#acquaintances to lovers

[blank-potato]

Loving You Is Easy

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

“What are these for?” you ask, looking up at him with a raised brow. “You. I, um… figured they’d help you feel better,” Bob says, his voice dipping awkwardly near the end like he already regrets how earnest it sounds. You blink at him, eyes flicking between his face and the pancakes. Then a smile spreads across your face. Cute, and he makes pancakes? You’d struck gold. “Thanks… man!” you say, then pause, realisation dawning mid-sentence. You don’t even know the name of the very attractive guy standing in front of you. You laugh a little, embarrassed. “What’s your name?” “Bob.” “Bob,” You repeat, the smile on your face growing just that little bit more if that was even possible, “I like Bob.” Or You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, no smut, amnesia/memory loss, abandonment issues, pancakes may as well be a main character, hurt and some comfort?, acquaintances to lovers?

WC: 9.6K

A/N: Title from Easy by Mac Ayers. Also, the response to my last Bob fic was absolutely insane, thank you! Hope you enjoy this one, might write a part 2 later (I did, link below)

Part 2

***

Bob doesn’t particularly like you. 

It’s not like he hated you or anything; the two of you just didn’t connect. 

Conversations were always awkward and stilted, full of long silences and forced small talk. You’d crack a joke, and he’d give you a tight smile. He’d ask a question, and you’d give a clipped answer, unsure of his tone or where you stood.

It wasn’t animosity. It was worse: indifference with a touch of tension. Or maybe it was just that sometimes people don’t mesh, no matter how hard they try. So both of you stopped trying. You’d walk into the gym and see him already there, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat dampening his shirt.

He’d glance up. “No, no, you can stay. I was just leaving.” Even if he wasn’t actually done with his workout.

“Okay…” you’d reply, pretending not to feel the sting.

Or one time, you both ended up in the kitchen at 2 a.m., bleary-eyed and looking for snacks.

You froze. So did he.

“I’ll just—”

“No, it’s fine. I just needed water,” You interrupted.

You both moved around each other like magnets flipped the wrong way, close but never touching, repelling, retreating.

It was easier this way.

One day, you're on a mission and get injured after a strange encounter with an absurdly eccentric villain. He hit you with some mysterious ray that blasted you through a wall and left you unconscious. The whole team was worried about you… including Bob.

Sure, the two of you were awkward, distant, neither of you quite knowing how to be around the other anymore, but that didn’t change the fact that he still cared. 

So they brought you back to the Tower and did everything they could. Monitors, scans, and even a few calls to some old contacts who specialised in the weird and unexplainable.

As you lay still, unmoving, they waited. They took shifts, refusing to let you wake up alone, just in case.

Bob stayed longer than anyone. Even when it wasn’t his shift, he lingered outside your room. Because no matter how weird or strained things had become, he wanted you to wake up.

It takes a few days, but you wake up, your eyes blinking rapidly as you adjust to the light. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingers faintly in the air, and your body feels achy, like you’ve been asleep for a century.

And then you see him.

A random, handsome man is slumped over in the chair next to your bed. His head is tilted forward slightly, chin tucked, a book loose in one hand as he dozes. 

His lips part slightly in sleep, brows twitching like he’s dreaming. Something about the sight is comforting. 

You don’t recognise him.

But something in you wants to.

“Hello?”

You slip out of bed, groaning as you do so. You step close to the man until you’re but a few feet away, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper stirring inside.

You’re right next to him now, and suddenly your heart races uncontrollably. He’s beautiful — if there’s such a thing as love at first sight, this had to be it. You can’t think about anything else except his sharp jawline and that messy, adorable hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed.

Then, out of nowhere, his eyes snap open. A piercing blue that somehow feels like a shock and a spark all at once. He screams. You scream back, startled, your breath catching in your throat.

You stumble backwards, about to fall, when suddenly he reaches out and grabs your hand. Firm but gentle, steadying you.

“Thanks, guy.”

“You’re welcome,” Bob replies quietly.

“Where am I? What happened? Who are you?” you ask, panic threading through your voice.

Suddenly, a fog rolls over your mind, and you try your hardest to think, but everything’s blank except for your name.

“You don’t… remember me?” Bob asks hesitantly.

“No, are you…”You search for the right words, trying to piece things together. He was in your hospital room, probably stayed overnight, worrying about you. You’re not sure what your type used to be, but if you had one, this had to be it. Then the question slips out, “Are you my boyfriend?”

Bob’s eyes widen as if they might pop out of his head. He stammers, “Oh, no, we’re not… that’s not…” His words trip over themselves, betraying the panic and confusion inside him.

“We’re teammates,” he finally manages to say, and you take a step back, giving him space to breathe.

“We’re on a team? Like what? A swim team?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“No, like a superhero team.”

You blink, confused. “I’m a superhero?”

“An Avenger, to be exact.”

“What the hell is that?”

***

Bob was pale and quiet, still reeling from what had happened to you. The medics were running tests, whispering terms he didn’t fully understand, frowns etched deep into their brows.

Bucky came out of the room a few minutes later, expression unreadable as he approached Bob, pulling him aside.

“What did they say?” Bob asked, his voice hoarse, almost afraid of the answer.

From the look on Bucky’s face, it wasn’t good. “She has amnesia,” he said softly. “Doesn’t remember much of anything right now.”

Bob felt the air leave his lungs. He looked toward the room, the edge of the hospital bed just visible through the cracked door. You, in there, not knowing him.

“Can you take care of her?” Bucky asked gently. “We won’t all be around all the time, and she’s going to need someone who won’t push. Someone who’ll be patient.”

Bob didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

All day, he deliberates on how he can help you out. They were going to let you out of the medbay the next morning, so he wanted to make sure you’d have something comforting waiting for you. After some thought, he lands on pancakes. 

Good food had always been his go-to to shake off a bad mood, maybe it would work the same for amnesia.

After helping you into the kitchen, he serves you the pancakes he prepared, sliding the plate toward you a little sheepishly.

“What are these for?” you ask, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“You. I, um… figured they’d help you feel better,” Bob says, his voice dipping awkwardly near the end like he already regrets how earnest it sounds.

You blink at him, eyes flicking between his face and the pancakes. Then a smile spreads across your face. Cute, and he makes pancakes? You’d struck gold.

“Thanks… man!” you say, then pause, realisation dawning mid-sentence. You don’t even know the name of the very attractive guy standing in front of you. You laugh a little, embarrassed. “What’s your name?”

“Bob.”

“Bob,” You repeat, the smile on your face growing just that little bit more if that was even possible, “I like Bob.”

You start digging into the pancakes and let out a squeal of happiness. “This thing is the best thing I’ve ever tasted, well technically one of the only things I remember tasting, but still.”

Bob feels a small rush of happiness that he was able to do something for you, no matter how simple.

“So, Bob, you and I are superheroes, correct?” you say between mouthfuls of delicious pancakes.

Bob hesitates; he didn’t quite have full control over his powers yet, but he was sure he’d get there one day.

“Well, yes…”

“Do you have powers?”

“I can fly, and I’m kinda invincible, and a couple of other things,” he says, looking away sheepishly. He didn’t want to sound like he was bragging.

But then he looks back and sees you beaming at him, the same way you had been since he gave you those pancakes.

“That’s awesome, can you show me?”

He hesitates, “It’s complicated. I can be…dangerous.”

“Oh, I get it, no pressure.”

He's surprised at how quickly you drop it, but appreciates it nonetheless. You take another bite of the pancakes before asking with a little smile, “Do I have powers?”

You were already thinking of the possibilities, maybe you could fly too, or teleport or even turn into a giant frog. The sky’s the limit.

“No…” he says,  and the wind is taken right out of your sails. So much for being a frog woman. But seeing the disappointed look on your face, he quickly adds, “You’re a really talented fighter, though, great shot too.”

“Really?”

Bob nods, giving you an encouraging smile. You twiddle your fingers, trying to ask more questions.

“Where are you from?”

“Florida.”

“What’s Florida like?”

He strains to think of what to tell you. Flashes of sticky summer air, thunderstorms rolling in over flat suburban streets, and the hum of cicadas come into his mind.

“It’s… hot.”

You giggle softly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Good to know.”

“So let me summarise. You are Bob, Florida is hot, I can shoot stuff.”

“That’s about right.”

He watches you devour the whole plate of pancakes, and he's still having a hard time reconciling the you he knows and the you sitting in front of him. For one, you were actually talking to him and talking to everyone a lot more. Your dynamic with the rest of the team wasn't nearly as bad as yours with Bob's, but now you seemed a lot more open.

It’s a trend that continues as you ask him and the rest of the Avengers questions incessantly the rest of the day, your curiosity never seeming to run out. Every new answer only sparks ten more questions, and somehow, they never seem to mind your enthusiasm.

“You can go through walls?!” You gasp, eyes wide with amazement, and you nearly pass out when you see Ava do it, your hand reaching out as if trying to touch the air she just phased through.

Or when you sat cross-legged on the floor, chin resting on your hands, listening to one of Alexei’s stories with such intent. It was nice seeing you so bubbly, laughing at his exaggerated tales and rolling your eyes when he insisted every mission ended with him saving the day. “There’s no way you took them all down yourself!”

“Red Guardian defeated them all single-handedly, I tell you,” Alexei says, enjoying your reactions, insisting no one listens the way you do.

But there was a little downside. Now you were more eager to do things, and since you were also restricted to the tower, all that restless energy had to go somewhere. 

This morning, it was the kitchen.

The truth is, if he knew that his making pancakes would cause the mess that you unleashed, maybe he would’ve chosen something easier to make.

He walks into the kitchen to see you surrounded by chaos, flour on the counter, batter on the ceiling, and a pan smoking in the sink. It looks like a warzone.

“What is all of this?” he asks, blinking at the sight.

You glance up at him, cheeks flushed, hair a little wild, looking like you’d just gone ten rounds with your own breakfast.

“Pancakes,” you say with exaggerated confidence, like it was obvious.

“If you wanted pancakes, you could’ve asked,” he says, stepping closer with a shake of his head.

He would’ve made them in a heartbeat. He didn’t always know how to fix things, but it made him happy to be useful, even if it was hard to get the energy sometimes. 

Bob says, rolling up his sleeves, “I happen to make pretty good pancakes.”

“I know. The ones you made for me the other day were really good.”

“One of the few things I can do,” he mutters, the self-deprecation slipping out like muscle memory, automatic, unfiltered. He's been working on it, but old habits die hard.

You nudge him gently with your elbow. “I’m sure you’re good at a lot of stuff. And if not, at least you’re good-looking.”

Bob blinks at you, looking at you incredulously, like you’d just said the sky was green. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s about to argue, but then doesn’t.

A beat passes, and he gives a soft huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “You really are different,” he says, eyes full of something like wonder.

“But… in a good way.”

“Thanks…” You say. “So, about these pancakes, how about we make them together?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He’s about to start making more batter when he notices you didn’t even bother to put on an apron. He grabs one off the hook and makes his way back over to you.

“But I’m already messy,” you say, looking down at your shirt, now covered in flour.

“Better late than never?” he says with a grin.

Agreeing with him, you duck your head down as he slips the apron over you. Accidentally ruffling your hair in the process, and you let out a small noise of protest.

Then, gently, almost instinctively, he smooths your hair down with both hands, his fingers brushing along your scalp.

It makes you shiver and shake a little against your will. Your body apparently hasn’t gotten the memo on playing it cool around hot men who are weirdly good at domestic affection.

Great. Just great.

He steps closer and delicately wraps the apron ties behind you, moving with such care. You can only imagine what his hands must feel like, strong but soft, you thought.

All you can focus on is the little sensations you do get. The brief, accidental caresses against your back as he tries to tie the apron. His fingers brush your spine, light as a whisper, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Let me do yours,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the way your heart’s trying to break out of your chest.

He turns, and you tie the apron behind him. You can't help but notice how solid he feels, how broad his shoulders are. You feel that same flutter in your stomach you had when you first saw him in the med bay, those damn butterflies that show up uninvited whenever he’s near.

You step back and smooth out the fabric on his chest, trying to act casual.

“How do I look?” he asks playfully.

“Very chefy,” you reply with a grin.

You step aside, and he turns to see what you’ve done.

“First of all, what did you put in here?” He asks, looking at the strange concoction you had made up. It looked like a science experiment gone wrong, the way it was bubbling like it was about to come to life.

“Pancake stuff.”

“Why is it blue?”

“To complement your eyes.”

He blinks, fully expecting to see you grinning or laughing, but you’re dead serious.

As he chuckles and starts remaking the pancake batter, shaking his head with the tiniest smile, he says, “Why didn’t you just ask me to make them for you?”

“I, uh… was trying to return the favour.” You mumble, scratching the back of your head. “You made them for me when I needed them. Thought it’d be nice to do the same.”

He pauses mid-stir, glancing over at you. “That’s really sweet.” 

Bob is about to go back to stirring when he sees something.

“Oh, wait a second, you have a…” He says before trailing off, his expression shifting slightly. He reaches out without hesitation, fingers gentle as they brush your cheek. Your breath catches, heart thudding like it’s trying to escape your ribcage, as he plucks an eyelash off your face.

“Make a wish,” he says softly, holding it out to you.

You close your eyes for a moment, your mind blank except for the thought of him. You blow it away, your breath catching just a little as the lash flutters and disappears.

And a tiny part of you wonders if wishes like that ever come true.

“What did you wish for?”

Your eyes scan his, you know exactly what you want, what you need.

“It’s a secret.”

***

“You need to eat more than just pancakes,” John says with a sigh, arms crossed like a disapproving dad.

You shrug from your spot on the couch, hugging your knees and avoiding eye contact. “They’re comforting. And Bob makes them really well.”

“That’s not the point,” he replies, “You need nutrients. Vegetables. Something green.”

You’re finally saved when you see Bob come into the room.

“Bob!”

You scramble out of your seat the moment you spot him, excitement bubbling up as you point at the TV screen. An ad for a local pizza place flashes by, and it somehow sends you into a state of near awe.

“I know what pizza is, but I don’t remember what it tastes like.”

“Can we…?” you begin, unsure how to phrase it without sounding too eager—if you asked, would he eat it with you?

“I’ll order,” he says without hesitation.

“Pizza isn’t good for you either,” John points out, and you roll your eyes at him before throwing your arms around Bob, hugging him tightly. 

He stiffens for a second, caught off guard, he still wasn’t used to how openly affectionate you'd become since the memory loss.

“Sorry, got a little excited,” you mumble, pulling back slightly.

Bob just smiles.

“We can eat it on the roof if you want,” he offers. “It’s a really nice view.”

“I’d like that,” you say softly, already picturing it.

When the pizza arrives, the two of you head up to the roof, scarfing it down like you hadn’t eaten in days. Bob watches you in quiet amusement, the city of New York sprawling beneath and around you. Lives moving, horns blaring, people rushing through the streets, but up here, it feels peaceful. Safe.

“This is so good, I could die right now and be happy,” you declare dramatically, a slice still in hand.

You flop back into Bob’s lap without warning, gazing up at him with a lazy, contented smile. He freezes slightly, his leg twitching with nerves. You’re too busy chewing to notice the way his eyes widen, or how he swallows hard and looks away for a second.

He’s glad you can’t hear how loud his heart is pounding.

“Hey,” you say after swallowing a particularly big bite of cheesy goodness.

“Yeah?” Bob answers, turning to you.

You don’t respond right away, just stare at him again, like you’re trying to memorise every detail. There’s something about being near him that makes everything else fade out. Being in love with him, even without remembering it, feels like breathing.

“I wish I could take a picture.”

“Of… the pizza?” Bob asks, confused. 

“No. Of you. You just… have one of those faces.”

He blinks. “What does that mean?” There’s a note of genuine concern. Was this your weird, roundabout way of calling him ugly?

“You have a face I wanna… immortalise. Is that super dramatic?” you ask, gesticulating with your slice of pizza. Cheese flopping to the side with every word.

Bob lets out a stunned laugh. He honestly can’t believe half the things you’ve said since the memory loss, but this might be the most unexpected yet. His ears turn a little pink.

You’re both quiet for a beat before you break the silence with a chuckle. “What is it? Have I grown another head?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “I just… you’re so different.”

But he doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing.

“How so?” you ask, muffled slightly by the mouthful of pizza you just shoved in. Even that, being messy and unfiltered, was a pretty big shift. Before the accident, you would’ve never let Bob see you like this. You were all sharp edges, always composed around him. Never vulnerable. Never soft.

“You didn’t… we didn’t really get along before you lost your memories,” Bob says carefully, like he’s stepping over landmines.

“Did we hate each other?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It was just… awkward,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Huh…” You glance past him, up at the stars overhead. The sky looks endless. “I know I don’t remember anything, but something in me tells me I liked you more than I let on.”

You turn your gaze back to him, sincere now. “It’s just a feeling,” you say, lightly tapping your chest. “In here.”

There’s a loud bang in the distance that interrupts the two of you, and it jolts you upright from your place on his lap.

You and Bob are instantly alert, eyes scanning the skyline. 

“Fireworks?” you ask, squinting toward the horizon as bursts of colour light up the sky.

The distant booms echo softly through the air, and for a second, the world seems to pause. The sky is painted in shimmering golds, purples, and reds. You shuffle closer to the edge, your mouth slightly open in awe, your eyes reflecting the vibrant display.

“This is so beautiful,” you whisper.

“Yeah…” Bob’s voice is quiet as he looks over at you. His eyes don’t linger on the fireworks, instead, they find you. The glow of the explosions dances across your face, illuminating your smile. “It is,” he says, but he’s not talking about the sky.

You don’t notice his stare, too entranced by the spectacle. “I mean, I don’t remember what pretty things I’ve seen before,” you say with a soft laugh, “but there’s no way anything beats this.”

The two of you stay there for a long while, sitting shoulder to shoulder as the last of the fireworks fade. You forgot about the pizza. It goes cold beside you, untouched. But neither of you cares. 

You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed despite the crackling fireworks and the hum of New York City below. Somehow, in the middle of all that noise and chaos, you find peace. A kind of quiet you didn’t know you needed. And before long, you’re completely asleep, your breathing soft and even, your body relaxed against his.

Bob glances down at you, frozen for a second, not from discomfort, but from something more tender. He doesn't want to move, not really. But the night is getting cold, and you shouldn't sleep on a rooftop. Gently, he shifts, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. You barely stir as he lifts you.

He walks quietly down the stairs, careful with each step, your head nestled into his chest.

Then—

“What’s this?” comes a voice that makes him jump nearly out of his skin.

Yelena is standing in the hallway outside her room, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, clearly in the middle of getting ready for bed.

“She fell asleep,” Bob says, adjusting his grip on you slightly, trying to look casual. “So I thought I’d help her to bed…”

Yelena arches a brow. “That’s very gentlemanly of you, Bob.”

“She’s had a long day,” he mumbles, eyes avoiding hers as he starts to move past.

“Mm-hm,” she hums, still grinning. 

He walks into your room, carefully sidestepping anything that might creak or clatter. The last thing he wants is to wake you. But when he leans down to gently lay you onto the bed, your fingers curl tighter into his shirt like talons.

He freezes. “Seriously?” he mutters under his breath, glancing down at your sleeping form. You’re completely out cold, but your grip says otherwise.

He tries again, delicately prying your fingers away one by one, but you’re like a koala in REM sleep. “Yelena?” he whisper-shouts, trying not to jostle you too much.

After a few seconds, Yelena pokes her head around the corner, toothbrush in hand, completely unbothered. “What?”

“She won’t let go,” he says, exasperated.

Yelena steps into the room, takes one look at the situation, and her face breaks into a slow grin. “Of course she won’t.”

“What do I do?” Bob hisses.

Yelena shrugs. “Get comfortable?”

Eventually, after a few more whispered pleas and another failed attempt to detach you, she sighs and calls for backup. “Ava, we need another pair of hands.”

It takes a combination of Bob and Yelena pulling while Ava gently works your grip free one finger at a time, to finally get you into bed without dragging Bob in after you.

By the time they’re done, Bob is sweating, slightly rumpled, and staring at you with a look that’s somewhere between exasperation and complete emotional defeat.

“She’s gonna be the end of me,” he sighs.

Ava pats his shoulder. “Not a bad way to go.”

***

Weekend rolls around, Bob had offered to help you go through your stuff, maybe handling familiar items, seeing old things, would help jog something loose in your memory.

You had found an old teddy bear, a digital camera with very few pictures, and throwing knives. You think it’s nice to know you’re very versatile. 

You’re in your room, standing on your tiptoes trying to reach another box on the highest shelf. You stretch a little too far, fingers just grazing the edge of it, when suddenly, Bob's reaching for it too.

“Oh, don’t worry, I can—”

You’re in a memory.

Your hands slip under Bob’s, and in a sudden pulse of light and warmth, the room falls away.

You’re no longer in the safety of your space. It’s a hazy afternoon, the golden sunlight casting long, sleepy shadows across cracked pavement. The distant sound of a train horn echoes through the air, and there’s a soft breeze drifting in from somewhere, maybe the coast, maybe the open countryside. It smells faintly of dust and old paper.

A small train station. Quiet. Still. You see a little child, no older than four, and a woman beside them. The child is you.

The woman bends down, brushing your hair back with tender fingers. She’s beautiful in the way only memories can be, edges blurred, features softened by time. Her lips move, whispering something you can’t hear. Words drowned out by the roaring silence in your ears.

She kisses your forehead.

“Mom?”

Then she straightens, turns, and walks away. Her hand slips from yours like sand, and you’re left standing alone.

You come to with a sharp gasp, the memory still clutching at your chest like cold fingers. Bob is in front of you, eyes wide, his hand gently on your shoulder as he steadies you.

You call out for her, a small voice barely rising above the bustling noise of the trains, but no one comes. Watching the little kid, watching yourself, sit there and cry until your voice is hoarse, tears streaking down chubby cheeks. People pass. Some glance, others don’t. Looks are given, but no one stops to help.

“Was that my memory?” you ask, your voice faint. You’re still there, in that memory, like part of your mind is dragging its feet back to the present.

“I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t mean to do that,” Bob says, his expression crumpling with guilt.

You blink at him, really seeing the way his hands are trembling slightly, his face pale. He looks visibly shaken. Like he’s taken away your clean slate. And now the only memory that’s surfaced from your past is that of being left behind.

“That’s the first thing I remember,” you whisper. “That’s the only thing.”

Bob’s throat bobs, and he steps back slightly, like he’s not sure if you want him near anymore.

“I—” he tries, but the words falter.

There’s a thick tension in the air as you try to come to terms with what just happened.  You’re uncertain, scared, and hurting in a way you don’t fully understand. But through it all, the only anchor you have is Bob.

You reach for him instinctively, like your heart knows the way before your mind catches up, but he flinches. It’s a small movement, but it cuts deep. Not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s terrified for you. Of what he might do, what you might see again, what memories might bleed through just from a touch.

“Please?” you whisper, voice trembling. “I just… I need you.”

You hold your hand out, palm open and steady despite the way your insides shake. Like you’re telling him: It’s okay. I trust you. I’m not afraid of you.

He hesitates for a beat, long enough that you can see the storm behind his eyes. Then slowly, cautiously, he reaches out. His fingers curl around yours, and the moment they connect, you don’t wait. You step into him, into his arms, burying your face against his chest. His arms come around you like instinct, and you finally feel like you belong again. Like his arms are exactly where you’re meant to be.

He thought you wouldn’t want him anymore. Thought whatever pain you’d seen in that memory would make you run.

“I feel safe with you,” you murmur, your breath warm against his neck. It was like you could read his mind.

You sit there until you feel normal again, breathing in sync with Bob as you toy with his shirt and he pets your hair.

“Why were you so scared?” You ask suddenly.

“The last time I used my powers, things got out of control.” Flashes of what happened appear in his mind— the darkness, the destruction. 

“I read about it. What happened that day…”

Bob looks down, jaw tight, the guilt still weighing on him.

 “Where’d you hear it from?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve been trying to get my memories back,” you say. “So I’ve been reading my diary.”

Bob’s eyebrows lift, surprised. You didn’t seem like the type to keep a diary.

“I write about you quite a bit,” you add, offering a small smile.

His breath catches slightly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “I don’t seem to understand you. Every other entry is me trying to figure you out, analysing the interactions we have. One minute I think you hate me, the next I think you’re just… scared.”

He doesn't answer right away, just looks at you like he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start.

“I think I was scared too,” you admit. 

“The way I write about our relationship in my diary seems sad. Like there’s so much I wanted to say to you, but couldn’t for some reason.”

You twiddle with your fingers for a moment before finally saying what's on your mind.

“I think you should read it.”

“Your diary? That's crossing a boundary. When you get your memories back, I don’t think you’ll appreciate it.” 

The tone of his voice told you he was resolute in his decision, but you wanted to leave the door open.  “If you want to read it, it’s in the top drawer by my bed, in the very back. I think it’d clear a lot of things up between you and her, or I guess me. I don’t know how to address myself.”

He looks at the drawer and thinks of what might be inside your diary, which you wanted him to read so badly. A few moments later, you get up off the floor and offer him your hand again, “Let’s go, I think Yelena’s making dinner.”

***

Waking up to you was disorientating as fuck.

Since you lost your memory, you’d been clinging onto him like a lifeline. Sure, you followed the rest of the Avengers around like a lost duck, trailing behind their conversations and mimicking routines, but with him… with Bob, it was different.

You didn’t just follow him, you stuck to him like glue. Something about him made you feel safe.

“Sorry! I wasn’t watching you while you slept,” you blurt suddenly, catching yourself as he looks over at you from his bed. “I mean—well, technically yes, I was, but not for a long time... just like a minute because I didn’t want to wake you, but—”

Bob doesn’t respond, just blinking at you.

“I really didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just—I came in to see if you wanted to make breakfast together, and you were asleep and you looked so…”

You stop yourself as the words threaten to spill out. If you didn’t stop, there was a solid 90% chance you’d end up professing your undying love for him, and maybe even proposing marriage right there.

“It’s okay, I get it,” he says gently, cutting in before you can spiral any further with embarrassment. “Let’s just go make breakfast.”

You exhale a laugh, relieved, your nerves settling just a bit.

You both go to make breakfast and settle on grilled cheese sandwiches. You watch as he takes a bite and melts, visibly softening.  He looks so cute, and all he was doing was chewing. You loved all the little mannerisms no one would notice unless they looked closely. The way his nose would scrunch up when he laughs, how he'd caress his hands to soothe himself, or how he makes eye contact when people are talking so intently to make sure that they know he was listening. You take out your digital camera that you had found in the box in your room, angling it just right.

Click.

When he realises you’re taking a picture, he freezes mid-bite, eyes wide.

“I’m making memories,” you say simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m just eating a sandwich,” he replies, baffled.

You shrug, grinning. “Exactly.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright…”

He tries to look unaffected, but you can see it. His shoulders relax, and his cheeks flush ever so slightly. All of a sudden, you have this unexplainable power over him. He wasn’t used to someone looking at him like that, like they wanted to remember him.

“I’m sure you could find more interesting things to shoot,” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “There’s something special about you. You look so real when you think no one is watching. I can’t help but want to capture that.”

“You mean that?” Bob says, traces of doubt leaking in.

“From the bottom of my heart.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and a little surprised. “Still… I think you should explore other things if you want new memories. Let’s go somewhere today.”

You grab his hand gently, excitement bubbling up inside you.

He takes you to a park, but all you can seem to focus on is him, how he moves, how he laughs. So you keep sneaking pictures (not so sneakily), desperate not to forget a single moment. 

“There’s a whole park to take pictures of, you know?” he says, grinning as he lowers the camera.

You glance around, finally noticing the trees, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, the vibrant colours all around. But you quickly look back at him, your smile soft.

“Yeah, but you’re the best part of the view,” you admit quietly, making him blush just a little.

Bob clears his throat, cheeks warming as he tries to shift the attention away from himself.

“Okay, okay…but you should let me turn the favour. Give me your camera, I’ll take some pictures of you,” Bob states, holding out his hand with an easy smile.

“Oh no, that’s fine. I doubt I’m that photogenic,” you say, laughing nervously. “You don’t really want pictures of me.”

Then with a sudden surge of confidence, he says, “I don’t think you realise how beautiful you are.” 

Bob doesn't know where it comes from; he wasn’t one to say something so bold like that, but he couldn't stand hearing you downplay yourself. 

He says it so softly and genuinely, you swear you heard your heart skip a beat. Your eyes meet in the silent pause, but it isn’t uncomfortable like awkward silences tend to be. It’s warm and cosy like one of Bob’s many sweaters. 

Feeling like he was staring for too long, he clears his throat before adding, “Plus, all your memories can’t be pictures of me.”

“R-right,” you stutter as you hand over the camera, your fingers brushing his. The touch is brief, but it leaves a spark, a lingering warmth that settles somewhere deep inside.

“Say cheese.”

“Cheese!” you grin, striking a playful pose.

The rest of the day is spent taking pictures as you wander around New York, basking in the warm sun, laughing at everything you see, carefree and lighthearted.

“We should get ice cream!” you declare suddenly.

He buys it for you without hesitation and snaps a candid photo as you dig into it with delight.

“This is heaven,” you sigh dramatically. “Second only to your pancakes.”

He takes another picture, catching you mid-bite, and you catch him smiling to himself.

You notice and nudge him, “How do I look?”

He looks at the screen. Your eyes are closed in pure bliss, a little smear of vanilla ice cream on your lip, with the brightest smile on your face.

“Perfect,” he says, and for a second, you’re not sure he’s talking about the photo at all.

Eventually, after your long day of wandering around, the two of you get on the subway to head back home. It's packed, shoulder to shoulder, a blur of strangers and noise. You manage to find two seats side by side, squeezed tight among the crowd.

Sitting next to each other, you're pushed up close, legs touching, shoulders brushing with every lurch of the train. The warmth of him seeps through your clothes, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how close you are.

“I had a lot of fun today,” Bob says, leaning in so you can hear him over the rattle of the subway.

“So did I,” you reply, smiling. “You know how to show a girl a good time, Bob Reynolds.”

The train jerks to a stop as it pulls into the next station. The doors slide open with a hiss, and a few people step off, thinning the crowd a little. You glance up and notice an older couple standing nearby, gently swaying with the movement of the train.

You and Bob exchange a look, then both rise at the same time.

“Please, take our seats,” you offer warmly.

They smile gratefully as they settle down, and you both step back to stand nearby, holding the pole for balance. It’s quiet for a moment, and you watch as the elderly man gently brushes something off his wife’s shoulder, then takes her hand in his. The tenderness in his gesture makes your chest ache. It was simple and sweet, watching him dote on her like she was still the only girl in the room.

“You two make such a cute couple,” the old lady says suddenly, looking up at you both with a knowing smile.

You both blink, completely caught off guard. 

“Oh, we’re not…” You start to say, but your voice trails off when Bob nudges your arm gently.

“Thank you,” he says to her, still smiling, then glances at you.

“How long have you been together?” The two of you weren’t anticipating any follow-up questions, so you had to think on your feet. It was time to put your non-existent acting skills to the test.

“A yea–” You start, but seeing the look on Bob’s face, you morph it until you say, “Month. A month.”

They both smile, clearly loving young love because old people do that. 

“And how did you two start dating?” She asks, and you’re starting to see why the Avengers get annoyed with you.

“I was at the…” You start looking for Bob to save you, and he does. “Hospital.”

That wasn't where you were heading, but technically it was true. “Yes, I was hit by a… bike.”

Their eyes go wide with shock. “Yup, it was an awful affair. Bike messenger gone rogue.”

“When I heard what happened, I rushed over to see her and I slept by her side,” Bob adds, which was very close to what happened when you got hit with the ray.

“When I woke up and saw him there waiting for me to wake up, I fell in love with him on the spot.”

They both swoon at your story, and when it was said like that, it did sound quite romantic, Bob realised. 

“You take care of her,” the old man interjects, his voice gravelly but kind. “Girls like that, with that light in their eyes… they don’t come around often, trust me, I’d know.”

Bob swallows hard, his gaze softening as he looks at you. You had a light—a spark about you—that he’d be crazy to deny. But the two of you were just becoming friends, finally finding solid ground; how could he risk messing that up?

Still, for the old man’s sake and maybe a little for himself, he says quietly but with conviction, “I will.”

Even if he didn’t mean it in the way the old man intended, he would take care of you.

“And keep her away from bikes. They’re trouble,” the man added, and Bob gave him an affirmative, “Of course.”

He’d protect you from bikes too.

You both watch as the couple get off at the next stop, but what they said sticks with you for much longer.  

As you walk away, you whisper, “That was… something.”

Bob glances sideways at you, amused. “You didn’t correct them.”

“You didn’t either,” you shoot back, cheeks flushing.

“I didn’t want to.”

The train buckles a little, making you lose balance and stumble, but he catches you instantly, his hand wrapping securely around your waist.

“Trying to sweep me off my feet?” you joke, but if you’re being honest, you’re just trying to hide how breathless you feel. His strong arms are around you, keeping you upright without effort. It’s enough to make your pulse stutter.

He smirks faintly, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “If I were, would it be working?”

You look away, flustered but smiling. “Shut up.”

But you don’t pull away. And neither does he.

“The next stop is ours.”

The two of you break away almost reluctantly. By the time you get back to the tower, you feel like your heart has been racing nonstop.

Once inside, you both go your separate ways, he finds his comfy spot by the window while you wander around, looking for an Avenger to follow around and maybe learn from.

A few hours later, he hears you come back into the room. You’re following behind Bucky, asking questions, and he wonders how, in the two or so weeks you’ve been like this, you hadn’t run out of questions. 

“Is it wrong of me to want to know how many pushups you can do?”

Bucky sighs, running out of words to give you. Fortunately, he’s let off the hook when you catch Bob’s eye and bound over to him.

“Meet me on the roof in 10?” you ask, leaning in close.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, smiling.

You stand looking out at the sunset, waiting for Bob to show up.

A moment later, he appears, turning toward you and noticing you’re still holding the camera.

“I just realised we didn’t get any pictures together, so I figured…”

You stand at the edge of the roof as you sidle up next to each other, sharing the warm glow of the setting sun.

“Ready?” you ask, lifting the camera.

You snap a picture of the two of you. The flash flickers briefly.

The two of you turn toward each other, the space between you suddenly feeling electric and full of possibility.

You glance down, checking the picture on the camera. A small smile tugs at your lips, and Bob watches you with quiet intensity.

He told himself he just wanted to be your friend, and he was. He was your friend now. But being this close to you, when you looked like a daydream, it was hard to think of anything else. He liked seeing you happy. He liked being the reason you were happy. So this just felt like the natural step; he wouldn’t be afraid anymore. 

“Can I kiss you?” He utters so softly that you might not have heard it if you weren’t so dialled in to him.

“Yes.”

It was the easiest question you’d ever had to answer. 

The moment is instantly electric. It was love at first sight for you, like fate had placed him in that chair just for you. His hands gently cup your face, drawing you closer as he leans in to kiss you.

The moment your lips meet, you melt into it.

It’s easy, it’s natural. But it also feels like you’re walking on air.

Your lips melt together as the kiss deepens, slow and sure, like you’ve both been holding your breath for days and finally found air in each other.

Then, suddenly, you feel the ground vanish beneath your feet. It takes a few moments to realise what’s happening. You're both slowly lifting into the air, weightless, like the kiss has broken gravity’s hold.

You pull back, breathless, eyes wide. “We’re flying.”

Bob’s eyes are glowing, soft gold, like sunlight through clouds. And to make it that much more perfect, he’s staring at you like you hung the stars.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “we are.”

***

The world feels light. You feel like you could do anything. Bob kissed you, and somehow, that made everything else fall into place, like that one moment was enough to ground you and lift you all at once. You kissed him so good, he fucking flew! That was something to be proud of. 

“Morning!” you greet cheerfully, practically floating into the room.

“Well, aren’t you in a good mood?” John comments, raising an eyebrow at your brightness.

“I am. Quite literally nothing could ruin my day.”

You look over at John’s plate filled with all things healthy and not a pancake in sight, and sneer, “Not even whatever is going on over there.”

“You’re going to die if you keep eating the way you do.”

“At least I’ll die happy.” 

And probably in Bob’s arms, but you’d keep that to yourself. You keep flitting around the kitchen, flashes of Bob popping up like you had a gallery in your head dedicated to him.

Then, of course, that’s when Bucky and Yelena appear, both standing stiffly in the doorway. Their faces are unreadable, but it’s clear they’re not here to chat.

“Can we talk to you?” Yelena asks, her voice calm but firm.

Your smile falters. The tone in her voice doesn’t match your mood. You glance between them, a nervous flutter stirring in your chest. They lead you to another room, and your heart pounds with each step. Once you're face to face with them, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“Just tell me,” you say, steeling yourself.

Bucky steps forward, voice gentle. “There’s a way you might be able to get your memories back.”

Your heart nearly stops.

“They’ve made a device,” Bucky says carefully, “to counteract the effects of the ray you were hit with.”

You swallow hard, your lungs suddenly tight, like the air has turned to cement.

“Will I remember what happened these past few weeks?” you ask, already bracing for the answer.

“They’re not sure,” Yelena replies gently. “There’s a chance you won’t.”

The rest of the day blurs. You wear that carefully constructed smile while inside, everything feels like it’s unravelling. You laugh at jokes, eat meals, and talk to the team, but every time you look at Bob, it’s like looking at a sunset you might never see again.

Because what if you disappear?

What if the version of you that exists now—the one who fell in love, who made pancakes, who learned to laugh again—vanishes?

What if all of it was just borrowed time?

You’re curled up on the couch later, trying not to let the weight of it crush you, when Yelena finds you. She pauses, studying you quietly.

“You okay?” she asks, snapping you out of your spiral.

You glance up at her with a weak smile. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m… I’m great.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Yelena presses gently. She sits beside you, eyes focused and unwavering. She sees right through you.

You hesitate, then finally let it slip out like a confession you’d been clutching too tightly.

“What if, when I get my memories back… things are different? What if you guys don’t like me anymore?”

Your voice cracks on the last word. It’s not just about them, and you both know it. It’s about him.

Bob liked you now. The person you’d become. The version of you without all the baggage, the walls, the defence mechanisms. What if the old you came back and pushed him away again?

“We’ll like you regardless,” Yelena says, firm but kind, leaning forward, her words meant to stick. “All of us.” She emphasises that last part, not missing the real question behind your fear. You and Bob haven’t exactly been subtle, floating around the Tower like someone told you the world was ending and you decided to fall in love anyway.

“You think?” you ask quietly, hating how small your voice sounds.

“I know,” she replies without hesitation. “Bob isn’t the type to run. He’s not just here for this version of you. He’s here for you, full stop.”

The thought of him leaving still prickles, sharp and cold. But there’s something warm in her certainty that you cling to. You want to believe her.

“Thank you,” You whisper with a small smile. But there’s still that little piece of doubt lingering in the back of your head. 

***

You spend all night worrying, your mind running in circles while your body stays perfectly still, tucked into Bob’s arms. His breath tickles the back of your neck in soft, steady waves. You can feel the quiet thud of his heartbeat against your spine, a rhythm that grounds you more than anything else ever has. This feels like happiness. This feels more right than anything you’ve ever known.

And nights like this… how could you give it up, when you had just begun to have it?

The thought won’t let you go. So, when you’re sure Bob is fully asleep, you carefully slip out of his arms. You sneak out of bed, heart pounding with every silent step, padding your way barefoot down the hall to the lab.

The room is dim and still. On the central table sits the device. The thing that could give you everything back and take everything away.

You stare at it. Your reflection glints back at you in its smooth surface. What would you really be giving up? The person you were before. Aloof, guarded, and apparently barely connected to anyone. No warmth, no laughter, no Bob.

Your fingers close around it. Maybe this was the price of keeping what mattered. Maybe this version of you was the better one. Maybe memories weren’t worth more than love.

You raise the device in the air, prepared to end it all before it can change you back—

Then the door creaks open behind you.

“Hey,” Bob’s voice is low, thick with sleep but steady. He stands in the doorway, his eyes not on the device, but on you. “What are you doing?”

His eyes widen in alarm. “You need to put that down. Without it, you can’t get your memories back.”

You stare at the small device in your hand, the one meant to unlock everything you've forgotten. Everything that’s been haunting your dreams and slipping through your fingers like mist.

You’re so close to throwing it on the ground, your grip tightening as your voice shakes. “Maybe I don’t want them back.”

He goes still. You can see the panic in his face, but it’s laced with something else too. Pain.

You’re biting back the heat behind your eyes, the pressure building in your chest, like red-hot guilt piercing through you. Because it’s not just about your memories, it’s about him. The fear that if you remember everything…you might lose this. Lose him.

“I don’t want to remember a world where you’re not in it,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “What if I get it all back and I’m not me anymore? What if I’m someone who doesn't love you?”

Bob takes a careful step closer, like you’re on the edge of something fragile. “Then I’ll help you fall in love with me all over again,” he says quietly. “No matter how many times it takes.”

What if you don’t love me anymore? What if getting these memories back means you lose me…?” Your voice is shaking now. “What if who I am is just… broken? I mean, my own mother didn’t—”

You stop yourself, the words dying in your throat.

Bob takes a step closer. He feels that pang again, deep and aching, like something in his chest is being pulled taut. Not just because of what you said, but because he’s watching you unravel in front of him, and he never wants you to feel like this, like love is conditional. 

“The person I am now… I want to be that person. I don’t want to be the girl you think of as a stranger. I want to be the girl you love.”

Bob’s eyes are soft, full of a sadness he tries to hide, and a depth of affection he doesn’t bother to. “I’m telling this to you because I love you. If you don't get your memories back, you'll always be left wondering who you were.”

Your hands are trembling when you finally set the device down on the table. You throw your arms around him and hug him so tightly he thinks he might break apart, and he doesn't mind it especially if it meant being held like this by you.

“I love you too,” you murmur, burying your face in his shoulder.

You both freeze for half a second, the realisation hitting you at the same time, how easy it was. How natural.

You pull back just enough to look at him, wide-eyed, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“You said it.”

“So did you.”

And then you’re laughing softly into each other, that weight between you gone, just you, him, and the now. “I love you. No matter what version of you I get.”

He kisses you lightly, your lips moving in sync with one another. It’s more than a kiss, it’s a promise that no matter what, you’d fall in love over and over again, no matter how long it took. 

You pull him flush against you, the feeling of his shirt beneath your fingers keeping you in the moment. Like you were scared it would slip right through your fingers. You pull back and look at him; his eyes are full of desire, and so are yours.

You jump and he catches you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your lips reconnect as if they were magnets. The kiss is more fast paced, filled with passion as you who each other just how much you need one another. He places you on a counter, his hands roaming your body as the need to explore every part of you becomes too much to bear. 

Both of you stop suddenly, your foreheads against each other as you breathe heavily. Your chests rise and fall in sync, hearts thudding loudly in your ears. You wanted to go further, God, you both did, but you knew you had to stop. 

“When you get your memory back,” he whispers.

You nod. As much as you both wanted this…you couldn't yet. Not while you weren't whole.

“When I get my memory back.”

***

“So this is it?” you whisper, voice barely steady.

You’re sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, the sterile smell of the room thick in the air. You can feel your heart pounding harder than it should.

Bob is standing beside you, his hand tightly wrapped around yours, thumb running slow, comforting circles over your knuckles. 

You glance up at him, eyes searching. “What if everything changes?”

Bob is the first thing you see when you wake up. You’re sleepy and groggy, and he’s sitting there, book in hand.

“You’re awake,” he says softly. You nod, your eyes slowly adjusting as you take in your surroundings. “Maybe I could make you some pancakes,” Bob says, trying to see if you remembered. 

“Why would you do that?” you ask, letting out a confused laugh.

His face falls, hands tightening around the book. “You don’t… remember?”

“No, sorry. Did I miss something?” you say, blinking at him, genuinely puzzled.

“I’m sorry, I… I was just—” He stammers, trying to backtrack. “It’s nothing.”

“I should let you rest,” he adds, sensing your discomfort.

Bob gets up and walks to the door, and he’s about to leave when you stop him, your voice softer now.

“Thanks for being here when I woke up. It’s very kind of you.”

He musters a small, genuine smile and replies, “Anytime.”

In the days that passed, it was hard mourning someone who’s still alive and technically shouldn’t have existed. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be the end. The person he fell in love with was gone, but maybe he could fall in love again, with the person you are now.

One morning, you’re sitting by the table, scrolling through your phone, when Bob quietly walks in and slides a plate of pancakes to you.

“What are these for?” you ask.

“Just felt like it,” he replies, watching your eyes light up when you bite into them despite your best efforts to hide it.

You’ll fall for each other again; it’s only a matter of time.

Masterlist

[bubblewater]

Why ship Moana x Matangi when Moana x Loto is RIGHT THERE

Like Spirit Granny can’t pull the Bat Lady

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 36

THE WIFI WENT OUT LAST NIGHT AND I COULDN'T POST MY PROMPT! AAAAA No fear... You will feast today with TWO prompts! The Wolves are the most notorious and feared gunman gang to ever cross the wild west. They've known to frequent a certain bar recently, purely for the man the bar hires to perform there near-nightly. The entire gang loves him and his music, but all of them know damn well that Geralt likes the man a little extra. The singer's music seems to soothe him more than it soothes his brothers. His dumb jokes make Geralt snort or dryly chuckle more than the others. The best part about this performer (aside from giving them all something to tease Geralt about) is that he either has no idea who they all are, or he doesn't care. He winks over at them, he'll raise a glass to cheers them, one night he even danced directly on their table, evidently loving the gang's uproarious cheering as he did so. One night, Lambert comes to them from wherever he rides off to every few weeks and comes back with wagonloads of information, and tells them that he's just learned that The Cats were coming here to fulfil a contract to kill the singer, and given how long it took him to get back, they could be trying to do it as they speak. So the gang ride into town, find the singer, grab him, and ride him back to their camp to protect him from the rival gang that wants to kill him. They just forget to tell him the "we're protecting you" part. Jaskier is really enjoying this gig he's had at this shitty bar for the past few months. This group of burly grumpy men seem to hate everyone and everything but him. It's quite an ego boost, really. Especially the handsome one with white hair. He's sure they liked him. I mean, there were a few times they tipped him enough money for him to rent a room for another month! That's why he's so confused when one night they snatch him right before he goes on to perform and they ride him away from civilization. Oh fuck- Is this how he dies?!

[kawasiki-jo]

In the Shadows of Blood and Water

Summary:

The inevitable happens. Macau and Porchay are eventually pulled into the Family business—despite Vegas and Porsche’s efforts to keep them out. Korn never had any intention of letting them escape; they were blood, and they would die blood. It started with small, regional meetings. The boys, still too young, were sent in to initiate negotiations. Macau was sharper, more attuned to the undercurrents, having borne the trauma of witnessing them at a younger age. Porchay, by contrast, was nervous, twitchy, skittish and high-strung, always on edge, like he was waiting for something to explode. The ‘tasks’ became more frequent—relentless, even. Not even the first shootout slowed things down. Or the next. Or the next. Now, they know what to expect. But that doesn’t make it any less traumatising. Or any safer.

Chapter 1

The silence after the last gunshot was almost religious.

It clung to the air like smoke, thick and heavy, settling into the cracks in the peeling paint, into the frayed curtains swaying gently in the broken window’s draft. The kind of silence that made your ears ring with what wasn't there. That made you afraid to breathe in case it shattered.

Macau stayed crouched behind the overturned table, his back pressed to its underside. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, each inhale scraping against his throat like sandpaper. Dust hung in the air like suspended time. The scent of cordite burned in his nostrils.

Porchay hadn’t moved.

He stood frozen, caught between the hallway and the open-plan kitchen, half-turned with one foot forward and his hand raised mid-gesture—like maybe he’d been about to say something. Maybe call out Macau’s name. Maybe warn him.

Now, his lips were parted and silent. His eyes wide. Too wide.

His stillness was a scream.

The floor between them bore more than just blood. There were smears of soot, streaks of ash. Scorch marks from a blast that hadn’t finished the job. The air reeked of betrayal—like even the walls had known they were walking into a trap.

Macau’s fingers trembled as he reloaded, the action mechanical, muscle memory overriding emotion. Not fear. He wasn't scared. It was worse than fear—it was recognition. He had known. Some part of him had known before they ever set foot in the safehouse.

“You locked the door behind us,” he said, voice flat, deadpan.

Porchay’s head snapped up like he’d been yanked out of water. “What?”

“The bolt didn’t click. I heard the latch slide, but it didn’t lock. Someone wanted us to get comfortable.” His hands stilled. He looked at the half-loaded weapon. Then at the floor.

He let the gun fall from his hands. The metal clattered like a curse, echoing through the room with all the finality of a bell toll.

Porchay swallowed hard. “Was it the Italians?”

Macau lifted his eyes. Just lifted them. Didn’t speak.

And that was what made Porchay flinch—not the look itself, but the sheer emptiness in it. No anger. No panic. No grief. Just a terrible, quiet fatigue. Like a man already standing in the aftermath.

“That’s not their style,” Macau said eventually. “Gambetta doesn’t plant traps. He leaves messages. Big, loud, bloody ones.”

He pushed to his feet with a grunt, and crossed the room in three slow steps. When he reached Porchay, he didn’t speak. Just reached out and carefully pulled a long splinter of wood from his arm—deliberate, almost gentle.

Porchay hissed. “Ow—fuck.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t two seconds away from getting your head blown off.”

“Close only counts in bombs and bullshit.” Macau’s eyes flicked to him, then away again. But his hand didn’t move.

Porchay opened his mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to say something else—but stopped when he saw Macau’s face. There was blood at his temple, dried and cracking. A line of it had run down to the edge of his jaw. His cheek was smeared with soot, and the hollows of his throat glistened with sweat.

His hair stood up in every direction, blown out by the shockwave, and he looked—

—fucking ruined.

Porchay’s breath caught. Not because Macau looked broken. But because he looked like he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

And he still hadn’t looked away.

“You okay?” Macau asked, softer now, his voice gravel-thick.

Porchay nodded once. “You?”

“I will be. If you sit the fuck down before you pass out.” The words were brusque, but his hand curled around Porchay’s elbow. Not forceful. Just steady. Just... there.

The touch lingered.

Porchay let himself be steered toward the couch—what was left of it. Its arm was scorched, its stuffing half-spilled, but it held his weight. Macau dropped down beside him a second later, close enough that their knees touched.

The quiet stretched again, heavy with static.

Maybe it was the clock ticking somewhere in the next room. Maybe it was just the ringing in their ears.

“You were right,” Porchay said, voice barely above a whisper.

Macau turned slightly. “About what?”

Porchay’s eyes met his. Wide. Dark. Dazed. There was blood on his lip from where he’d bitten it. “About them. About this. About how it was never going to be something we could walk away from. I wanted to believe... I thought if we just kept our heads down, played nice, they’d let us go.”

He gave a short, broken laugh. “Stupid.”

“Not stupid.” Macau’s reply was quiet. “Just softer than they are.”

Porchay swallowed. “And you’re not?”

Macau didn’t answer.

“You’re still bleeding,” Porchay said after a beat.

Macau tilted his head dismissively. “It’s fine.”

“Let me see.” Porchay leaned in without waiting.

His fingers brushed Macau’s temple, brushing away blood and grime. His hand lingered, cupping the side of Macau’s face. Gentle. Unthinking.

Macau tensed—but didn’t move. His jaw ticked beneath Porchay’s palm. His eyes stayed locked on his.

Porchay’s touch was too warm for a place like this. Too human. It didn’t belong in the wreckage.

“You’re really bad at this whole ‘resting’ thing,” Porchay murmured.

“You’re really bad at shutting up.”

Porchay grinned. “You want me to?”

“No.”

That word—no—sat between them like a confession.

Porchay’s thumb slid, brushed beneath Macau’s eye. Macau didn’t even blink.

“You kissed me once,” Porchay said, voice softer now. “At the northern safehouse. Remember?”

Macau’s throat worked. “That was a mistake.”

“Then why are you still looking at me like that?”

Macau’s eyes darkened. His hand rose—almost without thought—and grabbed Porchay by the collar.

And then he was kissing him.

There was no gentleness. Macau kissed like he fought: fierce, desperate, with a precision that bordered on violent. Porchay gasped, and Macau swallowed the sound, gripping tighter. Porchay clawed at his shirt, tugging him closer.

They tasted of blood and gunpowder. The couch groaned beneath them. Porchay pressed in, responding with equal fervour—not because he’d wanted this, but because he needed it.

Because it was the first real thing in weeks.

They broke apart only when the ache in their lungs became too sharp to ignore.

Macau kept his forehead pressed against Porchay’s. Their breaths mingled. Fast. Heavy.

“You’re still a fucking liability,” Macau murmured.

Porchay’s lips quirked. “And you’re still a bastard.”

Macau exhaled. Closed his eyes. Just for a moment.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “We’re moving before sunrise.”

Porchay nodded, but he didn’t move. His hand still rested against Macau’s chest.

And Macau didn’t tell him to let go.

[violetjedisylveon]

King's Game Memes 2

I was doing plot outlining and had meme ideas

King's Game AU Masterpost

[mugloversonly]

Sleep

@steddiemicrofic April prompt “score”| rating: G | cw: mention of drug use summary: Steve goes to Eddie for some sleeping pills. AO3

Eddie sat at his bench in the woods, staring at the note he got in his locker that morning.

“Looking to score”

Those three words weren’t unusual in his line of work, but the handwriting was one he’d never seen. He tapped his fingers and checked his watch again.

He huffed and stood to leave the clearing when a shuffle of feet stopped him. Steve Harrington stumbled out of the woods, and froze when he saw Eddie standing there.

“You got my note.” He said. Eddie sat back down and gestured for Steve to sit too. As he did, Eddie took in the man. Sunken eyes, purple bruises beneath them. His hair wasn’t coiffed today.

“You feeling okay, Stevie?” He asked. They’re not friends; but after Spring Break, he had a new respect for the man.

“I need sleeping pills. You got any?” Steve asked, a yawn overtaking him. Eddie closed up his lunch box.

“Not on me. Meet me at my trailer tonight, 9pm.”

----------

At 9pm sharp, there was a quick knock on the trailer door. Eddie let Steve in and bowed deeply with a wave of his hand. He led Steve through the trailer to his room.

“I’m gonna be honest with you Harrington. I won’t sell you sleeping pills. Those things are addictive and you’re Henderson’s friend. I’d hate to get you hooked.” Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Then why am I here?” Eddie sat on his bed, already in his pajamas and he pointed to a set for Steve.

“When I can’t sleep, it helps if someone is there with me.” Eddie said. Steve stared at the clothes before he sighed and changed quickly. He slid into bed next to Eddie and the relief he felt at not being alone was palpable.

“Thanks, Eddie.” Steve whispered.

“Go to sleep, Stevie.” Eddie said.

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

In the morning, they awoke with their legs tangled together. Steve pulled Eddie in close and brushed a soft kiss against the man’s temple.

“That was the best Sleep I’ve had in a while.” He mumbled. “Can we do this again?”

“Sure thing Stevie.”

tags:

tags

@katyawriteswhump

buy me a coffee

[siskey]

Can two friends sleep together and still love each other in the morning? Two long-time acquaintances Crowley and Aziraphale grapple with this question over a 12 years and 3 months. When Harry met Sally/Good Omens crossover soon in AO3! Another poster, this time collab with @scullyphile / @brenna for the @do-it-with-style-events Silver Screen Bang!

[etoiile]

MYSTERY MAN

starring itoshi rin!

synopsis: you decide to go watch rin's football practice for the first time, much to his delight. his teammates struggle to figure out who you are and what you've done to their usually very grumpy rin.

requested by @checkoutmyflow! i hope i did your rq justice ^^

notes: first time completing a request! sorry for the wait >.< ALSO this is gn!reader :)

admittedly, you weren't much of a football fan, even though your boyfriend was a professional college player. you didn't really understand the sport, as you hadn't played it since second grade gym class, but for some reason, you had decided that today, on this sunny tuesday afternoon, you were going to drop by rin's practice alongside a football-for-dummies book to watch and hopefully learn a little about the sport he was so enamored with.

it would appear that they were in the middle of a practice match, as his teammates and him were wearing different colored pennies, and there was someone keeping score on a whiteboard.

you sat down on the bleachers quietly, not wanting to distract anyone from the game. your eyes scanned the field quickly, almost instantly finding rin's unique dark green hair. you tried your best to keep up with what was happening, quickly flipping through your book whenever someone did something cool to try and find it, but it proved to be quite difficult, and you found yourself very confused at the sport's intricacies.

despite your lack of understanding, the one thing you could observe and comprehend was how alive rin looked whilst playing. he was sweating, shit-talking, and scrambling around the field non-stop, clearly very tired, but his eyes had a certain glimmer to them that you didn't get to see often, and he moved around the field with immaculate grace and precision. you watched as he skillfully maneuvered around the field and how he seemed to be able to calculate exactly where his opponent would go. you didn't have to understand the sport to know that this field was a place where itoshi rin shined like no other.

rin took hold of the ball and began dashing across the field with it, his shiny hair blowing behind him. his eyes began darting around the field, his brain taking in and calculating every factor necessary to victory.

his brain certainly didn't expect to see you, his lovely s/o who knows nothing about football, sitting on the bleachers.

your eyes made contact for a brief moment before rin tripped over his own feet and flew forward, making literally everybody on the field stop what they were doing.

a brief moment of silence washed over the field before laughter soon took its place, his teammates jogging over to him asking if he was ok, and what the hell just happened as they howled in mirth.

he grumbled some excuse with red cheeks as he looked away, clearly very mortified. his coach decided to call a break, seeing as everyone had already stopped playing, and he grabbed his water before practically sprinting over to you.

"y/n," he breathed as he came to a stop in front of you, puffing a little from fatigue. "you're here."

you giggled. "hi, rin. i thought i should come watch one of your practices. i want to get to know all the aspects of your life, after all."

he leaned in closer to you to brush his hand against yours as you two chatted a bit. anyone could see the way his eyes softened as you spoke and how his shoulders relaxed at your every move. anyone even being his pretty-damn-stupid team.

in the distance, bachira, isagi, chigiri, nagi, and reo murmured amongst themselves, wondering about who you were - the mystery person mr. im-better-than-you-and-grumpy-all-the-time rin looked so happy to see.

"his sibling, maybe?"

"nah, i'm pretty sure sae is his only sibling."

"oh! what about his parent, then?"

"dude, do you have eyes? way too hot to be a parent."

"his lover, maybe?"

there were a solid 5 seconds of silence before they burst out into laughter once more.

"get out. itoshi rin, an s/o? no way in hell, dude."

"i doubt he could even keep anyone for more than a month. they'd get tired of his attitude real quick and leave just as fast."

"rin-chan probably isn't capable of loving anyone, after all."

despite their adamant denial of your relationship with rin, they could all notice rin's demeanor. he looked happier, more at ease, gentler, kinder, and overall, he looked like a normal person. who were you, and what had you done to their rin?

coach blew his whistle, and they watched as you gestured for him to get back with his team. they then watched with their jaws on the floor as he, itoshi rin, POUTED and SWEETLY PLANTED A KISS on your forehead before jogging off.

they all exchanged looks of pure shock as rin jogged back to them.

they all gave him a shocked look as he raised a brow.

"...what?"

𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐈𝐈𝐋𝐄 ©𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 please do not copy or repost my work on any other site. interactions appreciated! 🤍

[marioposssa]

There's a joke I've heard a few times, that Laurence is so formal that even his lover calls him by his last name.

And there's certainly something to that idea so I wanted to do some fun statistics on the question:

Who get's called by their first name in Temeraire, how often (and by whom)?

For anybody who only wants the numbers here's the overall highscore:

Total mentions by first name only (638 total)

1st "Jane" Roland: 243

2nd "Emily" Roland: 154

3rd "Catherine" Harcourt: 100

4th "Edith" Galman/Woolvey: 55

5th "John" Granby: 25

6th "Tom" Riley: 23

7th "George" Allendale: 8 (all in Victory of Eagles)

8th "Tenzing" Tharkay: 6

9th "Henry" Ferris: 5 (all by his family in Empire of Ivory)

10th "Jean-Paul" Choiseul, "Augustine" Little, "Bertram" Woolvey, "Gerry" Stuart: 1

The more in-depth answer got way longer than expected, so I decided to split this post up a bit. For a more thorough look at first four places, keep on reading after the cut.

For place 5-10 read on in part 2. For a look into usage of Will and some dragon thoughs go to part 3

The place for most first name mentions over all goes to Jane Roland, who is mentioned a staggering 243 times out of 638 total. Laurence starts both thinking of her and addressing her as Jane after their first night together and even Temeraire uses Admiral Rolands first name in conversation (in Black Powder War).

What is interesting to me is that, after Laurence starts he does not really stop thinking of her as 'Jane' or addressing her as such in conversation, even after their break at the end of Empire of Ivory and through Laurence's general feelings of guilt in the later books. To me this goes a long way of showing that Laurence still considers them close, even if he can not get over the harm he has caused with his actions after taking the dragons cure to Napoleon.

Beyond Laurence narration, we also get two other moments in League of Dragon where Excidium talks of her as 'Jane' and 'my Jane' <3.

Looking beyond Jane Roland, one of the most consistent topics in her conversations with Laurence beyond the war seems to be her daughter. As soon as Jane first mentions Emily by her first name in His Majesty's Dragon, Laurence picks it up and Emily Roland becomes Emily more often than not from then on. This seems to happen especially often in more familial or interpersonal scenes, such as when Laurence takes her and Demane to task about their relationship in Crucible of Gold or when she is meeting Laurence father at Wilberforce's subscription-rally early in Empire of Ivory.

Emily is also called by her first name by both Temeraire and Mrs. Pemberton, who in their own way might both count her as part of their family or as in their care. We may also guess that, since Emily is friendly with a number of characters especially other minors over the course of the book, she may also go by Emily in a lot of other occasions that are simply not part of the narrative.

Interestingly, while Laurence is shy of calling any of the other aviators by their first name, he starts calling Catherine Harcourt 'Catherine' in his head by Empire of Ivory. Specifically he starts using the name after seeing Tom Riley greeting her on the 'Allegiance'. This moment seems to signify a shift in Laurence perceiving her as different from just her status as an aviator friend or acquaintance. While to our knowledge he never uses the name to her face, he also starts calling her Catherine when talking to Tom Riley.

The usage of 'Catherine' continues through Laurence narration in Victory of Eagles, though he is back to using 'Captain Harcourt' in the later books.

Overall there are 100 times when Harcourt is called Catherine.

In conversation it is mostly Lily (11) who uses her first name, but there's also Jane Roland who calls Harcourt Catherine in non-formal settings (2).

And then there's Choiseul in His Majesty's Dragon of course. His use of 'Catherine' is a pretty good indicator of their intimacy, even before Laurence picks up on their relationship. I think it works so well, since at that point in the books, the mention of any first names has been pretty rare. In response she calls him Jean-Paul. This stops immediately after Choiseul's betrayal though, and indeed he never mentions her by name from this point on until his execution.

I also want to mention Rankin, who certainly has not earned the informality, but calls Harcourt almost dismissively by her first name at her first introduction to Laurence. Possibly being condescending both about her age, as well as her being a women.

Overall I think the use of Harcourts first name in the books is the most varied and it can almost always tell us as much, if not more, about the people using it in their different forms than about Catherine Harcourt herself.

Forth in place of intimate mentions is Edith 'Woolvey' née Galman. As Laurence former promised childhood friend he is consistently on a first name basis with her. She is mentioned as just 'Edith' 55 times in the course of four of the books: His Majesty's Dragon, Victory of Eagles, Blood of Tyrants - where Laurence thinks of her exactly once during his amnesiac arc and finally League of Dragons.

As you may have guessed from the numbers, the women make up the staggering majority of all first name mentions with a staggering 552 of 638, or 86% of all moments.

-----

Notes on the gathered data: I looked at all instances of known first names of main or supporting characters, but excluded the following:

Any mention where the first name was part of the full name or was prefixed by a title (such as Captain Catherine Harcourt, Lady Emily)

Any dragons, since dragons (with exceptions) only have single name

Any character mentioned exclusively by their first name (I'm sorry Demane, Sipho, little Gerry the Orphan and various babes)

[yeonzzzn]

🌕luna nova: sim jake

a vampires bleeding series: three / seven

pairing: jake x afab!reader word count: 4.9k

synopsis: with dorian after jungwon and jay's mates, the boys and the humans travel to the countryside in hopes of laying low and figuring out what dorian actually wants. you and your twin brother take them into your family's spare house. after learning about their true reasons for leaving the city, more unfortunate events unfold causing the boys to seek help from another source.

genre: acquaintances to lovers, vampire!jake, half vampire!reader, angst, some spice.

warnings: mentions of blood and death, swearing, fire, cute jake ♡

☾ jungwon(1) | jay(2) | jake(3) | sunghoon(4) | sunoo(5) | niki(6) | heeseung(7) ☽

Jake hung his head back, legs slightly lifted and hands gripping the tree branch to keep his balance. 

The sky is a mixture of orange and red, the moon slowly lifting in the distance. 

“It’ll be a new moon soon,” Jake whispered to himself. 

Sunghoon sat beside him, an old Nikon camera held to his face. 

“Capturing it?” Jake asks, his best friend adjusting the camera angle. 

“Of course,” Sunghoon sassed, “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Jake chuckled, “Try getting the angle upside down, it’s still pretty this way.” 

Sunghoon glared down at him, “That’s stupid.” 

With a shrug of his shoulders, Jake teased, “You wouldn’t know unless you tried it.” 

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, flipping around into the same position as his friend, holding the camera back to his eye. 

“This isn’t actually that bad,” Sunghoon admitted, “Just need the perf-“

“YOI!!” 

Jungwon dropped down from the branch above, shoving his face into Sunghoon’s camera.

“Capture me instead, Hyung.” 

“When did you ever get here,” Sunghoon snapped, palming Jungwon’s forehead, and shoving him out of the way. 

“Just now,” Jungwon sang, connecting his feet back to the ground. 

Jake sat up, “Where’s the others?” 

“Should be here soon.” Jungwon hummed. 

“You’re more annoying, where’s __?” Sunghoon once again tried to capture a photo of the sunset, just for Jungwon’s face to get right back into the frame. 

“She’s with Jay and __,” he shrugged, “My mate is tired of me.” 

Jake rolled his eyes, “That’s impossible.” 

Jungwon’s eyes lit up, “she’s here!” 

Jake watched the younger runoff, his hands instantly locking onto his mate, embracing her close to him, their smiles ear to ear. 

Jay’s arm was also wrapped around his mate. Jake swears he’s never seen Jay smile as much as he has with her. Their stubborn Jay, is always so serious and self-hatred for what he is just to have folded so easily under her. 

Jake dropped his head in his hands, watching his brothers with their soulmates. A small pit of jealousy forms. 

“Jake, Sunghoon, come down,” Heeseung waved to the two of them, “We need to start this meeting.” 

—

“Wait, you want us to move?” Niki questioned, clearly not liking the idea. 

“It’s what will be best for our pack,” Jungwon crossed his arms, “We have more to protect besides just each other now.” 

Jake twirled his rings around his fingers, taking in the information.

Sunghoon sighed, “Where will we go now? What about our jobs here? School specifically for Niki?” 

“I’ll move if I don’t have to graduate high school again!” Niki raised his hand, “I’ll gladly move if so.” 

“Unfortunately for you,” Jay’s stubbornness at play, “You’re stuck in a seventeen-year-old body, if you don’t attend high school it’ll make it more suspicious.” 

“Not to mention he still acts seventeen,” Heeseung teased, “No one would ever guess that he’s almost two hundred and ten years old.” 

“Says you old man.” Niki teased back. 

Jake laughed along with the banter, happy that it’s been this peaceful. 

“Any other sightings of Lilly?” Sunoo brings back the topic, “Or any other that could be connected with Dorian?” 

Jay’s jaw clenched at the mention of their names, his mate also tensing at the mention, “No. I’ve searched everywhere. Asked around. It’s like both have disappeared.” 

“It’s been almost three months, but we can’t continue to peek over our shoulders,” Heeseung sighed, “Dorian knows where we work, where we all live, where the girls attend college…we need to do what’s best for the pack.” 

“And that’s leaving?” Sunghoon asked, “Again, where would we go?” 

“The countryside,” Jungwon nodded, “It’s away from the city, no one will know who we are.” 

“Or what we are,” Jake mumbled, still twisting the rings around his fingers. 

“Jay and I already found a clinic we will both work at and even a high school for Niki.” Heeseung teased the younger. 

Niki groaned, dropping his head into his hands, “This fucking sucks.” 

“The girls will have a good small community college to continue studies,” Jungwon wrapped his arms around his mate, “Gotta keep this pretty brain learning.” 

“Already smarter than you, Wonnie.” She teased. 

“Baby, I have so many years on you, don’t even.” 

“Anyways,” Jay ignored the lovebirds, “The countryside would be the best bet for us right now. There is also someone who has some knowledge about Dorian, she can keep us up to date.” 

“Another vampire?” Jay’s mate asked.

With a shake of his head, he answers, “No, she’s a dhampir.” 

Jake raised an eyebrow, “Who?” 

—

You pulled the string back, narrowing your vision down to the target, taking a deep breath in, releasing the string and your breath in one go. 

The arrow flew across the field with a quick snap, hitting the target dead in the center. 

You smirked, relaxing your arms. 

A snap of a twig caught your attention, quickly grabbed another arrow to the bow, string touching your cheek, and whipped around to the sound.

“Woah woah! Calm down there Y/N, Jesus.” 

“Archer, I swear to god!” You snapped at your twin brother, lowering your bow, “What if I took your head off!?”

“I’m way too quick, you’d miss.” 

You pointed a finger at the target, “I don’t miss.” 

Archer glared off at the target, ignoring your comment. 

“Anyways, they will be here tomorrow morning,” Archer says, “We need to clean out the spare house.” 

You turn and face the target again, pulling the string back, “Why don’t you go clean it? I’m busy.” 

Archer groaned, “No, you’re helping. You know who they are after all.”

You released the arrow, it once again hitting the middle, “I knew them,” you corrected, “It’s been like a hundred years, they are probably completely different people.” 

Archer sighed, “Y/N, please.” 

You couldn’t resist the pout your brother gave, “FINE!” 

He smiled wide, following behind you towards the spare house. 

“You’re lucky you have a good older sister like me.” You teased him. 

“You are literally five minutes older.” 

Cleaning the spare house took longer than you wanted, but alas it was done. 

“Why did you agree to have them stay here?” Archer asked, sweeping the last bit of dusk into the dusk pan. 

You shrug your shoulders, “The way Heeseung and Jay were talking, it seemed important, the least I could do.” 

Archer slumped onto the couch, “Why are they coming out here? City too much for them?” 

You shrugged again, “I didn’t ask.” 

Archer narrowed his eyes at you, trying to read your very good poker face, “You’re lying to me.”

You looked away from your brother, “I really don’t know.” 

Archer knew he couldn’t press anymore, and let it at that, excusing himself to go home and sleep. 

The boys arrived sooner than you expected that next morning. 

You leaned against the wooden post on the porch, crossing your arms as their car pulled up to the house. 

You caught two other scents with them, two you didn’t recognize…two that aren’t vampires. 

One by one, the seven of them trailed out of the van, two female humans following behind. 

“Lee Heeseung, you didn’t tell me you were carrying humans with you!” you snapped, your mood completely changing. 

Jungwon and Jay quickly pulled the females behind them, giving you glares. 

You notice immediately, your body and mood relaxing. 

“You didn’t say you had mates, I only prepared blood bags for you seven.” 

Jake held up two bags worth of food, “We went shopping when we got into town.” 

You studied him, his half smile sending flutters in your stomach. 

“Long time no see, Y/N.” His Aussie accent was as adorable as ever. 

You nodded, “Indeed it has been,” you looked between the other boys, stopping back at Jungwon, Jay, and their mates, “Please come inside.”

Everyone settled in one by one, the boys all drinking from the bags. 

Jungwon’s mate wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, her smile never once fading from the sight of seven vampires drinking blood from bags. 

Jay’s mate was even more unphased. She seems just as stubborn as Jay is. 

“Never thought I’d see you two with mates,” You said leaning against the dinner table, laying your head in the corner of your arm, “Mostly nice to know someone can tame that stubbornness of yours, Jongseong.” 

Jay shot daggers through you, “Don’t you have something better to be doing than hanging around here?”

You sat up, giving him a smug smile, “Nope! I want to know why you’ve come to me begging to help hide you here in my parents' spare house, along with your mates.” 

The room went quiet, you looked at each of them one by one. 

“Someone better speak up.” 

“It’s Dorian,” Heeseung finally answered. 

Your heart stopped at the name, “Why the fuck are you here!” You stood up from the table, staring Heeseung down, “What the fuck is going on?!” 

“He’s after my mate,” Jungwon was the first to speak up, “He tried to take her from me.”

“And he almost drowned and killed mine,” Jay spoke in the calmest voice you’ve ever heard. Pulling his mate's hair back, revealing two scars on her neck, “He drank every ounce she had and dropped her off a cliff.” 

You watched as Jay dropped his forehead to hers, his jaw clenched tightly. 

Jungwon also brought his mate closer to him, their hands intertwined. 

You sat back down, “Dorian wants your mates, and probably wants you all dead.” 

They all nodded. 

“He joined up with Lilly,” Sunghoon chimed in, “He must have something else planned besides tearing our pack apart.” 

“And you came to me, why?” You asked. 

Heeseung sighed, “We needed someplace safe, mostly for the girls. But for the safety of our pack. Y/N, you’re the only one who can help.” 

You crossed your arms, squeezing yourself tightly, “What if he finds you all here? He’ll kill us too!” You took a deep breath in, “I have Archer to protect.” 

“Please, Y/N,” Jungwon asked, with pure desperation on his face. 

“Ugh! Fine! If he shows up, I’m leaving you guys here alone.” You quickly stood up, heading for the door, “I apologize deeply for what Dorian has caused for you all, but if he’s planning something, we all need to discuss that soon.”

You stormed off to your house in a second, grabbing your own bag of blood from the fridge and dropping onto your couch, nearly scaring Archer to death. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, “Did they settle in fine?” 

You nodded, the iron liquid making its way into your system. 

Archer could sense how pissed off you were from the beginning, “Y/N, what is wrong? Why are they here?” 

You shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. 

Archer rolled his eyes, groaning, “I’ll go ask them myself.” 

“Dorian.” 

Archer laughed, “You’re joking, nice joke.” 

“I wish I was,” you sighed, “He’s after their mates and wants to kill them all. They are here to hide.” 

Archer stood to his feet, “What if Dorian follows their scent here?!” 

“Trust me Arch, I know!” You snapped back, “All we can do is pray the witches' spell they put on this town helps hide their scents.” 

Archer started pacing back and forth, “What else did they say?” 

“Lilly joined him.”

Archer groaned again, sitting down on the floor, “Y/N, we have lived peacefully…”

“Archer you don’t have to tell me this,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Do I need to remind you what Dorian did?!” 

You stood up quickly, your index finger dug into your twin's chest, “Shut up, Archer.”

“He killed our parents!!” 

You walked away from him, opening the front door ready to sprint away. 

“Dorian killed your mate!” 

You stopped in the doorway, staring down at the wooden steps, and a pair of shoes suddenly appeared. 

Your eyes followed up on who they belonged to.

“Y/N,” his soft Aussie voice whispered your name.

“Don’t, Jake.” you pushed past him, running as fast as you could. 

—

Jake found you by the pond, watching the fish swim in circles. 

“Y/N…” Jake whispered. 

You turned around and looked at him, “What do you want?” 

“We were friends once which seemed like a lifetime ago…I didn’t know about your parents or your mate.” 

You looked away from him, moving your knees to your chest, “It was after you guys found Niki and left that city to get away from Dorian. We moved out here to do the same. We weren’t so lucky.” 

Jake sat beside you, “Do Heeseung and Jay know?” 

You nodded, “That’s why they didn’t want to tell me over that phone call why they needed to come here.” 

Jake twisted his rings again, “What does it feel like? What did it feel like?” 

You looked over at him, “You mean having a mate, and what it felt like losing them?” 

Jake nodded.

You took a deep breath in, staring off at the water and its movement from the wind. 

“It’s exactly like they all described,” you hug your legs tighter, “Being a dhampir, I didn’t think I could even feel all the parts of having a mate.”

Jake also pulls his legs to his chest, leaning his head on his knees, putting his full attention on you. 

“My father, the vampire side, always talked about the knot that connects you. My mother, my human side, always talked about the warm feeling you get, how the butterflies flutter and your words jumbled together. That you’ll know you found your soulmate.” 

You looked at Jake, giving him a soft smile, “I didn’t think I would even have a soulmate, who could love something like me? Half monster, half human…”

“Okay Jay,” Jake teased, “Everyone is capable of love.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Thank you Captain Obvious!” 

He smiled, “It’s true!”

“Anyways,” you looked away from him, feeling your face slightly flushing, “When I met him, I knew immediately. That knot tied together, pulling me to him. But I also felt that warm feeling, the butterflies and I could barely speak.”

You looked down at your shoes, fighting hard to continue the story. 

“But Dorian came, wanting the witch's spells that my parents were protecting. Obviously, he didn’t get what he wanted and killed them. My mate happened to witness the murder and Dorian…”

Jake tucked his lips between his teeth, knowing exactly what happened without you even having to say it. 

“I was at the market with Archer, and we both felt the connection to our parents fade. But when Dorian took him from me…” 

You clenched the fabric over your heart, the pain resurfacing, “I felt that knot snap. I felt his last breath. And then there was nothing. My colorful world turned dark. My reason for living…gone.”

Jake tried to find the right words to say, knowing nothing could even help. 

Jake clearly doesn’t have a mate. He doesn’t understand how it would feel to have one or lose one. 

But he fully understood now why Jay and Jungwon have gone to these measures to protect their own. 

“I obviously still have Archer,” you continued, “He was there to help keep me from going off in the deep end. It was Archer's idea to have the witches in the neighboring town conceal our scents here to protect us and the rest of the people living here.” 

Jake sat up straight, “Wait.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Yeah?”

Jake stood to his feet, “I know what Dorian could possibly be wanting.” 

—

Heeseung covered his mouth deep in thought, “Y/N, what other information can you gather about the witches?”

You shook your head, “I don’t know, we just grow the crops and take care of the land and send them herbs when they ask to keep them protecting us.” 

“He wants the spells for something,” Jake jumped in, “He clearly does. It would make sense why he’s been feeding as much as he has lately, to build strength.” 

“Then what would he want with me?” Jungwon’s mate spoke up, “He never met me before until that night.” 

“It must be our blood type,” Jay’s mate chimed in, “Jay said when we met that he can tell my blood type based on the smell, I’d assume it’s the same for you all?” 

Everyone except you nodded, you weren’t so blessed with that side of the vampireness. 

“So that clearly means, these witches spells that he wants,” Sunoo put the pieces together, “Needs a specific blood type for it to work. knowing Dorian, he has __ blood from when he almost killed her.” 

Jay’s mate looked away from the table. You could only imagine what she could have felt that night. 

Jake crossed his arms, rubbing his fingers on his chin, trying to put more puzzle pieces together. 

He looked over at you, studying your face as if looking at you would unlock all the secrets of the world. 

And then it actually did. 

Jake took a deep breath in, your scent flowing through him. 

“He also wants Y/N.” 

You look at him, confused, “What would he want with me?” 

Jake tilted his head, “You also have that blood type he needs, on top of where to find the witches for their spells. The only reason you’ve been safe is because of the protection spell.” 

Your body went still. Everything is connected. 

“That makes sense why he always disappeared for months at a time,” Jay tapped his finger on the table, “He is going back and forth between trying to take our girls and find Y/N.” 

“Good thing we came here then,” Jungwon leaned onto the table, “Now we know what he’s after, we have to find the witches before he does. He must know we skipped town by now.” 

“I can go tomorrow,” you said, “I know how to get there, but we all can’t go together.” 

“Why not?” Jay’s mate questioned, “Safety in numbers?”

“That’s not how witches work, babe.” Jay sighed. 

“Witches and vampires don’t get along,” Sunghoon explained, “They will notice seven full vampires and a dhampir, they will conceal themselves and either kill us when we get too close or flee.” 

You nodded, “They will more than likely flee due to the fact you all are in a pack, they won’t stand a chance if they fight you all. Which is why I need to go alone.” 

“No,” Jake protested, “you’re not going alone.” 

You glared at him, “They know me.” 

“And once you leave this town, Dorian could pick up your scent.”

You hated to admit that Jake was right. The witches only were protecting this town, and their town, not in between it. 

“I’m going with you.” Jake couldn’t let you do this alone. 

And you knew you couldn’t stop it from joining. 

“Okay,” Heeseung said, “we will come up with a more solid plan in the morning.” 

Everyone agreed. 

“Can I-“ Niki started. 

“No.” Heeseung and Jay said at the same time. 

Niki stood in silence, looking between the two of them, “What?”

“You start your first day of school tomorrow.” Heeseung teased the younger. 

Niki pouted, “Hyung, you’re joking?”

Heeseung gave him a smile, “Go to bed.” 

—

Jake sat against the wall on the bed, trying to go through his own game plan for the following day. 

He couldn’t explain it, but after seeing you after all these years was messing with his head. 

You've filled his every thought. It even surprised him that he was so quick to join you tomorrow. 

Jake ran his hands through his hair, his stomach doing flips. 

There was a knock on the door, startling Jake out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah?” 

You opened the door, peeking your head through, “You’re still awake?” 

“Obviously.” 

You slipped inside the room, slowly closing the door behind you. 

You leaned against the wall, studying him and his white t-shirt and plaid-designed boxers. 

“You look like you are getting ready for bed?” 

Jake shook his head, “Too deep in thought to sleep.” 

“Getting cold feet about tomorrow? Sim Jaeyun?” you teased him, your heart did a flip as he bit his lower lip with a small smirk. 

“Haven’t been called that in a while,” Jake looked down at his hands, his fingers once again twisting his rings. 

“I was one of the only ones who called you by your actual name.” you brought the memory back. 

Jake nodded, “We didn’t know each other very long then, did we?” 

“Yeah, it was a very short time in that town.”

“I guess one thing about being immortal is having to skip around because locals notice you aren’t aging,” Jake leaned his head against the wall, “You at least still age.” 

You softly giggled, “Yeah I guess I was blessed in that department, I still age but it’s just slower.”

“Gives you a better chance at living an actual life.” 

“How long were you guys in the city?” curiosity filled you.

“Oh shit, awhile,” Jake let out a small whistle, “We moved around a bit into different areas, but once Heeseung and Jay made their names at the hospital and clinic, it made it harder to move.” 

You nodded, “It’s good you were able to stay in one place for a bit longer, ya?” 

Jake softly smiled, “Yeah. Eventually, we were all able to leave what we ended up calling the safe house and got our own places. Heeseung and Jay had their own separate places. Sunghoon and I lived together. Niki was with Sunoo. Jungwon kinda just floated.” 

“I always forget that Jungwon is your pack leader.” You laughed. 

“Why? Is it so hard to believe?” Jake pulled his knees to his chest, waiting for your answer. 

“No, Jungwon is perfect for it,” you quickly spat out, “I don't think anyone else could corral you guys like him.” 

Jake nodded in agreement. 

The room fell silent. Jake could hear how fast your heart was beating. 

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” Jake tilted his head, his hair slowly falling from its part. 

You tucked your lip between your teeth, breaking eye contact with him. 

How do you admit to an old acquaintance that he’s been making your heart go crazy from the moment he stepped foot out of the van? That even all those years ago you may have had a small crush on him. 

Jake could see the blush on your skin, the goosebumps on your skin, and how your chest moved with your increased breathing. 

“Y/N.” 

You looked up at him, the look of want was on his face. 

“Come here.” 

And that’s all it took. You were on him in a second. 

Your fingers tangled in his hair, lips touching his as if your life depended on it. 

Jake’s hands squeezed your hips as he pulled your body even closer to his. 

The mutual pining that was between the two of you was driving Jake up a wall. 

Jake slowly snaked his hands under your shirt, resting them on your back, 

You didn’t know what came over you, you reached for the hem of Jake’s shirt, quickly sliding it up and off his body. 

Your hands slid back down his bare chest, fingers tracing his abs as you shoved your tongue down his mouth. 

Jake felt himself losing control, the mixture of the hormones and your blood was like a drug to him. 

He couldn’t get enough of you. 

Jake wrapped your legs around him, quickly changing positions, and laying you on your back. 

Chills went down your spine. You cling to his bare back, softly letting out a moan. 

“Fuck fuck fuck…” Jake groaned into the crease of your neck, leaving small kisses trailing up to your jawline. 

Jake wanted you. Oh, he wanted you. 

And you wanted him. 

But the thoughts of losing your mate came too, causing you to slide right from underneath Jake and back to the door. 

“I’m sorry…” Jake said, quickly pulling his shirt back over his head. 

“No it’s my fault,” you turned away from him, “I just…”

“It’s about your mate.”

You nodded, “I lost my soulmate, but you still have a chance to find yours, don’t waste any time on me.” 

That was the last thing you said, leaving Jake alone in his room. 

—

You’ve both been walking for hours. Jake’s hair stuck to his forehead from his sweat and the damp air. 

You’ve both been quiet. Barley saying a word to each other since last night. 

It was driving Jake crazy not being able to talk to you. 

Jake was stuck in his thoughts about last night. Scared of the possibility that maybe he doesn’t have a soulmate. That no one was made for him. 

Jake was hoping it’d be you, but not once did he feel this so-called knot. The string of fate. 

“Can we talk about last night, Y/N?” 

You sighed, “There isn’t anything to speak about with it.” 

Jake stepped in front of you, “Yes there is.” 

“Like what?” you scoffed, “We aren’t mates, Jake. I don’t owe you anything.” 

You walked around him, your heart pulling back to him, but continuing forward. 

Jake grabbed your arm, pulling you back towards him.

“Let yourself feel, Y/N.” 

All you could do was stare up at him, unable to speak. 

He took your face between his soft hands, his thumbs making circles on your cheeks, “Let yourself feel again. You are holding yourself back all because of your loss. Let yourself feel.” 

You wanted to open your heart up to him, but the fear of losing someone again, you couldn’t do it. 

“We have to keep going, night will fall soon.” 

Jake followed behind you, knowing he could only do so much to get you to reopen your heart again. 

The sky grew darker as the moon slowly made its appearance. 

Jake stopped, mouth forming into a small smile. 

You no longer heard Jake’s footsteps, turning around and seeing him just standing there. 

“Everything okay?” you asked him.

Jake nodded, his eyes not leaving the sky. 

You walked over to him, looking up at where he was. 

“I’m confused?”

“Luna Nova.” 

You look back at him, “what?”

“Latin for the new moon,” Jake’s smile grew even wider, “Beautiful Luna Nova.”

Jake meets your eyes. The new moon’s light brings out that beautiful cocoa color. 

You wanted to kiss him. To grab his hand and hold it so tightly. 

The gate to your heart has been locked. Jake was right, it was time to feel again. 

You broke the lock to your closed gate and let yourself feel. 

Your heart pulled to him, the beautiful string of fate twisting and knotting together. The familiar feeling of love and want and belonging. 

Tears filled Jake’s eyes, “Is that…is that what it feels like?” 

You nodded, your own tears filling your eyes. 

“Who knew it was still possible to find a soulmate.” You softly whispered. 

Jake kissed you. He kissed you with so much love and passion and with every ounce of lost time from the moment he was born, turned into a vampire, and lived all the lives he has until this moment. Those hundreds of years were now finally worth it. 

He was tied to you. 

Jake released his lips from yours, his sweaty forehead connecting to yours. Your breathing matches his in perfect sync. 

“You’re my Luna Nova, my new beginning…just like the moon phases,” Jake whispered. 

Hand in hand, you lead Jake the rest of the way towards the witch’s village. 

“What is this head witch like?” he asked. 

“She’s roughly our age?” you said, trying to calculate the math in your head. 

“That’s pretty old.” he teased. 

“Yeah, aren’t we all? She’s trapped in her twenties like the rest of us.” 

“Couldn’t be worse than Niki.”

You nodded in agreement, “Poor Niki.” 

Laughter filled you both, but only until you reached the village. 

To be met with despair. 

The land was burning. Young children witches and warlocks were covered in ash and dirt. 

People shouting and crying out for their loved ones who were caught in the fires. 

Homes were torn to pieces by flames and lifeless bodies spread throughout the land. 

“What the hell happened…” Jake was barely able to speak, too shocked at the sight before him. 

You ran as fast as you could towards the village. 

“Y/N! Wait!!” 

You didn’t listen to Jake and kept running. The witches' village was supposed to be hidden. Was supposed to be on the edge of the town, hidden from the world. 

You frantically searched for people to help while asking around for the head witch.

But no one has seen her. 

You panicked, giving Jake orders to help find her, describing her in detail. 

Jake searched all the while helping those in need. 

“Y/N,” Jake showed back up at your side, “The fire isn’t stopping, we need to go!” 

You shook your head, “We need to find her!” 

One of your few vampire gifts was your sense of hearing. You called your eyes and focused hard, searching everywhere, until you heard her breathing. 

“She’s alive!” 

She was found under some rumble from a fallen building. 

“Y/N…” she said barely above a whisper. 

Tears filled your eyes as you and Jake pulled out from the rumble. 

You held her in your arms, pushing her hair out of her face. 

“What happened here?” Jake asked, kneeling down beside you, “What caused this?” 

“Dorian.” She coughed out. 

Your heart stopped, and anger washed over Jake. 

“He came for the spells,” she breathed out, “he knew you were coming for them, you were too late.” 

You looked up at Jake, tears falling down your face, “What do we do now?” 

Jake bites down on his tongue, looking at the witch below him. 

“Get her back to the house, we need to know exactly what happened.” 

You nodded, “So much for a new beginning, huh?”

a/n: i hope everyone is enjoying my little vampire series so far! i have so many ideas planned for the rest of the members and hope everyone looks forward to it! thank you so much to everyone who is keeping up with this series and the continued support. It means everything!

[beware-of-pity]

Pythia Hiereia - Prologue

Masterlist I ao3 link I- Chapter one

Harry James Potter x Reader

Summary :

Only dreams can awaken consciousness. As the final battle between him and the Dark Lord draws nearer every day, Harry attends his sixth year at Hogwarts, warped by strange dreams, which he's sure someone is having a hand at. Hidden away by the shadows of the darkness in which those hands are summoned, he finds a girl not in synch with the world she dwells in. A seer, a siren, or perhaps just a girl he finds himself madly intrigued by.

Prologue: Oh, my life is changing everyday (In every possible way)

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They say dark times require dark measures. It seems that after ‘He who must not be named’ had revealed his presence in the halls of the Ministry of Magic during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, no one was willing to deny the obvious return of the Dark Lord, which had been the causing of much speculation after the Tri-Wizard tournament, and the much distressing death of the young Cedric Diggory.

Open war on the wizarding community had been declared, and no one could consider themselves safe anymore.

Harry had spent a long time laying his eyes upon the purple leaflet that an owl, who had made his way on the perch of his window, had delivered to him. The instructions were simple, or at least, those were the measures the Ministry of Magic believed to be sufficient enough to protect oneself against the dark forces of the Death Eaters on the loose to spread chaos upon the world Harry had known ever since he was but a boy.

To not leave the house unattended had been a challenge enough, seeing as he could not rely upon the presence of another wizard to accompany him wherever he went, especially at night when he would sit at the old, run-down food stand on the platform of the train station he had found a fondness for wandering around and riding the trains off. He had been precarious, looking behind his back all the time. To say he had become paranoid would be a little too over the top, but he surely could not find the ease he felt when at Hogwarts or any of the familiar surroundings, where he could be safe or could find a helping hand at the simple turn of a corner.

He could not advise his aunt and uncle of the precautionary ways to protect themselves were it to come down to it either, for no charm or spell they could master, seen by their lack of magic, and even if there was a way for him to know how to defend them, he wasn’t sure they would be too open to hearing him out. Their pride, especially his uncle’s, beget him to ignore Harry. He could not blame them, he supposed, the less they knew, the better, left them less exposed and more into safer hands were something to happen to them.

He shared letters with both Ron and Hermione in the weeks following the battle of the Department of Mysteries. Both of his friends tried to be there for him as much as they could, sending comforting words that would put him off any sort of ideas that may come to his mind in light of Sirius’ passing. A tragedy, it had been deemed, by people who could not come near comprehending just how much the death of one of the few people he considered close to him and which he held dear to his heart had truly impacted and affected him. He grieved him still, and he was sure he would for a very long time, even surer he was that he would never stop, for the love he held for the man called his ‘godfather’ could never go away from the cave in his chest that had been carved and reserved for Sirius.

Things had been chaotic, to say the least, as the dust ruffled by the events ending his fifth school year slowly settled back upon the shots that had caused it to move in the first place. As recommended by the leaflet, he, Ron and Hermione had agreed upon several security questions to detect if the friend they thought was presenting in front of them was truly them or a Death Eater masquerading as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion.

But unlike all the ruffled feathers filling the air, his had been a couple of quiet weeks. He had not heard from Dumbledore ever since the time he had tried to shield him from the photographers rounding him, flashing their cameras too close to his eyes, practically blinding him, and shouting questions which made his eyes ring in a way that pulled at his eardrums, quickly sending waves of pains through his temples, reaching his forehead, where the nerves under his skin probed him in pain and left him disoriented. He made for a horrid sight, with speckles of blood on his face, pale, with a twisted pain he had come to know very well burning at the skin of his chest, where his heart resided. 

His breath had begun to quicken; his lips had tightened from the lack of moisture he tried to recover by wetting his lips, but to no avail, it did nothing but dry his mouth in turn, while the hard knot on his troath continued to tighten in the chord of the flesh there.

Had it not been for the comforting presence of his headmaster’s hand which had been placed on his shoulder as he had been led away from the sworn of journalists, he wasn’t sure he could have endured the ordeal for much longer before he could begin to lose his mind.

He needed a remedy to clear his mind, so he wandered the streets of the little Surrey town of Little Whinging, where he had lived his entire life since being placed in the care of his aunt and uncle. Trains were fast, and the rush of adrenaline they gave him felt nice. It would blind him of all the thoughts his mind had been filling itself with lately, if only for a moment.

He then began to find himself unconsciously spending time sitting at one of the tables of the food stand, watching over the train from across the window, and the pretty waiter, who would cheekily smile his way whenever she found him looking at her, peering upon the latest copy of the ‘Daily Prophet’ he’d bring with him, reading it as slowly as he could as an excuse to spend more time in the establishment.

He wasn’t sure he liked her, liked her, in that way. His feelings had been all over the place, especially in the romantic department, which he found himself more than not fumbling his way into.

First, it was Cho, a kind girl which he knew would never find the love she had felt for Cedric in him, but he hoped she would see a new, mature one, born upon the shared feeling of the hardship and the loss of a person which they found a friend into. He had been mistaken, in that he realized, as had Cho, who liked him, she truly did, but the pain of the loss of her first love shadowed everything that could have blossomed between them.

Then it had been Ginny, the younger sister of his best friend; he found in her a wild, young nature that he grew attracted to. Ginny embodied everything in her that meant being a Gryffindor. She was brave and good at everything she settled her mind upon, and he knew she would accomplish great things if given the opportunity, such as the path he could see her embarking on in the sport they both loved and played, Quidditch. 

He had wondered, at times,  how Ron would feel about him possibly crushing upon his sister, who he knew Ron was protective of.

It had all begun, he would think, after meeting at King's Cross. Ginny developed feelings for him and talked about him all summer, or so he had heard about it from an amused and teasing Ron, and when he was rescued from his family and brought to the Burrow, she became extremely shy in his presence. Since then, they have both gone on different romantic paths, but he knew it was hard to omit what was always there and would probably leave unless they faced it.

Overall, everything was just too complicated for him to get ahold of, especially his very complicated feelings, and with everything that had gone down in recent years, he could not think of affording the time to get to know anyone. Or so he thought, he had more important things to worry about, such as the flickering light that had begun to go wild on the opposite platform on which the food stand stood. He had stood to peer over the fogged window, trying to get a closer look at the sight before him that he knew could be of no normal nature as glitter dust began to dance over the opposite platform. As a train roars past, Harry squints through the flickering window and watches the dust transform into the headmaster of the place he had come to know as his one true home, Albus Dumbledore.

Levelling his glasses, he peers across the platform. Dumbledore smiles and gives Harry a wave. Although amused, Harry tightens his lips at the sight, knowing no good could come out of Dumbledore’s presence before him.

He was right, as he told himself he always was when his second instinct kicked in. One moment, he was standing beside his mentor, looking up at the rather provocative billboard he had seen being glued there not a few days past from his usual spot at the table at the stand; the next, he was being led through a steep, narrow street lined with darkened houses. It had lasted but a moment, but once he had placed his hand on that of his headmaster, the pitched headlong tornado he had been pulled into, and that trashed him into a sound of rush and fury had his guts twisting in ways he did not know could be twisted.

Even as he walked, he reeled from the apparition he had experienced. His eyes sting with tears, his steps heavy and unsteady, he followed Dumbledore in what he apparently required his assistance with.

“Most people vomit their first time. Don’t be too hard on yourself” he heard Dumbledore call out as he walked on the front.

“Can’t imagine why that is…” he murmured to himself, trying to regain his footing.

He glances about as Dumbledore explains to him that they are in the village of Budleigh Babberton. For what, Harry could only wonder, and as such, he says when asked of his opinion of the matter.

“After all these years, I just sort of roll with it, sir.” Dumbledore smiles mildly as if pleased by Harry’s willing compliance before the old lines on his face harden once they reach the objective of this ‘mission’ they had set out. A small stone house, in which Harry could not find any appeal whatsoever. Run down, the door blasted and misplaced, the windows on its sides broken and completely not whole. Something’s wrong, and Dumbledore takes the moment to voice it.

“Wands out, Harry”

Utter devastation is what they meet as they pass through the cracked door, moving smoothly and swiftly through the entrance hall, the light coming from the tips of their wands as their guiding light, with careful steps, avoiding the many possibilities of making noises that presented themselves to them in the form a grandfather clock laying on the floor, its face cracked, a piano sagging in in the corner, keys strewn like teeth upon the rug. A copy of the Daily Prophet, the same one he had been reading at the food stand, trembles in the breeze from a half-open window, broken shards of glass, more likely being the busted chandelier no longer on the ceiling, where in its place a hollowed hole in which a wet, dark and glutinous substance dripped down from upon, strikes the word ‘chosen’, written upon the gazette.

Harry gasped softly as it hit his face, flicking down on his forehead, right on his scar, and startling him. He went to dabb at it before Dumbledore stopped him, grabbed his hand, tapped the blood with his finger, and went for a taste.

The reaction is immediate, surely recognizing that which he had just gotten a taste of. Dumbledore turns, his eyes narrowing on an overstuffed armchair. A couple of perfectly placed slippers are in front of it, giving away the hiding spot of the person they were here for. 

Moving to it, Dumbledore jabs his wand into the plump seat cushion, awakening that which had not wanted to be disturbed in the first place.

Horace Slugghorn was many things. Some would say he was a fool. 

A naive, foolish fool who priced himself too much. A fool, indeed, but a prepared one he was.

The armchair he had mutated into reveals his plump, aged form, even as he briefly gets caught between the two forms. After a bit of grumbling and wrestling his way to the parts of him unwilling to change, seams splitting and the popping of a cushion button or two, the fat old man known as Horace Sluggorn reveals himself in all his glory, looking overly mighty in a pair of well-worn lilac pyjamas.

Quite the scene, Harry thought, as he watched the two converse before he was introduced to the man and he, in turn. Sluggorn looks at him as if he were a dragon, ready to pounce upon his new shining toy to add to his prized collection as he makes the observation many made at his sight. His father’s through and through, yet when people would meet his eyes, it was his mother staring back at them.

Harry didn’t know for how much longer in his life he could hear this comparison any longer; it brought him mixed feelings, to say the least. On the one hand, perhaps it was the fact that he could not remember either the face or the eyes most talked about if only by the memories brought by the many times he had passed flipping through the album of photos of them he held as a dear possession. But also, he felt a sort of pride in carrying the face of the people who were his parents, a mix of the love they had bore one another in the living form that he was. A true testament to who Lily and James Potter were, living and breathing, walking and very much alive in the form of their son.

Throughout it all, Sluggorn stared at Harry as if hypnotised, even as he gestured for him to walk closer to the dresser crowded with photographs, which his mom is part of many, it seems. Sluggorn rambled on and on about the other students he had the pleasure of teaching, whom he had stayed close to during the years, and his best students, his best picks, and members of his prized collection.

Harry remains disinterested in the description of many of these people until his eyes land on a framed photo, where a boy, no older than he was now, stands beside the professor, clad in his Slytherin quidditch uniform, who, for Harry’s liking, resembles Sirius too much.

He had come to know the boy as Regulus Black, Sirius’ brother, and Harry, hypnotised, just as Sluggorn had been of his presence, stares at the photo intently as Sluggorn describes him, the pleasure it had been being his teacher while professing the disappointment of not being his brother’s, how he had never been able to complete his collection of teaching members of the Black family through the lack of Sirius.

Before they can continue, they’re interrupted by Dumbledore coming back from the loo, a muggle magazine in hand about knitting patterns, a jolly expression on his face as he holds it up for Sluggorn to see as he asks if he could keep it. Sure enough, he’s given the go, and before Sluggorn can protest they make a go for the door once more, now in its place again.

Not even a few steps out of the door, Sluggorn comes rushing through, yelling about relenting to the hidden proposal that Dumbledore had come to present to him, as he had, it seemed, many times before. Returning to Hogwarts to teach potions. To Harry, it seemed a rather redundant proposal, especially coming all this way to pursue and persuade a man who did not ask to be impressed or be offered more than he bargained for and one who had seemed to be more than willing to take the offer once considered through. With just one interaction, Harry had come to understand who Horace Sluggorn was. He likes his comfort, the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people as he boasts about them to others. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out. It had been, just as they returned to the spot they had apparated to, that Harry truly realised just why Sluggorn had so easily accepted that which he had so vehemently denied before.

Him. It had all made sense. Harry wondered if he was so appealing to a man like Sluggorn, who did not seem to want anything and asked for nothing more than what he needed, that he would risk it all just to acquire him in the list of students Sluggorn had the pleasure to boast about.

The was something more, which he was shielded from, yet, but one that he knew would be revealed to him soon. Not now, it seemed, perhaps not the time yet. He didn’t ask or inquire, he knew it would be futile. He trusted Dumbledore, and he knew that he did things a certain way because those same things required them.

He took a deep breath as he placed his hand on the one Dumbledore extended to him, dreading what was to come next.

What he did not expect was for his next apparition to be worse than his first. His shoes, as well as a good chunk of his trousers, were wet from the running pond in the field the Burrow was built around, he had just landed into.

He groaned as he stumbled through the muddy ground under the water, trying to regain his footing as he winced.

Once he gets close enough to the house, he glances about, until his eyes land on the fiery-haired girl he shared complicated feelings for, Ginny, as she flits briefly past an upstairs window.

His reunion with his most dear friends had been bittersweet but a happy one nonetheless, even as he greeted Ginny, with whom he shared an air of awkwardness after she gave him a great grinning hug, the moment oddly charged, a surprise to both of them, which he thinks of even as he greets her mother, Molly Weasley, who he viewed as his own.

A copy of the Daily Prophet tumbles within a makeshift campfire of blue flames, protruding by Harry’s wand, but magically doesn’t disintegrate. Harry teases the fire with the tip of his wand, where ‘The Chosen One?’ mingles with Draco’s haunted face in flames, the photo taken outside the hearing for his father’s trial.

He, Ron and Hermione catch up on what’s been happening as of late, the fact that both Hermione’s parents, muggle-born that had no idea of the intricacies of the wizarding world, and Ron’s mother deemed the idea of returning to Hogswart to be too unfit to happen.

Harry shook his head as he argued against the notion of Hogwarts ever being dangerous.

“But we’re talking about Hogwarts. Dumbledore. What could be safer?” His question was met with both of his friends sharing a knowing look. Perhaps it was his naivety or the simple trust he blindly placed in a man who had proven to be more than reliable, but Harry truly believed in the idea that as long as Dumbledore was around nothing would happen. He knew that to be true, he would stick to his gun unless proven otherwise.

He believed he knew the old man, who he viewed as his mentor, better than everyone at school; what a fool Harry was, he didn’t know the man at all, only what he was given to believe he was. But such a young spirit could not be dispirited by the harsh reality of the world he was not shown, that which was purposely hidden from him. He needed to believe, otherwise what else would there be for him to believe in?

The comforting silence in the room breaks as the three break off in laughter, and the night comes alive with the flesh of youth. That night, as Harry lies on a straw-together makeshift bed, he looks out upon the blue field, where shining stars glisten brightly, contrasting their dark surroundings.

With his nose filled with the smell of sweet vanilla candles, he falls into the depths of his dreams, where warm fingertips trace and trail upon his face. The echoes of a muffled voice lull him into the darkness he had become so afraid of before he falls into their warm embrace.

He would soon find out whose hands those fingers belonged to and why they were reaching for his dreams.

AN: I wanted to preface that i'm writing this fanfic as a birthday gift to one of my friends and that with her permission I heavily edited this to make it a x reader story for you all to enjoy. I am not the biggest fan of this franchise even though I appreciate it for what it is, its impact on fandom works, and the childhood it took me through. It's been a long time since I've interacted with this fandom (which i'm not sure it's still alive for this x reader story to enjoy) or since I watched one of the movies, so please, if you think I'm not educated enough in the source material it's mostly likely because I am actually not. I will try my best to be faithful to the events of the movies since this is canon-compliant to them (especially because I have not read the books), and I hope that with that little warning in mind, you will be able to enjoy this as much as I actually found myself while writing it.

[milkcanslam]

Can u draw human masan smoochin human lammy plzzzz

Second chance...

[nonie-theanoniemous]

wrote this on a whim, i just want to geT this stupid ship out of my minddddd BCS I AM GOING INSANEEEEEEE

"What the hell are you doing?!" Zanka hisses, swats at the groping hands on his clothing, cupping on hidden limbs and touching protected flesh. Jabber's a warm weight in front of him, pinning him to the dirty wall as the other teen did his best to get his clawed hands to Zanka's heated skin. A nose to the side of his neck, chapped lips mouthing behind his ear and Zanka shivers. It's the dirty wall, it's this dirty wall and this dirty animal in front of me is what he tells himself and. well. He's not exactly wrong.

"Tell me to stop then," is giggled into the crook of his neck, claws digging into his hip. his top is halfway off his body, exposing his fair expanse of chest and collarbone. Zanka freezes, tensed and he wants to scream, wants to lash out but he's afraid that if he opened his mouth, some other noise would come out. instead, he grits his teeth, tries to keep his head down when Jabber's palm comes up to force it upwards.

at his resistance, Mankira curls into the locks of his hair to wrench his head upwards. "Well?" Jabber breathes, too close for comfort that Zanka could see the details of his hot pink eyes, blown wide with something else other than bloodlust. Zanka stubbornly keeps his mouth shut, grits his teeth at the pull on his hair. He chokes on a sound when Jabber shakes him hard, like a disobedient dog and the grin on the teens face is what pisses him off more.

like he's getting off on Zanka's pain, his suffering and really, that's not out of the norm for them. Every fight, its Zanka who bleeds and loses but trash beast balls its Jabber who hurts the more. Like a routine game, Zanka would inflict pain and injuries on him as much as he could until the other reaches his high and loses himself to the thirst for violence and defeats Zanka in a devastating blow, riding hard and blown.

it's supposed to be Zanka hurting him, because that's how they simply worked, not the other way around.

"fuck you," Zanka finally spits, finds a broken voice from the trenches of his gasping throat. Jabber's grin goes impossibly wide.

"that's not a no," Jabber croons, gleeful and Zanka tries to squirm away, ignores the threaded poisoned weapon in his hair and it's only the press of warm, dry lips against his makes him stop. the sensation is soft, almost caring, just a light press of kiss in a way he didn't expect from someone like Jabber. He's shocked to his core; a prey caught in a trap and Zanka doesn't know if he ever wanted to escape.

wet tongue prods at his frozen lips, and he could feel the grin pressed against him turn soft. Zanka's mind is white with panic and something else. a blare of alarm that made his ears ring. against his will, he opens his mouth, accepts Jabber despite the dying denial and a noise they couldn't explain escapes the both of them, body's pressing close and Zanka's a fool, he's going to die because he's a goddamn idiot and what scares him the most is that he doesn't mind if this is what ends him.

Jabber's groan is loud and hot when Zanka begins to cling to him, arms winding around his neck to pull him close. the kiss turns desperate, a dance of tongue for dominance. everything falls away as the only thing that filled their minds is each other's taste. teeth bit and drew blood, Jabber's pleasured moan a vibration to his fogging brain. iron filled Zanka's palette alongside the tongue that so desperately explored every inch of his mouth. Jabber tasted like blood, coppery tang so strong he almost missed the underlying sweetness of candy.

Zanka was losing himself to the pace of spit wet lips and excited tongue, of the exploring hands and the lack of oxygen and it's the feeling of something rutting against his thigh that snaps him back to reality, to the fact that he's currently having a hot make out session with his biggest, fattest, most evilest enemy to ever exist. Somehow, despite the weakened state Jabber's kiss left his knees in, he managed to knee the other in the stomach.

Jabber's wheeze is accompanied with laughter, eyes twinkling and Zanka doesn't know what to do. His arms come to hug himself as the world rushes back into clarity, that they were hidden inside a dirty alley that anyone can peak and walk into. His face burns, the sensation of sweat and heat registering.

the pounding of his heart threatens to knock his rib cage open and Zanka tells himself it's the disgust and fear and revoltment.

Jabber's staring at him like he's a meat to eat, tongue coming to lick at his lips. a slow cackle leaves him, "Mhmm you taste as good as how I imagined my dear Zanka. What do you think is more fun? Us ripping each other or this? our pleasure together in a one big high."

he sounds deranged and Zanka can't believe this is the same dude who made him lightheaded with a couple of licks and slurp. Zanka opens his mouth but a familiar voice makes him pale in the face instead.

"Zanka?! Where the hell are you?!" Follo's voice sounded close, tinged with panic and Gris not too far from him. Zanka only has a split-second decision as Jabber's face twisting into mischief. He made an aborted move as though he was going to answer back and Zanka doesn't thin when he grabs the teen forward and smashes their lips together.

Jabber doesn't waste anytime curling into his grip, allows himself to be manhandled when Zanka reverses their position to slam him into the wall. "ngh love it when you get rough," he slurs, lips caught between Zanka's teeth.

"Shut the fuck up and keep kissing me you psychotic masochist," he hisses, digs his fingers into Jabber's neck tightly. He tries to ignore the way his stomach flipped at the pleasured giggle the motion drew from Jabber, denied the sensation of saliva and tongue against another, at the way a warm body happily moved and grinded against him.

except- there was no ignoring or denying the way Zanka was responding, at how he's catching noises at the back his throat, at how his hips are just as needy and firm, at the fact that he's having a hot make out session with his biggest, fattest, most evilest enemy to ever exist. Coherence leaves him when they separate for air, forehead to forehead and eyes as wide as each other, sweat and blushes warm on their skin. saliva is a bridge between swollen lips, red as a cherry and Zanka will forever deny the wild grin that graced his lips to match with the most infuriating, dangerous and terrifyingly beautiful asshole he has never met.

[unhingedmeow]

I'm imagining Stiles getting left behind by his pack after saying "everything is alright guys" after a supernatural fight with a were and collapsing from exhaustion on the ground.

But Derek always paying attention to him (he doesn't know why), and it's the only one who stays behind and picks Stiles up from the ground and bring him to his house to take care of him.

They start to depend on each other and falls in love.

[vicontheinternet]

No offense to ppl who actually like fourth wing but it sound like a rough draft or bullet point for a book strung together. I don’t get why ppl were frothing at the mouth over this book

[sunny374940]

Shadows Falling ch.5 (Sun-warmed rocks)

Well hello, this chapter took such a long time (I had to split it in two, because Ciaran has a lot on his mind).

Summary: Ciaran is rescued! And he gets some well deserved comfort, but really, what's wrong with these people? Why are they being nice to him?

Here on ao3

A bit below:

Whatever hope he'd held that Rhys wouldn't give him up proved to be unfounded once the sigil on his neck started to burn and Ciaran realized with a sinking heart that he really was alone. 

He tried to fight the guards as they led him to a pillar at the end of the hall, but he was too weak and terror was turning his limbs to lead. They chained him there to wait for his torturer and ushered in the initiates in the meanwhile; most of them children, looking at him with wide eyes. He remembered being this small, watching in horror as another unfortunate soul underwent days of torture for their disobedience. The little ones would know the value of doing as they were told after they saw what would happen to him.

And the torturer was coming, making Ciaran press himself against the cold stone. There was no escape now, he should have killed himself when he had the chance, but he'd still wanted to hope. 

What an idiot he was.

@lavender-tea-fling, @spinfins, @mercars-musings, @redheadsrambling, @sorrowsfallallaround, @notyourmamasdeerbat