hated, but at least he could combat it by just being there for people. He might not be the smartest, the most talented, good looking, or even useful but he had grit, and he was good at just being consistently present. At least, he tried to be that. Maybe he wasn’t even any good at that. He’d had a pretty bad track record of being there for Hermione, and his falling out with Harry their fourth year. And now he was sitting in the hospital wing unable to help them with anything at all.

He hated to admit it, and flat out refused to tell Madam Pomphrey, but he was utterly spent. Blimey! He’d toss Harry off the top of a tower to get a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Not sleeping wasn’t helping his memory issues get any better.

He swore if he had one more friend say they’d said something to him already he’d scream!

The doors to the hospital wing swung open and Ron feigned sleep, just in case it was Lavender. He knew the moment he paid her a lick of attention the newfound peace he’d found with Hermione would vanish, and Ron really didn’t know if his heart could take losing Hermione again. He would surely mess it up all on his own eventually, but he’d be damned if he’d let her slip away today. The footsteps sounded like the fast little rhythm of Hermione’s, but he didn’t dare open his eyes until he heard her laugh.

“Ron, I know you’re not asleep!” she said with a bit of a giggle that made him smile in turn as he opened his eyes. He’d never take her smile for granted ever again.

“How’d you know?” He sat up slightly in the bed.

“Because you snore every time you’re asleep for more than a minute or so.”

“What? Naw, I don’t. Not all the time.”

“Believe me, you do,” she said with a smile. “Harry’s mentioned it too, and he gets far more of an earful than anyone else, I imagine.”

“Is it loud? I don’t sound like a dragon rattling the timbers or anything, do I?”

“No, I'd say your snoring is something akin to the sound a bear makes.”

Ron flinched in embarrassment.

“A smallish bear,” she added with a small smile. “Well, now at least. You’ll probably have it get worse as you get older. I don’t envy anyone sleeping with you by then.”

Ron’s mind flew to a vision of he and Hermione settling into bed, an old married couple, her poking him in his back as he snored. It was the most domestic, and least sexy thing he’d ever imagined about Hermione in his life, yet somehow his cheeks began to burn what was surely a deep red.

“Oh don’t worry,” she said, eyeing his red face and taking a seat on his bed as she had for the past two mornings. “I’m sure there are lots of solutions for it; silencing spells or something. At least you don’t have sleep apnea.”

“I’ve no clue what that is.”

“It’s a condition where you stop breathing in your sleep for a moment or two. Mum and Dad have a fair few patients with it and the Muggle devices for it are ridiculous. They put a breathing apparatus with long tubes on your face, and you have to do it every night. It’s quite mad, really.”

“Where do the tubes go?” he asked, horrified.

“It’s a face mask that sits around the nose, and sometimes mouth area.”

“Sounds thoroughly miserable. I’m picturing it like the pipes in the bathroom going up the nose.”

“No no, it’s plastic bendy tubes. More looks like a jellyfish sitting on your face than a metal pipe.”

The two of them smiled as he budged over a bit more so she should sit with her back supported by the inclined bed.

“Are you able to come to class today?” she asked.

“I wish. And it’s Herbology then Potions today, right?” He asked looking to her to confirm. She nodded and he let out a relieved sigh. His memory was slowly improving, though not fast enough for his liking. He’d never been a Hermione, able to memorize books of information, but he’d always been pretty good at recall. The poisoning had left him struggling to remember innocuous details, and was easily distracted as he lost sight of what he was doing. He’d almost lost in chess a few times.

“I thought I could maybe do class today, but Pomfrey did a test on me, and I’m still… Well I’m still pretty useless right now.”

“I’m sorry, Ron,” she said, holding his hand. His hands at least had gotten well enough that he could hold her hand almost normally again. “You’ll be better soon, and then you’ll be back to outstripping us all with your long legs, coming to class and playing Quidditch.”

“Yeah…” Ron said with a sigh. “I’m hoping they want me back for Quidditch. I dunno if I’ll be cleared to play again. I hope so. McLaggen’s replacing me while I’m out, and he’s a really good Quidditch player so— ”

“He’s not as good as you.”

“I dunno.... He seems pretty damned confident about his skills and did really well at tryouts.”

“But he didn’t beat you, did he?” Hermione interjected. “Plus he has the personality of a skrewt. Trust me, no one will want to keep him around.”

“You were able to keep him around for Slughorn’s party,” Ron said before her could stop himself.

“Well… That was only one night. And it was rather awful, if I’m honest. That’s why I left the party early as I did.”

“It was? You didn’t ‘finish the evening’ another time?”

“Definitely not.”

Ron felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“You really think he’s a berk?”

“Yes.”

“And you… You didn’t go out on another date with him?”

“No.”

Ron was positively beaming. She wasn’t involved with McLaggen. He had a slight worry about the team preferring that arse, but the one person whose preference most mattered didn’t like McLaggen at all. Instead she was sitting in a hospital wing, on Ron’s bed, holding his hand. He found his other hand coming round to draw circles on her hand.

“Would you like to play some chess?” Hermione asked, a little flush working its way across her cheeks.

“Naw, I’m fine doin’ this,” he replied, unable to catch her eye as he was content to stroke her tiny cold hand. Her hands were always so cold, like little ice packs, but it felt wonderful when she’d take one and put it against his overheated face. He’d never appreciated fever fudge more than when it got Hermione to check his temperature fall of fifth year. He’d blushed almost purple between her touching him, and the effects of the sweet.

“I wish you could come to class,” Hermione said quietly.

“I’d be more useless than usual at them,” Ron said with a snort. He hadn’t told Hermione how he couldn’t really write. He was fine with her thinking he was procrastinating, because at least he’d have a semblance of pride. “Plus, me being gone isn’t that big of a change for you, is it? We weren’t exactly spending that much time together in class the past few months.”

“No we weren’t,” she said, worrying her bottom lip. They hadn’t spoken about their months long rift, and Ron didn’t feel capable of truly broaching the subject with her, even if part of him wanted to. “But still, you were there.”

She clutched firmly at his hand.

“You’re always there, even if things aren’t going well, and I don’t like looking over to find you’re not there. Plus Harry looks so lonely without you next to him.”

“He gets on fine without me, I’m sure.” His ears gave away his lie.

“No he doesn’t,” Hermione argued back. He wished she’d said she couldn’t get on without him either, but it wasn’t in Hermione’s nature to lie. She might not like Ron missing or whatever, but she certainly didn’t need him. No one really did, not even Harry.

Harry was awkward with other people, but he could get on without him in the picture. This year, at least, half the school were drooling to get a piece of Harry, so it’d be easy enough for him to find plenty of new friends. Much of the time it felt like a matter of time until Harry would move on to better friends than him. Sometimes he thought the only reason Harry kept him about was to have an in with the Weasley clan, and have the loving family he’d always deserved.

He didn’t resent it most of the time. He was happy to give his family to Harry. They might all be perfectly mad, and more than half of them annoying, but they were a brilliant family most of the time. They preferred Harry to him anyways, and after everything Harry had done and been through, he had little inclination to become territorial over them. He didn’t have much he could share with his best friend, but he sure had an overabundance of family.

Dad loved to corner Harry to learn about Muggle things, Mum would go out of her way to fatten up Harry and croon over his newest accomplishment, Charlie and Bill had immense respect for him, the Twins shared all sorts of secrets with Harry and even gave him free merchandise and Ginny seemed to have grown rather close with him too the last few years. The only Weasley who didn’t seem to prefer Harry over Ron was Percy, but that was only because of the Ministry. Ron was certain it was only a matter of time until Percy joined in too. It did hurt at times knowing his family liked and admired his friend more than they ever did him, but there was no use in mourning it. It was just one of those things he had to accept, like being poor, maroon sweaters, or corned beef sandwiches. Hermione seemed to like and admire Harry more too. He couldn’t blame her on that. Ron knew how grumpy and argumentative he could be, and how Harry excelled at everything and was ‘fanciable.’ Well…

“You alright?” Hermione asked, drawing him from his ponderings.

“Yeah,” he said, removing his hand from hers and giving a stretch. It wasn’t all that rare for him to get lost in thought, but since the poisoning it was a lot easier. “Might be up for that chess game after all.”

“Oh! I can fetch it for you.”

She hopped down from the bed and the lovely sensation of her pressed to his side was gone.

They began to set the chess pieces up on his wheeled overbed table. Ron’s hand spasmed as he put a knight in place, sending the pieces spilling and clacking across the table.

“Bleeding fuck! Sod it!” Ron snarled pushing the table away and covering his face in frustration. A few of the pieces cursed back as they picked themselves upright.

“I’ll get it, don’t worry.”

“Don’t bother, I doubt I can even play properly! I can’t do anything anymore!” he lamented, looking to the ceiling.

“You’re getting better every day! You can even feed yourself now, and—”

“Oh there’s a big achievement,” he cheeked. “Ron Weasley can finally feed himself. How bloody spectacular! Next we can have people line up to watch Ron wipe his own arse. A real treat, that! What a useless sod I am...”

“You know what?” Hermione admonished. “Since you’re feeling useless, why don’t you reply to your letters or do your homework? They’re really piling up and— ”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh, honestly! I know it’s not fun, but you need to see to your responsibilities, and it will give you something to pass the time. Here, I’ll get your textbooks and papers. Professor Snape’s Defense essay is quite grueling really, and it will take some time to do it. I spent hours just picking the books to use for my research, and I don’t think he’ll give you an extension, even with being poisoned. I’ll just fetch them, and we can make a rough outline of what research we want to use.”

“I’m not doing it now, so don’t bother. You really don’t need to!” Ron protested, hoping she wouldn’t open his satchel and see the sad attempts he’d made at the essay already. He’d been able to hide the child-like ink scribblings for days, despite her being drawn to his parchment and books like Dobby was drawn to socks. She pushed ahead though and started rifling through his bedside table. The idea of her seeing what an imbecile he’d become made him reel in panic.

“Really, don’t!” Ron said, scrambling out of the bed. He got one leg to the floor before it shook and gave out, pitching his whole body onto the side table with a loud crash as the lamp and all the other contents fell to the floor. Hermione narrowly avoided his shoulder crashing into her face by leaping out the way, and he struggled to hold himself from falling to the ground as the table precariously clacked against the flagstone floor.

“Mr Weasley! What are you doing?” Pomfrey cried out at the calamitous sound. She bustled over and got him back in the bed. “You aren’t supposed to leave the bed without help, and you know it! What were you thinking? If you had smacked your head in its unstable state you could have seriously inhibited your recovery!”

“Sorry,” he miserably gritted out between his panting hard breaths.

“Attempt it again and I’ll tie you to the bed, young man.”

“I won’t! I won’t!” That was the last blow to his dignity he could take. He huffed as Pomfrey and Hermione silently gathered everything that had fallen to the ground, and willed himself not to throw anything or cry in front of them. He couldn’t even stand. Pathetic. His whole body was trembling like he’d been running through the Department of Mysteries. With Hermione looking at him with concern, he turned his body away and it automatically collapsed in on itself like a quivering fold-away cot.

“I’ll have some breakfast for you soon,” said Madame Pomfrey rather quietly, before leaving his side.

He errantly nodded in response, unable to speak. He could hear Hermione shuffling the papers together behind him. If she had papers in her hand, she was reading them. She’d see the childish scrawl, the holes his quill had pressed through the paper, and multiple attempts to write his own name.

“Where would you like me to put these?”

Ron gave a weary sigh.

“Doesn’t matter. Anywhere. Burn em. Useless, aren’t they?”

“We don’t have to do any homework now. You’re tired. I will go.”

“You don’t have to go,” Ron muttered into his pillow before slowly turning towards her.

Hermione carefully perched upon his bed before holding up his papers.

“Were you going to tell me you’re having trouble writing??” she asked with affected calmness. He could tell by the hunch of her shoulders, the tension of her neck, and the small scrunch of her brows she was anything but calm.

Ron shook his head and she sighed in return.

“I wouldn’t have pushed you if I knew!”

“You also wouldn’t know I’m currently an illiterate halfwit!”

“Only currently?” Hermione teased.

“Yes, hex me when I’m disarmed. Real nice, that,” Ron groused and she made an effort to suppress her smile.

“You’ll find a way to cope. This is all tempor— ”

“Temporary? It’s bloody humiliating, is what it is! Knowing it’s temporary doesn’t suddenly make it a treat, Hermione. Mum and the whole lot keep poking me to write back, and all this work is piling up- meanwhile I’m— I’m…”

Ron swallowed roughly.

“YOU try not being able to spell your own fucking name. Let’s see how you’d ‘cope’ if anyone knew. And you wonder why I didn’t tell you... It’s cause who wants to tell the smartest girl in the world they can’t write or spell because their brain is broken. I wasn’t going to tell you that, and if you weren’t so bloody nosy, I could have a shred of dignity left for myself, but I guess that’s off the fucking table isn’t it?”

Without a word, Hermione primly rose from the bed, and walked away, her quick little strides making a beeline for the door. Ron swore under his breath. He knew he’d ruin things with her as he always did, but he thought he might get a bit more time than a few days.

“Wait, please don’t go! I’m sorry!” Ron yelled after her as best as he could. Her strides didn’t slow down at all, but instead of going through the doors she made a detour for the supply closet. He could hear her rattling about in the cupboard, and a series of metal clanks, before she strode over to him with a bedpan in hand.

“Er, I don’t have to…” Ron began, looking at her with incredulity. Surely she didn’t expect him to use the loo in front of her!

“Put the parchment in it,” she said, a bit cooly.

“What?” he croaked.

She rolled her eyes, and thrust the bedpan at him.

“Put the parchment in the bedpan.”

He did as she commanded, warily eyeing her, unsure of what her game was. She wasn’t going to conjure up birds to peck at him again, he was mostly certain.

“You can set fire to it either with a wand or matches. Which would you prefer?”

“What?”

“You said you wanted me to ‘burn them.’ So we’re doing just that. Now, wand or matches?”

“Pomfrey will freak if I use my wand.”

“She doesn’t have to know. It’s your choice, either way,” Hermione said, her eyes fervently boring a hole into him. She could set fire the parchment with just that look.

“I’ll… I’ll stick with matches… Haven’t tried any wandwork yet. Don’t want to set fire to the bed ‘cause I can’t do the movement right...”

“I’m sure you would do fine either way, but I agree it’s safer to do matches,” Hermione nodded. She shifted through her book bag for a while and found an old quill. She snapped it into a few pieces then transfigured them into matches and a striking surface.

“There! Ready when you are,” she said with satisfaction, before throwing a hint of a smile his way. “Are there any more papers to burn?”

“Got a few stuffed in my potions book. Feel free to burn the book at the same time, if you like.”

He knew it’d prickle her to hear him speaking of burning any book, and was rewarded with her familiar foreboding glare.

“If it was Harry’s potions book I would add it to the pyre,” Hermione sniffed. She gathered all the offending parchments and jammed them into the white bedpan. Ron grinned at her, still incredulous at her sudden bout of pyromania.

“You do the honors,” she smiled again, handing him the matches.

He had trouble grasping them, and fumbled the first two matches so poorly the tips turned black without producing any fire. The final match he managed to strike in a straight line, and it burst into a small glowing flame. He and Hermione shared a smile, the kind of private breathless smile they had enjoyed after she lied to McGonagall in first year, or after she had slapped Malfoy, or after she had kissed his cheek last year. The flames were almost to his fingertips, but he dared the flames to stay back a moment longer, just so he could continue to look at her warm brown eyes and the flicker of fire in them.

“Don’t burn yourself,” she whispered to him, before glancing down at the match.

He licked his lips then let go of the match, smiling with satisfaction as the parchment slowly lit up. They sat and watched the flames flicker before growing a deep orange that ate away at the papers, eviscerating all evidence of Ron’s struggles.

Hermione cuddled up beside him, her small hand working its way into his pale freckled one for the second time that morning.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered.

“About the writing, or you being a pyro?” he said, trying to keep a tender look off his face.

She gave him a nudge in the ribs then put her head on his shoulder. Her bushy hair tickled his nose a bit, but he’d gladly have a whole handful of her hair choking him if it meant he had even one more moment of her to himself like this. He’d never thought a bedpan could be entrancing, but Hermione could make anything entrancing really.

The flames grew too high to stay safe so Hermione finally moved from his side to extinguish them.

She had to leave, eventually, to make it to class, but in her absence, his pleasant fiery morning with Hermione kept a smile on his face for hours.

She'd promised she'd being Pig later and would help him compose some letters. "We'll just say you can't do small motor movements yet," she'd assured him when he opened his mouth to protest.

Hours later, while everyone was at class, Ron contentedly napped on and off, thinking of Hermione and the shine of her eyes as she helped him set his parchment aflame.

However, he still had his problem. Each time the doors made a noise he’d open an eye to see who it was. Harry came by before lunch, mood looking foul.

He marched into the hospital wing, a prodigious frown on his face. The air around Harry seemed to frizzle with fractious energy when he was angry, and today was no exception. His green glare pierced its way across the hospital wing, and Ron cautiously sat up, wondering how he could help Harry calm down a bit.

Ron tried to school himself into a nice neutral mood for Harry, but it was difficult to hide his own light mood as his friend stomped over.

“What’s got you in such high spirits?” Harry irritably inquired. Ron knew not to take it personally. He might have been in a snit, but it was rare Harry could see through his own mood to ask Ron about his. Being an invalid had its perks, he guessed. Harry flopped onto the foot of Ron’s bed, throwing his book back to the ground with a great thump. “Feeling any better?”

“A bit, yeah,” said Ron, biting back a grin as he eyed the charred bedpan in the corner.

“Good! You’d better recover quickly. I can’t take another moment of McLaggen!”

“Oh yeah? How’s he shaping up?” Ron asked, nervous to hear the answer.

“He’s a complete disaster. His Keeping is fine when he stays in position and minds his business, but fat chance of that.”

“Oh?” Ron sat up taller. “What’s the bellend done now?”

“What hasn’t he done? Harangues me nonstop about Quidditch strategy wherever I go. It’s this constant stream of terrible advice! But he’s even worse at practice. He keeps interfering with everybody and trying to direct the way the practice runs and tell people how to play their position.Makes for absolute chaos on the field. I could barely Captain and he barely let anyone else play their positions either. If he’s not grabbing Coote’s beater bat, he’s vying for the snitch, or he’s hogging the ball as if he’s a Chaser to hold demonstrations on how to play.”

“Oh I bet Ginny doesn’t like that!” Ron said with barely contained glee.

“No she doesn’t.” Harry had fond look on his face. “Had to stop her from hexing him about five times. Finally missed her once practice was over.”

“Did you actually miss, or did you let her do the dirty work for you?”

“As Captain I would never condone someone hexing another team member,” Harry said with mock solemnity, but his wry smile was showing through. “I told her which specific spells I didn’t want to see any team members inflict on one another. How was I to know she’d use one of those very spells on him not minutes later?”

“Oh yeah, no one could have predicted that! What’s a Captain to do?” Ron laughed along with his friend. “What spell did she use?”

“Waddiwassi. Shoved the snitch right up his nose. He’ll probably drag himself in here soon enough since I can’t imagine anyone would be willing to remove it for him, the prat.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for that,” Ron beamed.

“Maybe they’ll shut the school down and then I won’t have to deal with this shit anymore,” said Harry, laying back on the bed to glare at the ceiling.

“Why would they want to shut it down?”

“Oh Hagrid was going off about what’ll happen if students keep getting attacked.”

“Well either you me or Hermione has nearly died every year and I’ve not gotten so much as one holiday for it, so I think that notion is a load of bollocks,” said Ron, wobbly putting his arms behind his head. “Even if Dumbledore himself got chucked, there’d be old McGongall and the rest of the staff to keep it together well enough. Even Snape wouldn’t want Hogwarts to shut down. Then he’d have to spend all his time with the Order, who he hates. That or face being a full-time Death Eater.”

“Maybe he already is one,” said Harry darkly, not giving any more information. Ron gave him an expectant look, and finally Harry relented. “Hagrid told us he heard Dumbledore and Snape having an argument the other day. A bad one. Snape was saying he ‘didn’t want to do something anymore,’ and Dumbledore said Snape had ‘promised to.’ He was really ticked at Snape, it seems.”

“Cor! I’ve always wondered if Dumbledore thought he was as big a prick as we did. What do you suppose Snape’s trying to avoid?”

“Investigating the Slytherins properly. He’s protecting Draco somehow.”

And they were at that again.

“Look, I know Draco wants me as dead as anyone,” Ron began, “but he wouldn’t have been after me—”

“There was no way he could have targeted you with the mead, I know that. All of this is tied together though, and Draco’s been up to something. And after what we heard between Snape and Draco this holiday… Snape’s trying to help Draco. Perhaps he’s trying to cover up Draco’s involvement?”

“Hmm…” Ron answered vaguely, looking to Hermione’s charred bed pan again. As interesting as it was to hear about the happenings of Dumbledore and Snape, he wasn’t sure how good it was for Harry to be obsessing the way he was.

Harry had a tenacious mind. While Ron quite admired him for it, and would always back him up, he knew Harry needed time to be a kid and do stupid shit. Ron couldn’t tell him that though. If he did his friend would probably explode on him. No, it was best to humor him, but bring the conversation to a close. “Well next lesson with Dumbledore see if you can wheedle something out of him. If you have a moment alone he might have some correspondence on his desk or something you can read and get a clue from?”

“Good idea,” Harry said stoutly, as he rose from the bed to gather his book bag. “For now I’ve time to watch the map a bit while I get lunch. Maybe I’ll see if Draco or Snape are doing something different than usual.”

“Or you could get food and come back to play chess with your invalid friend,” Ron said with a smile.

Harry paused before he looked Ron in the eye for a moment.

“You’re pretty bored in here aren’t you?” he said, looking a bit shame faced.

“I mean, I have the marvelous views of bedpans and Madame Pomphrey,” Ron said with a shrug. “And Hermione was in this morning, so that was nice.”

Harry nodded contemplatively.

“Well, I have Potions after lunch, so I’ve not a lot of time to get to the Great Hall and the East Tower…”

“Don’t sweat it, mate,” Ron said immediately. He was trying to distract Harry from Draco, not make him guilty. Harry had enough guilt and suffering on his plate for a lifetime, and Ron wasn’t about to pile on.

“Maybe if I skip lunch—”

“You’re scrawny enough! You’re not missing meals on my account,” Ron insisted.

“I’ll see if I can come after dinner then? But I have practice… Well maybe after Charms, if he lets us out early. I could skip dinner then go by the kitchens on the way to practice.”

“If you manage to come by you’re welcome company, but seriously don’t even think of skipping a meal for me.”

“Fine fine, no skipped meals!” Harry relented. “Sorry I haven’t had much time to stay with you, though.”

“If it were reversed I’d never visit you. It’s boring as hell in here.”

“You’ve always managed to visit me loads when I’m in here,” Harry said with a knowing smile.

“Well that’s because I’m a better friend than you,” Ron teased. He feebly tossed a pillow at Harry, who didn’t need to bother blocking it. It barely made it to the foot of the bed. Harry’s mouth became a firm line as they stared at the pillow.

“You’ll be well soon enough, and then it won’t matter.”

Harry was pathetic at bolstering spirits and this was no exception. Ron understood, though, because of those bloody Muggles. The wooden smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the stiff way he held his body, and his inability to fake enthusiasm were a perfect combination to thoroughly depress a person.

“Yeah…” Ron replied tightly. He knew he was supposed to be well soon, but of all the times he’d nearly died, this one felt the most real, and the consequences were much more frightening. He wasn’t sure how many more close calls he could take. “Well, get on out of here, you skinny git. If you pass out at practice from lack of nutrition Ginny’ll have my head.”

“When I have you back on the field I’ll make you pay for all the jokes about my size today!” Harry laughed as he left the hospital wing. Just as Harry reached the door Ron heard Lavender greet his friend. Ron quickly slammed his eyes shut and feigned sleep. In moments her footfalls, along with someone else’s, were next to his bed.

“He’s asleep Lav. Let’s get going. Firenze is still considering doing a workshop, and I really think I can convince him if he sees we’re interested!”

“Oh, Parvati, I can’t! I’ve not visited Ron since yesterday!”

“But he’s asleep! He won’t know the difference.”

“He will, I just know it,” Lavender said stoutly before approaching the bed. He could feel the bed give as she sat on it and gently put her hand on his shoulder.

“Hello Won Won,” she whispered. He didn’t know why she thought she had to be quiet now, when she’d been at a normal volume not two feet away from him moments ago. “I don’t want to wake you of course, but I’m sorely tempted. I’ve got some new robes I want to show you again. I was wearing them on your birthday but you were on that horrid love potion then, so I don’t know if you properly saw them. I’m sure you’ll like them!”

Ron knew he should open his eyes and compliment her— make her feel wanted and admired, especially after he’d rejected her to find Romilda the other day— but he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye and lead her on. It was a whisker width to outright lying.

Ron was a lot of things— poor, jealous, freckled, a right grumpy git— but he wasn’t a liar.

“Ok, Lav, you’ve been staring at him for like two minutes. He’s not waking up. Let’s go,” Parvati said, with much more patience than Ron would have in the same ridiculous situation.

“I suppose…” Lavender mumbled, a wobble to her voice. She slid off the bed and made her way to the door. “I can’t believe how much he’s sleeping! She must have him on an awful lot of potions!”

The door closed behind her, and Ron gave a great sigh of relief.

“Mr Weasley.”

“GAH!”

He bolted straight up, hearing Madam Pomphrey’s voice so close to him. His head felt woozy at the quick change in position, and little spots swam in front of his eyes.

“I have your lunch,” she said, setting the tray down on his table. Ron looked towards the clock.

“A bit later than usual,” Ron mused.

“Well seeing as you were working so very hard to feign sleep, I thought I’d not give you a reason to wake in front of her.”

“Thanks,” said Ron, flushing in embarrassment.

“Hmm…” she said, giving him a beady look, put out his usual potions on his over-the-bed table, and whisked herself from the room. She normally hung about a little to inquire about his health, but he supposed she didn’t want to associate with such a cowardly arse.

Before he’d been poisoned, Lavender’s company was like a warm salve after the burning pangs of jealousy he felt over Hermione. Her touch, smiles, and comforting supporting were so easy and able to fill part of the void he’d felt in Hermione’s absence. He felt wanted and whole at times with her. The way she looked him… like he was the one person who made her heart lighter. He’d never in his wildest dreams be able to look back at Lavender that way. He wished he could. He’d tried his damnedest to get over Hermione, but he couldn’t hack it no matter how he tried.

It was time he resign himself to the fact that he wasn’t getting over Hermione Granger. Not any time soon at least. Until his infatuation had blown over, he really couldn’t date another girl. He’d have to wait, and surely eventually he would stop fancying her. That or he’d fancy her until he died and ended up alone and bitter and turn into a sad bugger like Snape.

Well, he’d never be able to stop being her friend, so he wouldn’t be completely alone. There was the errant hope that maybe she could fancy him back, but that was too much in the realm of unreality to fathom.

Even if she never fancied him back, he needed her in his life, even if it was only as friends. Maybe he could end up better off than Snape and turn into a Dumbledore sort. He’d never be great or powerful, but maybe he could be a weirdo obsessed with sweets and grow his beard far too long. Yeah, that was doable.

That evening Hermione brought Pig down to him so he could write his parents, and get to spend a bit of time with his silly pet. As ridiculous as his owl was, he cared about the little blighter something fierce. He might be pathetic, but he was all his.

Hermione sat beside him on the bed, and she patiently wrote out his letters as he dictated them, stroking Pig’s little wings. He wished he could always have her write his letters. It wasn’t just for the convenience of it— though he had to admit, it was nice to avoid ink stains and hand cramps— but it was because he was at complete leisure to watch her writing as he’d never dared to before. It was better than when she fed him the other day, because now she wasn’t aware of it. He could stare at her eyelashes as they fluttered down, the way her brow would give a tiny quirk when she finished a sentence, the way she’d bury her face behind a curtain of hair and she’d get a cute little double chin for a moment. Everything about her really was worth staring at.

He knew he shouldn’t think about her like this and his gut squirmed in guilt. It was all kinds of wrong being entranced with one girl all the while avoiding his girlfriend for days. He was rotten and didn’t deserve either of them in his life. Inexplicably they still kept visiting him. He’d perk up and feel downright merry when Hermione would visit, and he’d pretend to be comatose whenever Lavender visited.

Madam Pomfrey still had him on loads of potions, but had added in some little exercises for him to do in bed. They’d be simple tasks like ‘straighten your leg and tense the quad muscle here and hold for ten seconds’ or ‘take your hand and bend it back and hold it.’ They all seemed ludicrously easy and silly as she went through them with him, and they were easy the first few times he did it. He’d be shaking and sweating by the time he’d done all the little reps though.

The rest of the week dragged on, but by Saturday he was almost feeling himself. He was still sluggish and not back to full form composing papers, but he felt markedly more whole. He could get out of bed and walk to the loo unassisted and his memory was pretty spot on at this point, as long as he wasn’t too anxious or tired.

He had finished putting on some clothes when Madam Pomfrey walked into the wing and gave a loud exclamation.

“What are you doing, Mr Weasley!”

“I wanted to go watch the Quidditch match.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t make that long of a journey, plus the overexcitement of the game alone could cause a serious backslide for you.”

“What? How?” Ron angrily asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. He stood head and shoulders above the Healer but she stood her ground.

“Let me put it this way— remember when you injured your leg two years ago? You wouldn’t want to force yourself to walk on it when it was that badly broken.”

“I did walk on it,” Ron interrupted.

“Oh yes! I quite remember,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I normally can heal a broken leg in a trice, but you made it much worse it by walking on it, compounding your fracture, creating some real messy issues with your muscles and tendons— that’s why you were here much longer than a broken leg would take.”

“But I won’t be doing anything at the game! I’ll just be sitting there!”

“To an injured brain, almost anything beyond sleep is stressful and taxing on it. A Quidditch game to a boy like yourself? That’s like running a marathon for a brain. It’s simply too over-exciting.”

“This is completely mad! I’m fine! Catching up on studies is a hell of a lot more ‘stressful’ and ‘over-exciting’ than any match could be.”

He knew he was acting out of line, but there was no stopping his protests.

“We’ve already pushed your brain through enough stress as it is. I’m not about to let you go to today’s match and hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself?” Ron scoffed. “It’s walking to tht pitch and back.”

“When you’re stressed or excited you have more frequent headaches, your memory deteriorates and your motor skills decrease. Imagine tripping coming back and hitting your head. You might be in St. Mungo’s for good if that happened.”

“It’s not that bad…” he weakley protested.

“Do you remember when you could barely speak? Do you want to backslide to that?” she asked, arms akimbo.

His breath caught in his throat. He vividly remembered it. He still had nightmares about it. Low blow, Pomfrey… but effective.

He gave a moody shrug and sat back down on his bed.

“I’m sorry to have to be so harsh, Mr Weasley,” she said, sounding more kindly than usual, “but that’s the reality of this situation. I know you’re frustrated.”

He nodded, before toeing off his trainers and pushing himself back onto the bed.

He was mulishly staring at the wall when Harry came to visit, firebolt broom over his shoulder, dressed in his Quidditch uniform and looking far more at ease than Ron ever had before a game. Part of Ron was relieved he didn’t have to play, but after he’d done so well last game he thought he might be able to handle the pre-game jitters better this time.

“All right?” Harry asked as he sat on Ron’s bed.

“No,” Ron bit back. Harry raised his eyebrows, prompting Ron to try to control his temper. “Pomfrey won’t let me go to the match.”

“What, why?”

“Says it might ‘overexcite me’ or something…”

He understood it was a bigger deal than that, but there was no way he would reveal how bad things were to Harry. Harry had been rather oblivious to Ron’s worse symptoms, and Ron was happy to keep his friend in the dark.

“Bollocks, you’d only be sitting there!”

“That’s what I said!” he complained, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I hate being an invalid… How’s McLaggen shaping up?”

Would the bastard take his place on the team?

“Still a complete knob head.”

“Good— I mean, I want you to do well at the game of course. And that Smith character will be playing, so I’m hoping you kick his arse round the field a few times.”

“We’d perform a lot better with you there,” said Harry. It was a complete lie, of course, as Ron knew he was a shit player more often than not, but it was a rather nice lie. “I can’t keep losing my star players, though. If it weren’t for Ginny and Demelza our team would be complete shit today.”

“You’re alright too,” Ron said with a small punch to Harry’s arm.

“Thanks,” he replied, giving a dismissive shrug. “Won’t count for much if we’re getting scored on every ten seconds.”

“Oh? McLaggen not shaping up too well?”

“No…” Harry said, eyeing Ron. “You sure you’re doing alright?”

“M’fine. Should be out of here soon. No blood spewing, can walk about and everything. Definitely capable of watching a match,” he huffed. It was bad enough being endlessly trapped in the hospital wing and not getting to play— but it was downright miserable having his place filled by McLaggen. Hermione had said there was nothing between them… Then again she said that about Krum too… She never badmouthed Krum, so at least there was that. Perhaps if McLaggen did poorly at the match it would cement her disdain for the troll permanently. She might talk loftily about how little she cared for Quidditch, but she had a track record of dating really good players. She’d said as much back in December before her date with McLaggen. The thought made him wring his hands.

“So how’s McLaggen shaping up?” he asked, nervously fidgeting with his duvet cover. Harry made a grim face.

“I’ve told you,” said Harry, a bit slowly. Bugger. He’d forgotten he asked. Perhaps he was a bit anxious… Maybe skipping the match today wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“He could be world-class and I wouldn’t want to keep him. He keeps trying to tell everyone what to do, he thinks he could play every position better than the rest of us. I can’t wait to be shot of him. And speaking of getting shot of people,” Harry added, rising from the bed to shoulder his broom, “will you stop pretending to be asleep when Lavender comes to see you? She’s driving me mad as well.”

“Oh,” said Ron, looking away. He hadn’t realized anyone knew he was feigning sleep beyond Pomfrey and Hermione that one time. “Yeah. All right.”

“If you don’t want to go out with her anymore, just tell her.”

“Yeah ... well ... it’s not that easy, is it?” said Ron.

Ron boggled at what awful advice that was. Harry hadn’t ever had to properly break up with a girl. Hell, he’d barely dated anyone. Cho and Harry’s relationship, if you could even call it that, consisted of one horrible date and one kiss under some mistletoe. They never spent time with one another, and he was reasonably sure Cho had never really looked at Harry the way Lavender looked at him. If anything, it was the opposite. Cho was still hung up on another person… he never thought he’d sympathize with Cho Chang, but perhaps Hermione hadn’t been too off when she was overanalyzing the girl last year.

He was so confused, fancying Hermione, but genuinely caring for Lavender. He didn’t fancy her, but he liked her. And there was a sense of safety knowing he could turn around and have a girl cheering him on, no questions asked. Then there was that horrible guilt he couldn’t escape that kept gnawing at him. He felt so much he thought he might explode. He wished he could sit down and have Hermione help overanalyze himself a bit. There was no way to have her help him since she was one of his main concerns, but he couldn’t help wishing it. He hadn’t seen her this morning at all, and he was feeling a bit wobbly for it.

“Hermione going to look in before the match?” He couched this very smoothly, he thought. Just the right sort of casualness that Harry wouldn’t be able to catch on how much longed to see Hermione.

“No, she’s already gone down to the pitch with Ginny.”

“Oh,” said Ron. This was a right shit day. “Right. Well, good luck. Hope you hammer McLag — I mean, Smith.”

“I’ll try,” said Harry, shouldering his broom. “See you after the match.” With that Harry was racing out of the ward and Ron was left, once again, stuck by himself in the hospital wing with no company.

The window was open, and if he strained his ears he might be able to make out what the commentator was saying. He waited in equal parts anticipation and dread for the game to begin. He paced a bit, but found it too tiring to keep up.

He laid back in bed wondering what to do with himself when Madam Pomfrey brought a small box that looked like an ancient wizarding wireless and put it beside his bed. It was wooden with little brass knobs and speaker.

“Now, if you promise to stay relatively calm, I’ll leave this here for the entirety of the game.”

She waved a wand over it and he heard Luna Lovegood come onto the wireless.

“The sun has been shining through the clouds so very prettily. I saw one cloud that very much looked like a Horned Hodag today, and I think we all know what that portends for a Quidditch match.”

Ron hadn’t the foggiest what it could mean to see something like that in the clouds, but he gave a hearty laugh, the first good guffaw he’d had in weeks.

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey!” he enthused, settling deeper into his covers. She gave him a warm smile before leaving to do whatever it was she got up to in her office.

What barking lunatic had thought to give Luna a microphone and a platform to speak from? Oh this was going to be glorious.

“The Hufflepuff team are all in their uniforms of yellow and black. I think they look more like bumblebees than they want to. Especially the big one. Yes he looks very much like an angry bumblebee, especially now that he’s glaring at me like that.”

“The other team is Gryffindor, of course. I like them a lot. Hufflepuff are known for being friendly, but the Gryffindors have all been a lot more friendly to me. There’s a big player standing in for Ron Weasley today, but he doesn’t look as friendly or red-haired. I think it’s Tarmac Blaggins?”

“Cormac McLaggen!” McGongall corrected, sounding very unamused. Ron beamed, wishing he could see the two of them interacting.

“Oh no, there’s no remembering that. I’m just going to call him the Gryffindor Keeper… He was very loud at the Christmas party I went to, and is not very funny.”

The game began, and from what he could tell from Luna’s wandering commentary, McLaggen was as useless as a bag of bludgers dropped in a bathtub. Ron knew he shouldn’t root for his replacement to fail, but he was only human. His cheeks began to hurt from smiling.

“Zacharias Smith is not very good at holding the quaffle for long. Perhaps he just isn’t good at holding things in general? Or it could be a case of — oh wait, he has the ball perhaps— oh dear, dropped it again. Yes, I’m quite certain that he has contracted a very bad case of Loser’s Lurgy…”

“Oh look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats. I don’t think that’s very usual for this game. And— oh dear!”

Ron could hear the whole audience at the pitch give a terrible sound of alarm, and even McGongall gave a great yell he could hear over the wireless.

“The Gryffindor Keeper Porkluck McFloodle hit a bludger right into Harry Potter’s head! My, he fell off his broom from very high up. The Gryffindor Beaters have caught him though. There is an awful lot of blood… What a strange strategy to employ at this point in the game.”

Ron heard a sound from Pomfrey’s office, and a moment later she bustled into the ward a determined look on her face.

“Ginny looks so upset. The Gryffindor Beaters Ceakes and Poot are busy moving Harry, but the team hasn’t called a time-out. The Gryffindor Keeper let the quaffle through. Oh no! Without a captain they can’t call a time-out can they… The Hufflepuffs are scoring quite a lot of points now. Even Smith has managed to hold the quaffle a bit, despite his Loser’s Lurgy.”

Demelza and Dean managed only one goal each, while Hufflepuff trounced them soundly and the match ended with Hufflepuff mercifully catching the snitch..

Harry was brought into the ward on a stretcher not long after the team lost. Ginny, Hermione, and McGongall were marching behind it looking rather stricken. Harry did look a mess, all pale and lifeless— but Ron figured it was no big deal compared to some of the other things he’d faced, right? Ginny looked rather close to tears as Harry was spelled off the stretcher and onto the bed.

Pomfrey waved her wand and diagnostic spells hummed around his head and neck, lighting his pale face before she closed the curtains around Harry.

“Oh Merlin,” Ginny moaned, moving over to Ron’s bed. He put an arm round his sister.

“He’s got a hard head,” Ron offered with a smile.

His smile fell as Hermione stayed beside Harry’s bed, biting her lip and watching with worry. A fleeting terrible thought of Hermione fancying Harry darted through him. He’d entertained the thought before, and like always he quickly swatted it away.

“That stupid McLaggen. I want to hex him into oblivion,” Ginny growled, wiping at her eyes. “The whole game was a complete shitshow. Ron, if you aren’t back on the team next week, I might quit.”

“He’s that bad?” Ron tried to say with sympathy, but he knew he was failing miserably given the punch he received.

“Oi! How am I supposed to be back on the team if you attack me when I’m healing!” he said, rubbing at his arm.

“I ought to hex you for making us get stuck with him in the first place.”

“Ah yeah, sorry about that. I’ll try really hard not to get randomly poisoned next week. That do?”

“I suppose it must,” she said with dramatic flair, before sitting in Hermione’s usual place at his side. For a moment he wanted to kick her out so he could entice Hermione to cozy up with him, but he could sense his sister was a bit rattled and needed some support.

Hermione finally left Harry’s side to join them.

“Pomfrey said it’s a cracked skull, but she can heal it easily and he’ll be fine by Monday. He’ll be staying here at least overnight,” she informed them.

“There, see?” Ron said to his sister. “It wouldn’t be a proper school year if Harry wasn’t hospitalized unconscious at least once.”

“Well I am quite tired of the two of you getting injured all the time,” Hermione fretted.

“Here here!” Ginny agreed.

“You’ve been hospitalized a good bit too, Hermione,” he reminded her. She’d had plenty of short stints, but there were three long ones she’d endured that he would never forget.

The first had been when she had the accident with Polyjuice potion and had turned into a human-cat hybrid. She’d been trapped in the ward for almost a month. That hadn’t been so bad. He missed her during the day, but it was nice to spend time with her alone, helping her to catch up on her studies. He’d ever had better notes before or since.

The second time she’d been petrified by the basilisk. That had been pure torture seeing her usual expressive face frozen in shock. He visited her quite often, despite the lack of interaction, and talked to her about all sorts of things. It was like talking to an imaginary friend. He knew how she would have reacted, and could see it quite clearly in his mind. He’d always wondered if she could hear what all he’d said, but never had the guts to ask her. It had been bad, but there was a cure on the way, and somehow death just didn’t seem like a possibility for them. He used the news that she was ok to power some of his earliest patronuses.

The third time was the worst. The fight inside the Department of Mysteries had been the closest to death he had ever been. He was covered in the ugly scars of it and still haunted by nightmares. When he finally woke up in the hospital wing Hermione was beside him and she looked so pale and still that he was convinced she was dead. He kept checking her pulse, and was reassured by the medi-witch she wasn’t dead— but it had been too close a call for him to feel comforted. She’d nearly died! They’d all cheated death, a bunch of kids against full-grown Death Eaters. It almost felt like death himself would swoop in to chastise them like the Three Brothers in the old fairy tale. Death felt tangible and real. He supposed it had already felt that way for Harry since Cedric died, but it really sank in for him how very mortal they all were.

Ron chose to put his life on the line a fair number of times and figured that would be his role in it all. He would be a shield for the real heroes, like Harry and Hermione. And he was fine with that. It’s not like he wanted to die or anything, but he wasn’t particularly surprised when he’d had another close call. That was just part of it. He had to do his duty and keep Harry and everyone else safe.

It shook him to have others going out there doing the same thing. When he’d been running through the department of mysteries he had lagged behind his sister and Luna, doing everything he could to shield them from the onslaught of spells. Hermione wasn’t supposed to be a shield or wand-fodder like he was. She was supposed to go on to do great things, like Harry. He couldn’t fathom a world without her, and wished he had a way to convince her to stay safe in a library somewhere instead of following him and Harry into danger all the time. A world without Hermione was unthinkable. He didn’t want to live in a world without Hermione.

“Yes, we all spend too much time here,” Hermione said with a sniff. “I’m quite tired. I think I’ll go take a nap. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ron.”

With that she practically fled from the hospital room. Ron looked to Ginny for answers, and she gave a shrug.

“It’s been a tough week. First you, now Harry… It’s enough to make anyone feel overwhelmed.”

He had a feeling Ginny wasn’t just speaking for Hermione.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be out of the hospital wing and driving you mad in no time.”

“You manage quite well even from the hospital bed,” she said with a grin.

“Tell me about the game, then. Luna’s version, while spectacular, was a bit hard to follow.”

Ginny went into all the details of the game, doing a great impression of McLaggen that left him in stitches, and nearly got her kicked out by Pomfrey.

“He gave a terrible speech before the game like he was captain when Harry was running late.”

“Late? Harry left here with plenty of time to get there.”

“I don’t know. He barely made it for the kick off, though.”

Ron would have to poke Harry about that later. Ginny gave him a hug and a kiss on the top of his head before climbing off the bed.

“I’m off to shower the stench of losing off me before it sets in. Don’t want to get Loser’s Lurgy!” she smiled.

“Check in on Hermione, will you? She’ll be lonely without Harry.”

“Or you.”

“Well…” he began, but Ginny gave him a hard knowing look. “You’ll check on her?”

“Of course. We are friends you know. I might not be in your little ‘secret trio club’, but I do talk with her.”

“Secret trio club?” Ron asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’ve not the patience to get into that today. Break the news of our loss to Harry easy.”

“Will do,” he said with a salute to his sister.

He was glad to spend time with her like this. As children they’d been joined at the hip, being the youngest. He didn’t necessarily want her company at times, as the Twins gave him so much grief for it— but it had been such an easy companionship. He wished they could have that easy of a time now. She was just so prickly with him. He missed how sweet she’d been when they were knee high to gnomes and climbing over the cobbled walls together. Now there was always so much attitude towards him, as if he was a stand-in for everyone who had ever annoyed her. He didn’t mind it most of the time, but it would be nice to not have her teenage rebellion aimed at him every time they talked.

As much as he had enjoyed their short time together, he was still a bit miffed she’d made him miss out on his time with Hermione. He was hoping Hermione would have stayed with him as she’d been doing every day. He looked to the corner and saw that the bedpan Hermione had burned his papers in was still sitting in the corner, charred as ever.

How had the meticulous Pomfrey not noticed it?

He glanced over at her and saw she was still wrapping Harry’s head in about a million meters of tape.

As inconspicuously as he could, Ron slipped from the bed and went to the corner to inspect the bed pan. He poked it, and it stayed firmly in place,most likely held by a sticking charm. There seemed to be a subtle shimmer to it as he looked— whatever the spell it kept Pomfrey, or anyone other than Ron, from noticing it. It was like a little monument to them.

Ron felt warmth course through him all over at the thought.

In moments like those he could pretend she was his girl, and not just his very good friend.

He caught himself daydreaming that often enough. Whenever she’d sit close to him in his bed he’d been quite unable to escape the thought, with their legs touching, her elbow resting a bit on his stomach as they crammed together on the bed. If she were his girl he’d be able to put his hands in her hair, and lean in with his face right against hers. He could nibble on those little ears he’d never touched before. He’d be able to toss the letters to the side and kiss her until his head was swimming from lack of oxygen. He’d be able to laugh and hold her hand any time he liked. He’d lean in and whisper in her ear how much he fancied her and she’d tell him how much she loved him back, saying - “

“Oh no!” Ron let out, jerking himself upright from the bedpan.

Shit! He loved her. He didn’t fancy her. He loved her!

His stomach lurched and he thought he was going to be sick from nerves.

“Are you quite well Mr Weasley?” he heard Madam Pomfrey ask from Harry’s bedside, looking up at him with concern.

“Spiffing! Just had a small cramp. I’m fine!” he lied, letting out a slightly hysterical sound that might have resembled a laugh. He wasn’t sure.

He loved Hermione!

Maybe it was the clarity that came from having almost died, but he now knew with certainty— this wasn’t just a crush he had on Hermione. It was that real deal, want to throw yourself from the astronomy tower, write poxy poetry, bolts of lightning, do anything for them kind of love.

This was too much! He wasn’t supposed to love her! He wasn’t even supposed to fancy her!

She’d barely shown a sign she might welcome any sort of advance from him, let alone allow him to love her. He was so crap, and she was so great. How did one keep a secret like this? It felt a bit like when he’d been love potioned. He wanted to tell everyone. He wanted to tell her!

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell a soul. God, if he didn’t watch it, he might blurt it out accidentally. That was a horrifying thought.

It was the absolute shittiest thing that could ever happen in the history of wizardom. And why? Why did he have to realize it now? He had no right to it! None at all. He had a girlfriend. A really nice, if a bit silly, girlfriend. And Hermione? She had no interest in him like that at all.

This was the most mental thing that had ever happened. And there was nothing he could do about it at all. Well… fuck. It was a hopeless situation.

He thought back to Harry’s advice to just end things with Lavender. That would be easy enough, wouldn’t it? But then again… the thought of making her cry made him ill. He couldn’t very well tell her ‘I have an unrequited love for Hermione, so kindly eff off? But I hope we can still be friends!’

He’d tried earlier that year to pull away from her a bit and let her just naturally lose interest. Perhaps he could just drop a hint here or there and let his actions speak for him. He knew for a fact he didn’t have the words.

He’d have to carry on as usual, even though he felt a bit like doing the conga and offing himself all at once. At least he had a few moments to himself to process it. It’d be hours before Harry was awake, most likely, and Pomfrey would be holed up in her office soon enough.

Resigned, he lay back in his bed, turning himself away from the little charred bedpan in the corner.

==========================================================================================================================

Author’s note: Sorry this took so long to get out- hope you found it was worth the wait!

If you liked it, please give it a reblog and/or comment! :)

They give me such motivation to write more! :D

#the wonderful won won #writing #fan fic #ron weasley #romione #hermione granger #harry james potter #harry potter

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such-elegant-banter · 5 years

Text

Have some Good Omens Fanfiction...

Because basically the Good Omens TV series was so incredibly amazing it lured me back into the world of fandom and fanfiction and this is the result. I know there’s probably thousands of variations of this scene (Lord knows I wrote one about 10 years ago when I first finished the book!), but enjoy. The title comes from the song Mess Her Up by Amy Shark.

Title: It’s the long drive home that makes people talk

Pairings/Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley

Summary: The one where, after a long bus ride, Aziraphale and Crowley realise they still have a chance. Spoilers for Good Omens TV Series

HERE on AO3 or...

“You can stay at my place, if you like.”

It’s not quite the same as running off to Alpha Centauri together, but Crowley has the same tone in his voice and the same shadow of hope flickers across his face, visible even in the dark.

And Aziraphale figures it’s another chance. And perhaps that means something; perhaps someone is trying to tell him something. He’s been around a while on this planet, long enough to know that second, and third, chances don’t come up too often.

He’d missed his chance before and let Crowley drive away without him, into the stars. It had made his heart give a pathetic little squeeze when he realised that Crowley had actually researched planets. But Aziraphale had still let the demon go. And it was odd, Aziraphale had remembered thinking. His mind could so often conjure a dream of a life with Crowley. A life where things were different and they could be something. But when faced with the possibility of a new life together, the angel had frozen and backed out. Because he was an angel. He had a duty. And Crowley, as he was so often reminded, was a demon. So instead, Aziraphale has simply said “I forgive you” and let Crowley go.

And now, as he follows the demon onto the bus, he hopes Crowley can forgive him too.

Crowley flops back into the seat by the window with the ease of one who has spent years developing a special kind of aggressively casual pose, one arm thrown over the back of the adjacent seat. There’s an invitation in that too, Aziraphale knows. And a chance to back out if he wants; there are other seats on the bus after all. But he takes the seat next to Crowley and Crowley makes a little noise that could be a sigh of relief.

The bus does take them back to London. Eventually. It does so via Oxford, so the other passengers can get to their destinations. And it does bypass the bus driver’s home, and continues south towards the capital with no driver and one angel and one demon as passengers. No one else seems to notice.

Crowley simply raises an eyebrow at Aziraphale.

“It seemed cruel to make him drive miles outside his usual route,” Aziraphale says defensively.

Crowley sighs and gives a mildly fond smile. “I know,” is all he says.

They don’t talk for the rest of the drive, both too tired and too consumed by their own thoughts.

~ *XX* ~

In London, Aziraphale follows Crowley through his flat. They pass the foul wreckage that occurs when demon meets holy water, and pass the verdant plants, and pass the statue that still makes Aziraphale blush (“They’re fighting,” Crowley had said when he’d first shown Aziraphale through the flat. “Oh indubitably,” Aziraphale had replied, straight-faced).

They wind up in the kitchen, where Crowley wrenches his sunglasses off and runs a hand through his hair and mutters agitatedly about wine. Aziraphale knows something is not quite right and he dithers for a fraction of a second before simply moving around the stylish island bench and enveloping the demon in a hug. Crowley clearly isn’t expecting it and makes a startled noise. He is whipcord strong and tense, but slowly relaxes into Aziraphale’s softness when he realises the angel isn’t going anywhere.

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale whispers. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Crowley grips him tighter, hands tearing desperately across Aziraphale’s back, and draws a ragged breath. “I thought I’d lost you.” The sound of the demon’s voice is so uncharacteristically emotional, that it makes Aziraphale ache. But there’s anger in that statement too, he knows. It will come out eventually, but not tonight. They’re both too exhausted for true anger and just a little bit broken by recent events.

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise, you idiot,” Crowley huffs into Aziraphale’s shoulder, some anger ebbing away. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“But I… I let you go,” Aziraphale stammers. “I let you drive off and…”

“You did the right thing, as always. You basically averted the apocalypse,” Crowley says. “I just… I…” What he doesn’t say, but what the angel understands anyway is that Crowley was being selfish and thinking only of himself and Aziraphale. The angel’s heart beats a tiny bit faster, even though it doesn’t have to.

“Well, I don’t think I can take all the credit for averting the apocalypse.”

Crowley snorts. “Joint effort then. I just…” he pauses and when he speaks next, his voice has dropped so low Aziraphale nearly misses it. “I never thought I’d get this chance again.”

“Ch- Chance?”

Crowley pulls back and stares at Aziraphale, his hands still maintaining a vice-like grip on the angel’s arms as though frightened to let go. “My chance!” he cries. “Our chance! To survive, to make the most of what time we had left, to escape to bloody Alpha Centauri or something. Because I… Oh don’t make me say it.” He turns away with something like shame.

And it suddenly clicks in Aziraphale’s mind how alike they are, talking of chances like this. Crowley cares too much, about the world and humans and about Aziraphale himself. He cares the way angels should care, not that he’d ever admit it aloud. And Aziraphale feels guilt flood through him, because he’s spent so long trying not to care about Crowley. He didn’t want to like Crowley, but he does. And he’s spent too much time trying to deny it. But he’s too tired now, and suddenly too tired of waiting.

So very softly, he says: “we have our chance now.”

“Do you mean that?” The hope in Crowley’s expression as he looks up is almost too much for Aziraphale to handle. Crowley takes a deep breath like he’s trying to control something. With forced gentleness, he brings their foreheads together. “Angel… I, I don’t want to…” Hurt you. Scare you. Push you away. The words go unsaid. “…I know I go to fast for you.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale says, breath hitching. “I -”

“Don’t deny it,” Crowley cuts him off. “Please don’t. I tempt people, angel. Trust me, I know the look someone gets when they’re in love with someone they think they shouldn’t be.”

“I wasn’t going to deny anything,” whispers Aziraphale, placing one hand on the demon’s chest and feeling the thrill of his racing heart. And Crowley twitches forward, his lips scant inches away from the angels. “I just… Are they watching us? Is Hell watching us?”

Crowley tenses in a different way for a moment. “No,” he says eventually. “Is Heaven?”

“No, I think they’re regrouping or -”

Crowley cuts him off with a kiss. Even though he should be expecting it, the contact still makes Aziraphale gasp. It’s awkward at first and Aziraphale dimly wonders if Crowley has ever kissed anyone else before. But he finds himself not caring as the demon pushes into his mouth and Aziraphale grips the lapels on Crowley’s jacket with a fierceness he didn’t realise he had. And maybe they have gone just a little native, because Aziraphale is exhilarated and enjoying this too much to be possible and Crowley must be too because he is just not stopping.

It’s not until Aziraphale finds himself being pushed back into the kitchen bench and the connection startles him, that they break apart. “Alright?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale can only nod as he brings hands up to cup Crowley’s face and gently presses their lips together again. It’s gentler this time but no less enjoyable. And when they pull back, Aziraphale can’t help the smile that breaks out across his face.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what that would be like,” he says.

“Good as you imagined then?” Crowley asks with a little smirk.

“Oh definitely good,” Aziraphale says quickly. “But also different.”

“How so?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Crowley simply kisses him again. “So now what?” he asks after a few more moments have been lost.

Aziraphale thinks he would very much like to continue what they’ve started and see where it leads. It’s not in his nature to be prurient, but he’s suddenly very curious about certain parts of his human body, and of Crowley’s. However, he pushes the thought to the back of his mind. Heaven and Hell might not be watching them now, but that reprieve won’t last.

“We need a plan,” Aziraphale says, regretfully. “Heaven knows I’m to blame, that we’re to blame. They won’t leave us alone. And neither will Hell, I’d imagine. We need a plan or… or something.” He tries to sound matter-of-fact, but he can’t stop the panic which seeps into his voice.

“Then we’ll think of a plan,” Crowley says reassuringly with a sudden, familiar confident grin. “And I think I know exactly where to start.”

And there’s a small glimmer of hope in Crowley’s eyes that makes Aziraphale smile.

#Good Omens #good omens tv #ineffable husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #My Fanfiction #Good Omens Fanfiction #air conditioning #do we still use air conditioning?#or am I a fandom grandma?#also please be kind - this is the first thing I've written in about three years

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dustinhendrsn · 5 years

Text

i’ll stop the world and melt with you

dustin henderson/lucas sinclair 3.6k - read on ao3 requested by anonymous from this list: 24. ‘are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ ‘probably not.’

Dustin can’t think. His mind is nothing but electric blue water and Lucas’ deep brown eyes trying to get him to understand. God, his hand is so wonderful when it’s right there in Dustin’s. It fits so perfectly. “What are you saying, Lucas?” he chokes out, and he’s surprised it’s audible at all.

“I think I love you,” Lucas whispers, and the world stops.

full story below!

The humid nighttime air hangs over Hawkins like a cloak as Dustin and Lucas walk through the empty neighborhood, kicking a pebble back and forth across the asphalt between them as they go. Silver moonlight dapples the concrete in leaf-shaped patches and their silhouettes stretch tall and thin across the pavement in the glow of the dim yellow streetlights. Dustin exhales up to the sky, shoving his hands into his shorts pockets.

“So has your eighteenth birthday lived up to your expectations?” he asks, nudging Lucas’ side. Lucas looks down at his feet with a smile. Dustin loves that smile – it’s the one that means he’s unexpectedly pleased or happy about something that he’s too shy to admit. It makes Dustin’s heart do somersaults. All of Lucas’ smiles do, really, but this one in particular.

“I’ve eaten more cake than I can handle, demolished you at the arcade, and spent the entire day with my most favorite people in the entire universe. So, yeah,” Lucas concludes, looking over at Dustin with a grin, “I’d say I’m pretty happy.”

Dustin beams. “Good. Glad I’ve done my job well.”

They’ve been walking for what has to be at least an hour by now; the rest of the party went home after they messed around with some fireworks from Hopper’s garage on Hawkins Hill to round out Lucas’ birthday celebration. It’s just he and Dustin now, whiling away the night in each other’s company until they decide to stop. There’s honestly no place or time that Dustin would rather be.

They round the corner of Seventh Street and the public pool comes into view, its chain-link fence reflecting the streetlamps and the underwater lights turning the water to a glowing aquamarine. Dustin slows as they near it, his gears starting to spin, and he can tell Lucas immediately knows something is up.

“What?” Lucas says warily when they stop at the corner of Seventh and Ross Street.

Dustin looks over at him with a mischievous grin. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Lucas grimaces. “Probably not.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t want to.”

“Dustin, we’d be breaking and entering.”

Dustin shrugs. “Not really. It’s a public pool, it says so right there on the sign.”

“The gate’s locked,” Lucas points out, but Dustin won’t be deterred.

“You really think it’s that hard to scale a chain-link fence? The thing’s barely taller than you.”

“It’s at least three feet taller than me.”

“Whatever,” he groans. “Come on. It’s hot, it’s your birthday, it’s one in the morning. Who’s ever gonna know?”

Lucas eyes the fence hesitantly, teetering on the edge of agreement, and Dustin grabs his hand to make the decision for him. Lucas lets out something between a sigh and a laugh and Dustin is met with no resistance as he pulls them across the street.

A heady thrill runs through him, saturating his nerves with excitement. He knows that despite Lucas’ halfhearted protests, he let Dustin convince him to do it, and it’s obvious in the way his hand holds tight to Dustin’s. It’s not the trespassing part of it that’s exhilarating; it’s being out here in the middle of the sticky summer night with his best friend, completely alone and drenched in all the freedom they could ask for, no eyes on them or expectations on their shoulders. It’s the very real possibility that anything could happen, anything at all, and it lights up Dustin’s spirit and sends his pulse fluttering, making him hyperaware of every little thing Lucas does. He loves these nights; he lives for the promise and potential of these nights. There’s no limit to what you can think and feel and want when the sun isn’t around to shine on the truth of reality.

They hop the curb on the other side of the street and gaze up at the fence. “You realize that if literally anyone in this neighborhood looks out their window, we’re dead,” Lucas says casually. Dustin rolls his eyes.

“Better climb fast, then.”

He hooks his fingers into the links and starts climbing. It’s arduous and takes a long minute for his not-particularly-athletic body to get all the way over, but finally he leaps down to the concrete on the other side. Lucas follows more easily behind him, his shoes slapping onto the pavement as he jumps down.

“I never should have skipped the rock climbing classes at camp,” Dustin says a little breathlessly, wiping his hands off on his shorts. Lucas snorts, striding up to him without looking even remotely strained. It’s bullshit, honestly.

“It was your idea, dipshit. Also, you’re wrong.”

Dustin frowns at him. “Wrong about what?”

“You said it was one in the morning, right?”

“Um, yeah? It’s like ten past.”

A smug smile finds its way onto Lucas’ face. “So technically it isn’t my birthday anymore.”

Dustin groans, letting his head fall back. “Oh my God, what does it matter?”

“I’m just saying,” Lucas snickers. He’s obviously pleased that he’s gotten under Dustin’s skin. Stay there, Dustin thinks, his heartstrings pulling tight. Stay under my skin. Don’t go anywhere, ever.

They’re standing at the edge of the glowing blue pool now, so close their shoulders are brushing. It’s hard to ignore but Dustin tries to, for his own sake. It starts hurting when he lets his mind dwell too long on Lucas. It stings when he thinks about who he loves with every beat of his heart, who he would die for without a second thought, who he would follow to the ends of the earth without question, who he can’t have.

“Now what?” Lucas asks flatly, looking out at the water. Dustin side-eyes him, shoving down his own pity party.

“We jump in? What did you think we were gonna do?”

Lucas throws his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know! I’m not even wearing a swimsuit, dude.”

“Neither am I, but I did not climb that fence just to stand here and stare into the water like some kind of fucking oracle trying to divine the fate of the world. We have to go in.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow, a spark of challenge in his eyes. “Make me, Henderson.”

Dustin’s stomach flips over. Lucas is so rarely like this and he has no idea what it does to Dustin. Which is the for the best, Dustin supposes. He’s terrified that one day he’s going to slip up and Lucas is going to find out just how in love with him Dustin is, and then everything between them – the years, the memories, the friendship – would all collapse. There’s not a single thing in the world Dustin wouldn’t do to stop that from happening. Lucas and his friendship both mean far too much to him.

He swallows back his feelings and forces himself to give a nonchalant shrug, feigning disinterest in the challenge. “I don’t think I can.” They’re already at the edge – all it’ll take is a little bit of force.

“Finally,” Lucas says, nodding his head sagely, “you’re seeing sense. I was wondering when you’d sprout some brain cells –“

Dustin snatches his hand and Lucas lets out a yelp; he tries to yank his hand back but it’s far too late. Dustin drags them both over the edge and they go tumbling into the cool water with a mighty splash, all tangled up in each other. Dustin breaks through the surface and takes a deep breath, laughter bubbling up from his throat, and he shakes his hair out like a dog. Water droplets go flying onto Lucas’ face and Lucas just laughs and laughs and laughs, soaked and breathless and alive.

“Shithead,” he gasps.

“Happy birthday,” Dustin says with a wild grin, and he gets a splash to his face for it.

“God, I don’t know why I put up with you,�� Lucas laughs. He’s still smiling and it’s making Dustin’s heart stutter because he’s such a lovesick fool. After a moment, he realizes that the warmth of Lucas’ hand is still loosely set in his own. Neither of them has let go yet. Dustin knows why hehasn’t, but as for Lucas…

“It’s because you wouldn’t survive a day without me,” he quips, fighting to get his mind off the hand-holding. “Can you imagine if I didn’t exist? The world would stop spinning.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “You think you’re such hot shit.”

“I know I am,” Dustin says confidently.

“Yeah, well,” Lucas pulls his hand out of Dustin’s to wipe water away from his eyes, much to Dustin’s disappointment, “You’re not. Trust me.” And then without warning he bounces up out of the water and pushes Dustin under by his shoulders. The water closes over his head and he laughs, yet all it comes out as are bubbles. He blindly reaches out and when his hands find Lucas’ ankle, he yanks his feet out from under him. They chase each other around the pool in a splash fight for a while, and then they’re back to where they started near the middle and Lucas grabs his wrists just as he moves to splash him again.

“Truce, truce!” he yells. Dustin stops struggling against his grip and eyes him apprehensively.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, even though I shouldn’t trust you farther than I can spit because of what you pulled earlier,” Lucas says. Dustin snorts.

“You’re right. But, yeah, truce.”

Lucas releases his wrists and, honestly, he’s almost sad about it. Chlorine paints his tongue and going by the way Lucas absently licks his lips, it’s all over him too. A peaceful quiet slowly descends on them, wrapping them up in their own little bubble of nighttime. Chest-deep in the pool, surrounded by turquoise water and dark trees and empty streets, Dustin truly doesn’t know if he’s ever been more content. They throw their sopping wet shoes onto the concrete and then Dustin floats around on his back, watching the stars twinkle high above while Lucas hovers in the water next to him, doing whatever it is he’s doing, and time starts blurring. They occasionally drift in and out of conversation, mentioning whatever comes to mind, and other than that it’s just them and their halcyon night.

After a while, maybe minutes or moments or days, Lucas speaks with a new tinge of uncertainty in his voice. “Do you ever think…”

He trails off, absently dragging his finger around in the water between them. Dustin reorients himself from floating to standing and they’re so close that if he bows his head the way Lucas is doing, they’ll be just a hairsbreadth away from touching.

“Do I ever think what?” he asks, mesmerized by the swirls Lucas is drawing.

“I don’t know.”

“Dude, what?”

They look up at each other at the same time. Dustin doesn’t have the first idea what the hell his friend is thinking about, which is an extremely rare occurrence.

Lucas just gently shakes his head and his gaze moves up to Dustin’s short, loose curls. “I like your hair like this,” he says thoughtfully, lifting a hand. Dustin’s breath hitches as he takes one of the curls between his fingers, his expression calm and contemplative. Does he even know what he’s doing? Obviously he’s totally unaware of the effect it’s having on Dustin, who is standing as still as a statue, his heart slamming against his ribcage, unable to move because holy shit what is Lucas doing? It lasts the longest moment of his life, but finally Lucas’ gaze flicks back down to him guiltily and he lowers his hand. “Sorry, that was, um –“

“You’re good,” Dustin says far too quickly, almost tripping over his own words in his haste to reassure Lucas. There’s never been any boundaries between them, no lines or walls, especially not on Dustin’s part. He is Lucas’, completely and without question, and Lucas doesn’t even know it.

Lucas’ eyes are bright and serene, illuminated by the pool lights. He’s so close that Dustin can see the water droplets in his eyelashes and feel his warm breath across his cheek. It hurts so much to look at him. It’s all Dustin ever wants to do.

“What were you asking me?” he says, his voice hoarse all of a sudden. Whether it’s from their proximity or from the desire not to shatter the tranquility of the night, he can’t bring himself to speak any louder.

Lucas furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“Just a minute ago. You asked me if I ever thought about something. What were you asking?”

Lucas is silent for a moment, holding Dustin’s gaze, and then finally, “Do you ever think things could be different?”

Dustin’s heart skitters past several beats and he immediately wants to kick himself. He’s jumping to conclusions and getting his hopes up, as per usual. “Like – like what?”

“Things,” Lucas says emphatically, an edge of frustration in his voice. “Us.”

This isn’t happening, Dustin thinks. This isn’t real. He’s talking about something else.

“Sometimes,” he whispers. It’s too big of a confession to say all the time, to admit that far too often he lets himself fall into the painful trap of imagining what life would be like if Lucas loved him too. It’s a trap because inevitably, there comes the time when he has to remember it isn’t real.

Lucas exhales, and if Dustin isn’t mistaken, it’s clear relief painted on his face. This can’t be happening.

“I just – sometimes, I think – you know, you and me, it’s just – we could – what if we – “ Lucas shakes his head, giving up on words. He grabs Dustin’s hand under the water and holds up their laced fingers between them. “This, Dustin.”

“I think I love you,” Lucas whispers, and the world stops. Dustin forgets how to draw breath, how to move his limbs, how to do anything. This is real. This can’t be real. Lucas is still talking. “I just – I want you to know that, because it seems like this town is death central station and if one day something happens to me, or – or to you, I need you to know –“

And then somehow, Dustin breaks out of his trance. The love of his life is right there, he’s just said that he loves Dustin, he feels the same, so as he stands there trying to string the right words together, Dustin surges forward and kisses him.

Dustin loses all concept of everything the instant that he feels Lucas on his lips and his heart bursts into a blinding supernova. There’s no hesitation from either of them, just an intense years-old need to be closer, closer, as close as physically possible. Lucas pulls their hands apart so that he can cup Dustin’s face with both, holding him steady, kissing him so hard you’d think it was the last minutes of their lives. Dustin still isn’t sure it’s not – but then, maybe their lives are just beginning all over again. He fumbles for something to hold onto and ends up with one hand fisted in the front of Lucas’ shirt and the other on the back of his neck, his fingers grasping up into Lucas’ hair. A small, desperate noise comes from Lucas that sounds like Dustin’s name and Dustin pulls him closer, holds him tighter, feels himself falling deeper and deeper in love. He didn’t even think that was possible. His skin is on fire at every point of contact between them and all he sees behind his eyelids is gold. The entire universe is right here between their lips. They’re slipping on the bottom of the pool as they try to stay upright, completely enraptured with each other and oblivious to anything else. It’s just Lucas, Lucas, Lucas, that’s all Dustin knows for sure. He’s the only thing Dustin can make sense of right now, his warm body pressing against him and chasing away the chill of the night. Dustin pushes back, pours his heart and soul into this first kiss between them and God, what is this? Is he even awake? Who decided he was worthy of this?

“Do you mean it?” he manages to say against Lucas’ lips, struggling for air. Who even cares about oxygen anymore? He’s breathing Lucas.

“Of course I mean it,” Lucas rasps. Their foreheads are pressed together and Dustin can feel Lucas’ chest rising and falling against his own – he doesn’t know whose heartbeat is whose. He opens his eyes to see Lucas staring wide-eyed at him, just as flustered and blushing and amazed as he is. “I love you, Dustin. I really do.”

The truth of it makes Dustin’s knees go weak and he’s praying Lucas can hold him up. “Okay. Okay – that’s – that’s good,“ he stammers, and finally, finally, after so long of keeping it in, “I love you too.” It’s a confession three years in the making but it feels so good to hear it said aloud, and to know that Lucas will accept it and reciprocate it. “I love you,” he repeats, stronger this time. He can’t help the incredulous laugh that escapes him – he can’t believe any of this is real. His blood is running backwards and there’s sunbursts in Lucas’ eyes, actual sunbursts despite the fact that there’s currently no sun in the sky. How is this real? “Holy shit, I love you, Lucas. Do you know how much I love you?”

“Tell me,” Lucas says, his expression somewhere between shock and abundant glee.

“So much,” Dustin laughs, sliding his arm around Lucas’ neck. Their noses keep brushing and it’s the most breathtaking thing Dustin has ever felt. “You don’t even – it would take so long to give you all the reasons why I love you, Lucas.”

Lucas grins wide. “How long?”

“Years, because – because that’s how long I’ve loved you.”

Lucas stares at him in awe and Dustin, his heart floating somewhere that certainly isn’t his body, decides to go back to kissing him. He’s so warm and beautiful and Dustin doesn’t ever want to let go. He tries to imprint every single thing about it into his memory – the feel of Lucas’ fingertips pressing into the small of his back, the taste of chlorine on his lips, the way he leans into Dustin’s touch like he’s been waiting for it all his life. How, how can Dustin ever let go now that he has this?

“Dustin – mmf, Dustmm – “ Lucas mumbles, his voice completely smothered by their kisses. He moves a hand from Dustin’s jaw to his chest, his palm burning a scar into Dustin’s skin right through his soaked shirt, and it’s like he wants to pull away but every time he tries, he falls back in, unable to help himself. Dustin understands the feeling immensely. “Anyone can – mmf – see us –“

Dustin leans back. He couldn’t care less about anyone that isn’t Lucas right now, but if Lucas isn’t happy about it, neither is he. “We can stop.” He doesn’t know how he’ll stop but he will if that’s what Lucas wants, of course he will.

Lucas chews on his kiss-bitten bottom lip, a puzzled look on his face. “That’s the stupidest idea you’ve had all night.”

Dustin gapes at him. “You brought it up –“ And then Lucas is kissing him again and all of his thoughts scatter like dandelion fluff in a summer breeze.

They stay there for an eternity. When the water becomes too cold for them to stand it anymore, they push two of the pool loungers together and lie next to each other as the night wears on. They drift from one conversation to another and kiss the hours away and marvel at what is suddenly real and how foolish they were for holding out for so long. When the sky shifts from a deep starry blue to pastel pink and orange, they finally stumble home hand-in-hand. The first golden rays of sunshine dry their clothes and illuminate Lucas’ eyes, his cheeks, his smile as they walk, and Dustin still can’t believe it. He can have this; he does have this. They have this.

“I can’t imagine it,” Lucas says abruptly as they walk down the middle of a quiet, morning-lit street, birds chirping in the trees and the aroma of summer heavy in the air. Dustin frowns at him.

“What?”

“Last night, when you said can you imagine if I didn’t exist? I can’t imagine it.”

Dustin gapes at him, speechless, and he can see the faint blush rising in Lucas’ cheeks. “You fucking sap,” he teases, as if he’s not completely melting from the inside out.

“Hey, I can think of some incredibly sappy things that you were saying last –“

“Okay, okay, I get it! I get it, geez. You know, if you ever tell anyone about those things I said, this,” Dustin waves their linked hands in the air to demonstrate, “is terminated immediately. Over. Done. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

Dustin knows there’s not a single thing Lucas could say or do that would make him want to end their newfound relationship, so even though he doesn’t say it out loud (he does not need that self-satisfaction from Lucas), he squeezes Lucas’ hand just to make sure he knows.

Lucas clearly gets the message. “Idiot,” he says as his smile grows.

“I love you,” Dustin says by way of reply, grinning. His heart is so full of light and euphoria it’s going to burst. This is real. All of it, just because of the illimitable possibilities of an everlasting night.

“I love you too.”

They walk on.

@fatechica @calpurnias @mikewheeler @formerlyjannafaye @ericasinclairs @elshopper @elhoppers @summer-in-hawkins @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @wheelrs

#st fanfic #henclair #the title to this got changed last minute bc the premiere afterparty music had me WEAK #the song fit so perfectly with this #it's such a coming of age song and it's like the story of the party's lives #god i'm going to start crying again #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #st #anna puts words together

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