#fire without being happy and instead being very very cold is... Was fascinating.

[eye-of-leviathan]

Lev really is one of those grandpas you find out was involved in hardcore war shit and a bunch of serious high ranking jobs when he was younger and you just cannot believe it's the same person

[charmed-quill]

The Art of Desire// B.B x reader ch. 15

authors note at the end of the chapter

summary: Benedict Bridgerton longs for more than society’s expectations, drawn instead to art and freedom. Y/N, a fiercely talented but struggling artist, fights for recognition in a world that dismisses women of her class. When their paths cross, fascination sparks—a shared passion for art bridging the divide between privilege and survival. But their growing connection threatens them both in a world where reputation is everything. As scandal looms and duty calls, they must choose: conform to society’s rules or risk everything for love, ambition, and the art that brought them together.

content warning for smut this chapter

word count: 5.8k

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Chapter 15 - My Cottage

The rain hadn’t stopped all day.

It drummed steadily against the windows of the cottage, not fierce, but persistent, like it was trying to be let in. The hearth crackled half-heartedly. His tea had long gone cold. The corners of the sketchbook in his lap were curled from the damp air, but he hadn’t touched the charcoal in over an hour.

Instead, he sat by the window, legs folded under him like a boy, staring out at the grey fields and the heavy mist that hung like breath over the hills.

It was all very poetic.

Painfully so.

“I’ve become a cliché,” Benedict muttered, pressing his forehead lightly against the cool pane. “A lovelorn fool in the countryside, pining over a woman.”

As if to add insult to injury, the wind picked up and rattled the shutters with unnecessary vigour. He sighed—long and theatrical, as though the weather itself was conspiring to deepen his melancholy.

On the side table beside him lay a letter.

Unfolded. Creased. Read three times.

Eloise’s handwriting marched across the page like a woman in a hurry.

Dear Benedict, I am writing under protest. Mother insists that “you must be kept abreast of things,” as if you are not voluntarily exiling yourself like a character from a dreadful novel. To her credit, you’ve missed very little in the way of brilliance. Daphne has returned from Clyvedon with her children and continues to be insufferably calm about everything. Colin has, against all odds, remained scandal-free for an entire fortnight. Simon came to dinner and scowled magnificently at every suggestion Hyacinth made about poetry. And I—heroically, I might add—have been forced to endure two salons without your brooding presence in the corner.

Benedict smiled faintly, eyes drifting to the hearth.

But you should know... Your absence is felt. People ask after you. Penelope, Francesca, Mother, even Kate—though she pretends not to care. And Y/N—

He had stopped reading there the first time.

And the second.

And the third.

Because the words that followed were not what he had expected.

She’s returned to society in earnest, though I suspect it is society that’s finally crawling toward her. Her name is being spoken in rooms that once forgot her. Her work, Benedict, it is being seen. And felt. And whispered about in ways that are impossible to ignore. She was at Lady Danbury’s salon. Mother saw her. Spoke to her, even. I’m told it was a conversation worth noting. She looked well. Not happy, perhaps. But… luminous. And yes, if you must ask, she was wearing red.

That line had undone him.

It still did.

Benedict let the letter fall again onto the rug, rubbing a hand down his face. The fire cracked loudly, and the rain kept falling. Outside, the world was lush and green, made brighter by the wet, but inside, everything felt muted. Thin.

It was raining the night she kissed him.

It was raining the morning she sent him away.

And now here he was, surrounded by sketches and silence, listening to the storm whisper things he could not say aloud.

“I should’ve stayed,” he muttered.

But the truth was more complicated than that.

He had left to forget her. He had stayed away because he couldn’t.

And now…

Now she was painting again.

Living again.

Shining.

Without him.

And if he were a better man, he might have been satisfied by that.

But he was not.

He was in love.

And rain or no rain, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending that distance had solved anything at all.

The sky had cracked open long ago.

It poured with the kind of relentless fury that made the world feel far away—like something unreachable beyond the glass. Trees bent against the wind. Leaves skittered like frightened things across the path that led down from the cottage and disappeared into the woods. The stone walls groaned, rain battering them from all sides, as if demanding entry.

Benedict sat in the drawing room, hunched over, elbows on his knees, soaked in shadow and silence.

The hearth hissed. The fire had burned low, reduced now to the glow of tired embers. Even that seemed half-hearted.

He hadn’t lit a lamp.

He didn’t need to see the room. He knew it too well. Every chair. Every rug. Every empty corner where she might’ve stood, if things had gone differently. If she had said yes.

He had reread Eloise’s letter until the paper softened, until his eyes blurred, until every word seared itself into the hollow behind his ribs.

She was painting again. She had worn red. She had spoken with their mother. She was luminous.

Luminous.

And he was drenched in grey.

“I can’t stay here,” he muttered aloud, voice hoarse. “I’ll rot here.”

He stood abruptly, shoved aside the chair. His sketchbook fell to the floor with a thump. The sound echoed too loud in the quiet. He didn’t care.

He crossed the room, grabbed his coat from the peg and shoved his arms through the sleeves. His hands trembled as he reached for his satchel, throwing it open and shoving things inside. Not clothes. Not truly. Just things. Whatever he could find in his desperation—charcoal, ink, the letter, his journal, a half-finished study of a woman’s mouth he’d drawn one sleepless night and couldn’t bring himself to tear out.

He slung the strap across his chest, breath ragged now. He needed to move. To do something. To get to her, no matter what. Even if it ended in ruin. Even if she turned away again. Even if she told him she had outgrown him, the same way she had outgrown fear.

He stumbled down the stairs, boots thudding on wood, the storm louder with every step. He reached the door. The brass latch was slick in his grip, the wind hissing through the edges of the frame.

And then—

A knock.

He stopped.

It was soft. Just once. A single, decisive knock.

Like it had been planned. Like it belonged to someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

The storm beat behind it. Rain struck the door like the frantic tapping of fingers. But that knock was not the wind.

Benedict didn’t move.

Not at first.

His throat went dry. His pulse leapt behind his ribs.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He stared at the door as if it had come alive, his hand frozen around the latch.

Another knock.

Firmer, this time.

The satchel slipped from his shoulder and dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

He moved slowly. As though some part of him was afraid to touch the moment. Afraid it would vanish like a dream, evaporate before he could get close enough to believe it was real.

He reached for the latch.

Flicked it open.

And pulled the door wide.

The wind slammed into him first, cold and sharp and wet. But he didn’t feel it.

Because there, on the stone threshold, cloaked in rain and firelight, hair tangled and dripping, hands trembling slightly at her sides—stood Y/N.

Her cheeks were flushed from the wind, her gown darkened with water, clinging to her in places it shouldn’t. A strand of hair stuck to her mouth. Her eyes were wide, searching his face like she wasn’t sure if she was too late.

And Benedict—

Benedict forgot to breathe.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And then—silence.

Not total. The storm still beat against the windows, the wind groaned beneath the eaves, and water dripped steadily from the hem of Y/N’s cloak to the floorboards. But between them, in the space where neither dared to speak first, there was only silence.

Benedict hadn’t moved.

Neither had she.

They simply stood there, two people suspended in the echo of everything they hadn’t said. The cottage smelled of rain and woodsmoke and something like hope, stretched too tight.

He looked older. Not worse. Not worn. But softer around the edges. As though the loneliness had smoothed something sharp in him. There was paint beneath his fingernails and a charcoal smudge along his jaw, and his eyes, those gentle, maddening eyes, were looking at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

And she—

She looked like a miracle he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Her lips were parted, her lashes wet. Her chest rose and fell with breath she hadn’t quite caught. Her hands, limp at her sides, trembled from more than just cold.

The silence throbbed between them.

He didn’t rush to fill it.

She did.

“I’ve been an idiot,” she whispered.

Rain clung to her lashes, streaked down her neck, and soaked the fabric of her coat until it clung to her.

Benedict blinked. He didn’t move. Not yet.

Y/N stood shaking beneath the weight of her own words. Of everything she had never dared say. She swallowed hard, her voice low and raw.

“I—” Her breath caught. She shook her head, and droplets flew from the ends of her curls, rainwater or tears—it didn’t matter now. “I thought I was protecting myself. That if I kept you at a distance, I could keep something for me. That if I locked that door, I could survive the way I always have—on my own.”

Her voice wobbled, but she pressed on. “I told myself I didn’t need anyone. That love was just a beautiful word for dependency, and I couldn’t afford that. Not after everything. I built my life from the dirt up, Benedict. I made myself from nothing. And then you came along—laughing, and kind, and impossible—and you saw me. Not just my work. Me. And it terrified me.”

He was still silent. Still standing there in the half-light, drenched and open and waiting. As if he knew the storm wasn’t done yet.

Y/N stepped forward. Just once.

“I was wrong,” she said. Her voice cracked like thunder. “God, I was so wrong.”

Her chest heaved, her breath trembling.

“I didn’t push you away because I didn’t love you,” she said. “I pushed you away because I do. Because I’ve never loved anyone before, and I didn’t know how. And I thought that loving you would mean losing everything I fought so hard to become.”

Her words hung there in the air between them—fragile, breaking, holy.

“I love you,” she said again, more firmly, even as the tears clung to her chin. “I’ve loved you since the moment you looked at me like I wasn’t strange for being angry and loud and messy. Since you looked at me like I could be more than a cautionary tale.”

Benedict still didn’t speak. His lips parted, but the words stayed in his throat.

“I thought needing you would make me weak,” she went on, softer now. “That it would make me small. But I was wrong. I’m the smallest version of myself without you. I’ve walked through rooms full of people who know my name and felt nothing, because you weren’t there to share it with me.”

She took one final step.

“I love you,” she said one last time, barely more than breath. “And if you’ve stopped loving me, if I’ve burned that bridge past recognition, I’ll go. I’ll walk back into that storm and never look back. But I needed to tell you. Once. Honestly.”

Her voice failed her then. Her shoulders shook.

And Benedict, silent until now, finally moved.

He crossed the space between them in two strides and cupped her face with both hands, reverently, like she was the only solid thing in the world.

His voice was hoarse, a rasp pulled from the deepest part of his chest.

“You,” he said, “are the most maddening, woman I have ever met.”

She let out a broken laugh that turned into a sob.

“I have been in love with you every day since the night you looked me in the eye and told me I didn’t know what I was talking about,” he whispered, thumb brushing the salt from her cheek. “And you were right. You were right about so many things.”

He swallowed, shaking with it now, too.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he said. “Not because I wanted to possess you. Not because I wanted to fix you. But because I wanted to choose you. Every day. Even when it’s hard. Even when you tell me to leave. Even when you’re in a thunderstorm declaring war on your own heart.”

Their foreheads touched. The rain clung to them like absolution.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Her hands rose, trembling, and gripped his waistcoat like it was the only thing keeping her standing.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I was so scared.”

“So was I.”

“But I want to stay this time,” she said. “Even if I don’t know how to do it right. Even if I fall apart. I want to stay.”

Benedict leaned in, their noses brushing.

“Then stay,” he whispered. “And we’ll figure it out together.”

And when their lips met, it wasn’t the desperate, frantic thing they’d shared in the past. It was slow. Solid. Sacred. Like a promise carved into the bones of the earth.

Because they had broken open.

And now, they could begin.

And when she let out a sob of relief—raw and shaken—he kissed her like a man who’d been drowning since the day she left.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom.

Benedict was pressing her back against the door, his mouth finding hers like it had been waiting, starving for this moment. His kiss was everything she remembered and nothing she could have prepared for: heat and promise and a ragged sound in his throat that made her knees go weak.

Y/N gasped into him, her hands already tangled in his hair, fingers curling at the nape of his neck as if anchoring herself there could undo the months apart. She tasted rain on his lips, smoke on his skin. He was solid and warm and here, and that was enough to send tears pricking at the backs of her eyes all over again.

“Tell me this is real,” she breathed between kisses, her mouth dragging against his jaw, his cheek, his neck. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

Benedict pulled back just enough to look at her—really look at her. His eyes were dark with something that looked like reverence and ruin all at once.

“You’re not dreaming,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re mine.”

Then his mouth was on her throat, open and desperate, as he tugged the soaked cloak from her shoulders. She helped him, fingers fumbling at the fastenings, the wet fabric hitting the floor with a dull slap. He made a sound low in his throat as his hands found her waist, bunching her gown up around her hips.

“You have no idea,” he growled, “how many nights I’ve imagined this.”

She reached for the buttons of his coat with shaking hands. “I do,” she said. “Because I’ve imagined it, too.”

Their hands were clumsy, frantic. His shirt was half-untucked before he yanked it over his head, her gown sliding from her shoulders in a rustle of silk and breathless moans. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity of him—the way his eyes raked over her like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, almost like a confession. “God, you’re real.”

He kissed down her throat, across her collarbone, his hands sweeping over every inch of skin like he needed to memorise her all over again. She gasped when he cupped her breasts, when his thumb brushed over her nipple, and she arched into him like instinct.

“Benedict,” she whimpered, her hands sliding down his chest, over his stomach, to where he was already hard and aching beneath his trousers.

He groaned at her touch, his head falling forward, forehead resting against hers. “I need you,” he said, voice breaking. “I don’t want to wait—”

“Then don’t,” she said, breathless. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Somehow, they made it to the rug before the fire, her back hitting the floor as he lowered her down, kissing her the entire way. Her legs parted easily beneath him, welcoming him home. His hands trembled as he pushed her shift up, as she tugged at his waistband and helped him bare them both fully.

When he finally pressed into her, the stretch was dizzying—achingly perfect. She clung to him, gasping his name like it might hold her together, and he kissed her like he was trying to stitch the weeks and months and heartbreak back into something whole.

They moved together slowly at first, letting the reality of it settle into their bones. But it didn’t take long before the hunger caught up with the months apart, the nights alone, the desperation of knowing what they had almost lost. His rhythm quickened, hers rose to meet it, their bodies finding each other again and again and again.

She cried out when he hit a spot deep inside her that had her seeing stars.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, barely holding himself back.

“Yes,” she moaned, wrapping her legs around him. “More—please—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

Their bodies slid and tangled on the floor, damp skin against skin, kisses growing more desperate, more messy, more real. She raked her nails down his back. He buried his face in her shoulder and whispered her name like a prayer, like a curse, like a plea.

When she came, it was with a sharp cry, her back arching, her body tightening around him so perfectly he nearly came undone right then. But he held on long enough to follow her into it, thrusting harder, faster, until his own release crashed into him like a wave. He collapsed over her, trembling, their bodies still tangled, the storm still raging just beyond the windows.

But inside the cottage, there was only warmth.

Only them.

He kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She traced a lazy hand over his back, her eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he murmured into her skin.

Y/N smiled, her voice low and spent and full of wonder.

“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t want to go.”

And for the first time in months, neither of them felt like they had to run.

They lay tangled together by the fire, wrapped in warmth and blankets and the heady, aching quiet of what had just passed between them. His fingers toyed gently with a lock of her hair, her leg still slung lazily over his hips. The storm had quieted to a whisper. Her heartbeat hadn’t.

It had been too much, and not enough. All at once. The days and months between them compressed into one glorious, fumbling, breathtaking rush. And now, there was only the after.

Benedict pressed a kiss to her temple. “You haven’t told me how you found me.”

She stilled slightly, chin tucked against his chest.

“You didn’t ask,” she murmured.

“I’m asking now.”

Y/N hesitated. Not from shame, but from the absurdity of it. Because truly, it had been absurd.

She rolled onto her back with a dramatic sigh, staring up at the beams overhead. “You can’t laugh.”

“Darling, you tracked me down in the middle of nowhere and knocked on my door like a fever dream. I won’t laugh.”

She gave him a look. “You will. Eventually.”

He smirked, raising his eyebrows. “Now you have to tell me.”

Y/N ran a hand over her face. “Alright. But just know I could’ve asked Eloise. I could have asked Colin. Or even your mother. But I didn’t.”

He tilted his head, amused. “And why not?”

“Because I was afraid they wouldn’t tell me,” she said simply. “And because I was terrified that if I said I was looking for you, they’d ask why. And I didn’t have an answer, I was ready to say out loud yet.”

Benedict’s smile softened, but he stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“So,” she said with a sigh, “I started with breadcrumbs. I remembered you saying something, months ago, about needing to escape to ‘somewhere with skies that weren’t ruined by the smell of horse dung and cologne.’ Which was not helpful.”

“That does sound like me,” he murmured.

“Then I remembered you mentioned sheep. And hills. And something about a stream that only looked right at dusk?”

He blinked. “You remembered that?”

“I wrote it down,” she admitted sheepishly. “Once. When you were sketching on the back of a menu and didn’t think I was watching.”

He reached up and gently brushed a knuckle down her cheek.

“So I asked around,” she went on. “I started with Mr. Beattie. He didn’t know anything specific, but he did say he’d once posted a crate of canvases to a village in Wiltshire.”

Benedict laughed, delighted. “You interrogated Mr. Beattie?”

“I flirted with Mr. Beattie,” she corrected, “because I was desperate and he’s seventy-two and has a weakness for almond biscuits.”

He snorted.

“From there, I went to the post office. Talked to a clerk who remembered seeing parcels addressed to a ‘Mr. B. Bridgerton at ‘My Cottage.’ Which, by the way, is the most infuriatingly vague name for a house.”

Benedict grinned. 

“Of course he did,” she muttered. “Anyway. The clerk wouldn’t tell me where it was. So I followed him to the pub and bought him three pints and a plate of pickled eggs until he accidentally pointed at a map and said, ‘somewhere around there.’”

Benedict was laughing now, quietly, but without cruelty.

“So,” she continued, a bit breathless, “I borrowed—borrowed—a horse from a stable boy I once painted for a shilling and a favour. Rode out of London at dawn with a map I barely understood, an extra cloak, and exactly one letter I’d rewritten six times and tore up before I ever got here.”

“You rode out of London on a horse—”

“A very stubborn horse,” she interrupted. “Who threw a shoe outside Swindon and left me walking the last three miles through mud.”

She paused.

“Uphill.”

Benedict was nearly crying from laughter now, hands running over his face. “You lunatic.”

“I thought I’d passed it,” she added. “Your cottage. I almost gave up and slept in a barn. But then I saw the light. And I thought… just one more knock.”

She looked over at him, eyes shining.

“I didn’t know what I’d say. Or if you’d even answer. But I had to see you.”

He was silent, eyes wide and full, lips parted just slightly as if trying to form words and finding them too small.

She sat up slightly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“I came all this way because I love you,” she said simply. “Even if it took every cursed step to realise it.”

Benedict reached up and pulled her back down into his arms, burying his face in her neck.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice rough. “And no one—no one—has ever come for me like that.”

She smiled into his hair.

“I had a map. Sort of.”

“You had spite, and I find that far sexier.”

They lay there, laughing quietly as the fire hissed behind them, and outside, the storm passed.

Inside, at last, they had made it home.

The storm had passed sometime in the night.

The cottage was quiet now, save for the faint rustle of the breeze outside and the lazy pop of the fire, reduced to warm embers. Light filtered in through the curtains in soft strokes, golden and forgiving, painting the wooden floorboards in sleepy brushstrokes.

Y/N stirred first.

She was warm—too warm—but in the best way. Wrapped in a cocoon of wool blankets and bare skin, limbs tangled with Benedict’s as if the two of them had collapsed into the shape of some ancient sculpture and hadn’t bothered to shift since.

His arm was around her waist, palm splayed against her stomach. His breath tickled the back of her neck in slow, even waves. He was still asleep.

She smiled lazily, stretching just enough to feel the soreness between her thighs—a good soreness. A lovely ache that reminded her of everything they had said without words. Of all the time they had lost and just begun to reclaim.

Benedict murmured something unintelligible behind her, nuzzling closer, his chest pressed against her back. His hand drifted lower, not purposefully at first, just instinctively. Familiar. But then he paused.

Awake.

“Good morning,” he rasped, voice rough with sleep, low and quiet in her ear.

Y/N hummed. “Mmm. That’s generous. It still feels like night.”

He kissed the curve of her shoulder, slow and soft. “Then let’s stay in it a little longer.”

His hand smoothed over her stomach, fingertips drawing idle circles. Her skin warmed beneath his touch. Her thighs pressed together, slow and instinctive.

She didn’t respond, not with words, only turned in his arms to face him, one leg sliding up to hook over his hip, blanket slipping down her bare back.

Benedict’s eyes were barely open, but he looked at her like she was sunrise itself.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured and leaned in to kiss her.

It was different this time. Less desperate, less frantic. It was slow and sleepy and sinful in a way that made her toes curl. His mouth tasted of warmth and heat and the kind of softness she’d never been allowed to want before. His hands mapped her like familiar terrain, skimming her hips, her back, her thighs.

She arched into him, their bodies moving together beneath the blankets, as natural as breath. He kissed her jaw, her throat, down her collarbone with a reverence that made her feel like something precious.

When he rolled her onto her back, she went easily.

His curls fell into his eyes as he settled between her thighs, his hand guiding himself to her with exquisite care. They both gasped at the contact, still so sensitive from the night before, but already craving more.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice barely a whisper, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

She nodded, already breathless. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He pressed into her slowly, gently, filling her with the same care he’d once poured into every brushstroke. Her hands rose to his back, pulling him closer. His lips found hers, open and soft, breathing her in like air.

Their rhythm was slow, indulgent. No urgency, no rush, just the delicious, dizzying pleasure of rediscovering one another in the quiet glow of morning. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers tangling in his hair, her hips rising to meet him with every stroke.

Benedict groaned softly, forehead pressed to hers. “You feel like heaven.”

She smiled, kissed the corner of his mouth. “You smell like turpentine.”

He laughed, deep and low, and thrust just a little harder. She gasped, eyes fluttering shut.

“Say that again,” he murmured.

“You smell like—God—Benedict—”

Their bodies rocked together, gentle but deep, the kind of lovemaking that said I missed you, I want you, I’m not going anywhere this time. Her pleasure built slowly, blooming low in her belly like the stretch of the sun across the sky.

When she came, it was with a breathy gasp, her body curling around him as she whispered his name like a vow.

He followed moments later, spilling into her with a quiet groan, burying his face against her neck as if he could hide in her, live there forever.

They stayed like that for a long time—hearts slowing, limbs softening. He didn’t move. She didn’t want him to.

And when the sunlight stretched across them and the fire gave its final sigh of warmth, Y/N kissed him once more.

“Still not leaving,” she said quietly.

Benedict smiled against her skin. “Good. Because this time, I’d chase you.”

The smell of earth and firewood lingered in the cottage air, wrapped around the golden haze of morning light. The storm had left everything freshly washed, the trees outside still dripped, the windows fogged with the promise of a new day, and somewhere in the rafters, a bird sang as if it had been waiting for the quiet.

Benedict blinked awake once more, slowly, rolling toward the space beside him only to find it empty and warm.

He sat up, groggy, the blanket falling from his bare chest. Then he heard it, soft humming and the clatter of pans from the little kitchen tucked at the far end of the cottage.

And then he saw her.

Y/N.

In his shirt from the night before, the sleeves rolled up sloppily to her elbows, the hem brushing the backs of her thighs, and nothing else visible underneath. She stood on tiptoe, fiddling with a tin of tea, brow furrowed and hair still tousled from sleep. The morning light kissed her skin, painted her like something out of a dream he’d half-forgotten.

He leaned against the doorframe and smiled, arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t suppose you’re trained in noble breakfasting,” she said over her shoulder, without turning around. “Because I’m not burning my fingers for a man who doesn’t even know how to boil water.”

He barked a laugh. “That’s rich coming from the woman trying to scramble eggs in a toasting pan.”

She whirled, grinning. “I knew you were watching.”

“Hard not to, with you looking like every fantasy I’ve ever had about domestic bliss.”

She rolled her eyes but blushed anyway. “Flattery won’t get you out of peeling those potatoes.”

Benedict padded barefoot toward her, still shirtless, still grinning, and planted a kiss on her shoulder. “Lucky for you, the staff won’t be scandalised by our culinary blasphemy.”

She paused. “Wait. Staff?”

“Hmm.” He flicked her a sheepish glance as he pulled open a drawer to retrieve a knife. “The caretakers usually take turns visiting their daughter in Hampshire. They’re gone until Tuesday.”

Y/N turned slowly, wooden spoon still in hand. “You’re telling me... we’re alone?”

He grinned. “Very.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So what you’re saying is, there’s no one here to rescue you when you inevitably burn this entire breakfast.”

“You wound me.”

She laughed and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “You’ll live.”

As she turned back to the stove, hips swaying as she stirred eggs with distracted grace, Benedict leaned against the counter and watched her.

Watched her.

She wasn’t trying to be beautiful. She just was. Hair tangled. Eyes tired but bright. Her laugh filled the tiny kitchen like music. She was barefoot, bossy, and making eggs in a stranger’s cottage like she belonged there.

And it hit him—she did.

God, he wanted this. Not just today. Not just one soft morning after months apart. He wanted every morning with her.

And the next.

And the ones after that.

He didn’t want to risk losing her to time or logic or waiting for the perfect dress and the approval of a crowd.

So he blurted it out.

“Marry me.”

Y/N paused mid-stir. The wooden spoon hovered in her hand, its handle slick with butter, steam curling from the pan.

She turned slowly, glancing over her shoulder like she hadn’t heard him correctly.

Her brow lifted. “What?”

He was already walking toward her, barefoot on the cottage floorboards, shirt rumpled from sleep. The morning light caught in his curls, still mussed from the pillow, and there was something serious—something sacred—in the way he looked at her.

“I’m serious,” he said again.

“I gathered,” she murmured, heartbeat ticking upward like a metronome gone wild.

He reached out gently, closing his hand around the spoon and setting it down on the counter, never once breaking eye contact. Then, softly, he turned her to face him. His hands settled over hers like an anchor.

Her eyes searched his face, uncertain but tender. Like she wanted to believe him, but didn’t quite trust the world not to steal it away.

“I don’t want to wait,” he said, voice thick with meaning. “Not weeks. Not months. Not for society’s permission or pomp. Let’s go to Scotland.”

Her mouth parted. “Scotland?”

“Gretna Green,” he said. “Nine days’ journey. Less if the roads are clear and we don’t stop for meals. We’d be married before the month is out. No banns. No invitations. No meddling matrons sizing up your dress or your bloodline.”

She blinked. “Benedict…”

“I mean it.” He tightened his grip on her hands, not forcefully, just enough to ground her. “You’ve already crossed half of England to find me. You braved rain and mud and every ounce of stubborn pride between us. Let me do something reckless for you. Let’s stop letting the world get between us.”

Y/N’s lips parted like she was going to protest. Or laugh. Or cry.

He kept going.

“If we go back to London,” he said, his voice soft but urgent, “we’ll be buried in ceremony. In scrutiny. We’ll be told how to kiss and when to stand and what names matter. But here…” He gestured around the cottage, at the firewood still stacked by the door, at the half-made tea cooling on the table. “Here it’s just us. And I’d rather marry you in a cottage at the edge of the world than wait another day to call you my wife.”

She let out a breath, shaky and full of disbelief.

“You’re serious,” she whispered, as if the weight of it only just now hit her.

“Entirely,” he said, eyes shining. “I love you. And if I don’t marry you soon, I’ll combust from the sheer ache of wanting to call you mine.”

Y/N stepped back half a pace, dazed, and looked around the room.

The stove hissed with forgotten eggs. The toast in the rack was going cold. Her shawl lay draped over a chair like someone had been in a hurry. The place was warm and lived-in and theirs, and yet the world outside still waited, teeth bared, ready to question the shape of their love.

But he didn’t.

He never had.

Her gaze drifted back to him. Benedict Bridgerton, with his open hands and crumpled shirt and eyes that never once flinched when she came at the world swinging.

“I suppose,” she murmured, stepping close again, “if I’ve already stolen your shirt…”

He leaned in, voice a low hum between them. “You might as well steal my name?”

She smiled. That rare, real one—wide and reckless and devastating.

Then she kissed him.

Not like it was the first time, or the last time, or even a question. But like it was yes. Like it was home.

When they parted, she pressed her forehead to his.

“Alright, Bridgerton,” she whispered. “Let’s run away.”

He grinned like a man seeing the sun for the first time.

“Pack nothing,” he said. “We’ll buy whatever we need on the way.”

a/n: okay so this is the second last chapter before the epilogue. so enjoy!!! also it's another 2 for 1 since I'm posting chapter 16 soon ;)

[crazyyanderefangirlfan]

Ana Vasileiv

"I used to try hard to prove other wrong. Now I try to prove myself right."

Name: Anastasia Vasileiv

Nicknames: Ana (by everyone) , Tasia, Dead girl, Ghost queen, Queen of the underworld, My flower ( by her grandmother).

Hero Name: Morena

Title/Alias: The "Witchcraft" Hero

Gender: Female

Age: 15

Nationality: Russian

Ranking: Novice

Occupation: Student

Affiliation/Organization: U.A, Class 1-AHero

Appearance: Ana has gorgeous and demure oval shaped face with long platinum blonde hair tied in a braid crown with two strands framing her face, large doll-like sea green eyes and long lashes, and deathly pale skin. She has a short and fragile built like a doll. 

Costume: A long sleeve purple witch like dress with a black double corset around her waist. Black leggings and black knee-high boots with silver buckles. On top of her head is a kokoshnik like tiara.

Personality: Ana is a very kind and sweet individual, always polite to everyone and has the patience of a saint. She is well-mannered, elegant and has graceful way of speaking, this stems from being raised by her grandmother. Another trait she inherited is her love for flowers, specifically the dark ones. 

Despite her appearance and mannerisms, she loves macabre and is fascinated by occult and the concept of death. Due to the nature of her quirk, she has grown accustomed to death and doesn't even flinch at the sight of a rotting corpse. However that doesn't make her any less respectful, in fact it makes her more empathetic and more remorseful to those who died and gives the wronged a proper burial. Ana is also immune to horror movies and games.

Because of her grandmother's reputation, Ana strives to be a hero as great as her. She feels pressured on how everyone expects her to be a villain because of her quirk, and how she can never be her grandmother's successor. However, she hides the pain behind a cheerful mask.

Ana doesn't judge people based on rumors and the things they do. Instead she takes time getting to know them and find out why they do it. She's an open-minded person and unbiased willing to listen to the opinions or stories of two conflicting parties until coming up with a solution that will make them both happy or at least satisfied making her an excellent peacekeeper and diplomat.

History: Ana's parents were less that savory people, her father was a married man and her mother was his mistress. After Ana was born, her father moved away refusing to take responsibility, betrayed and angered by this her mother also left., leaving Ana in the care of her grandmother. The older woman was disappointed and upset of her daughter's actions, but loved her granddaughter nonetheless.

Ana discovered her quirk when she was four , she was shopping with her grandmother when she spotted a puppy about to be run over. Without thinking she ran to the street and saved it, though she felt the impact, she just felt a dull ache on her body. She later found out she can regenerate her body. However that's only one part of her quirk, she discovered the other half when she was nearly kidnapped. Ana was heavily frighten and did not remember much, but screams and bones, her grandmother later told her she can raise the dead.

Ana had a somewhat lonely childhood, she was ostracized by the other children, the girls were envious of her beauty and the rest of the children bully her for her quirk, even some adults were wary of her. So often visits the local cemetery, where the dead were her only friends.

Upon the recommendation of an old friend of her grandmother's, she got into U.A with their help

Equipment/Weapons: A scythe. The flames of the scythe are actually the souls of the damned and hateful, however the fire is cold.

Quirk: Undead witch

Character Strengths: She can raise the dead to fight for her or restrain her enemies, she can also summon the ghost/souls and harness their powers fuel her scythe. Ana is capable regenerating her body in a rapid  pace, to the point decapitating her head is useless. Numerous kinds of poisons and toxins are also useless.

Character Weaknesses: Ana can only summon the dead for 30 mins and if her opponents attacks are faster than her regeneration or more than she can handle, then she'll be greatly injured. Her only drawback is that if she summons too much her energy will decrease and she'll collapse in exhaustion.

Super moves:

The Dead's Grudge:

Description: Ana releases a powerful blast of spectral energy imbued with the grudges of restless spirits. Upon impact, the energy envelops her target, binding them with ethereal chains of resentment and causing intense spiritual anguish.

Usage: The Dead's Grudge is Ana's signature offensive move, utilized to immobilize or weaken adversaries by exploiting their emotional vulnerabilities. It's particularly effective against enemies with malicious intent or those susceptible to psychic attacks.

Agony of the Damned:

Description: Ana unleashes a torrent of icy-fire infused with the tormented souls of the deceased. The spectral flames scorch everything in their path, freezing adversaries in place while inflicting intense spiritual and physical agony.

Usage: Agony of the Damned serves as Ana's area-of-effect attack, capable of clearing out swaths of enemies or creating barriers of chilling fire. It's strategically employed to control the battlefield and deter opponents from advancing or attacking.

Black Parade:

Description: Ana summons an army of the undead from nearby graves or spiritual remnants. These spectral warriors obey her commands, attacking, distracting, or apprehending adversaries with relentless and coordinated strikes.

Usage: Black Parade leverages Ana's command over the undead to overwhelm opponents through sheer numbers and spectral strength. It's used strategically to turn the tide of battle or provide support to allies by creating diversions or engaging enemies directly.

Wailing Souls:

Description: Ana conjures forth disembodied souls tormented by their unresolved emotions. These wailing spirits swarm her adversaries, unleashing psychic screams that induce fear, confusion, and mental anguish.

Usage: Wailing Souls is Ana's psychological warfare tactic, exploiting her opponents' fears and vulnerabilities to disrupt their focus and sow discord among their ranks. It's particularly effective against foes with strong wills or mental fortitude.

From the Depths of Hell:

Description: Ana taps into the spectral energies lingering in her surroundings, summoning an army of ghosts and zombies that have perished in the area. These ethereal entities heed her call, emerging from the shadows to fight on her behalf.

Usage: From the Depths of Hell is Ana's ultimate move, reserved for dire situations where overwhelming force is required. By mobilizing the spirits of the deceased, she turns the battlefield into a haunting spectacle, overwhelming adversaries with relentless spectral attacks.

Stats

Power: 5/5 A

Speed: 4/5 B

Technique: 5/5 A

Intelligence: 3/5 C

Wits: 3/5 C

Cooperativeness: 4/5 B

Occult lover: 6/6 A

Other: 

Anastasia is a girl's name of Greek and Russian origins, meaning "resurrection." Fitting since she has a regeneration quirk and Vasiliev is patronymic from the personal name Vasil an equivalent of Greek Basileios 'royal'

Ana has a natural floral scent with a hint of vanilla.

Ana is a weeb thanks to Kimi's influence.

She's dating Fumikage Tokoyami

Ana can speak Russian, English and Japanese.

Ana was born on March 17

Ana's favorite food is Pechenye Yabloki

Her favorite activity is watching anime and gardening.

Ana always wanted a pet but most of the ones she wanted stay away from her.

Ana studied ballet and figure skating in a young age.

A/N: She was actually my first MHA oc but I forgot to place her.

[tothemeadow]

How Genshin Characters View the Traveler (aka crushes galore)

I know this isn't a Genshin blog but I need to get this off my chest and organize my thoughts because I believe in Aether harem supremacy ✌

Disclaimer: this is meant for fun, so don’t get your knickers in a twist

Albedo

Albedo blatantly admits that the traveler fascinates them. He'll usually ask to hear of their numerous journeys and take notes on them. He quite enjoys their company, but Albedo is pretty clueless about his own feelings, especially those of the romantic sort. He wonders why he catches himself staring at them so much.

Amber

Amber is easily one of the traveler’s biggest supporters. She almost gets a bit too excited whenever they’re around, but she’ll also outright deny that she has a crush on them if anyone were to poke fun at her. If time allows it, she’ll often ask them to go gliding around Mondstadt with her.

Ayaka

Ever since she first heard of the traveler, their accomplishments genuinely impressed Ayaka. However, once she first met them in person, she was taken aback by how attractive they were. Furthermore, once they helped her out, she gets more insight of how truly wonderful they are and her affections (hence the dance performance).

Barbara

Barbara truly believes they are an actual gift sent by Barbatos himself. Not only are they kind and helpful, but they treat her with respect as a person, not some glorified object. She tends to get flustered easily and turns shy whenever the traveler compliments her.

Beidou

Beidou likes to laugh, and she thinks the traveler is funny. She often swaps stories about fights and adventures with them, so there’s definitely a bond between them! She especially appreciates their fighting spirit and would be honored to have them join their crew or at least be a drinking buddy (despite what the traveler says).

Bennett

The traveler is essentially an idol in Bennett's eyes. He admires them so much, but it never gets to the creepy level of obsession. He jumps at the opportunity to travel with them every time. Bennett isn't really good with distinguishing feelings, but knowing that they treat him as an equal makes his stomach flutter.

Childe

Hey girlie 😏 Childe gets off to the idea of someone successfully kicking his ass or potentially being able to kill him, so he is an absolute simp for the traveler. He genuinely loves it when they show disinterest at his flirting, and he swoons whenever they're sarcastic with him. He's not pathetic, he's just a sadomasochist.

Chongyun

Frankly, Chongyun’s just happy to have another friend besides Xingqiu. He also really likes the way they don’t push him out of his comfort zone, but instead try to gently coax him out. He’s often very cold to the touch and constantly chilly, but he feels oddly warm whenever the traveler is beside him.

Diluc

Appreciates the fact that the traveler isn't full of shit (unlike some people). He's impressed by their competence and their fighting abilities, so he doesn't hesitate in complimenting them. He usually says things without really thinking through them, so sometimes Diluc says something sappy or embarrassing without meaning to.

Diona

Diona thinks the traveler may or may not be cute. She won't admit it, though. She won't admit that she cares about their wellbeing either. The traveler is just another person who's going to come and go, so there's no point in getting invested in them. It's a relatively simple crush, nothing more.

Eula

Eula is more or less impressed with the traveler. She views them as a truly reliable person that is able to get the job done. Although she may seem skeptical at times, one of her greatest fantasies is to find more rebellious people like them and break free of Mondstadt and her lineage.

Fischl

Perhaps the traveler is a dashing monarch from another world! It genuinely excites her that they follow along with her roleplaying, even when some of her messages get lost in translation. She appreciates their friendly gestures and the fact they don’t treat her like an outsider.

Ganyu

A lot of people have a difficult have a hard time understanding Ganyu’s feelings, so it came as quite as a surprise that she and the traveler clicked almost instantly. The traveler treats her as another person, not as some ancient being; this type of behavior is what made her become flustered around them in the first place ☺️

Hu Tao

Thinks they’re super cute! She’s one who’s playful and flirty; however, her ways are a bit odd. She usually tries to tell what kind of casket she’d lick out for the traveler, what she’d dress them in, etc. Sometimes, she’ll bake “special cookies” in the shapes of bones just for them.

Jean

Much like Barbara, Jean sees the traveler as a blessing. However, unlike Barbara, Jean doesn't swoon over their looks or mannerisms; frankly, she's just glad that someone rational is willing to help and not make too much of a commotion (like some certain members of the Knights of Favonius).

Kazuha

Has feelings for the traveler and makes no effort to hide them. Often times Kazuha will write them poems or haikus; sometimes he'll add dried flowers or a pretty leaf. He truly has a way with words, and it never fails to stir something inside the traveler's chest. He's very gentle and mild-mannered, so he never forces anything too heavy on them.

Kaeya

Kaeya is a humongous flirt and everyone knows it. However, he seems even more so once the traveler is in the picture, and he has the tendency of showing off in some sort of way. He knows he's attractive and uses his looks to advantage whenever he can, though he makes sure to keep it somewhat subtle.

Keqing

Keqing isn’t the type to deal with people’s shit and isn’t fond of fools. Fortunately, the traveler doesn’t fall into either of those categories, so she gets along with them quite well. She can find similarities in their personalities (like working constantly), so she appreciates the fact that she can openly discuss these sort of problems with them.

Klee

Genuinely sees them as an older sibling! Klee often goes to them for advice or to spend the day together; often times, she'll send letters or drawings whenever they're apart (and yes, the drawings usually consist of her and the traveler blowing something up).

Lisa

Another flirt, no problems asked. Lisa makes euphemisms quite a bit, and it truly brings her joy when her comments make the traveler blush. Despite being scolded by Jean to tone it down a bit, she genuinely can't help it. The traveler is her personal cutie, and it's only natural for her to treat them as such, isn't it?

Mona

She could easily tell right away that the traveler was someone special upon first glance. Mona sometimes dreams about them - especially about how they helped her out and landed her a place to stay in Mondstadt. She’s grateful for everything that the traveler has done, yet she’ll deny any feelings for them with a bright blush on her face.

Ningguang

The traveler is seen more as a pet. Ningguang is straight up the sugar mama type, and she openly flaunts it. Granted, she respects the traveler highly, but something about their being Liyue’s hero sounds very, very charming. Whether or not she makes a romantic move is entirely up to her, but it’s not out of the question.

Noelle

Needless to say, Noelle gets flustered fairly easily, so whenever the traveler shows affection and support towards her abilities, she somewhat short-circuits. She'll usually try to play off the fluttering in her heart and simply convince herself that the traveler is only being nice, but she can't deny the fact that she has feelings for them.

Qiqi

Another one that looks up to the traveler as an older sibling. She often refers to her notebook to remind herself as to why she likes them so much; they’re patient with her and genuinely try to help her remember things, plus they’ll bring her candies from Mondstadt sometimes.

Razor

Razor has no idea what romantic feelings are or how he should identify them. All he knows is that he gets excited whenever he sees the traveler, and his metaphorical tail wags furiously. He's keen on protecting them and bringing them food, plus he likes to lie next to them when they relax by the fire.

Rosaria

Like Diluc, Rosaria likes how the traveler isn’t full of shit and can actually put up a decent fight. However, she isn’t the type to compliment them, but rather points out how they can further hone their skills. If anything, she acts more like the traveler’s drunk aunt.

Sayu

She’s mostly indifferent towards the traveler, but - like with most people - she envies their height. Sayu appreciates that they don’t make fun of her size, plus they somehow always manage to find her when she’s hiding for her nap, so she’s fairly interested in what kind of person they are.

Sucrose

Like with most people, Sucrose is quite shy around the traveler, but for some reason she feels more comfortable around them than anyone else. She respects them much like she respects Albedo. She also thinks the traveler has a very nice smile.

Thoma

Thoma is another flirt, but he’s much more reserved in his ways. He’ll often make encouraging comments or flatter the traveler with a bright smile. His flirting either makes the traveler blush or it goes right over their head. There is no in between.

Venti

Venti has a slight... obsession for them. Not in a creepy way, but more in a clingy sense. He practically hangs from them whenever he's messing around, and he unashamedly writes them songs. Venti is also a big fan of hugs! When he's drunk, though, that's when things take a darker, more seductive turn...

Xiangling

Xiangling’s poor little heart goes doki doki whenever she gets to cook for the traveler, have them cook with her, or eat a meal that they prepared. The way to her heart is definitely through her stomach! It’s a fairly small crush since cooking is her true love in life, but if the traveler pops up at Wanmin Restaurant and specifically asks for her again… Oh boy.

Xiao

Secretly has feelings for the traveler, but he refuses to admit it. Xiao thinks feelings like these are a waste of time and only bring pain; since he's been through much and the ultimate emo, he's even more emotionally constipated than the normal person. Although he doesn't outright say it, he'll often show his affection through actions.

Xingqiu

Two words: library dates. Whether if it's meant to be romantic or not, Xingqiu has an affinity for those who show genuine intelligence and is willing to discuss stories with him. Xingqiu could literally sit there all day and listen to the traveler tell him about the different worlds he's been to. It's quite refreshing!

Xinyan

Like Venti, Xinyan will write songs for the traveler, but she's more timid about showing them since rock music has yet a long way to go in Liyue, much less in Teyvat. She'll casually invite them for a jam session and ask for their opinion on how her songs sound. All in all, she thinks the traveler is pretty rad 👀

Yanfei

Yanfei is very skilled and knowledgeable in a wide range of topics, but when it comes to the art of seduction… not so much. She isn’t entirely sure if she has affections towards the traveler or not, but she enjoys being in their company nonetheless. However… she may or may not have tried to teach them Liyue law while over tea 😅

Yoimiya

Thinks the traveler is a lot of fun! She was already interested by the mere fact that they were an outsider, but once they showed their worth and came to her aid, it really sealed the deal. Viewing fireworks with them was an incredibly crucial moment, and she’ll keep that memory stored in her heart for all time.

Zhongli

Zhongli is very protective of them and wants to spoil them, but at the same time, he's also very, very broke. It's not sugar daddy status, obviously, but he enjoys treating them out to a dinner or a night on the town. The traveler thinks he's doing it just to be nice, but Paimon calls bullshit.

[bigballofstress]

Pickpocket Part 2(Avengers x Child!Reader)

Description: After Clint takes you back to Avengers tower, the rest of the Avengers realize who you are, and most of them are not very happy with you.  It’s certainly an interesting conversation when you wake up, but slowly, they start to warm up to you.

Tell me if you want a third part, guys!  Part one here

To @prepareforsomestrangethings @captainam-erika-trash @bxtchboy69​ @creation-magician​ @viarogers​ @queenshadow142003​ @witchxaf I know I’ve said this already, but seriously, I can’t thank you guys enough for everything.  I love you all!

The living room went completely silent at the arrival of the two master assassins, everyone staring at the little bundle in their resident archer’s arms.

“Lady Natasha, Brother Clint, you have returned!” Thor, who had just returned to Earth from Asgard, shouted gleefully as he walked towards them, completely oblivious to the awkward atmosphere that had appeared in the room and asking the question that was on everybody’s minds but which they weren’t quite sure how to go about asking.  “Who is the young maiden in your arms?”

“She tried to rob Clint and then fainted, so we brought her back here,” Natasha stated bluntly.  Clint glared at her in frustration before turning back to the others, who were already on guard.

“The kid was starving,” he attempted to explain.  “I think she passed out from hunger.”  The others in the room glanced at the bundle of coats, still obviously wary, and Clint rolled his eyes.  “For God’s sake, the poor thing weighs next to nothing, and she’s freezing to the touch.  I’m pretty sure the coat is heavier than she is.”

“Lay her down on the coach.  I’ll grab some blankets,” Steve finally piped up.  Clint sighed in relief and brought her over to the very long couch where he gently set her down, resting her head on one of the throw pillows.  He brushed a few strands of hair out of her face, frowning when she still felt colder than a block of ice.

“Let me take a look at her,” Bruce offered.  Clint nodded in thanks and stepped back.  Bruce paused, his eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?” Clint asked, his stomach turning in worry.  Was he too late?  Was she already gone?

“That’s the girl from the library.”  Everyone froze at the words that fell out of Bruce’s mouth.

“No frickin’ way, let me see,” Tony rushed forward, peering over the back of the couch.  “Oh my god, she’s the kid who took my watch!  It really was the same girl!”

“And the one who stole my money,” Steve added, setting the pile of blankets down next to her before moving to start a fire in the nearby fireplace.

“Well, I guess that solves that mystery,” Tony crossed his arms.  “She couldn’t have been actually starving.  There’s no way that watch sells for anything under 2,000.  She lied to you so you wouldn’t turn her in.”

Clint shook his head.  “No, that doesn’t make any sense.  She’d already gotten away when she fainted.”

Tony rolled his eyes.  “Alright, so then she stashed it to sell later so she wouldn’t be caught.”

“If you had a 2,000 dollar watch lying around, why would you ever wear a ratty old coat that obviously doesn’t even keep the cold out?”  Natasha commented thoughtfully, gesturing at the flimsy piece of clothing.

That seemed to knock Bruce from his thoughts.  “She’s soaking wet, we need to get her out of these clothes.  Nat, do you have anything she could wear?”  Natasha nodded and silently left the room to fetch the clothing as Bruce started to peel off the soaked-through layers one by one until she was left in just a t-shirt and sweatpants, both littered with holes and tears and both obviously far too short for her but still loose against her skeletal frame.  Natasha took the job from there, exchanging the old clothing for a pair sweats, which despite being a size small, seemed to drown the girl in fabric before covering her in the blankets and moving her closer to the fire.  

After that, everyone settle down around the living room, each of them seeming to understand the unspoken agreement that they would wait to decide what on what they would do next until after she woke up.  So, that’s how they stayed for the next 2 hours.

-- Your POV --

I slowly cracked my eyes open, the light flooding in and immediately giving me a headache.  Huh, I guess I didn’t die.  That’s a good thing, right?

I brought a hand to my forehead as I slowly sat up, my eyes shut tight as I did my best not to throw up.  God, I was so hungry.  At least I wasn’t cold anymore, though.  Maybe it’s just that I’ve gone completely numb... or crazy, because instead of just not being cold, I actually feel pretty warm.

I opened my eyes again and stared down at the blanket covering me and the couch I was sitting on.  Oh geez that can’t be good.  I looked back up and around, doing my best to stay completely silent as my eyes flickered from one person to the next.

The man I had robbed only just a few hours ago sat in a chair right in front of the couch, snoring softly with his head lolled back.  At a table nearby, typing away on a computer, was the man from the library who only had 4 dollars in his wallet.  Sitting at the same table was a very big, very muscular man with long blonde hair who I’d never seen before, but judging by the massive hammer that was placed beside him, I doubted he was good news.  Standing at the kitchen sink was the man who’d stopped me from falling when I was taking his wallet.  Sitting behind a bar, nursing a glass of what looked to be scotch, was Tony freaking Stark, who I had only just stolen a very, very expensive watch from.  Finally, standing by the doorway and leaning against the wall was the red-headed woman who found me out and chased me down with her boyfriend.  And she was making direct eye-contact with me.

“She’s up,” she called, shocking everyone in the room -- especially the man in the chair, who must have jumped about a foot in the air as he was startled awake.  I clenched my jaw and frowned.  What is it with this chick and always ratting me out?

Before you could say the word ‘Assemble,’ all six people in the room had gathered around me.  My heart beat wildly in my chest as I stared from one person to the next.  Why were all the people I robbed together in one place?  Did Tony Stark bring them all together so they could get revenge on me?  How did they even find me?  Is that blonde one a bounty hunter or something?  He certainly had the build for it.

“How are you feeling?”  The man from earlier asked me gently.  I frowned and stared back at him.  No way was I going to talk to these people.  I have the right to remain silent, right?  Or is that not a thing with elaborate revenge plots?

The library man stepped forward and placed a hand on my forehead.  Immediately, I flinched away.  “Her fever’s gone down,” he said, stepping back into place, the slight anger he still held towards me clear in his voice.

I glanced around the room, weighing my options.  I had no idea where I was, no idea how to get out of here, and I don’t think I could outrun the redhead and her boyfriend again on solid ground, especially when I can still barely move without another wave of dizziness hitting me.  So, in other words, I’d have to somehow convince them to let me go.

Ok, yeah, I’m definitely gonna die.

“Do you have a name?”  Reflexes guy asked, and my frown deepened.  Maybe I could pretend to have lost my memory.  Library guy said something about a fever, right?  If it was bad enough, it could’ve messed with my brain.  Plus, they have no way of knowing how long I had it.  Alright, that’s my game plan for now.  A pitiful, helpless amnesiac.

Slowly, I shook my head, bringing my knees to my chest as I stared at him with wide eyes.

“How about an age?  Do you know how old you are?”  This time, it was the boyfriend who spoke.  I liked him way better.  He had a kind voice, and he didn’t really seem to be holding too big a grudge against me.  He was probably dragged to this weird revenge party by the redhead.

I shook my head again, allowing my body to shake ever so slightly, tears gathering in my eyes.

“Alright, cut the crap, kid.  Tell me where my watch is,” Stark took a few steps forward.  My eyes went wide, and I scrambled backwards in an attempt to get away from him, my heart going a mile a minute as my breathing got faster and faster.

“Quit it, Stark, you’re scaring her,” the boyfriend snapped.  Stark huffed and rolled his eyes, moving back to his place in the semi-circle with his arms crossed.  Yeah, I definitely like the boyfriend best.

“Do you remember nothing, child?” Blondie boomed.  I flinched at the volume, hiding my face in my arms and sobbing quietly.

It was quiet for a little bit, and I smiled.  They must’ve felt guilty, which meant they believed me.  Maybe I could pull this off after all.

“Alright, kid, that’s enough.  Stop messing with them.”

“What?  Nat, what are you--”

“Seriously, you’ve had your fun, now stop it with the crocodile tears and tell us your name.”  I slowly peaked up to find the redhead -- Nat, apparently -- smirking back down at me, her right hip jutted out as she rested her weight on it and her arms crossed.  She merely lifted an eyebrow at me, her smirk widening ever so slightly.

I sighed and lifted my head.  “How did you know?” I asked softly.  The men in the room gaped at me in surprise, while she only chuckled a bit.

“I lie all the time, kid, it’s part of my job.  I know another good liar when I see one,” she answered with a slight shrug of her shoulders.  “Now are you gonna tell us your name or not?”

I frowned and hugged my knees tighter.  “It wasn’t all a lie.  I really was scared,” I muttered, staring down at my lap.  “It’s not exactly fun to wake up in a place you don’t know and immediately have people coming at you or yelling really, really loud.”

Stark glanced away guiltily while Blondie just sent me a wide, toothy grin.  “My apologies, child.  I have yet to truly understand this ‘indoor voice’ that you mortals are so fascinated by!”  I flinched slightly at the still very loud voice, but at least it wasn’t quite as loud as before.

“Name, kid,” Nat stated simply, immediately seeing through my attempt at changing the subject to try and make them feel guilty again.

I sighed.  “My name is (Y/N),” I finally muttered.

“Have you got a last name, (Y/N)?” Reflexes asked again.

“Not any that concerns you,” I immediately snapped back defensively.

Reflexes frowned and rubbed his face a bit.  “Fine, we’ll go back to that later.  How old are you?”

“18,” the lie came quickly and easily.  I had said it so many times that by that point, it was starting to feel more natural than the truth.

“Try again,” Nat said.

I grit my teeth and glared at her.  “You really need to stop ratting me out.”  She just smirked and shrugged again.  “Fine.  I’m 12.”

Silence as five pairs of shocked eyes turned to Nat for confirmation.  Slowly, she nodded, almost seeming a little shocked herself.  My words took a minute to settle in, and I frowned, staring back down at my lap.  At least now they probably couldn’t kill me.  Although, I’d probably prefer that to going back to that hellhole of a foster home.

“Nope, sorry, I call bs,” Stark was the one to break the silence.  “No chance a twelve-year-old reads nuclear physics, and more importantly, there’s not a single chance a twelve-year-old outsmarts me.”

“Yeah, that’s what every grown-up says,” I rolled my eyes.  “The fact is, you got completely fooled by a twelve-year-old kid, and you need to learn how to deal with it.”

“Alright, so where’s my watch?” Stark grit his teeth, fuming in annoyance at my attitude.

I rolled my eyes again.  “I sold it,” I answered simply.

“Ok, so why did you lie to Clint?  That watch was expensive.  There’s no way you would be starving only a month after you sold it,” Stark smirked triumphantly, as though he had just unearthed some massive conspiracy.

“I didn’t keep the money.”

“...I’m sorry, what?” Stark asked.

“I said, I didn’t keep the money,” I repeated.

“Then where the hell did it go?” he frowned.  He obviously didn’t believe me.

“Language, Stark,” Reflexes cut in.  “She’s just a kid.”

“Please, I’ve heard the word ‘hell’ before.  What street did you think I was living on, Candycane Lane?”  I scoffed before suddenly realizing my mistake.

“You live on the streets?” Library guy asked softly, looking more and more guilty with every passing minute.

“Of course not,” I responded quickly, trying to backpedal on what I’d accidentally let slip.  “I just hate my parents so much it feels like it.  I only steal so that I can rebel against them.”

“That lie was just bad,” Nat shook her head almost in disappointment.

“(Y/N), what happened to the money from Stark’s watch?” the boyfriend -- What did Stark say his name was?  Clint? -- spoke calmly and gently.

“I used it to buy toys and canned foods,” I answered rather quickly.  He was nice.  I felt comfortable around him.

“You were starving, and you bought toys?” Stark scoffed.

“Not for me, dipshit,” I rolled my eyes again.  I feel like I do that every time Stark opens his mouth.

“Language!” Reflexes gasped.

“Why did you buy toys?”  Clint continued to speak gently, taking my attention away from my annoyance at Stark.

I frowned.  “I bought them for the kids at the orphanage.”  Clint just nodded, encouraging me to continue.  “Every year I scrape together what money I don’t use on food to buy them toys, but they usually end up being really crummy ones that they all have to share.  This year, I was finally able to buy them all really good ones.”  I paused for a moment before adding, “Christmas can be really sad there, and there never used to be any toys.  I don’t want the other kids to have a sad Christmas anymore.”

“You used to live in an orphanage?” Clint asked.  I winced at the question, digging my nails into my palms.  I didn’t mean to tell them that.  I sighed in defeat and nodded slightly, avoiding their eyes.

“My mommy died when I was one, and my daddy didn’t want me anymore,” I paused a moment, trying and failing to swallow the lump in my throat.  Quickly, I moved myself as far away from the topic as possible.  “I used the money I didn’t spend on toys to buy groceries for the homeless shelter.  They need it more than I do anyways.”

There was another heavy pause before Clint spoke again.  “How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?”

“Counting today?” They all nodded.  “About five days.”

Reflexes immediately walked away, and I ducked my head further.  He was probably going to call the cops or maybe the orphanage.  Either way I’d have to go back.

“(Y/N)?” Library guy’s voice brought me back to reality.

My cheeks were wet.  I was crying.  I didn’t mean to do that -- it doesn’t work on Nat, so why even bother?  Still, I couldn’t stop.  “A-are you g-gonna send m-me b-back n-now?” I whispered, my voice thick as I gasped between every other word.  I squeezed my knees tight to my chest and let out a sob that I was trying desperately to hold back.  “P-please... I don’t... I don’t wanna go back!” I broke down sobbing, my face buried in my arms and my breaths coming shorter and shorter as my heart pounded frantically against my ribs.

I couldn’t breathe.

I felt like I was under water, each breath coming in harsher and more labored than the last, the air growing thicker by the second as I struggled to take it in.  I could hardly feel the tears on my cheeks as my brain begged me to take a solid breath, screaming at me that I was dying -- that I needed to stop this right now, or I would die, which of course only made me panic even more.

I felt a pair of arms gently wrap around me and slowly looked up, hiccupping softly, my entire body shaking like a leaf.  I stared at Tony Stark from where he sat beside me.  “Calm down, purse snatcher, no one’s sending you anywhere,” he said, rubbing my back comfortingly.  “I need you to focus on me.  Try and match my breaths, ok?”

“P-promise me you’re not lying,” I mumbled from my still mostly curled up position.  “Promise I won’t have to go back.”

“I promise I will never lie to you,” he responded immediately.  I sniffled, my bottom lip trembling as I stared at him, searching for any signs of a lie.  When I found none, I launched forward into his lap and buried my face in his chest, sobbing pathetically.  “Easy, kid.  You’re ok.  In and out, just like me, ok?  In... and out,”  Tony soothed, gently patting my back as I cried.  His arms were warm.  It was surprising, but still, it was really, really nice.  Slowly, I came back down to reality, each breath shaking violently but still managing to keep time with his.  Finally, after a few minutes, I’d managed to calm myself down.

A very large hand landed on my shoulder, and I looked over, my body still shaking a bit as I clung to Tony like a lifeline.  Reflexes was standing there, holding a plate full of steaming hot pizza.

“You need to eat,” he said, moving the plate closer to me.  I nodded and took it, my hands still shaking slightly.

“Thank you, Reflexes,” I said softly.

“Reflexes?” he tilted his head a bit.

“O-oh, um... When I met you, you managed to catch me after I bumped into you, even though I was trying to fall, so I’ve kind of been calling you Reflexes in my head ever since...” I muttered, my face getting red.

Reflexes stared at me for a moment.  I could feel Tony laughing behind me as the others struggled not to laugh out loud.  “You can just call me Steve,” he sighed.

“That’s right, you don’t know our names yet, do you?” Tony grinned.  I turned to look at him, only just then realizing that I was still sitting on his lap.  

I blushed harder and scooted off his lap, muttering a quick, “Sorry.”

Tony smiled back in reassurance, although he looked a little... disappointed?  No, wait, that’s stupid.  Of course he wasn’t disappointed; he’s Tony Stark.  That look was probably just the leftover annoyance at having some dumb kid crying in his lap.  “Don’t mention it, kid, but you gotta tell me what you’ve been calling the rest of us in that little head of yours.”

“U-um... well, I called Steve ‘Reflexes,’ and, um, Nat was ‘Redhead’.  Clint was ‘Boyfriend’...” Clint choked on thin air, and Tony bursted out laughing again, not even making an attempt to hide it this time.

“W-why ‘Boyfriend’?!” Clint yelped.

“Because you were on a date with your girlfriend, um, Nat, when we met?”  I said it almost like a question.  Was there something wrong with that?

“She’s not my girlfriend, kid,” Clint sighed, shaking his head.  He didn’t seem quite as bothered anymore, though.  Was there really something wrong with me calling him ‘Boyfriend’?

“Ok, now tell me the rest,” Tony said excitedly, leaning forward.

I leaned back a bit but nodded.  “Ok, well the guy with the glasses--”

“Call me Bruce,” he interrupted.

“Um, Bruce then.  He was ‘Library Guy.’”

“Oh, that’s right, you recommended he read his own paper,” Tony grinned.

“Yeah exactly,”  I smiled softly before, slowly, my smile dropped and my eyes grew about 3 sizes.  “Wait, you don’t mean...” I turned to face Bruce in disbelief.  “You aren’t that Bruce.  As in, Bruce Banner?  The nuclear physicist?”

Bruce chuckled a bit and rubbed the nape of his neck.  “Yeah, that’s me.  Nice to meet you.”

I gaped, my mouth opening and closing like a fish.  “I’m such a big fan,” I whispered softly.

“Wait, so you mean you actually understood those papers?  That wasn’t just another lie?” Bruce frowned slightly.

“I would never lie about that,” I shook my head frantically.  “Your work is absolutely incredible.  I used to get lashed all the time cause I’d stay up all night reading your papers.”

A flash of pity crossed his face.  I frowned and cleared my throat.  “I, um, I always really like learning new things,” I muttered awkwardly.  “When I was little, I would spend hours in that library every day.  My caretaker didn’t believe I actually understood it, either.  She even got me tested to prove I was lying.”

“And?” Tony prompted.

“Turns out I have an IQ of about 278,” I shrugged.  Tony’s jaw dropped, staring at me with eyes wide as saucers.

“Isn’t yours 273?” Bruce asked, trying to hide the chuckle threatening to seep through his voice.

“I-I... Well... Just tell us the rest of the nicknames, would ya, kid?” Tony stuttered, avoiding Bruce’s eyes.

“Oh, um, sure,” I smiled a bit.  It felt like my chest filled up a bit, a soft warmth spreading through my heart.  They looked like a family.  It must be so nice.  “The super buff blonde guy--”

“Thor,” Tony provided.

I blinked in shock at that.  “Wow, your parents must’ve been real confident to name you after one of the Norse gods,” I muttered.  “Well, Thor’s name was just ‘Blondie.’”

Tony snickered at my comment, and I frowned.  Were these nicknames really funny?  I didn’t think they were.

“Child, I was not named after anyone.  I am Thor of Asgard.  It is a pleasure to meet you,” he smiled, taking a knee before me.  I lifted an eyebrow and leaned over to Tony.

“Is he crazy..?” I asked softly.

Tony chuckled.  “No, he’s not.  Haven’t you ever heard of the Avengers?”  I shook my head.  “Woah, seriously?  Ok, well, long story short, he is the actual Norse god, Thor, and he lives on the planet Asgard.”

I looked at him curiously before nodding.  “Alright.”

“Seriously?  You believe me just like that?” Tony asked, a small, if slightly confused, smile on his face.

“You promised me you’d never lie to me,” I answered simply.  “Of course I believe you.”  

Tony opened his mouth and closed it again, a look I’d never seen decorating his features.  I shook my head just a bit to clear it and grabbed the piece of pizza on top before immediately shoving it in my face, managing to scarf it down in under 10 seconds before moving onto the next.  The six adults stared at me as I finished piece after piece until the plate was empty only 2 minutes later.  I glanced up and smiled slightly.  “Thank you for the food,” I mumbled through the last mouthful of pizza.

“Wow, ok, I’m not gonna lie, kid, that was pretty impressive,” Tony chuckled.  “I don’t even think bird brain over here could eat that fast.”

“How do you keep people from stealing your food, then?” I asked, tilting my head slightly to the side.  The room fell silent again, the adults sending me worried glances.  I frowned and ducked my head again, trying to avoid their searing gazes.  I must’ve said something wrong again.

“Honestly, we don’t.  How do you think Thor got so big?” Tony grinned, clearly just trying to diffuse the tension.  I smiled up at him gratefully.  

“Alright, I think that’s enough excitement for today,” Tony said, standing up.  “Sorry, kid, but it’s way past your bedtime.”  I tensed up a bit at the sudden movement, and he sent me a reassuring smile.  “Don’t worry, I’m just taking you to a guest room.”

I nodded and took his hand, standing up slowly.  I held the loose clothing tightly so that it didn’t drop, trying to ignore the many worried eyes that looked over my still ever so slightly shaking, thin figure that couldn’t even hold up the small pair of sweatpants.  I followed him down one of the many hallways of the tower, gripping his hand as tightly as I could.  

Finally, we reached a large room, a neatly made bed stationed in the middle of it.  I tried to climb into the bed, but Tony ended up having to boost me up, his hands lifting me gently by my underarms so that I could get on top of the unreasonably tall mattress before tucking me in under the thick blankets.

He took a step back, and my heart immediately leapt into my throat, my hand darting out to grab his wrist.  “It’s ok, I’m just turning out the lights,” he answered the question without me even having to ask.  As soon as he had flicked the switch off, he came back and sat down in a large chair by the bed.  It was silent for a moment, and I stared up at the dark ceiling, thinking over everything that happened in the past few hours.  It didn’t make any sense.  Why would he do all of this?  What did he have to gain from giving me food and a place to sleep?

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I heard my own voice rise up through the darkness.  I’m not quite sure why I asked that.  Still, I wanted nothing more than to hear the answer.

“You remind me of myself,” Tony said slowly, the careful thoughtfulness clear in his voice.  “You’re a good kid.  You deserve a little bit of help.”

It was silent for another few minutes.

“Would you... would you please hold me hand?” I asked softly.  I’d barely even finished speaking before my right hand was engulfed my another, much larger one.  I could feel myself smile just a bit, my eyes fluttering closed.  I squeezed it slightly, and before long, I had fallen asleep to the sound of Tony’s breathing.

[animeyanderelover]

I'd love to see prompt 125. “I could have easily murdered you without hesitation. But those angelic eyes made me dizzy and weak.” with Kimimaro!

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything about him so I’m happy to fulfill that wish.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, overprotectiveness, delusions, violence, blood, death, killing

Prompt 125: “I could have easily murdered you without hesitation. But those angelic eyes made me dizzy and weak.”

"You don't have to be scared of me. I won't hurt you." It was funny that you were the one saying that when the stranger in front of you was pointing something that reminded you awfully lot of a bone at your throat, looking at you with a warily look in his green eyes. You had never seen him before in here, making you suspect that he was from elsewhere. And judging from his dirtied and slightly torn clothes as well as the fact that he seemed to be a bit too skinny for his own health, you felt confident in believing that he was a stray, maybe even a rogue.

He didn't strike you as the very talkative type. Since he had sneaked from you up behind, he hadn't said a single word, only staring at you with those haunting green eyes of his at you. From the way they moved slowly up and down, you knew he was judging how much of a threat you were and from the way he seemed to loosen up a bit you guessed, he didn't think of you as too much of troubles. But he was still smart enough to not let his guard down.

You were quite good in reading people, maybe because you were a medic. He hadn't had any reason to attack you, you hadn't even sensed him before he had held that sword made of bones at you. And he didn't seem like someone who would kill just everyone, especially if they hadn't even sensed his presence. He just seemed like someone who had a strange dignity around himself, making him not a mindless killer. No, you had met people a bit similar to him before. They killed for a reason. To survive.

"You want this, don't you?", you asked politely, lifting a small box which contained food, the lid had already been opened since this had actually been your lunch. He didn't answer, but the way his eyes constantly glanced at the lunchbox told you enough. You let out an amused huff. "You didn't have to threaten me just for food. You could have just asked me and I would have given you some. But I guess if I would have been in your situation, I would have done the same. Only living from what you find in the forest is not really enough to give you enough energy."

You couldn't move too hastily or he would slit your throat, so you lifted very slowly your hands, offering him your lunch. "You can have it. I think you need it more than me. I can just skip lunch and eat something later when I'm back home." His eyebrow seemed to move a few milimeters, telling you that he was a bit surprised by this sudden act of yours. Was he seriously suspecting you because you were kind?

"It's impolite to reject my offer, especially considering the fact that this is what you threatened me for in the first place. I really don't plan on hurting you or attacking you. I think it's obvious who from us both is the more experienced one when it comes to fighting. I'm merely a small medic. I only came here in the first place to collect some herbs. I sadly couldn't collect all the ones I wanted. The ones on the small mountains nearby are hard to find...But back to you. Here, I really just want to help you."

Your voice had gone more softer, stretching your arms even farther out until you were nearly nudging his chest with the food, giving him a small, but warm smile. For a while he looked back and forth between you and the small box until he slowly removed the thing from your throat and to your surprise, and slight disturbance, the bone seemed to slowly crack itself down in his body, making you doubt your vision for a moment before you felt him grabbing the food out of your hands, his own fingers brushing gently against yours before he took finally your lunch from you.

"Finally. Took you long enough. Enjoy and please be careful around here. We tend to have some dangerous boars around here. They are very easily agitated and there were even cases where people already got nearly killed and suffered fatal wounds."

The man seemed to stare at you for a while, you were almost sure that he was somewhat touched from your concern and kindness, looking down at the bento box before back at you, the cold green eyes from before starting to twinkle with somethig new inside of them. "Thank you."

That was all he said before quickly disappearing in the forest, you curiously watching his white figure moving away farther and farther until you couldn't see him anymore. "I didn't even ask for his name or told him mine..."

You were quite a bit dumbfounded when later that day you were surprised by a knock on your door since your house was a bit isolated from the village and closer to the forest, only to find no one standing in front of it. That was until you glanced down and noticed two things. The first one was your bento box which you had given the mysterious stranger earlier today. The second was a huge bouquet made of herbs and wildflowers. You bent astonished down, grabbing the box and all the herbs and flowers, examining all of them and realizing with joy that there were many you hadn' been able to find yourself today.

But where was he? Had he just knocked, put the things down and left again? You hoped not, you wanted to say 'thank you' for this serve of gratitude he had showed you, going through all the troubles of collecting you all of this. But due to the darkness you sadly couldn't see much and there was still the chance he wasn't even here anymore. You felt your shoulders slumping down a bit at this thought. But you didn't know for sure if he was already gone. "Thank you a lot for this! It's really thoughtful of you! If you should stay a bit longer here, consider me as your caretaker regarding food and wounds you might get whilst being here!"

It was kind of embarrassing to just shout in the dark like this, especially if not being sure if the person for whom those words were meant wasn't even here anymore. You tried to listen intensely in the dakness to make out any noises which would confirm he was still there. And shortly after a rustling sound from one of the trees made you snap your head in it's direction, you barely making out the figure of a human disappearing in the dark which made you smile a bit. So he had been listening and watching.

"So you considered my offer, hmm?" He was keeping a lot of distance between you two, but you considered the fact that he had this time approached you instead of sneaking and threatening you like yesterday as a huge progress. He still seemed to be a bit more cautious, you guessed he hadn't really had contact with a person for quite some time.

"You know, I don't bite or anything like this. You can come without any worries closer.", you tried to beckon him closer, tilting your head a bit at him. He slightly narrowed his eyes, not in a suspecting way. More in a considering way, thinking whether to trust you or not. "You of course don't have to do so if you don't want to.", you added with a small and understanding nod, stepping back to show him that you were willing to give him space.

"No." The short answer confused you and made you halt in your tracks, giving him a questioning look. A short moment of hesitation, then he finally stepped out of the forest and closer to your small house, eyes focusing on you with a certain intensity that managed to intimidate you a bit.

"I'm honored that you seem to trust me that much despite only knowing me since yesterday. I also wanted to thank you personally once again for all the herbs and flowers you brought me. They are not that easily to find. I appreciate the effort."

"I'm glad to hear you liked it. It was the least I could do." You cracked a small smile. "I'm (y/n) (l/n). Can I know your name too?" For just a short moment you thought you saw something in his eyes, as if he felt touched to be asked for his name. It made you wonder just how long he had been wandering lonely around. "Kimimaro Kaguya."

"Kimimaro...", you repeated, letting the name flow over your tongue and Kimimaro himself seemed to perk the tiniest bit up when hearing you speaking his name. "That's a very pretty name."

The corner of his mouth seemed to twitch a bit upwards, you guessed it was the smallest sign of a smile on his face. "(y/n) is a pretty name too."

The following two weeks he visited you every day, you waiting for him outside until he showed himself. You always shared your meals with him and had also given him the luxery of fresh clothes and using your bathroom for showering. And every evening he seemed to get you small presents he collected from the forests, be that herbs, beautiful wild flowers or even going as far as hunting small animals down for you. You had told him after the second day that he didn't have to do this. And he had said with a very neutral and yet somewhat demanding voice that he owed you a lot and that at the very least he could do this for you.

He wasn't the talkative type as you noticed. Most of the times his sentences weren't longer than necessary and he seemed to much rather prefer to listen to you. And stare at you. And be near you. You couldn't really blame him. He hadn't told you his complete past, but he had briefly mentioned that his entire clan had been rottten out and that he had been wandering around for a very long time.

Another fascinating thing was his ability to harden his bones and manipulate them like he wanted to, making them stick out or even firing them out of his body. It was gruesome as much as it was amazing and you had found yourself asking him quite often to demonstrate it to you. And Kimimaro seemed to relish in the feeling that you found this so amazing. Maybe the fact that you were a medic played a part in it, you wanted to understand and you couldn't remember getting him to talk longer than during his explanations how his kekkai genkai, the Shikotsumyaku, worked. He had even gifted you a small part of his bones which had been thoughtful as much as it had been disturbing for you. But you had reluctantly excepted after noticing how hurt, as hurt as he could seem to be, he had been.

He was always lingering somewhere near your house and by now you had understood why. He repaid your kindness and nurturing with the small presents and his protection which was of course just him being grateful, but it also was a bit unnerving. But that was all it was...for a short while at least.

"Kimimaro." He seemed to flinch when hearing your sudden firm voice calling him like this and as soon as you stepped into the room, he was already by your side, examining you with slightly worried eyes. "What happened? Are you angry with me?" His voice, despite sounding calm, was a bit too rushed which hinted you that he was nervous, all attention hooked on you even more than usually.

"Did you kill it?" You just went straight to the point, crossing your arms before your chest and giving him a strict and expecting look. Luckily he seemed to understand immediatly what you meant, confirming it with a firm nod. "Yes, I killed the boar if that is what you meant." At least he was bluntly honest with you.

"May I ask why?" Kimimaro blinked, almost as if he couldn't get why you were asking such an obvious question. "It was too close to your house. You told me yourself that they are very aggressive. I didn't want it anywhere near you and risking the chance of you getting hurt."

Your mouth was slightly opened, staring nonbelieving at him. "Kimimaro! The villagers found the poor animal on the border of the forest whilst hunting! A clean strike through the throat and the it's stomach! The poor thing drowned in it's own blood! It was nowhere near my house, it was most likely moving away from it! Did you hear me? The border of of the forest!"

You were bewildered and it was audible due to you nearly shouting at him. If he was hurt because of it, this time he managed to hide it. "As I said,", he told you in a serious voice,"too close to you. I can't risk anything potentially dangerous near you."

From there on it seemed to only get worse with his rapidly increasing protective-...No. With his rapidly increasing overprotectiveness which started to horrify you more and more.

"Who was that guy talking to you in the village?" You nearly let the plate you were currently cleaning fall onto the ground if it wouldn't have been for Kimimaro catching it and laying it back down in the sink. "Be careful. You might cut yourself on the broken pieces of it."

He was worrying about that, you on the other hand felt horror washing over you like the water just minutes ago over the plate. The knowledge that he was standing right behind you, so close that you could feel his chest pressing against yours, added only up to the horror shaking you up.

"Kimimaro...", you couldn't suppress the slight quivering in your voice. You felt him jolting up a bit when hearing his name, making him lean even closer to you until you could feel him trapping you between the sink and his slender yet also very muscular body. "Yes?"

You tried your hardest to not shake now that he would be able to feel it. "Did...did you follow me the whole time whilst I was in the city?"

"I did. I was watching over you so I could protect you. And that man there...He was walking behind you and gave you weird and disgusting looks. I didn't like it. And he constantly tried to talk to you despite you obviously not liking. He made you uncomfortable. Should I kill him for you?"

Your body snapped in a painful way around, your nosetip instantly meeting his and your wide and panicking eyes in his. "Killing him?! Are you serious?!" The stern and stoic expression he gave you, made your heart sink in your stomach. "It's your safety I'm talking about. It's the most important thing for me. It's the only thing that matters. I am serious."

You felt sweat starting to collect on your forehead, eyes shooting quickly around in hopes of finding a way to prevent him from killing someone. He meant it, you just felt it. But even without looking at him, you could feel his eyes still on yours.

"You don't have to do this! That guy is a shameless playboy, he does this to everyone!" You hoped to calm him down a bit by telling him this, but his facial expression didn't change one bit.

"It doesn't matter to me that he does this to everyone. I only care about that he does it to you. He even attempted to touch you." His one hand brushed your arm up and down, eyes seemingly deep in thoughts for a moment whilst doing so and you gained almost the expression that he looked dreamy before his eyes returned to it's cold-hearted look. "And I have to remove everyone and everything that threatens to hurt or do as much as touch a strand of your hair."

"You have to?" Why did he make it sound like it was his duty. "Yes. I have to. I have to protect you under all means necessary. And I'm thinking that it would be the best if you would just start staying in and let me do everything. I'll get you everything you need and you just stay in this house. It's the best thing to do for your safety."

You wanted to say something, but for a moment were too shocked and flabbergasted to do so. That was before anger started bubbling up in your stomach.

"Excuse you?! Who do you think you are to order me to stay inside like this? I've been living in here far more longer than you have and I-" You were interrupted by him putting his index finger over your lips, hushing you during your starting scolding. "(y/n). Let me look after you. I have to guarantee your safety. It's the best for you, even if you are unhappy with it now, you'll understand it very soon. So don't leave this house anymore. Understood?"

"You don't have to be scared of me. I won't hurt you." A choked sob escaped your lips, remembering that you had been the one saying the same words to him the first time you had met him. But now he used those same words whilst having a tight hold on you with one of his bones being pressed against your throat. His one arm had a strong hold on your waist and as soon as you even moved a muscle, his grip tightened even more to the extent where it almost, but only almost, hurt. He seemed to still be careful to not hurt you too much.

Trying to escape hadn't been too much of a smart idea whilst he had been gone, you had maybe spent too much time freeing yourself from the ropes and breaking the door open. But still, you had taken a road that only you knew because you didn't want to risk endangering the villagers. And despite him being the faster one, you had a good head start and had even erased your traces by moving the biggest part through a river.

"How did you even find me?", you asked in a quiet voice, sounding and looking discouraged. "Your bracelet. You have a piece of my bone as a tag. And I can track my bones down wherever I want to. That's how I found you."

You glanced at your bracelet, to be specific at the small white bone of it, next to many other small and pretty tags you had on it. It had been a present from your deceased grandparents which was why you always wore it. "Did you plan this beforehand so you could find me wherever I go?", you asked, still in the same quiet voice. You couldn't see his face since he was standing behind you, but you thought that there was slight disappointment and sadness in his voice. "I did, but I actually hoped I wouldn't have to use it. I was hoping you would understand my intentions to keep you safe and comply."

"Do you expect me to just sit down and do nothing whilst I'm being isolated from the outside plan. And the final blow was when you informed me a yesterday that we would move somewhere 'safe'. What is that supposed to mean? Somewhere where no one will find me and you can keep me for yourself? Far away from any other humans? Is that what you mean? I have family here Kimimaro. Friends. Patients. You can't just take me like this. And why would you even do this? Why go so far for me? What did I do?"

The moment you felt the slight pricking of the sharp bone being removed from you, you let a long breath out which you had seemed to have hold for the whole time until now. But the relief was short-lived because in the next moment you were turned around, forced to face Kimimaro.

Your first reflex was to push him away, both of your hands pressing against his chest and trying to push him away. But it was from no use, not with his other arm now sliding around your waist as well and pulling you so close to him that your chest was pushed against his. And all your struggling suddenly stopped when he leaned closer to you and pressed his forehead against your slightly sweaty and wet one, green eyes drilling themselves into you with a mindblowing fondness and affection which you had never seen before on his face.

It became quiet, the silence only being interrupted by the swooshing of the water, the random noises of the forest and the breathing of you two, his relaxed and slow whilst yours was slightly erratic. But being forced to feel his chest rising and falling with every breath he took, led you subconsciously to start breathing with him. But despite his calm breathing, you clearly felt his increased heart beat, swiftly hammering against his rib cage and against your fingertips resting on his chest.

"You did everything for me. You changed everything for me." His voice was slightly shaking as well, but not out of fear or nervousness. It was out of joy and pure affection. "You gave my life a meaning again. Thanks to you my name has a meaning again. It's been such a long time since someone called me by it, I almost forgot who I was. But you...you said my name and suddenly I knew again who I am and who I am meant to be. You gave it and me a purpose again. On that day when we first met...I could have easily murdered you without hesitation. But those angelic eyes made me dizzy and weak."

It was unbelievable that it had barely been more than a month since then. And now look at where you two were. With you running away from the man you had so kindly invited in your house and had given him kindness and friendliness whilst no one else had. And what had it led to? Him forming a sick and obsessive infatuation with you and now wanting to kidnap you to 'protect' you.

"You might never be able to understand just how much you did for me and how much you mean to me. But you don't have to. You only have to understand that I can simply not effort to lose you or let as much as a scratch on you. You're my reason to live, to continue fighting and breathing. I will never be able to repay everything you did for me, but I can and will give my all to you. My endless protection, my infinite loyalty, my undying love. It's all yours. I'm all yours. And I'll always be."

And before you cold reply, not like you could think of anything in that moment, you felt a soft and warm pair of lips being gently pressed against yours.

[caramelcal]

Invisible String

Ship: Stiles Stilinski x Reader 

Word Count: 1.1k (excluding lyrics)

Request:  Could I please request a stiles x reader fic based on the song ‘invisible string’ by Taylor swift? Maybe a soulmate au if you’re comfortable with that?

a/n: hello! I hope you guys enjoy this! I don’t even know if I like this but y’knowww...Also this is technically a soulmate AU as it mentions the tug on a string (like the red string soulmate AU) but it isn’t actually said like “we’re soulmates”

Green was the color of the grass Where I used to read at Centennial Park I used to think I would meet somebody there Teal was the color of your shirt When you were sixteen at the yogurt shop You used to work at to make a little money 

You should have been watching where you were going but you weren’t. It had been a bad day, one filled with a bad shift at your part-time job, forgetting about the homework you were supposed to hand in and now had an after-school detention tomorrow and the fact you got in a fight with one of your friends.

Grumbling, you walked on with a slightly stomp against the concrete pavement, eyes gazing down at your shoes with the yogurt in your hand gripped tightly. Yet it didn’t stay in your hand for long as you hit against something.

The yogurt was now all over his top, making you both jerk back in surprise, barely noticing the tug you felt on your pinky.

“I am so sorry!” You gushed, running to him as you scrambled to get a napkin out of your pocket. However, he wasn’t looking at you, and instead, he looked down at the damage the collision had done on his shirt.

“It’s alright,” He murmured as you anxiously scrambled to take most of the yogurt off. Noticing that you weren’t stopping, he put his hand over yours and gave it a small squeeze, “It’s alright, don’t worry about it.”

Your eyes met his and all panic left your mind. His eyes were enrapturing, deep hazel gazing down at you softly, both maintaining eye contact. Everything seemed to blur out as you focused solely on his eyes without embarrassment. You felt no bad emotions at all as you stood there, and any that were there beforehand were washed away by the deep hazel you gazed into.

People passed mindlessly but you both stood there, soft smiles adorning both of your faces as the boy spoke, “I’m Stiles by the way.”

Time, curious time Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs Were there clues I didn't see? And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me? Ooh 

The grass below you ticked on your legs, and the bright sundress you were wearing did nothing to protect them. You gazed up at the hazel you had become so familiar with, the book you had been reading moments before being abandoned on the grass.

Beams of sunlight filtered down on the both of you, the heat of the sun surrounding you both as he rambled on about one of the comics he had been reading. You bit down on a piece of fruit that you had packed for the picnic you guys had been having as he talked, smiling at how passionately he rambled. You loved listening to his rambling, it ignited a fire inside of him that fascinated you and no matter what he talked about, you were always interested because you knew it was important to him.

This wasn’t your first date, but it was your first official date with Stiles. Sure, you guys had hung out a little during the first part of the summer, and had talked a lot over text but as it reached the end of summer Stiles finally asked you on a date. That leads you to where you were, play fighting with Stiles on the grass before you rolled over, clutching on to Stiles as you rolled down the hill together. You let out a playful and happy squeal as you fell, Stiles holding you closer to his body.

The breath was knocked out of your body when you landed at the bottom, Stiles on top of you as you looked at him with wide eyes. You didn’t know how to breathe as you continued to stare up at him, hair splayed over the grass below you as Stiles made no effort to try and get off of you. 

What he did do, however, was lean down and capture your lips in a kiss.

Bad was the blood of the song in the cab On your first trip to LA You ate at my favorite spot for dinner Bold was the waitress on our three year trip Getting lunch down by the lakes She said I looked like an American singer 

It was crazy. You never thought about the future’s possibilities much, but now that you were here, on your third anniversary, you couldn’t help but smile.

It had been a lovely evening, you guys had eaten at a fancy restaurant and had the most amazing food before taking a stroll in a nearby park. It was filled with pretty cherry blossom trees, hedges at either side of the pathways, and a large fountain in the middle. Your fingers were interlocked with his as he gently dragged you along to a bench, sitting down beside you.

Eyes gazing up at the twinkling stars in the night sky, a smile lit up your face. Your head lay against his shoulder, fingers still interlocked with yours whilst you rambled on about how pretty the sky was.

Yet, Stiles' eyes weren’t on the sky, instead, they were gazing down at you with such tender care and love that melted your heart. You caught his gaze as your eyes flickered over to his, making you murmur, “What? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” He whispered back lowly, his gaze not moving off of you as you turned your body to be able to look at him better, “I just want you to know that I love you.”

Time, mystical time Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine Were there clues I didn't see? And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me? OohA string that pulled me Out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons One single thread of gold tied me to you 

The room was quiet as your eyes opened, a silent yawn coming out of your mouth. Your hair was tousled, palms of your hands rubbing the sleep away from your eyes whilst you tried your best to look around the room despite the darkness. Your eyes met the sleeping figure beside you and you smiled.

Stiles. Your boyfriend. Your caring, nerdy and loving boyfriend. He was unlike anyone that you ever met, a certain adoration for him infesting your chest as you thought about one of the most important men in your life.

Up until you met Stiles you hadn’t had much luck in the dating field. Between boys cheating, you slowly falling out of love and relationships that just weren’t meant to be you were never met with the sheer love that Stiles gave you. He gave you good morning kisses, sweet texts during the day if he hadn’t seen you, he made you laugh, and if you needed to, he would let you cry to him. He was always there for you, and you would always be there for him.

He was the one for you. And you were the one for him and as you stared down at him, you realized just how much you were willing to risk for him. You were willing to risk everything.

 Cold was the steel of my axe to grind For the boys who broke my heart Now I send their babies presents Gold was the color of the leaves When I showed you around Centennial Park Hell was the journey but it brought me heaven Time, wondrous time Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies And it's cool, baby, with me And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me? Ooh Hee Ooh

The music played loudly as silence filled the room, all eyes on the two of you as you swayed to the music. A white dress adorned your figure, a suit on his whilst your head lay against his chest. His arms were hooked around your figure and landed on the back of your hips, your arms splayed over his shoulders.

Smiles lit up both of your faces as you held each other close, everyone smiling at the two of you and how deeply you guys fell for each other. Even in married couples, it was very rare to be just as enamored and in love with each other as you and Stiles were with each other. You guys were made for each other; even in high school, everyone knew that you guys were going to get married.

That’s what led you to this moment, a white dress, rings and two “I do’s” later you were having your first dance with him. His dad and friends that he often referred to as 'his pack' watching as well as family and friends of your own watching you with sheer happiness for the two of you.

Your eyes looked up to his hazel, the hazel you loved so incredibly much when you lifted your head off of his chest.

“I love you too.”

[wishesunderthestars]

Northern Lights // jhs

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Summary: You have been getting too lost in your head lately and your boyfriend decides to take you on a trip to unwind. To Finland.

Genre: Fluff and only fluff

Word Count: 2,7k+

Warnings: None

A/N: This is a gift for @moccahobi for @castlebangtan​ ‘s Secret Santa event! I have been in a major writing slump for a month so I hope this turned out alright. I really hope you like it!!! <3

This certainly wasn’t how you had expected to spend winter break. What you had expected was more along the lines of scattered notebooks, textbooks that weighted a ton and sitting in front of your laptop for hours on end. That was light-years away from where you were now, getting off the plane in Finland.

The bone-biting cold made you clutch your backpack’s strap with one hand and your boyfriend’s hand with the other. You had expected the cold, after all you were in Finland, but its intensity had still managed to take you by surprise. You had always wanted to visit the Northern European countries but you hadn’t imagined it would happen like this. With Hoseok, you should have known to expect anything.

“I think it’s this way,” he said, tugging you through another gate.

“Please, tell me we aren’t lost already.” Finding the exit at the airport wasn’t supposed to be that hard.

Hoseok gave you a heart-shaped smile and you couldn’t resist smiling back, if a little exasperated. “We aren’t lost. See that sign? That sign says exit.”

You shook your head. “I’m going to ask someone.” Hoseok didn’t protest, although he was getting better at English it still wasn’t his strongest point.

Speaking with a woman who worked at the airport, you found out you had been going the wrong way all along. She was nice enough to help you and give you a few tips for navigating the airport. Following her directions you were able to find your way to the exit in half the time it had taken you to get lost, which was impressive since the Ivalo airport was rather small compared to what you were used to.

A car was waiting for you outside to take you to your hotel. You hadn’t packed a lot of things, fitting everything into a small red suitcase. You had considered carefully which clothes to take because dragging a monstrosity of a suitcase behind you would be a nightmare on a vacation you were supposed to be relaxing. Supposed to. Only that you weren’t supposed to be here either but in your apartment poring over your books and writing essays. And that wouldn’t let you relax.

There were so many things you should be doing, your “To Do List” was overflowing, and instead of ticking those boxes off you were on the other side of the world. On the airplane, all the way here, you had been trying very hard not to over-think about everything you had left behind unfinished. Hoseok had adamantly refused when you had suggested taking a few of your textbooks with you.

This trip had been entirely his idea, springing it on you two days before winter break started. The tickets had already been booked, the hotel paid and all you could do was whine about all the studying you should be doing instead. Whatever you said you couldn’t change his mind. You needed some time away from your textbooks and he wasn’t backing down. Most of your days were spent studying for University with barely any breaks and he was tired of it. Between that and his job you hadn’t been spending any time together other than sleeping and tired dinners. You were tired of it too and you could feel the thin tendrils of anxiety wrapping around your throat as your days ended in headaches.

So your books were left at your apartment and you were in Finland getting dragged after your overexcited boyfriend.

You looked out of the car window at the snow covered streets and mountains. Only pieces of the dark green trees peeked through the white.

“It’s beautiful,” you said.

“It is,” Hoseok agreed, following your gaze. He wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you against his chest. The interior of the car was warm and you melted into his embrace. “Who was right for coming here?”

You groaned. “Not so quickly. We are here for less than an hour and we managed to get lost once already. We have plenty of time for things to go wrong.”

Hoseok booed, sounding like a displeased child. “Don’t be such a pessimist. Everything is going to be amazing. And whatever happens we will have something to tell stories about and laugh when we go back. See, you’re already laughing.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder. “But how? How did we manage to get lost at the airport? It was so small!”

“In my defense the signs were confusing.”

“In my defense it was your fault! If you had listened to me from the beginning we wouldn’t have gotten lost. Following everyone else is always the safest bet.”

“Always?” Hoseok asked. “I thought you weren’t a follower.”

“Oh, forget it,” you said causing him to laugh.

The car wasn’t going fast, allowing you to take in the scenery. It was like a winter wonderland, the kind of view you would see in a movie. When Hoseok had told you you were going to Finland, after the initial surprise and denial, you’d thought you would be staying in Helsinki. It went without saying that like all of your other expectations for this winter break, it ended up being far from the truth.

Your destination wasn’t Helsinki but the northern part of Finland, because the cold at the capital city wasn’t enough for you apparently. You had no idea what you were doing there. It was so far North the cold was seeping into your bones and making your teeth clatter. You doubted there were any cities around there. You were very curious to see what kind of hotel you would be staying at, some kind of resort most likely.

The car stopped and the driver opened your door for you. He picked up your suitcases and told you to follow him. Hoseok squeezed your glove-covered hand in excitement. The road ended there and you had to tread through the snow. Good thing you had been clever enough to wear sturdy boots. Walking under snow covered trees that still maintained their leaves, looking more like snow had landed on them for aesthetic purposes, the Finnish man talked to you about the resort.

“Do you understand what he’s saying?” Hoseok whispered conspiratorially. You shushed him and turned your attention back to the man, which only made your boyfriend laugh. The man was speaking very clear English and you were sure that Hoseok could understand the basics just fine.

When you arrived at the place you would be staying you couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped you. Like a small village, wooden cabins were scattered around the area. Your first impression of the resort was an image pulled out straight from a winter fairytale. The man led you to a cabin that was bigger and looked different from the rest. He left your suitcases by the entrance and after wishing you a nice stay he walked away.

“Welcome to the Kakslauttanen Arctic Resort,” the woman behind the desk greeted you. She was wearing a smile warmer than the fire burning in the fireplace. She had her black hair pulled up in a ponytail and was wearing a warm orange jacket. “I hope your flight was good.”

“It was, thank you,” you replied.

“Welcome to Finland then, you chose just the right time to visit. Winter is always the most beautiful here.” She picked up a pen and looked at the large book laying open in front of her. “A cabin in the name of Jung Hoseok, am I correct?”

“Yes,” Hoseok said.

The woman wrote something down then turned to type on the computer. “You’re all set. I see you have already paid for everything in advance, the full pack. Here is your key.” She gave it to Hoseok, a traditional brass key with beautiful designs. A piece of wood was attached on the ring with the cabin number carved on it. “Our resort offers an array of activities to ensure the best stay possible for our guests; skiing, snowboarding, horse-riding. I am sure you can find something to your liking. Everything is in here.” She handed a booklet to you, a photo of the northern lights on the cover.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Don’t hesitate to call us if you have any questions or need anything at all. Our staff will be happy to help.” Before you could thank her again, she continued,  “You can use the sleights outside to take your suitcases to your cabin and then leave them by the door. Someone will pick them up.”

“We’ll do that, thank you.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok repeated.

“Have a nice stay!”

Pushing the suitcases on the sleights was a little harder but also funnier than you had imagined. By the time you found your cabin, you were both red from laughter and had completely forgotten about the cold. You left the sleights by the door like the woman had told you and opened the door. The cabin was as beautiful inside as it was outside. Other than the brown of the wood, red was the prevalent color. Red rugs covered the floor, red curtains, a red couch and a heavy red duvet on the bed.

A fire was burning in the fireplace. You inhaled the aroma of burning wood, for some reason it made everything feel more real. You abandoned your suitcase trying to take everything in.

“There is a sauna here!” you shouted from the bathroom. “There is actually a sauna in our bathroom!”

Hoseok wrapped his arms around your waist, bumping his nose with yours. “Who is the best boyfriend ever?”

You pretended to think. “Most of my friends are single to be honest.” Hoseok knocked his head against yours, just with enough force to push your head back. “Ow! Alright, alright. It’s you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok cheered, picking you up and carrying you outside of the bathroom against your protests. He threw you on the bed and jumped next to you. “We’re going to have the best time here and you will forget all about University and studying. I don’t want to hear anything about textbooks and essays while we’re here.”

“Not even about that fascinating-” You were cut off by a pillow being thrown in your face. “Huh? So this is how it’s going to be? Get ready!” You picked up the pillow while Hoseok rushed to get the other one. Fortunately for you none of the pillows got torn while you hit each other with them. You couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed so much.

You fell back on the bed trying to catch your breath. Half of Hoseok’s body was out of the bed trying to reach the pillow that had fallen on the floor. You held on his foot. He was dangerously close to falling face first on the floor right next to the pillow.

“Oh god, now all the exhaustion is coming back,” you said, closing your eyes. Keeping them open was becoming too hard. It was still early in the morning, you had the whole day ahead of you.

Hoseok wriggled in your grasp. He had finally picked up the pillow. “Nap time!” he announced when he was safely back on the bed. “I want to see the huskies later.”

That was the last thing you heard before you gave into your exhaustion, thus you dreamed of snow and huskies and one of your professors chasing after you on a sleight. By all regards, it should have been more scary, but the way she stumbled and shrieked every time the sleight jostled extinguished any fear her appearance might have caused you.

When you woke up, Hoseok was already up, unpacking your suitcases. You would be staying at the resort for six days and it would be easier to store your clothes in the wardrobe. Yawning, you stretched your arms above the head.

“My sleeping beauty is awake,” Hoseok said, placing the shirt he was folding in the wardrobe. He knelt on the bed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

“The best I have in a while.” You leaned closer brushing your lips against his. Hoseok didn’t hesitate to pull you closer, smiling into the kiss. “Already got to working?”

“Someone has to do it and I wasn’t about to wake you up.”

You placed another kiss on his lips before getting up. “Let’s get this done with. I want to see the rest of this place.”

The resort was much larger than you had thought originally. There was a large restaurant, places like caves with the interior carved entirely from ice and a lot of areas dedicated to all the different activities the resort had to offer. You spent the rest of the morning strolling around, making plans for the rest of your stay. Now that you were here, you were determined to try everything. Hoseok was a little more apprehensive about some of the activities but he’d always had trouble saying no to you.

You ate lunch at the restaurant and you didn’t know if it was because you were really hungry or because of the atmosphere or because the food was actually that good but it was one of the best meals you’d ever had. Hoseok was making funny faces at you and you almost chocked on a meatball. You were shedding your stress like a snake changing skin.

In the afternoon you went to meet the huskies. They barked playfully and nibbled on your hands. You found out that they loved neck massages and after a few minutes of petting they demanded belly rubs. Hoseok was cooing the whole time, looking like he was debating taking one of them back home with him. You had similar thoughts.

“Come on, we need to go on a sleight ride. Look at these cuties, they are going to take care of us. Aren’t you? Aren’t you going to take care of us?” The dog sighed in pleasure as you rubbed his neck.

“We can go tomorrow,” Hoseok offered, eying the sleight.

“We can,” you agreed. “But we won’t. We will today. One day isn’t going to change anything. Just get on the sleight, I’ll be the one behind.”

“But-”

“Do you really want to be the one climbing at the back of the sleight?”

Yeah, Hoseok really couldn’t say no to you.

The sky was turning dark when you laid down on the second bed in the cabin. This one was right under the glass dome, granting you the perfect view of the Northern Lights. You had changed into your pajamas and cozied up under the covers with your head laying on Hoseok’s chest. The fire was still burning, the tiny sounds of the wood scorching wood interrupted the silence.

You took a deep breath. You had complained all the way here, at first because you were too afraid to fall behind your studying, then gradually to keep up the appearances. But after seeing this place… you couldn’t complain anymore. Not when Hoseok had taken you to what looked and felt like paradise on earth.

“Are you falling asleep?” Hoseok whispered.

“Not for a while yet,” you said. “I can feel the jet lag taking hold.”

He chuckled, tracing his fingers up your back. “Same. We’ll fight it together.”

Silence stretched for a few minutes. “Thank you. For bringing me here. I might be difficult some times but I really appreciate it. Sometimes I let my worries get the best of me. Thank you for being there to pull be back before I get lost in them.”

“I’ll always be there for you. Whatever those worries are, University, work, life, I’ll always be there to help you out.” His hands were surprisingly warm as they slipped under your shirt and caressed the small of your back. “We take care of each other.”

“Today was… Today was incredible. It made me realize that I have been in my head too much. I’m sorry for forgetting that I have such an amazing boyfriend I can rely on.”

Hoseok rubbed his nose against yours. “Forgiven. I’m sorry too for working too much and not paying more attention to my amazing girlfriend.”

You kissed him getting lost in the moment. When you opened your eyes again and glanced up, you were met with the sight of electric green swirls in the sky.

“Look,” you whispered against Hoseok’s lips. The lights brightened the night, their reflections shining in Hoseok’s eyes. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. You intertwined your fingers with Hoseok’s as you watched the celestial dance of light across the sky.

[drjackandmissjo]

I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you

(but I’ll do what I must for there’s no me without you)

*** Set throughout the course of their 7th and final year at Hogwarts, this story follows Slytherin's finest and one of the only sane members of the House, Blaise Zabini, as he navigates war-torn friendships, school under a dictatorial regime, Death Eaters and, most importantly, his secret relationship with none other than the new leader of the DA, known blood-traitor, Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom.

A sequel to my previous story: Firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine, you’ve ruined my life by not being mine

Chapter 1 --- next chapter

Harry Potter fic masterlist

29th of July 1997

“I have to admit: I enjoyed the film way more than I expected to,” he said once they had left the muggle theatre. The air had become chilly during the time they had spent inside, but neither of them was bothered by that: they were used to colder climates, after all, spending most of the year in Scotland. And for all its spells and constant fires, one thing always must be said about Hogwarts: certain rooms and corners had never seen the light of the sun and they surely behaved as such, even during warm days.

Like the Potions classrooms, while Snape was their Professor. Those dungeon rooms looked and smelled and felt every bit of humidity that came from being so close to the lake and that, even with the countless explosions that Theo and the Fire Kid from Gryffindor caused with each lesson, could never get anything warmed up. A Hungarian Horntail could breathe fire in there for 24 hours straight and it would still be humid and wet and cold.

It was a good thing Professor Slughorn had decided to move the classrooms up on the fourth floor, in rooms full of windows and light. Blaise could have easily gone without having to add to his ever-growing list of worries his skin getting dehydrated with the stained and stale air that circulated down there.

He watched from the corner of his eye Neville nod along to his statement in agreement, before casually running a hand through his hair and messing them up even further. No matter how hard he tried to keep them neat and proper, like his grandmother wanted them to be, the strands appeared to have a life on their own, especially when certain Slytherin hands had free reign in between them whenever they were alone.

Besides, it really wasn’t Blaise’s fault: Neville had decided he wanted to grow them out, instead of cutting them just as his grandmother suggested on the daily, and, much to Blaise’s happiness, now his bangs framed his face divinely, making for a perfect place to leave his hands whenever they were else occupied.

He also enjoyed the way Neville would scoff in pretended annoyance whenever he disarrayed them and then would shake his head in disbelief at his antics, aiding Blaise’s purpose even further.

And, really, who could blame him? If Blaise wasn’t as in love with the dorky plant-head Gryffindor as he already was, he’d fall even harder at the sight of him with his funky tousled hair and puffy lips as he took a bite out of Blaise’s food without asking first.

He had been so glad that day, having bought a muggle camera that worked similarly to a magical one but that was way easier to manage. He had taken dozens of stills of them, never seeming to get enough of Neville’s smiling face and of his own relaxed and happy one. For Salazar’s soul, he had even sent one of the two of them smiling to his mother, after she kept on asking to at least see the young man that had enchanted her son.

She had replied to his letter the following day, with a simple: “Rule number fifty-one: don’t let him go.”

Blaise had never once wanted to disappoint his mother and definitely wouldn’t start now.

“I don’t really like the way it ended, though. The part where J removed K’s memories was a nice touch, but I feel like we didn’t have enough time with neither,” Neville commented, shoving his hands inside his jeans’ pockets as they kept on walking further and further away from the theatre, undoubtedly to stop himself from doing something idiotic like holding Blaise’s hand when there were still people around.

Given the current political and non-political air that permeated both the Wizarding World and Britain, the two young men had decided that it would be best to limit their encounters only to muggle areas in London, although they would still have to maintain a rather low and inconspicuous profile. It had become incredibly easy to be together without raising suspicions, especially with almost an entire school year of experience sneaking around the castle, but they still preferred to be cautious, to hide from both dark wizards and close-minded muggles.

Neville still lived with his grandmother, but she had become less strict during the course of his first week back at home from school and didn’t really bother him with the amount of time he stayed out, as long as he spent the nights at home. Besides, in her own words, they all had ‘bigger problems than teenagers breaking curfew a little bit to meet with their friends.’ Blaise couldn’t believe that he could ever agree with Augusta Longbottom, but he had seen stranger things happen.

Still, when Neville told him, he had been so shocked he had choked on his drink, causing the Gryffindor to laugh at the spectacle he had created with his Cola.

Blaise himself had been invited to spend his vacation at either Malfoy Manor and the Nott’s, both families offering their hospitality and implicit protection, but he had declined immediately under the ruse of a simple: ‘I live with you the whole year, I need my space and I need to breathe proper air that isn’t tainted with your disgusting deodorant.’ While the sentiment itself was true, he did not want to risk being found out with Neville, a known ‘blood traitor’. Not to mention the part of him being a guy. And a Gryffindor.

Blaise wasn’t really certain about which part would get him into more trouble and wasn’t willing to find out anytime soon.

Therefore, he had chosen to stay at his father’s old bachelor apartment in London, while his mother moved back to France, not wanting to be anywhere near the War that was brewing.

He had asked Neville to stay with him as soon as he was done cleaning the place, making it welcoming and a cosy retreat for them, but his adorable boyfriend couldn’t leave his despotic grandmother alone the entire time, especially not now that the waters were rough.

Always the selfless Gryffindor.

They had retorted then in meeting for random dates almost daily, which had been heavenly. Neville would show up at his apartment with Floo Powder, since he hadn’t taken his Apparition Examination yet, and then they’d just walk around muggle London, as if they had no care in the world. They still kept their guards up, checking every corner for danger that could be avoided, but they tried to ignore the Damocles Sword that hung above their necks.

Which had led them to the muggle theatre on more than one occasion. It had been a perfect idea: in the darkened room nobody questioned why they were holding hands or sharing the popcorn; and they wouldn’t risk anyone from the Wizarding World discovering them, those who would cause them troubles too high on their brooms to even look down at something as mundane as a muggle theatre.

They had also gone to muggle museums and parks and bookstores and restaurants, but Blaise loved the privacy the theatres offered, he loved the way Neville would get engrossed in the stories, he loved the way their hands would link together as suspense built on the screen, he loved to discuss the film afterwards and to dissect every aspect that he found interesting.

And he loved Neville, so it was all an added bonus.

There was a small theatre nearby his place that was quiet and seldom fraught and that allowed them to spend their evenings together, with the walk towards it full of the most random topic the pair could come up with and the walk back usually occupied with their thoughts and opinions about the film they had just watched. Neither of them had been too well versed in muggle culture to begin with, but it was very easy to pick up, especially with the way the family-owned theatre would sometimes project well-known and older productions, instead of only showing the recent ones.

It made the muggle spectacle even more fascinating, in Blaise’s eyes.

“It was kind of poetic, like a rite of passage and everything, but I understand what you mean,” Blaise said as they kept on walking, itching to grab Neville’s hand but holding himself back for the time being: they were still under the scrutiny of the public eye, after all. He’d have to wait until they turned two corners and were finally alone in the streets to finally place his hands on his boyfriend’s. With moderation, of course. “I feel like the story isn’t finished, especially with the way they had the doctor become an Agent. I understand that she had had her memory wiped more times than Lockhart, but she seemed fine! I don’t know, that ending left me pretty unsatisfied as well.”

His boyfriend huffed out a laugh at that and began to silently shake his head: “Lockhart got obliviated only once, by his own spell bouncing back from Ron’s broken wand. Compared to him, that doctor got her brain scrambled on the daily. But you’re right, it would have been so much better if she kept her job and was on the loop with the alien stuff.”

“Speaking of Lockhart, I wonder how’s he doing…” Blaise inquired, scratching his neck. It had been over three years since anyone had heard of the famous wizard and pretty much everyone had seemed to have forgotten about him. It was such a mystery for some, his sudden disappearance after his year teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Yet again, pretty much all the students at Hogwarts knew of the curse on that position, which made his absence plausible, but to have such a well renowned and celebrated man vanish into thin air after publishing a controversial book where he told the world he had no memory of who he had ever been, it was more than suspicious.

“At St. Mungo’s, giving out autographs Godric knows what for,” Neville answered his implicit question with nonchalance, “I see him sometimes when I go visit Mum and Dad.”

During the time they had been together, Neville had slowly begun to tell Blaise about what had happened to his family: how they were members of the original Order of the Phoenix, fighting the Dark Lord during the First War; how Dumbledore had suggested they hid as well as the Potters, because of some prophecy that would connect their children with the Dark Lord himself; how, after he was defeated and the Potters were killed, his parents were tracked down by four remaining Death Eaters and tortured to insanity; how they now stayed at St. Mungo’s, without a single memory of their son, completely out of their minds.

Blaise had always been cold and calculative and preferred to keep a rational outlook to the world, but when he saw, for the first time since that new information, Bellatrix Lestrange, at Malfoy Manor, free and enjoying life, his blood had begun to boil. He had never wanted to murder someone as much as he did in that moment, forcing himself to maintain a smile on his face and to pretend like he wasn’t ready to slaughter someone. When he came back home that night after dinner with Draco and his wretched family, he had spent an entire hour in the shower, scrubbing at his skin as if he could erase the memory of that wretched woman, drinking wine and telling them all about the Cruciatus Curse and how useful it could be to a dark wizard. He had kept that piece of information hidden from Neville, even though he had recounted pretty much the entire evening the following day, while his boyfriend attempted to calm him down from his homicidal plans, without truly knowing what had instigated them.

And he would never know, for Blaise would go to any lengths to avoid his sweet and loving boyfriend any pain. He had already suffered too much, in his short life.

“Really, he’s at St. Mungo’s?” Blaise asked, trying to distract himself from those dark thoughts. When he was with Neville, it almost felt as if Death Eaters didn’t exist, as if the Dark Lord hadn’t risen again, as if they weren’t on the verge of War. “I thought the whole ‘Who Am I?’ book was all a plan to disappear after he botched our second year without being bothered and now you tell me that Weasley sent him to the healers and basically deprived the Wizarding World of that perfectly blinding smile?” Neville playfully shoved him to the side with his shoulder, lingering a little in his touch as they kept on walking, just as restless as he was to be behind closed doors and to have their privacy and safety: “Ron didn’t send him anywhere and he got what he deserved,” he commented sheepishly, regarding Blaise with a blinding smile of his own.

And Blaise definitely preferred his boyfriend’s smile, so true and sincere and warm and just perfect, rather than anything their former fraud of a professor had ever shared.

“He spent the entire year pretending he could do shit and leaving me hanging from the ceiling, multiple times, and then, at the first sign that he needed to be a responsible adult, he tried to Obliviate Harry and Ron and leave Ginny down with the Basilisk. They got so lucky that Lockhart took Ron’s wand that still hadn’t been repaired, otherwise they’d all still be down there.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added: “And don’t worry, he still got that smile,” his face reddened and visible even in the dimly lit street.

“No need being jealous of a man who isn’t even worth the mud under your shoes, Nev,” he teased, enjoying how his boyfriend would stammer embarrassed at being discovered.

“I’m not jealous!” he defended himself, but the crimson on his cheeks spoke of another story.

Blaise itched to cup his cheeks and to feel the warmth of his skin, but they were still in the middle of a street that was fairly illuminated and with people around. Therefore he did the next best thing: returned on a safer conversational path. “Oh, yeah, I remember about Weasley’s wand,” he said, laughing at the memory, “It bounced back that Slug-vomiting charm that was aimed at Draco. We had a blast that day, when he told us the story.” “Glad some of you enjoyed it, with your sick sense of humour,” Neville said, shuffling his hands inside of his pockets as they moved closer and closer to the corner that would lead them to the apartment, “poor Ron had to carry a bucket wherever he went for two days straight!”

Blaise couldn’t help himself: maybe it was the serious way he defended his friend, or maybe it was the image of a tiny second-year Weasley carrying around the entire castle a bucket to throw up slugs in, undoubtedly aided by an equally tiny Saint Potter with a bewildered tiny Grander following suit and reprimanding them both, but he just burst up laughing, his entire body shaking with it as he put his hands over his stomach, to try and regain his composure.

Yet, all thoughts of etiquette were damned as soon as he heard his boyfriend join in, his own laugh bright and pure and just perfect.

And the icing on their cake laid in the fact that they were alone, without anyone watching them, and they could just be themselves. Blaise didn’t hesitate a moment into grabbing Neville’s hand, enjoying the warmth that the Gryffindor radiated. They kept on laughing and holding hands as they walked back to the one place they could call theirs.

They all but ran the few meters that kept them vulnerable, staggering over the stairs as if they were drunk. It was a somehow good paragon, considering how inebriated they were with each other, and Blaise couldn’t stop thinking about how wonderful his life was in that moment. He could just be himself, around Neville, without having to worry about composure or secrets or manners.

When they closed the door behind their backs and stumbled inside of the apartment, they didn’t even open the electrical lights up, too engrossed in making up for the time they hadn’t been allowed to share, close and up in each other’s personal space.

Blaise would’ve been content in simply existing there, in the tiny apartment that once belonged to his late father, with his hands up on his boyfriend’s hair as he worked and worried over Neville’s exposed neck, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt, watching him lean against a wall for support once his legs had given up completely. The outside world didn’t matter anymore, not to him, not when he had Neville’s hands on him. He’d be glad dying there, in his arms, unbothered by the imminent war, by his friends, by their duties.

But reality had to crash down on them at some point.

Neville removed his mouth from his, panting and with his eyes shut, savouring for one more moment their closeness. Blaise studied his face from the short distance, as he always loved doing, recognising his boyfriend’s reluctance to separate. Yet, his duty would win, as it always did, and he would take a step back, trying to recompose himself and running a hand through his hair.

It was long due a haircut, by now, but Blaise was an egoist and wanted the length to stay for a little longer. Besides, when September came, his grandmother would definitely cut it, even against Neville’s will. And Blaise would take whatever he could, when it came to going against Augusta Longbottom.

He hadn’t even met the woman yet and he had already accepted defeat, if it meant keeping Neville in his life. And, while he did not harbour any love for the witch, he was most certain he could keep an amicable front with her, at least, all for Neville’s sake.

That didn’t mean, though, that he didn’t try to stray her grandson into a different path than the one she wanted, at every corner: “Can’t you stay this once?” he asked in a low and sultry voice, fully conscious of what that tone did to his perfect Gryffindor boyfriend, refusing to take a step back and let a single centimetre separate the two of them.

He watched as Neville slowly opened his eyes in the dim light that was filtered by the window from the empty street below. He watched as his throat bobbed as he swallowed, trying to regain his breathing. He watched, powerless, as Neville slipped them over, switching their positions, effectively trapping him against the wall in his arms.

The Gryffindor bent down a little and placed the most chaste and sweet and anticlimactic kiss on Blaise’s lips, driving the Slytherin mad with want and desire, unable to do anything other than comply.

“You know I can’t, flower,” he murmured directly against Blaise’s lips, his own stretching in a wicked smile. Neville Longbottom knew exactly which buttons to press and when to use them all against him: Blaise couldn’t help the shiver that ran over his back at that simple word, still not used to the way the simple pet name made his toes curl and his heart beat out of his chest, nor could he help the sound of appreciation that came out of his throat, and that transformed immediately into one of disappointment as soon as his boyfriend untangled himself from him.

He tried to make some air reach his brain, when Neville stepped back from him once again, leaving him space to breathe and recollect himself while still being infuriatingly close, neither of them wanting to truly part despite their obligations.

“Yes, I unfortunately do…” he answered, still leaning against the wall. He ran his right thumb over his lips, enjoying the way the Gryffindor’s body stiffened at the sight as his eyes tracked the movement. He sometimes still couldn’t believe his luck, especially when Neville looked at him like that, as if he needed all of his strength just to hold back.

Most of the time, Blaise wished he didn’t, yet the knowledge that he was the one to make the apparently timid, placid Schlongbottom, as his friends still believed he was, lose his mind completely was intoxicating. And he lived for those moments and hours when Neville would let go of his composure fully, causing Blaise to follow suit without a single complaint. Because he couldn’t be the farthest from timid or placid, but only he saw that side of him, only he got to enjoy that part of his sweet and amazing boyfriend.

“What are you going to do tomorrow?” Blaise asked almost out of the blue, conscious already of the reply, but wanting to steal some more time alone with the Gryffindor.

He didn’t particularly care that he was abiding by the stereotype that Slytherins were manipulating and tempting, not when Neville would shoot him a blinding but cocky smile as he fired back: “Already missing me?”

“Always.”

“I told you, I’m going to help Luna find a dress for the wedding and Grandma’s organised that family gathering to celebrate my 17th…” he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, to try to make his blushing less noticeable. Unfortunately for him, in doing so, he had involuntarily made his shirt rise a little, showing off the skin beneath, and Blaise was not going to let such an opportunity pass: he moved closer and snug his arms around his boyfriend’s midriff, planting his hands in the small of his back. “Remind me again why I can’t crash her party and steal you away?” he asked casually, next to his ear, before he began to worry the earlobe with his teeth.

Neville seemed to be at a loss for words under Blaise’s ministrations, which was entirely his goal, but he eventually did manage to speak again: “Because she doesn’t know about us, since if she did we’ll never hear the end of it ‘cause we were keeping this a secret, and you are a Slytherin and I am a Gryffindor, and because she is not allowing me to invite any friends,” he said, his voice firm and unfaltering, despite the way his hands were holding Blaise close to him, silently begging to keep up with his work.

Not that he was planning to stop anytime soon. Still, some words at the back of his throat itched to be said: “I have a few words I’d like to tell your grandmother and none of them are kind,” Blaise claimed, staring right into Neville’s eyes and wondering how such a stern woman could raise such a loving man. While it was true that she had laid off his back for the time being, she had doubled down on her questions about Neville’s private life: the poor Gryffindor had to retort to lying simply to avoid her finding out about their relationship. It was a good thing that he had quite a vast number of friends and that said friends didn’t interact with his grandmother, because, based on Blaise’s very own experience with pureblood families, everyone knew everything, especially when ‘keeping the lines pure’ was involved and everyone turned out to be related.

For instance, Neville’s white lie for that day’s activity was very simple: “I’m going to play Quidditch with my roommates and we’ll have dinner afterwards.”

When Neville had told him as much, Blaise had exploded into laughter and disbelief. Was it believable for his boyfriend to play Quidditch? Absolutely not, but he shared a dormitory with Weasley, Thomas and Saint Potter, therefore he played by proxy. It would have equally been absurd for his grandmother to and not to believe him, which was what made the lie incredibly clever.

Blaise shook his head as he silently snickered at the fresh memory, still hesitant to remove his hands from his boyfriend’s body: “Anyway, who’s getting married now that we’re almost on the brink of war?” he inquired, truly curious. A wedding in the Wizarding World was a very public event, especially when pureblood families were involved, which they must have been, if Lovegood was invited.

All of his friends still kept on calling her Loony, but he had stopped using that epithet, since he had begun to consider her a friend as well, thanks to their mutual connection to Neville. And she was an excellent friend, both to him and his boyfriend, kind and compassionate and considerate.

He had already begun to wonder about who the couple must have been, considering no one in his circles had mentioned anything, when Neville spoke, making him understand exactly why nobody amongst the purebloods he spent his time around had even known or cared about such a thing: “Bill Weasley, Ron’s eldest brother, and Fleur Delacour.”

“The Triwizard Champion? How did they even meet?” he inquired, now even more curious. He had seen the eldest Weasley only once, at Gringotts, and it was in that moment that he first began to question whether or not he was straight. And, to pair that with Beauxbatons’ champion, well… That must have been a hell of a good looking couple!

“I don’t know,” Neville said, leaning his head against Blaise’s shoulder and looking at him with a soft smile through his eyelashes, “but they’re super cute together, at least that’s what Ginny told me.” “And you haven’t been invited?” His boyfriend shrugged at that, Blaise knew he did not particularly care about mundane events and being into the public eye: “No, from what Ginny told me it’s not going to be that big of a ceremony. Only family, close friends of the couple, and neighbours. Which is why Luna’s going, as well as to spend time with Ginny.”

“That’s a shame you won’t be there,” he commented, running for the umpteenth time that eventing his hands through Neville’s hair, as the other wizard stayed there, merely enjoying his ministration while he tried not to fall asleep. It had happened already once, right before he had to leave, and that incident had prompted his grandmother into a speech about the right of an adolescent Gryffindor to a little bit of rule-breaking. “I bet you would’ve looked dashing in a suit.”

“Jealous, darling? You know you could always look at me in a suit, if you’d just let me borrow one…” “Not a chance, caro. Mine are all tailored to perfection for my body,” he said playfully, moving his head to the side to place a small kiss on Neville’s nose, causing the other wizard to blush and giggle, “Besides, I prefer seeing you without a single stitch.” “Blaise! You can’t just say shit like that!” his boyfriend spluttered, trying to get away from his words as if they had just tickled him. He loved the way Neville would get all cute and embarrassed. His usual tell was the blush that started on his cheeks and spread throughout his body, and that was incredibly adorable. Blaise had tried to see just how farther the colour could spread, but he had been distracted in his path, somehow. “Why not? No one is listening and it’s true!” he had begun to retort, only to be shut up quickly as two lips pressed against his own, soft yet insistent, gentle yet commanding. One thing had to be said about Neville Longbottom and that was how efficient he was at quieting him with a single gesture, whether with a kiss or by simply occupying his mind with the little things he always did, essentially being himself, unfiltered.

It took them less time than usual to resurface for once, mainly because Blaise still wanted to know more about the hot new wizarding couple that could definitely take over the world, if the Dark Lord wouldn’t win.

He desperately prayed he wouldn’t, for countless different reasons.

“When is this marvellous event?” he asked, still refusing to put a single millimetre of space in between them.

“In three days, on the first. Luna’s absolutely on her last chance, looking for the perfect dress that won’t attire Wrackspurts,” he commented, shaking his head. Something inside of Blaise told him that it wasn’t the first nor the second time they went out shopping and, if Lovegood was anything like Pansy, it must have not been an easy task chaperoning. Pansy Parkinson could try on an entire street of boutiques, buy every single item of her size, and still lament she had nothing to wear.

“Why? Wanna meet up? I thought we were going for lunch on the second,” Neville added, pulling him out of the horror of the memory of the first time that witch had discovered French Haute Couture: a tornado would’ve left behind less damage.

“Yeah, I’ve been invited to Draco’s for dinner on the first, with all the others…” he trailed off, remembering exactly what had been discussed the previous night amongst the Death Eaters. It wasn’t unusual for Draco and Theo to invite him over, especially since they both believed he was fully on the Dark Lord’s side but was merely acting precious, never truly giving in. And he couldn’t deny an invitation, otherwise it would have looked suspicious. After all, his friends knew that he was staying all alone in London, away from his family, and that he wasn’t fooling around with anyone, which, in their eyes, meant he had a lot of free time.

Free time that they tried to occupy, not wanting to leave him completely alone. Thankfully, they weren’t overbearing, having him over every couple of days or so, respecting his privacy, but whenever an invitation came, he had to follow through.

Now, he couldn’t exactly tell his friends: “No, I’ll pass on spending time with you, I’m going to go watch muggle entertainment with my Gryffindor boyfriend,” could he?

Luckily for his relationship, though, the invites were rather old fashioned, called days prior, and that left him and Neville plenty of time to organize. The only person in their friend group that liked to show up uninvited or unannounced by an owl was Pansy, but she would’ve stayed in Spain until the mid of August, which meant Blaise could breathe a little without having to worry about her finding out his secret. Draco and Theo were way too busy in their official Death Eater work to even want to hang out with him in the mornings and afternoons anyway.

“What is it, B?” Neville asked, undoubtedly feeling the way his shoulders had tensed from up close. His hold on Blaise became slightly tighter, grounding and real, while still remaining gentle, letting him know that they were alright and, no matter what happened, they’d be okay.

Closing his eyes and leaning against his boyfriend’s shoulder, he began to recount what he had eavesdropped: “When I was at Theo’s last night, his father and his uncle were talking about something that went bad for them the day before, so on the 27th, and how the Dark Lord was more than displeased. All I got were hushed words about a failed kidnapping, I believe, and how the Dark Lord had completely exploded against his followers in anger, even though he had no idea who to even blame and punish. But then his father moved onto a different topic and said that they’d have their victory in a couple of days anyway, that they needed to wait, that they couldn’t lose, that August would be their month of victory. But he didn’t explain what exactly he had meant, without a doubt to keep us ‘children’ in the dark. I couldn’t really understand much, Crabbe had gone off about some bullshit of his and they were speaking in a low voice on the opposite side of the table, but the intent was clear. Something big is about to happen.” “Blaise…”

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but they don’t fully trust anyone who doesn’t have the Mark. Besides, they consider us children, even Draco doesn’t know much and he let the bloody Death Eaters into Hogwarts! They know he’s loyal, or at least think so, ‘cause he was at some meetings with the Dark Lord himself. Yet they still don’t tell us shit. Not even to Theo, who’s more of a fanatic than a follower. And I am not going to taint my arm with that disgusting thing anytime soon, even if that would help. But it’s so frustrating and…” he continued, still refusing to open his eyes: he knew he should’ve told that story to Neville earlier, but he had got distracted by their date; he knew he should’ve contacted Professor McGonagall, warning her about what was going on and whose side he was on, but he was terrified he’d be intercepted somehow; he knew he was a terrible spy and that his motive was entirely egotistical, fuelled only by his will to keep Neville safe, and he couldn’t do anything about any of that.

War was coming and Blaise Zabini was powerless against it, unable to do anything concrete.

It wasn’t until he felt warm lips on his forehead and felt warm hands on either side of his face, gently holding him together, that he stopped his rambling. He usually wasn’t like this, letting his mind wander and his mouth running to catch up, at least not in front of other people, because it could potentially be dangerous and could bring unwanted questions. “Rule number eighteen: do not blabber, unless you intend to become a thespian and need practice for monologues,” his mother always said and he preferred to maintain a decent amount of control over the words that came out of him, never going into a rampage, unlike Draco did whenever he messed up his hair, yet never appearing bothered by the simple act of speaking, unlike Theo, who favoured monosyllabic replies to everything. His was always a perfect balance, studied to the last detail to make his speeches and his sentences reach the point and the mind of those who lent him their ears.

Rule number nineteen was: “do not fall in love with a thespian unless they’re a muggle actor from Hollywood,” yet Blaise knew he wouldn’t use that rule. Not anymore and hopefully not ever.

Still, of course, as it had become a routine in his life, everything about him became erratic and unpredictable when he was with Neville. He had found himself digress many times and he was always quite shocked when he realised how far he had gone from his initial path, much to his boyfriend’s delight and amusement. “I like seeing you ruffled,” he had admitted once, earning a copy of ‘Advanced Potion Making’ chucked at his head as they both laughed, with Blaise trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

“Blaise, my love, calm down,” Neville whispered softly against his forehead, hugging him closer and managing to reassure him without wearing him down with his own emotions, “I’m sure everything will be fine. The Order probably knows already that something’s about to happen. Besides, McGonagall’s in there as well, she’s not going to let anything happen, bad or not. Everything will be alright and I’ll come here on the second just like we planned to. You gotta trust me.”

He took a deep, steadying breath as he tried to ground himself back again. Neville’s presence helped greatly, as he had already told the other wizard countless times. “I trust you, more than anyone else,” he admitted, staring straight into his brown eyes as if they could hold all of the Universe’s answers, “But promise you won’t jump headfirst if something happens.” “Of course, I’ll stay home with Grandma as much as I can, when I don’t have my powerful Slytherin around to protect me. Besides, I’m pretty sure You Know Who will stay out of her path, she’s almost as scary as McGonagall!” Neville joked, causing Blaise to shake his head: Gryffindor antics were hard to knock off, it seemed. And, even if he was already wildly intimidated by Augusta Longbottom and she might make the Dark Lord reconsider his career path with her umbrella and her hats, theirs was not a topic to take lightly. “Neville, I’m serious.” “I know.”

Blaise scoffed at that and removed himself from their embrace, allowing space in between their bodies to better convey his message: “I know I can’t make you promise me you’ll stay put, ‘cause you won’t. But can you swear to me that you won’t risk your life recklessly?” he asked, unbothered if some of his desperation seeped into his voice. He knew he could let his walls down around his boyfriend, after all. “You mean like a Gryffindor,” came immediately the reply as Neville crossed his arms over his chest, now that he had the space to do so. “Nev…” “Only if you swear on Slytherin himself that as soon as shit starts to go down, you’ll get to safety,” he intercepted him, stopping Blaise before he could go on another tangent about House Values, “I need to know you’ll be careful.” Blaise nodded at that, he could understand the sentiment: of course his boyfriend would want him safe. But times were darkening by the hour and soon neither of them would probably know what safety even meant.

“Let’s make a deal:” he suggested, already knowing that Neville would agree to his plans, even if they were half-assed ideas about sneaking inside of a muggle library just to study and recreate the ambience of Hogwarts’ own, “usually I’m back from Draco’s around midnight. If nothing happens, we’ll just see each other in the morning after, as we planned. But if the world ends, meet me here at midnight. Sneak past your grandmother or stun her, since you won’t have to worry about the Trace by then. But just, come here, please.”

“The world’s not going to end, my love. Not on my watch,” Neville said, holding once again both of his hands in his and placing a soft kiss on his thumbs.

With the Gryffindor, it was all about the soft and subtle touches, the small moments. Blaise had dived into their relationship wanting to keep it hidden to avoid uproar by the entire school, yet he had been surprised when Neville hadn’t complained about their subtlety; he had almost expected the dorky plant-head to be the most PDA-indulging being in their entire school and it had been unexpected, yet not unwelcomed, his quiet way of giving affection, even when they were all alone and safe.

“Thank you, my mighty Gryffindor,” he replied with a flourish, pondering the pros and cons of bowing. On one hand, he’d keep up his theatrics that seemed to amuse Neville to no end, but on the other, he’d have to let go of his boyfriend’s hands, which was something he wasn’t willing to do. Neville, as always, resolved his qualm without a second thought: he playfully shoved Blaise away with a push from his hands, before pulling him back closer and making him crash against his torso. “Besides, it’s not like we’re not going to see each other before then! What did you say we would do again…?” Blaise saw right through his feeble attempt at distraction immediately: “Nope, I’m not going to tell you, it’s a surprise!” he exclaimed, placing a placating kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek. He had already planned the entirety of their date since he found out the plant-head wouldn’t be free on his birthday: they’d start the day by having lunch at a Chinese restaurant Neville had particularly enjoyed and then they’d move to visit the Royal Botanic Gardens, allowing for them to spend the entire afternoon and evening there, since he already knew very well that his boyfriend would get distracted with every single leaf. And Blaise loved when Neville got side-tracked to talk about plants, even if he didn’t care about the ‘green things’ himself, so it would be a win-win. “Please, B, you know I don’t really like surprises!” he lamented, but Blaise was adamant on his position. “Mio caro, you’ll have to suffer then.” “You’re so mean to me.” Blaise kissed the tip of his nose once more, giggling at the way it involuntarily twitched under his lips: “Yeah, but you love me nevertheless.” What followed was a bad series of sloppy kisses and giggles shared between them as they walked in tandem next to the fireplace, miraculously avoiding tripping over furniture. They knew it was time for Neville to leave, but they were both incredibly reluctant to let go.

“Goodnight, then,” Blaise said, attempting without any real intent to put some space in between them, and he was almost immediately followed by Neville’s own: “Goodnight,” spoken directly against his lips as he removed his hands from around the Gryffindor’s torso, giving a little push to create some distance in between them. “I love you,” Neville sing-sang as he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, waiting for Blaise’s reply before disappearing into the Network. “I love you too, but go before your grandmother decides to murder me for keeping her grandson away from home all the time!”

And with that, Neville Longbottom had gone back home, leaving Blaise alone in the quiet apartment, his laugh still ringing clearly in his ears against the deafening silence. The place always seemed to lose its warmth as soon as his boyfriend left and so he shrugged on a jumper he had ‘borrowed’ from the Gryffindor, without his knowledge and without any real intent on giving it back.

He was not as naïve as Neville was sometimes, still believing that everything would be alright in spite of all the signs pointing to Hell, but he knew that they would be together even if the world did fall off its axis, and that thought warmed him more than any fire could.

And with that, plus the jumper, he tried to fall asleep, ignoring the way his heart pounded at the uncertainty of his future.

But, of one thing only he was certain: he’d stay by Neville’s side and he’d stay at his, no matter what.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Hold On

Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~2220

Warnings: Some Maeve-related angst, but unlike the CM writers, I believe in allowing Spencer Reid to be happy. 

A/N: Quoted lyric, title, and thematic inspiration from “Hold On” by Tom Waits, which you can listen to over here. Encouragement and/or blame (depends on your POV) from @stunudo​ and @katwillrise​. Speedy beta from @fangirlxwritesx67​. 

  For a long time, Spencer didn’t understand other peoples’ need to touch. He avoided it whenever possible. 

It was partly about germs, of course, but partly just that he didn’t like the sensation. He’s never liked the intimacy of it, the closeness, and even as a child, unexpected hugs made him go stiff and uncomfortable, like he was holding his breath until the foreign stimulus was gone. 

There were a few people he made an exception for, people he trusted, people whose arms made him feel protected or comforted instead of threatened, but it was only a handful: his mom, Morgan, JJ, occasionally Penelope or Emily. 

He’d see couples walking down the street hand in hand, or with their arms wrapped around each other, and he wondered what the appeal was. He imagined sleeping next to someone, waking up with their body wrapped around his, their skin sweaty and their breath damp, and he imagined it would feel more like a stranglehold than an embrace. 

Then there was Maeve. 

He wanted to meet her in person, of course, but it wasn’t her physical body that he fell in love with. It was almost a relief, being able to have a relationship without worrying about the sensory minefield of having another human in his space.  

When he daydreamed about meeting her (and he daydreamed a lot) he mostly tried to imagine her face. He knew what it sounded like when she was smiling or laughing, but he wanted to see; he wanted to watch the way she lit up when they had those long joyful arguments about poetry. He wanted to learn her mannerisms, her expressions, wanted to learn her until he could read her like a book. 

He rarely thought about touching her, but then Maeve died, and suddenly he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

He’d never been able to hold her hand. He wondered what her fingers had looked like, how they’d fit with his own, whether her palms were rough with callouses or soft and smooth, whether she bit her nails. 

He’d never been able to kiss her, and he wondered how her lips would feel. Would their first kiss have been shy and sweet, or deep and passionate? Who would initiate it? Would they be in the middle of a conversation when he decided he couldn’t wait, or would she take the lead? 

He’d never slept next to her, never felt her breathing slow in the dark, never held her. He’d never run his fingers through her hair, or wiped away her tears, or danced with her. 

He missed her. 

He could remember her laugh, her voice, the barely-there crackle of her breath over the line when she paused to think. He held tight to those memories. He never wanted to let them go. 

It shouldn’t have been possible, but he missed her body, too. His skin felt strange and bare for the longest time, every inch of him feeling the lack of her. Every nerve and cell felt the ghost of her imagined touch. He dreamed about it all the time, dreamed that she was there, arms wrapped around him, body pressed close to his. 

He dreamed about trying to hold on: feeling her slip away, the way his throat went tight with panic… gunshots. Those dreams always ended in a gunshot, and when he woke up, he was terrified and crying out for her, reaching out in the dark, feeling only emptiness where she should’ve been. 

He just wants to apologize, and to say goodbye. He wishes he’d had a chance to hold her, just once. 

It never really stops hurting. Spencer knows he'll be hearing that gunshot in his dreams for the rest of his life, and he knows he’ll never get a chance to say goodbye. He knows he’ll never get a chance to touch her. Spencer meets someone new, one Sunday morning, in his favorite coffee shop. She’s curled up in an armchair, reading a book, and he’s so distracted by the way she’s smiling as her eyes whiz across the page that he trips over his feet and spills his fresh mug of coffee on her. He stammers an apology, painfully embarrassed. He grabs a handful of napkins and offers them to her, but all he can do is stand there uselessly as she dabs at the stain. 

She’s humming something. It takes a second for Spencer to place it. 

“Tom Waits,” he blurts out, and she looks up at him, grinning. 

“Go ahead and call the cops…” she sings quietly. 

“You don’t meet nice girls in coffee shops,” he finishes. “Tom Waits doesn’t know what he’s talking about, apparently.” 

She laughs. “Depends on your definition of nice, I guess.” 

“Can I take you out to dinner sometime?” he asks, almost choking on the words. She says yes, for some reason. ��

At the end of their first date, he walks her to her door and panics. He doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between their bodies, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and he’s utterly captivated by her. It’s been so long since he wanted to reach out and touch someone. 

So he steps back and raises a hand in a wave. She smiles like she understands, but he kicks himself as soon as the door closes behind her. 

That night, he dreams about the goodbye. He dreams about walking her to her building, watching her step inside, but this time when the door closes behind her, he hears a gunshot. He wakes up gasping, terrified that he’ll never get to kiss her goodnight. 

He calls her, first thing in the morning, and asks for a second chance. 

On their second date, he takes her to lunch. He watches her hands as she fidgets, and his fingers itch with the desire to reach out. He watches her lick a drop of water from her lip, and he gets lost, imagining what it would be like to kiss her. 

After lunch, they go to his favorite used bookstore. It's a labyrinth of a place, with low ceilings and three floors and five old spiral staircases. It feels like you could find anything around the next corner, like the air is thick with magic under the smell of aging paper and ink, and there's something about it that makes Spencer feel like a child again. He leads her up the hidden back staircase, ducking to make it under the lintel, and when she looks around the mazelike loft, her face lights up with childlike joy that mirrors his own. He grabs her hand, then. 

It's the first time they've touched. Her palm feels tiny in his. "Which way?" he asks, and she looks around, bright eyed, weighing the options. She pulls him through a narrow aisle, past the autobiographies, her eyes alight and her lips curled in a smile, her fingers still laced with his. They're in the travel section when he stops short, tugging on her hand to reel her in. He kisses her before he can think too hard. It’s breathless, clumsy, eager, both of them smiling, and it's perfect. She’s solid and warm against him. He slides one hand up to her neck, running his fingers through her hair, and then cups her jaw. The pad of his thumb rests right against her heartbeat where it kicks steadily under the thin skin. He kisses her again. 

The tangible physical evidence of life under his hands feels like a minor miracle. He knows how fragile it is; he knows how easily this could be ripped away from him, how easy it would’ve been for things to go differently, for her heart to stop before he ever got to feel her pulse. 

He holds her hand as he walks her back to her building that afternoon. His hand is slightly sweaty, but she doesn’t seem to mind. He holds on tight, fascinated by the way their fingers slot together and the way he can feel the tiny knobby bones of her knuckles when he brushes his thumb over them. He kisses her outside her apartment and he smiles all the way home. 

The first time he undresses her, he takes his time. He touches every new inch of skin, reverent, presses his lips to every scar and freckle, until she’s flushed, flustered by the attention. 

“What?” she asks, as he stares. 

“You’re incredible,” he mumbles, because she is. Spencer is fascinated by the soft give of her stomach, the rise and fall of her chest, the shifting muscles of her thighs and the lines of tendons in her neck when she arches her back. There’s so much happening under her skin: red blood cells ferrying oxygen as she gasps in a breath, nerve endings firing off wherever he touches her, infinitesimal electric pulses rushing off to her brain to translate the pressure of his fingers into pleasure. 

It’s not just heat and friction. It’s life. She’s warm and breathing and so very alive under his palms, and every sensation is a celebration. 

Spencer falls hard and fast. She fits in his messy little world, slots neatly into spaces that he never realized were empty, filling his life with her warm laugh. It’s easier than he expected, letting her in. 

They have their first fight in Spencer’s kitchen on a Saturday afternoon. Spencer’s not sure what it’s about, afterward. It’s a blur. 

He gets passive-aggressive instead of dealing with things, and she says something sharp in return. Anger rises hot and corrosive in his throat, strangling everything else. He can’t swallow it down so he spits it out instead, snarling something hurtful, and he knows it’s petty, he knows it’s childlike to lash out, but it’s what he does. It’s what he always does. 

Spencer never really learned how to have an argument that doesn’t end with someone storming out the door. 

“You should go,” he snaps. Her eyes are big and hurt, and Spencer turns his back. 

“Spencer.” 

“I said, you should go.” 

There’s a long pause. He hears her grab her purse from the table and head for the door without another word. 

Spencer goes cold all over, because she’s about to walk out before he can say goodbye, and suddenly he’s terrified. He’s terrified, and it feels like he’s choking. The dull thud of the deadbolt sliding open sounds like a gunshot. 

She’s already halfway out the door when he says, “Wait.”  

He moves quickly, slamming the door shut and wrapping his arms around her, clinging tight. She slides her hands up his back and fists them in his shirt, pulling him closer. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed and feels the tears spill over. 

Anger is a waste of time. Why does he do that? 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, before he can even apologize. 

“Please don’t go,” he says, in a small strained voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I — sorry.” 

She takes a big shuddery breath and he realizes she’s crying too. He presses his lips to her temple and wipes her tears away with the pad of his thumb, and he has to bite back the words, because he knows it’s not the right moment, but all he can think is, I love you. 

A couple days later, they’re in his kitchen again, making dinner, and the light is golden where it comes through the window. She’s smiling. He takes the vegetable peeler out of her hand, sets it down on the counter, and tugs her away. 

“Dance with me?” he asks. She doesn’t question it. She slips her hand into his and sways slowly with him in the quiet kitchen, and he tells her: “I love you.”

He still dreams about Maeve sometimes. 

He’s stumbling through a strange unfamiliar house, opening doors and finding one empty echoing room after another, and he can’t find her. He’s so fucking scared he can’t breathe, and he’s choking on it, throat closed up tight. 

Last door. He can’t open it, he’s trying, but the handle is stuck, and then — 

He wakes at the gunshot, wakes with a sob in the back of his throat, reaching out into empty space. 

Except it’s not empty. She’s already there, right there in his arms, sprawled half on top of him with her sweaty skin plastered to his. 

“You okay?” she asks, voice slurred with sleep. 

“I will be,” he whispers. She’s already falling back to sleep, but he says it anyway: “I’m glad you’re here.” 

He still sort of feels like he’s choking. Love feels a lot like fear, sometimes. 

It’s more like a stranglehold than an embrace, but he holds her close and listens to the steady rush of oxygen in her lungs. She shifts, digging a knee into his thigh. He’s getting pins and needles in one arm, and her breath is hot and damp on the side of his neck, tickling his skin with every exhale. Spencer is overheated and uncomfortable. He doesn’t move. 

There are billions of people in this world and trillions of cells in her body, and there are countless tiny miracles that led them to this moment: tangled in the sheets, breathing slowly in the darkness, together, alive. 

Spencer understands, now. He never, ever wants to stop touching her. 

.

.

.

[detectivehannibal]

Two Timed (pt.2)

__

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Implications of cannibalism

Part 1: Here

A/N: Here it is, friends! Thank you for your patience!

Word Count: 2,113

“I’m done giving second chances. I don’t even know if I can give anyone even a first chance ever again.”

__

God, it was cold. Like freezing cold. No, it wasn’t the snow that was sticking to your windshield or the fact that everybody was bundled up in layers that gave it away. It was the usual sting and the ache as the coldness rushed through your body. The way your movements were ever slightly slowed each time you went to do something. The shivers and shakes as your body’s natural response to retain as much heat as possible. You didn’t care though. You were fueled by anger and hurt. That was enough energy to keep you going for days. 

Truthfully, you weren’t really sure where you were going or how long you had been on the road. Instead of packing your things from Hannibal’s house as you had planned, you immediately got on the road. Hannibal basically pleaded and begged (all while maintaining his composure) for you to stick around as he chased you to your car. He claimed there was a misunderstanding and that had never been unfaithful. But of all things, there was one thing you knew to be true about Hannibal Lecter.

He’s a damn good liar.

You figured as long as you were familiar with the area around you then it was safe to keep going. You knew your way around the state well enough to do so. You wanted to be alone. For now anyways.

Will was frightened out of his wits. Not knowing where you were and being unsure of your mental state terrified him. He had been calling and texting you nonstop. He knew you needed to be alone, but even a simple text from you would ease his nerves. He didn’t like the idea of you being out and about with no real sense of where you were going.

Hannibal was scared too, but it didn’t show. He was much more patient than his dog loving companion. He knew you’d come back eventually. He just had to wait you out...no matter how long it took. He would be the first to admit, he ended up waiting MUCH longer than he expected. So much longer that he was beginning to wonder if something terrible had happened to you. He was relieved, however, when he caught word that you had contacted Will, 2 weeks after that fateful night. You didn’t say much in your text to Will. Just a simple phrase letting him know you were okay. Hannibal knew you’d be there shortly.

You walked up the steps of your and Hannibal’s...well, now Hannibal’s home. You could hear two voices inside arguing. 

“I suggest you take it easy, Will. You’re pacing.” Hannibal’s thick voice rang out.

Will chuckled incredulously. He was unbelievably angry at Hannibal and himself. Hannibal for doing such an awful thing to you. Himself for not being able to save you from a world of hurt.

“Take it easy? Are you serious? This is your fault and you’re telling me to calm down?” He asked his refined therapist; “She’s been gone for 2 weeks without any word. Who knows how she’s feeling right now...I know how I’d feel.” He mumbled in fury.

Hannibal looked at Will the way he always did. A sense of mystery and fascination. He didn’t respond, curious to see if Will would go on. And go on he surely did;

“You know, I was beginning to think I was wrong about you. The way she always talked about you had almost convinced me that my initially feeling of you wasn’t accurate,” He hissed; “I guess I was wrong about being wrong. You’re just as I thought.”

The light snow melted into your clothes and transformed into water droplets on your boots as you entered the warmth of his home, not able to bear hearing anymore of this conversation. He had been sitting in his study with Will, his ears seeming to perk when he heard his front door close. Will’s pacing stopped and he exited the study to the breezeway. To his surprise, you didn’t look any different. He half expected you to look like a hot mess. Instead you just looked...empty.

“Oh...Will,” You breathed out, honestly happy to see him; “I didn’t know you were here.”

Will pulled you into the tightest hug you had ever felt. This was a little out of character for your beloved friend. He usually kept physical touch to a minimum. You had no intention of scaring him the way he had been. He understood you just didn’t want to see anyone for awhile. Still, he couldn’t help but worry. He eventually let you go, looking deep into your eyes to ensure that you were really in front of him. 

It wasn’t long before the man of the hour stepped out from his study. You looked into his eyes the way Will had looked into yours. Hannibal’s eyes were always a mix of blazing fire and a calm sea. He was so complicated. It was a wonder you were ever able to understand him.

“Hannibal,” You greeted flatly; “I’m just here to get my things. It shouldn’t take me very long.”

His hands were in his pockets and his posture was perfectly upright. His eyes shifted to the dining room for just a brief moment before returning to you;

“Would it be inappropriate to ask you to stay for dinner? I’m sure you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.” He proclaimed.

Damn him and his spot on perception. He was right. You hadn’t had what he would consider a “real” meal the entire time of your absence. You knew what dinner meant for Hannibal Lecter. Even during your marriage, the thought of it never failed to make your stomach flip. You didn’t understand it and you’d be lying if you said you never felt guilty about being the only other person who knew he was the one Jack Crawford had been looking for. You wrestled with it often. That was the power Hannibal had. He could make anybody question their morals.

“I’m fine. I’ll just be getting my things,” You repeated.

You turned towards the staircase and began the trek to the bedroom. You refused to let Hannibal steer you back to him. Throughout your 2 week disappearance, you went back and forth trying to decide if this was the last straw. He had hurt you in the worst way possible and there was no reconciliation for that. Then why did you still have the slightest desire to make things work? At the end of the day, you guessed that a part of you would always still love him. 

A pair of heavy footsteps followed behind you up the staircase. Once you reached the top, you turned around. Expecting to see Hannibal, you clenched your jaw as a response. You were surprised to see Will instead.

“Can we talk?” He asked as he continued to follow you. 

You didn’t respond until you entered the bedroom, retrieving your suitcase from the closet;

“Sure.” You replied.

He watched for a moment as you began rifling through drawers and packing them away. 

“I know what you’re thinking. I know there’s still a part of you that wants to stay.” Will claimed.

“I don’t want to stay.” You bantered back a little too quickly.

Will chuckled in disbelief. He could smell your lies from across the room;

“Don’t lie to me. I know you,” He said; “I know you don’t just get over things like that.”

A heavy sigh heaved from your chest. So maybe you had two extremely perceptive people in your life. 

“Will, I-”

“No, please listen. I know how you are. You’re going to doubt your decision to leave at some point and think about coming back,” He said standing firmly next to you; “You’ll wonder if it was worth leaving and I’m telling you that there’s no way you can come back here.”

He saw the tips of your eyes begin to narrow and your brows dip as annoyance arose in you;

“You think I don’t know that? Do you think I don’t know how stupid I’d be to come back to him? I didn’t want things to turn out this way,” You spat; “Why are you telling me this?”

Without hesitation, Will dropped a huge ball of truth on you;

“Because you care too much. You always give people second chances. I told you not to give him a second chance. Ever. You believe that everybody has a good reason for hurting others and that they are good inside,” He fired off; “I know you’re going to try to come back thinking that he won’t do it again. And I’m telling you that’s not a risk worth taking.”

His words knocked you silent and brought tears to your eyes. You felt like everybody around you seemed to be right. You put a few final items in your suitcase and zipped it shut. You’d be staying with a friend of yours for awhile. Just until you could find somewhere else to live. You had to admit, you hated leaving this house behind. It had so many memories. Good and bad ones. You just wished that your last time in it didn’t have to be the worst of them all.

You knew that right now was probably the last best chance you’d ever have at getting the ultimate revenge on Hannibal. You had his deepest, darkest secret at your disposal. You just had to tell Will that Hannibal was The Chesapeake Ripper. Just five measly words. But then you’d be no better than anybody else. That wouldn’t mend your pain.

“I’m not coming back, Will. I can promise you that,” You quivered; “I’m done giving second chances. I don’t even know if I can give anyone even a first chance ever again.” You said lightly. 

Now he was silent. He figured he’d have to put up more of a fight. His shoulders eased and his head lowered a little. He knew it’d probably be awhile before he saw you again. But he knew, at least, that you’d call him to check in. God, he loved you. He was beginning to think he loved you in a way that he shouldn’t. You were his best friend. It felt so wrong to romantically be in love with his best friend. 

“Thanks for caring about me, Will. I know how you feel about me. I just can’t right now. I’m sorry.” You whispered.

You brushed past him with tears spilling down your cheeks. You couldn’t stand to look at him right now. You knew you had just shattered him. The feeling of hypocrisy crept over you. Now it seemed you were the one breaking hearts.

There was no sign of Hannibal as you re-entered the breezeway. Now, at least you could get out of here peacefully. That relief was short lived when you heard a familiar accented voice just as your hand placed itself on the door handle;

“My infidelity wasn’t committed with the intent of hurting anybody. I never intended to hurt you,” He calmly stated. “It wasn’t meant to be an act of mistrust.”

Your back was to him, afraid if you turned around that you’d go running into his arms. You shook your head;

“It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. It’s over.” You mumbled.

Truthfully, he thought you would stay. It wasn’t until really hearing you say it again that he realized it was truly over. For the first time in his life, he actually felt guilty. He was willing to take accountability for his actions. He knew he had truly hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.

“It doesn’t have to be. My time with Dr. Bloom is over,” He said walking up to you; “This doesn’t have to be the end of us.”

“We can’t go back to being the way we were and you know it. I wouldn’t be able to see you without always wondering why I wasn’t enough.” You growled.

He was looking at the back of your head, accepting that you weren’t going to face him;

“[Y/N], I-” 

“Don’t say anything else. Please,” You begged; “I’m sorry this ended the way it did. Hopefully you’ll find someone who is enough and more.” 

And with that, you finally opened the door to be met with a blast of freezing air. Hannibal didn’t chase after you. He knew better. Even the best hunters knew when it was time to let their prey go. So, he let you go. He watched you disappear into the falling snow. Your only wish was that you could somehow find someone new one day.

Someone who wouldn’t ever need to have a second chance.

[innocent-chris-evans-slut]

Don’t Stop

My Masterlist ✨

Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.307 (I got carried away, sorry)

Type: Smut

Summary: Tony’s throwing the biggest party for his birthday. You and Wanda take the spotlight, but the Captain isn’t very happy about it.

Warning(s): oral sex (male receving), rough sex, hair pulling, dom!Steve, threesome, overstimulating, voyerurism 

IF YOU’RE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH ANY OF THESE, DON’T READ!

For his birthday, Tony Stark had decided to throw one of the biggest parties you had ever been at. In only two days he transformed the living room of fourth floor of the Avengers Compound into the biggest party room on the planet.

You were the latest addition to the Avengers. You had a power that anybody had seen before, an ultrasonic scream that Tony Stark, as well as Bruce Banner, found fascinating -especially because you didn’t use any kind of technological device. No, your power was entirely natural. For this reason, you had been paired with Wanda. In the last few months you and Wanda had become great friends, given that you were almost the same age and that your life experiences -even if extreme- were almost the same. Also, you were the youngest Avengers at the compound and your friendship was becoming stronger each day passed.

“Tell me why do we have to attend the party”, you said as you sat down on the edge of your bed, soon followed by Wanda. You both laid down on the mattress and sigh at the idea of that evening. Undoubtedly there were members of the team that loved that kind of events, but you and Wanda weren’t among those.

“Because…” the red-haired one started, “…it is Tony’s birthday, who technically is our boss. And because the Captain will wear a suit and we love him wearing a suit”.

A particular common interest you had Steve Rogers. Since day one both of you made it clear to each other about the massive crush on the Captain and both accepted it. Being it only a dream, sometimes you found yourselves fantasizing about sharing a night with the soldier. “Imagine him wearing a light-blue-linen shirt put inside of pair of dark blue pair of pants. The ones in which his ass stands out”, while telling it, you found yourself shivering.

The same was happening to the Witch, who didn’t hide it, “Hopefully with his sleeves rolled-up on his arms”.

“I think we should have a cold shower”, you stated, getting up; you stretched out a hand to help your friend doing the same, “See you later?”

“For sure. I’m still not able to apply eyeliner alone.”

“Have you seen the twins?” Nat placed the flute she had between her hands on the table, then she took the seat next to Steve. She fixed the close-fitting black sheath dress on her uncovered knees and lowered its sleeves.

Twins was how everybody addressed to Wanda and you, considered your age and the quite special bond you shared. Yet, everybody learnt not to call the two of you like that when you were around.

“Not yet”, the soldier had a quick look around the room and confirmed his answer to his friend’s question. Once he went back staring at the golden liquid in his glass, on the table, he was suddenly hit on his chest by Natasha. He looked up and followed her gaze.

All the guests’ eyes laid on Wanda and you as both entered the room. For that particular event, the two friends decided wearing the same dress, but in two different colors. It was a knee-long sheath dress with no sleeves, yet high-necked; as you turned to reach the counter everybody became aware that behind, the dress, left the upper half of their backs uncovered.

“Good evening, girls”, Sam Wilson appeared behind your backs and asked for a drink at the bartender, “What are your plans? Kill everyone in this room?”

You shared a look with Wanda and both giggled, before turning to your friend, “Probably” your friend said.

“Or probably just one”, you added having a quick look around and lying your eyes over the Captain, now busy talking with a bunch of apparently-wealth men, behind them stood their wives and girlfriends.

Sam burst out laughing when he acknowledged what, or better who, the two of you were aiming for, “Good luck then”, and he left. Your best friend couldn’t help but search for Steve’s gaze once more. As a matter of fact, Wanda and you had never lost him for more than ten seconds; as if he was your target that night.

In fact, he was.

And he acknowledged your eyes on him as he walked across the room and sat down on the nearest couch he’d found. Legs slightly spread and head folded on his left side, an amused smirk coming up. If he was surprised by the twins’ outfits, he managed not to show it to anyone. That night he drew all women’s attention -married, engaged, in a relationship-, yet he acted like he hadn’t noticed it. Steve Rogers hated acknowledging it, but his attention was all on Wanda and you, who chose to wear the same dress, still in two colors. Steve refused to believe they chose blue and red because they were the only colors available, instead he thought you wore them for him.

His colors.

The Captain switched his eyes between Wanda and Y/N, who were dancing at the center of the dancefloor. For the couch he was sat on, he had a clear view of the two of you moving your hips and letting your hair free to be. He didn’t hold it back when two young boys came behind your backs and laid their hands on the girls’ waists.

Enough was enough.

“Girls, a word”, Steve didn’t wait for the two of you to agree with him, or simply consciously follow him, he grabbed your wrists and dragged you into his office -not far away from the place the party was going on. He pulled you in the room and forced you to sit down on two chairs, “What was that?”

Between the two, you were the most stubborn -you hated being scolded. Especially from the man you loved -the one you dreamt about at night, “We were just having fun. That’s what people do at parties”, you said trying to get up, but Steve put his hand on your shoulder and applied enough pressure to make you sit again.

“Enough parting for you two tonight.”

“What did I do?” Wanda spoke up, irritated by the Captain’s voice tone, “Can I-“

“No, we’re not going to ask to go back there”, you got up -this time making sure you were out of Steve’s look-, “C’mon”, you took Wanda’s hand and together you began approaching the door.

Little did you two know the Captain had locked the three of you inside the office, “Guess you can’t go anywhere without these”. Steve was leaning against the desk, shaking the keys in his hand.

“So, what? Are we staying here the whole night and wait for all the guests to be gone?”

“I have a better idea”, you said with her unique naughty smirk on, suddenly coming up with an idea. You approached Wanda and whispered to her ear your plan, knowing that she would be more than concordant with you.

Rogers couldn’t hear what the two were talking about but, by the look you two shared, he knew something was going to happen to him, “I’m not going to fight you”.

“Oh, we’re not”, your smirk never came off of your face, and slowly starts walking towards him.

The same did Wanda, next to you, “Not at all”.

Steve didn’t know what to do; he clearly didn’t know what was going on. Better, he had a vague idea, yet he refused to believe so, “Girls…” the soldier backed off until he hit the wall.

There was no way to escape.

“Not so bossy now, aren’t you?” your voice voice echoed in the empty room, with one last step you were now facing the blonde man, “Captain?”

He didn’t lose his control; he stood still and straight against the cold door. The closest the two girls got, the breathless he became. You were a few inches away from the Captain’s face when the smirk on your face disappeared and you turned to Wanda. And you kissed her. You literally made your lips crush against Wanda’s and cupped her head. At that sight Steve swallowed hard, not able to say anything to stop you two. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. The built man stared at the girl’s lips on each other’s face; the Witch’s tongue in your mouth. He felt his pants and underwear getting tighter and tighter, his jaw and his fists clenching as he watched you two being so intimate and provocative. He just couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Girls, don’t play with fire”, the Captain warned you, closing his eyes and hoping you would have listened to him.

Yet, you and Wanda didn’t.

Instead, your friend broke the kiss and turned to the Super Soldier standing in front of them. She can’t say if he was shocked or excited -or both-, but she found the answer when she let her eyes wander on his body. “Looks like we’ve made the Captain hard”, she stated, switching her eyes between the bulge in his pants and you.

“I’m sure we can do something to make you feel better”, you slowly kneeled down and, with a rapid movement, unbuckled his belt and undid his pants, lowering them up to his ankles. You couldn’t help but look at him while her hand slipped into his underwear and grasped his already hard cock. She pulled it out and stared at it, her mouth watery, before licking the pre-cum on the tip. All of a sudden you felt a strong hand on your hair and looked up; Steve was holding your hair with one hand and Wanda’s with the other, his lips on the Witch’s.

“Suck it”, those words were capable of make you shiver.

You licked the entire length, while your hand gently massaged his balls; when the grip among your hair tightened, you smirked and eventually put your lips on Steve’s pulsating pinkish cock. You started slowly, letting your tongue wander on his evident veins; the pace gradually increased.

Steve liked it; or, at least, that’s what you could state, given the moans coming from his mouth -currently on Wanda’s neck. Again, he put his hand among your hair and buried his cock in you mouth. Entirely. You widened your eyes but managed to take it in and not throw up. His manners, the possession he was showing, it was anything he had shown before. Perhaps none of the Avengers knew that part of him.

That’s why Y/N and Wanda weren’t expect Steve to be like that under the sheets.

He suddenly removed his cock from your mouth and, with a tug in your hair, forced you to look up at him, “Want me to cum in your mouth? Or over that pretty face of yours?”

You and Wanda were completely shocked by his behavior. You exchanged an ashen look, yet Steve caught them, “Maybe I should just wait”. Having said that, the super soldier grabbed the both of them by their waists and lifted them up, effortlessly.

Both caught by surprise, both the girls let out a gasp when he opened the door and walked down the hall, careless if anyone was there; once in front of his bedroom, Steve kicked the door open.

“On the bed”, he ordered in a tone which didn’t allow any kind of reply. Neither a discord.

You were already more than wet, only waiting for him to let you reach your climax over and over again. Yet your plans weren’t Steve’s.

“Clothes off”, he gave another order and sat down on the armchair in front of the bed. His eyes fixed on his colleagues, kneeled on his bed and about to strip for him. As you unzipped Wanda’s dress, Steve felt his boner was becoming harder and harder. He brought his right hand down to his clothed crotch and softly rubbed it -not wanting to cum in his pants.

The Witch was wearing a see-through black underwear. You had a similar underwear on, though it was dark red.

“Kiss”, a smirk came up onto his face, while he unbuttoned his pants and let his hard cock spring free. Steve slowly stroked it, his eyes-full of lust- still on the two girls, as you cupped Wanda’s face and gently trapped the Witch’s lips into yours. Your tongues danced together; a stream of saliva dripped from both of your chins. “Wanda, unclasp Y/N’s bra”.

Without even opening her eyes, Wanda’s hands reached your back and her fingers quickly unfastened the opening of your bra, leaving your breasts free. Unconsciously your left hand reached the slip you were wearing, and your fingers slipped in.

In a matter of seconds Steve got up and approached the two, though he didn’t climb on the bed. He grabbed your arm and put it at the base of your back, “Have I told you to do it?”, as your answer was late, Steve said: “Answer me!”

“N-no.”

He tightened the grasp around your arm, “What was that?”

“No, Captain”, you soon corrected yourself, batting your eyes, “I’m sorry, Captain”, you added in a lustful tone.

The way you pronounced it, the way you were looking at him through you long eyelashes, did nothing but turn him on even more, “Since you’ve been a naughty girl, you’ll be watching”. He made Wanda stop and dragged you off the bed, then he forced you on the chair he was sat before and said: “Enjoy the show”. He went back to Wanda, he quickly made her face the sheets and tied her hands behind her back and gently caressed her ass, “Are you ready?”

The girl nodded without taking her eyes off of Steve’s face, even when he put the tip of his cock to her entrance, “So wet for me, aren’t you?”, he rubbed his index and middle fingers on her folds, her juices all over his fingers, “Here, taste yourself”.

As soon as Wanda had opened her mouth, Roger’s fingers slipped into it, leaving behind them a sweet trace. Tasting herself aroused her even more; somehow, she was becoming wetter and the knot in her stomach tightened.

She was about to cum.

And she wasn’t the only one; on the chair you clenched your tights, trying to ease the pain coming from your pulsating clit -horny because of what was going on not far away from you. Steve had buried Wanda’s face into the mattress, her ass in the air, and was about to make his way into her -but, before, he glanced over you with a smirk on his face.

Without a warning, the Captain thrusted himself into Wanda, making her scream against the sheets.

“We don’t want anybody to hear us, do we?” the girl under him nodded as she made her best not to scream while Steve increased his pace. It was an unhuman speed. Something Wanda had never experienced before. And it was breathtaking.

Steve grasped Wanda’s throat, pulling her up until her back hit his chest, he grabbed her chin and turned her towards you -clearly in pain on the chair. Your chest raised up and down and your breath was heavy; the Captain didn’t allow you to touch herself, but you soon discovered it wasn’t necessary. You were about to come only by seeing them having sex.

“Bring her closer.”

Wanda followed his order and used her mgaic to pull your chair closer to them. A second after you were looking at Steve quickly thrusting in and out from your best friend. Some drops of Wanda’s juices squirted over your face and you licked it, pleased with yourself.

“Look at our bad girl, wanting to taste you”, Steve noticed it and it did nothing but let his smirk grow over his face, “Wanda, do you want her to taste you?”

Wanda was on edge, really close to cum over the Captain’s cock, and it made it difficult to answer his question. She raised her head and looked over her shoulder to see the built man looking at her and you, ready to jump on the bed at Steve’s command.

He had two girls in the palm of his hand.

“Y-yes, Captain”, Wanda whispered, feeling the knot in her stomach tightening more and more. She felt the mattress caving in as her best friend put her knee onto it.

“Face here, baby girl”, he gestured you to lay down right under Wanda’s entrance, where he’s thrusting deep in her up to her climax. Steve roughly grabbed your hair and buried your face into Wanda’s folds, “How does it feel, sweetheart?”

“G-great”, Wanda was almost unable to speak, as her climax approached, and her moans filled the room. She closed her eyes and pressed her face onto the pillows, releasing her screams. The Witch felt her legs shaking, then a strong grip on both her tights; she lowered her gaze and saw her best friend, smiling at her and licking her completely opened folds. The view of her juices, mixed with Steve’s cum, dripping from another girl’s chin was enough for her to come again.

“Now, what should I do with you and your bouncing tits?” as he ended covering your face with his cum, he lowered himself, “I should punish you”, he giggled and stand up, stretching a hand for you to get up as well. He looked into your eyes, sparkling and full of lust, and he came up with the perfect punishment for his naughty girl. Steve tossed you on the bed and wide-opened your legs, a moment after his full length was inside you.

You were breathless and when you understood he wouldn’t move, you moaned: “Fuck”, desperately trying not to let out one of her screams, “Please…move”, you said, feeling his cock still almost in her stomach.

“Gladly”, he thrusted into you once, with all his force and your moans pleased him, “Sweetheart, come here”, he brushed Wanda’s cheek and grabbed her chin, putting her mouth down on your clit, “Lick”. He began pushing his cock deeper inside of you, amazed by the fact that you could take all of that. The only noises in the room were your suppressed moans and Steve’s balls roughly banging onto your ass.

The man of your dreams was fucking you, really hard and roughly, and you weren’t the only one. You would have lied if you said having a threesome didn’t turned you on even more. Watching your best friend bend over you, sucking on your clit and shamelessly staring at you, made you cum in less than four minutes -absolutely a record time for you.

“Don't stop.”

When you heard it, coming for Steve, you couldn’t help but let out your moans and struggle, trying to resist the overstimulation. You looked as Steve kept Wanda’s head on her clit, not allowing her to move. “Please…” it was nothing more than a whisper, but the other two clearly heard it, “Cap-“, you voice broke when you reached your second climax.

“What a champ”, Steve said chuckling and made Wanda lifted her head and his eyes soon found hers, “On your knees, sweetheart”. Then he grabbed you by her throat and pushed you down on the floor. Both of you looking at him as if you were puppies made his cock grow in his hand. “Don’t open your mouths”, having said that, he stroked his hard a cock and in a matter of seconds he cum all over your faces -on your mouths, your cheeks and your closed eyes. With his hands he spread his hot cum more and looked at you, pleased with himself.

“Dress up. We have twenty minutes before the cake is out”, he opened his bathroom’s door and turned to you, still kneeled, and found you licking his cum from each other’s face, “Good girls. Now clean yourselves up”.

Tag List (open):

@sinner-as-saint​

[cami-chats]

Controlled Explosions

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Warnings: Normal superhero shenanigans

Summary: Tony doesn't go out of his way to create explosions. He just happens to be in a lot of situations where things explode, and that's hardly his fault, is it, Steve? 

Five times Tony is the cause of an explosion, and one time someone else tries to be. Written for MTH2020

Read below or on AO3

1. Define 'controlled explosion'

"You said it would be a controlled explosion," Steve said.

"Yeah," Tony said, confused, and still-- if he was being honest-- having a little trouble hearing. He'd been a bit closer to the bomb when it went off than he'd meant to be. "It was."

"That was not controlled!"

At some other time, it would be fascinating to see the differences between Steve in Captain America mode and when he wasn't. When he'd been in Cap-mode, talking to Tony about how setting off the explosion early might be a bad idea, he'd been very calm about it all. Now that he was just Tony's boyfriend, he was kind of freaking out.

Tony blinked at him in confusion. It had been controlled. "The previous location of the bomb would've brought the whole building down. I know you don't really understand chain reactions, but suffice it to say that we saved an entire city block by moving it."

"For fuck's sake, Tony! I told you to go ahead because you made me think it was going to be safe!"

"I never said it was safe. I said that it was safer than letting it go off where it had been placed, which was true."

"You said it would be a controlled explosion!"

"And it was. Maybe you should look up what an uncontrolled explosion looks like," Tony said, patting him on the arm then getting on his tiptoes for a quick kiss before leaving. He needed to take a shower and get some of this grime off. He heard Steve say something in response, but it was too low for him to really make out with his ears still ringing-- and not facing him, so he couldn't read his lips and try to piece it together. He imagined that it was something half-loving and half-derogatory, since that's what Steve usually did when Tony did something dangerous in the field. If it was really important, Steve would say it again.

2. Who knew that artifact would explode?

Despite what some people-- like Steve, Coulson, the rest of the Avengers really-- thought about Tony and his workshop, he did practice safe procedures. What they didn't seem to really understand was that there were situations where he could be safe and shit would still go wrong.

Like this. This was an alien artifact, and Thor was out of contact dealing with royal Asgard business-- presumably; it's not like he'd filled them in, just said that he had to go home and would be back as soon as he could-- so Tony was guessing. He had on thick gloves and goggles, and he wasn't even touching the glowing sphere directly, which was progress that he thought they should be appreciative of. He had tools. Not as easy to work with as his own fingers, but it was still good enough that he'd been able to pry away part of the outside protective, metal shell.

He gingerly placed the tongs on the inside and made to turn it so he could confirm that it was the same all around, but he didn't get the chance. An explosion rocked the workshop, leaving a crater where his table used to be and blowing him halfway across the room.

"Huh," Tony said, then started coughing. Bright side? He still had all his fingers. The tongs he'd been using were vaporized as best he could tell. In fact, everything metal within a foot of the sphere was now gone. Tony's gloves were untouched. He pulled one off and slid the goggles off his face so he could get a better look at them. The lenses were fine, as expected. Most of the components were plastic, but there were a couple places that had metal pins, just to help hold it together. The pins were gone. One firm tug, and the strap would disconnect from the lenses.

Half the team-- the half that had been in the Tower-- came running into the room. Tony gave a half-hearted wave, still coughing.

"What happened?" Natasha asked.

"Well, let's look on the bright side," Tony said roughly, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm still alive." If he'd been closer to it when it went off, it would've taken a chunk out of the arc reactor. Its range had been small enough that he was safe. It was obvious that things hadn't gone as wrong as they could have, so he didn't see why they were looking at him with that much concern. He coughed again. "Maybe I'll call the Fantastic Four to take this one over." He didn't want to, but he hadn't been having any luck with it before it took a bite out of his workshop. If nothing else, it wouldn't instantly kill any of them if they were standing too close. Besides, Reed was pretty good about passing information back to him. And if there was any superhero group he had to work with, he'd choose the Fantastic Four every time.

"Yeah, I don't think that really answered the question," Clint said. "You're lucky Cap's not here, or you'd find yourself wrapped in a blanket before you took another breath."

Tony flipped him off. He should probably go to medical. There hadn't been any smoke, but he was coughing like there had been. What a pain.

3. Oxygen works differently here

Other planets were weird. He could tell, just by breathing, that the air here wasn't what they were used to. The good news was that they were all still alive and were going to stay that way for a while. The Guardians-- short for Guardians of the Galaxy-- were explaining a few things to Steve. Apparently, the villain that had transported them here was one that had beef with the Guardians, and Steve wanted to be prepared in case it happened again.

Tony knew that he was going to have to wait until they were done with the official superhero talk before he had a chance to ask them about atmosphere, gravity, and what it was like to have more than one moon. He also had a few questions about the air, because this was definitely not the cocktail he was used to.

He was feeling... high, almost. It could be any number of things, but higher oxygen levels would be the answer easiest to solve on his own. If he lit a match and it burned bigger than usual, it was oxygen. If it was brighter, it was nitrogen. If it did both or a weird mixture of other stuff, he'd have no idea what it was without taking a sample of the air and analyzing it. Chemistry wasn't his strong point when it came to the sciences, but he knew the basics. Enough to make sense of breathable air, at the very least.

Nothing wrong with a little test. He had a laser in the armor, but that wasn't as predictable as regular fire even though it was easier for him to access. He had a lighter in one of the fingers of the armor, so he held his hand as far away from himself as he could for a better view, and activated it.

It went off like a fucking firework. Tony deactivated the lighter almost as soon as he'd started it, but the damage had been done. "Shit," he bit out, jerking his hand back, but he could tell that his hand had already been injured. The suit was protected from the outside, not the inside, and since it had been his lighter that had started it... yeah. That shit stung.

Even after turning off the lighter, the fire persisted. Tony cocked his head as the flames stayed where it had stared but lasted longer on its own than a fire could on Earth without something to hold onto. Despite knowing that nothing was helping it keep burning, Tony couldn't help but peer at it, trying to find a wick or gas line.

That was a bit more than he'd expected. It took a full eight seconds for the fire to burn itself out.

"Huh." Weird. He really should ask- that thought stopped cold when he turned and saw everyone staring at him.

"Dude," Sam said.

Steve's mouth was slightly ajar, like he wanted to ream into Tony for being stupid but didn't know where to start.

"In case anyone was wondering, this air isn't the same as what we have on Earth."

"Yeah, thanks Tony," Natasha said dryly.

"Always happy to help. Uh. Anyone got burn cream?"

"Is he like this all the time?" one of the Guardians-- a new one, Tony didn't remember their name-- asked.

"Yeah," Steve said.

4. Home-made, on a budget

"This has got to be one of the worst things we've done," Steve said under his breath.

"Is it?" Tony asked absently, looking at the chemical breakdown of the fertilizer. Hmph. Better for soil probably, but not really what he was looking for. He put it down and picked up the brand next to it. Ah, this was more like it. He set it down and squatted to get the big bag and add it to the cart.

"No weapons, no intel. Why aren't you freaking out?"

"No weapons is a very closed-minded view of the situation, babe."

"What, are you going to drown people in fertilizer?" Steve asked. He sounded genuinely confused, which was weird. Tony had thought everyone these days knew that fertilizer could be used in explosives.

"Just keep pushing the cart and leave this part to me," Tony said, because he figured that giving a quick chemistry lesson in the middle of the gardening section was a bad idea. See? He was getting better at this whole pretending-to-be-a-normal-person thing. No matter what Clint said.

"I'm not stupid," Steve said, and Tony was familiar enough with him to catch the irritation there.

"Never meant to imply you were, but I figured we should get in and out before we get caught." Ooo, Christmas lights. He didn't know what he would've done if they'd had to buy normal lightbulbs for this; it would've taken like five boxes instead of just the one, and they would've been less effective since they were for everyday use and used a completely different composition for the bulb covering. "Besides," Tony said, aiming a grin back at him, "you'll probably figure it out as we put these together."

"You're making stuff we can use," Steve stated, like he hadn't really known what they were doing here. Tony would like to pretend to be offended that Steve thought he'd be gift shopping at a time like this, but he'd done that during a crisis before. Then, "Are you sure it'll be powerful enough?"

"We're not blowing up a bunker. This'll be plenty. There's a lot more firepower in everyday household items than you'd think."

"Clearly," Steve muttered.

"Trust me, Cap, by the time we're back in the Tower, you'll know enough to be able to put together your own pipe bomb for the next time you get stranded like this."

"I'm hoping this is the only time."

"With our lives?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of odds are you being given on that? I don't think even a hundred to one would be worth it when you know you're going to lose. Or rather, I know you're going to lose, and since I have more experience, I feel like you should listen to me."

Steve rolled his eyes, but with more humor than before. Apparently, knowing that Tony had the situation in hand was enough to soothe all of his worries.

"Hey, you should be happy this place even has a hardware store. There's like, one gas station with a McDonald's attached, and then this store. I don't think I'd be able to do a lot of damage with whatever I could find in a McDonald's."

"I have faith in Iron Man's ability to save us," Steve said, and when Tony glanced at him, he was looking at him fondly and with a healthy dose of love thrown in for good measure. He'd gotten used to that expression on Steve's face in a hurry.

5. Bucky agreed with me

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Famous last words, Tony knew, but it really had. He'd tell Steve that he regretted it, if that's what he wanted to hear, but he held that it was a good idea. That it was bad for PR was hardly his fault, and frankly, he didn't understand why it would be bad for PR anyways. It was a Hydra base! They were Nazis, and everyone hated Nazis. If anything, him and Bucky should get a thank you card for performing a public service.

He got the distinct feeling that Steve wouldn't agree with that, though.

"What were you thinking?" Steve asked, looking a little frazzled around the edges. Given that he was having to deal with Tony and Bucky for this, that made sense. Normally it was one or the other. Now, he was outnumbered.

"It seemed like a good idea," Tony said, and Bucky nodded.

"A really good idea," Bucky added.

"You blew up a building!"

"There weren't any other buildings around it," Tony said.

"No civilian casualties," Bucky said.

"It's still personal property damage, and I thought we all agreed to try and cut down on that."

"Do we care about Hydra's personal property?" Tony asked, frowning. He'd been under the distinct impression that they didn't. For fuck's sake, it was Hydra they were talking about.

"Officially, the Hydra organization itself didn't own the building or the land," Steve said.

"How do you know that?" Bucky asked curiously, which was a good point. Since when did Steve pay attention to details like that? It wasn't exactly something he could know just from paying attention to the situation.

"Agent Coulson told me. As our handler, it's his job to know those details and share them with us as he sees fit."

"Damn, are you quoting the handbook now?" Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

"Besides, if Agent is our handler, then it's his job to take care of the buildings we blow up."

"Tony, stop missing the point on purpose."

"Who said I'm missing it on purpose? Maybe I'm missing it on accident, you don't know."

Steve gave him a flat look. "You can't go around blowing up buildings just because you feel like it." He looked at Bucky. "I get that you want to, and as your friend, I support you. As the team leader and another Avenger, I have to tell you to stop. We don't get to do whatever we want."

"Yeah yeah, there are rules, we all agreed to them, we'll be better next time, all that jazz," Tony said, throwing an arm around Steve's shoulders and getting up on his toes to give him a quick kiss.

Steve just sighed. "I love both of you, but seriously, what the hell?" He put his arm around Tony's waist since he didn't move to walk away. "We've been fine on this for a couple years. What made this different?"

Tony and Bucky shared a look. They hadn't agreed not to tell anyone, but there had been an unspoken understanding that the less people knew about it, the better off they'd all be. "It was a research lab," Bucky said, and he left it at that. They didn't need to elaborate what kind of research, because Steve knew that any research Hydra was doing was bad news. The only way they'd had of making sure that none of the research was recovered was by getting rid of the entire building. Whatever hadn't been destroyed in the initial blast was then rendered unrecoverable when the roof collapsed on top of it all.

Steve glanced between the two of them. He knew that basic research wouldn't have gotten this reaction, but Hydra didn't do 'basic' research; there wasn't any point in being an evil organization if you were going to be moral with your experiments. Tony could see it on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to ask what kind of research, but none of it made it out of his mouth. "Okay. You know the speech. Don't do it again, formal apology if Agent Coulson says it's required, all that crap."

"Done," Bucky said immediately, and Tony gave Steve another soft kiss in thanks. They both knew that Steve was on their side for stuff like this, but sometimes he wanted so badly to be a good Captain America that it muddied the waters.

+1. Half-heart, Half-bomb

"I guess that's one explosion you finally don't have to worry about," Tony joked with a tremulous smile.

Steve smiled back, just as weakly. They were both pretending. Tony wondered how long that would last before Steve couldn't take it anymore and worried over him in a more obvious manner. It would probably last all the way up until they were back home, with the doors shut and no outside eyes on them. Then he was going to worry like the world's biggest mother hen. For now though, Tony was grateful for him trying.

The whir of the quinjet was comforting to him now like it had never been before. Tony didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd been in dangerous situations a hundred times before, as Iron Man. Hell, he'd been in more dangerous situations than the one he'd just gotten rescued from.

The problem, he guessed, was that... well, this one hit closer to home. It was the arc reactor. It was a part of him. Having that be turned against him felt like a betrayal, somehow.

Since becoming Iron Man, he'd done his fair share of starting fires and creating explosions-- more than his fair share, if you asked Steve. With Obadiah, he'd used the first arc reactor that Howard had built as a bomb. A small one, considering the amount of firepower it had, but a bomb all the same. To see the same thing happen to his own had been nothing short of a nightmare. The kind of nightmare that woke you up in the middle of the night, shaking and clammy. He'd woken up from a drugged sleep and seen wires coming out of his chest. He hadn't been convinced that it wasn't a vivid hallucination, at first, but it hadn't stopped him from panicking.

They got to the Tower, headed inside, and went straight to their room. Well, officially it was Tony's room, but it was only a matter of time before Steve moved in.

"You want to talk about it?" Steve asked.

Tony rubbed over the arc reactor reflexively. He couldn't feel any sensation from it, but he could feel the heel of his palm on one side, and the tips of his fingers on the other. The fact that his palm wasn't skipping over emptiness did quite a bit to reassure him that he was fine. The problem, of course, was that he already knew he was fine. He was here, and he wasn't in pain. Steve was here, and they weren't in a battle. He knew that everything was fine.

Now if he could just stop freaking out about it.

"It wasn't even a good bomb," Tony said, the words slipping out of his mouth one after another. "Like, can you imagine making a bomb out of someone's pacemaker, so it would kill them, but you're not even going to get the destruction radius that you want? The arc reactor has so much energy that you could easily level a city block, but with the way they did it, it wouldn't have gone more than ten feet. It wouldn't have made it through a wall if I'd been standing right next to it. What kind of bullshit villain do you have to be to not know how to properly make a bomb? The only one it would've killed was- me, and- it's not like there aren't easier ways of- doing that. It's like-" He was having trouble breathing now. He was talking himself into a panic.

Steve wrapped him up in a hug, and Tony hid his face against Steve's neck. "They're stupid, you're not. We're gonna wake up tomorrow and get to do whatever the hell we want, and they won't be able to. It's gonna be okay. We all know you're better at this than anyone else, right?" he added on the end, smiling a little to try and raise Tony's spirits even though he couldn't see him; Tony always said that he loved Steve's smile.

"Yeah." He took a shaky breath in. It was weird; he felt like he was closer to falling apart now than he'd been while it was happening. Once he'd figured out that he wasn't trapped in the middle of a nightmare, he'd been able to deal with it. Grace under pressure or something, he guessed. It didn't make much sense to him for why he should be so calm then only to fall into pieces now. And he did. Fall into pieces, that is.

Steve just held him and said, "You're safe now. I've got you."

He didn't cry, not really. Mostly he stood there, shaking and clinging to Steve like a lifeline. He knew that he'd feel better by tomorrow, but for now, he let himself feel bad.

[raendown]

Next up in the follower milestone gift fics is for @FollowingTheRivers, prompt word torpid. 

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 1397 Rated: T+ Summary: It wouldn't occur to him until much later just how ready he'd been to trust the one who found him.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Anchor in  the Drift

Maybe, Tobirama thought, if he tried very hard, he could invent a new seal on the spot that would allow him to stand up outside of his own body and carry it to safety. That sounded a great deal like a job for those solid clones he was still working on but not really, that wasn’t entirely what he wanted. What he actually wanted was to close his eyes and just let consciousness swim away from him like it was trying so very hard to do. Unfortunately that was definitely a bad idea at the moment. Very unsafe. Entirely likely to get him killed. 

If only he could muster the energy to care. 

Something grunted nearby and Tobirama gave some thought to a curious hum. Then decided against it. Humming felt like too much effort. The sheer act of living felt like too much effort right now while his head swam wildly between perfect silence and jangling alarm. 

“You’re a hard man to find, Senju.”

Fingers carded through his hair and Tobirama found he was so much more interested in that sensation than any of the other ones he could barely feel anymore anyway. His eyes fell closed and then his eyebrows pinched when that seemed to act as a signal for the fingers to stop. That wasn’t right. He hadn’t meant for them to stop. 

“Uh...alright. So that’s not normal. You good?”

He would be perfectly good if only the fingers would come back to his hair but the very thought of cracking his jaw open to communicate such felt like asking himself to lift a mountain. Instead he whined faintly and hoped that would do. It was hard to remember the last time he’d made any sound even close to a whine over the past decade or more but thankfully whatever or whoever might be attached to those fingers seemed to get the point because a moment later they were there again and Tobirama could only smile happily with his eyes still closed. How nice. 

“Not good. Definitely not good. Look, whatever’s up, you need to live long enough for me to make fun of you for this, okay?” 

Obviously he had no answer for that but as long as he got to enjoy the sensation of being petted like some common housecat he found that he just did not care. Even when the entire weight of his body was suddenly floating, torpid limbs lifted and positioned for him, still he had no thoughts but to admire the pleasant cool sensation of whatever he was being draped across. How lovely just when his body was starting to feel too warm. Clearly the universe had decided to realign itself in order to grant him his every wish. Actually, no, that wasn’t entirely true. The hand in his hair was gone and that was simply unacceptable if he was supposed to be getting everything he wanted. 

For a short time Tobirama drifted, vaguely cognizant of the air rushing past him just a tad too firm to be a pleasant breeze, barely aware that whether his eyes were open or closed the world existed as the same blurry haze. Something might be wrong. It should probably bother him that he couldn’t tell. Mostly the last shreds of his thought processing abilities were taken up by wondering if he’d somehow developed the ability to fly. Now that would be an absolutely fascinating development, one he would need to perform extensive tests on, though just the thought of performing any sort of experiment at the moment made him want to lay down and go to sleep. Was he already laying down? It was hard to tell. 

“Here we go, easy now. Don’t even think about flopping around or something. If you get any more hurt than however much you already are I’ll kill you myself after you’re better.”

Whoever that was they appeared to lack a certain sense of their own irony. Tobirama wanted to laugh but lacked the energy. He settled for mentally composing a rather disjointed speech about how pleasant this person’s voice was, very soothing to listen to. Definitely not helping his urges towards sleep. 

“Tobirama. Can you even fucking hear me?”

“Nnh...”

“Oh thank fuck. You know, I had my own shit to do. I’m tired too. Got my own fucking mission and everything. But no! No, here I am pulling your chestnuts out of the fire and you can’t even roll over to thank me. Fucking hell.” 

It took a few moments of lethargic musing but eventually Tobirama realized he knew that voice. Or, rather, he knew the shape and cadence of those swear words, could have recognized that tone in the soundless vacuum of outer space. Apparently Madara had come to rescue him. That was sweet. It would have been sweeter if he could have done it without the bitching but that was just his way and Tobirama was self aware enough to admit he wouldn't change the man. Well, he was usually pretty self aware. Right at that moment he wasn’t aware of much more than the haze in his veins and the warmth of something tracing along his cheek.

When did they stop moving?

“Back with me again?” Madara’s voice asked him and this time Tobirama found it in himself to hum the affirmative. “Not a single injury on you; this is actual bullshit. I’ve seen all sorts of reactions to chakra exhaustion but this one’s new. You’re more coherent when you’re drunk, for fuck’s sake.”

“Hair.”

“...what?”

“My hair.”

Somewhere above him he could hear the disconnected spluttering that had soothed him off in to dreams more times than anyone could count until finally Madara gave a violent snort. “More words, dumb ass. I don’t know what the hell you’re on about.”

Annoyed, Tobirama reached deep for any remaining tatters of energy. It was just enough to form what he hoped was a very irritated frown. 

“Liked it. Touched my hair. Again.” As soon as the words were out his muscles liquified and his jaw snapped shut, utterly drained. The trained shinobi in the back of his mind piped up at last to note smugly that he had, at least, completed his mission. Unfortunately he’d also run across not one but two squads of resistance on his way out of Lightning Country and fighting when he was already exhausted was never fun. If he tried he could almost recall the way it felt to drain the very last of his chakra and hit the ground in tandem with the man he’d just killed. If Madara hadn’t found him - well, there was really no point in thinking about it. No doubt he’d be getting a lecture on the subject later anyway.

It would be worth it, though, because Madara’s hands were back in his hair and if he had the energy Tobirama would have purred like one of Izuna’s damn cats. Even with the low grumbling diatribe that accompanied the petting it was soothing, grounding. Tobirama couldn’t even bring himself to care that he was being so open about something he enjoyed, a vulnerability neither of them could easily afford even after several years of marriage. 

Time had already lost all meaning so the fact that hours or minutes could have gone by didn’t even occur to him. Consciousness came and went but Tobirama couldn't tell the difference. He definitely noticed when his chakra finally started regenerating itself enough that he fell in to a true sleep, waking probably too many hours later to the rumble of Madara snoring. Which meant he’d fallen asleep sitting up. He only snored when he slept sitting up. It took a shamefully long time for Tobirama to realize he was sprawled out on cold ground with his torso leaning back against the other man’s chest, thick fingers buried in his hair with the sort of grip that spoke of an unwillingness to let go. 

Why, he wondered, were they sitting alone in a dark cave? 

“One of us did something stupid,” he muttered to the silence around them. Madara’s snore jumped in time with whatever he was dreaming about and Tobirama sighed, eyes sliding closed again. “You can tell me about it later.” 

For now he was tired, limbs like molasses, more than happy to lie here without moving for just a few more hours. 

[lemonietrinket]

definitions ||| doyoung x reader

summary: you’re studying with doyoung after returning home for christmas genre: fluff; university!au warning(s): none word count: 1355 song(s): ambience

gender neutral reader

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

the old grandfather clock ticked against the wall behind you, its rhythm melting back into your head as you snapped out of focus. the room was surprisingly dark and it tugged at your eyes uncomfortably when you looked away from your better-lit work space. rubbing your eyes after peering up at the lamp above you, you found yourself frowning as you remembered where you were and what you were studying for. with a sigh you leant back in your chair, discarding your highlighter rather aimlessly by your numerous papers. 

you stretched as it rolled, captivating your attentions like the small waggle of a finger could do to a cat, just missing the edge of your textbook before coming to a halt at doyoung’s hand, scrawling away at his own paper. your gaze flicked up to his, centered on the open laptop before him, waiting for it to flicker across to you. you imagined a small smirk easing onto his lips, hand stopping mid sentence as he pretended to go into deep thought, placing the cap on his pen and contemplating silently whether he should return it to you. it would only be after you begged in a similar fashion, wide eyes and mouthing ‘please’ for him to flick the highlighter strategically back over to you, laughing quietly as it arched over your shoulder and you scurried after it. but you got no such response.

not that you were complaining of course. pulling your knee up to your chest you keenly focused on him in his zone rather than your old homework sheets. he was much more interesting after all. how his eyes narrowed at the off wording of he latest journal he was tasked to read. how his tongue traced the corner of his lip while he stooped lower to scribble out a mistake bothering him in the margins. how his cheeks seem to puff out unintentionally as he glared at his work—it didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce he didn’t like what he was writing about. 

he was tantalizing, doing barely a thing. you thanked yourself for inviting him over for the christmas holidays. that was the only time your eyes travelled from his figure, to glance at the tree in the corner by the fireplace. your parents had left it bare just so the two of you could decorate it, and you couldn’t decide what made you happier, the fact that you would get to see the gold and soft crimson gently glittering in his eyes or that your parents were happy he was there.

good call, yn, you told yourself, smiling as you returned to look at the man across the table, it would be so boring without him here.

and you wouldn’t get any work done either, you knew that all too well; the fact he had made sure the two of you did some work before giving in and putting up the decorations proved that enough.

his jaw was clenched now, brow furrowed, and he looked as if he would turn and change his dissertation into fuel for the fireplace in a matter of seconds.

he’s so cute when he’s mad, you couldn’t help but think. you never admitted it of course, though he surely knew after the endless bouts of shameless teasing you put him through.  after watching him tweeze the clip on the pen lid with his thumb to the point it looked it was going to snap, you finally spoke up.

“doyoung.”

his head turned towards you instantly, dazed eyes slowly unglazing and returning to their natural deep chestnut shine. and it was like all the tension rushed out of him as soon as he saw you. you had expected more of a scoff as you had distracted him but received a small grin instead as he straightened, breathing in as if he’d been holding his breath. “what can i do for you?”

his voice was as light as usual, though it was tinged with the faintest hint of gravel. it had been a while since the two of you had spoken, and you were still only now talking in a whisper to one another. 

you thought for a few moments, taking your time to watch his shoulders square as he leant on his elbows facing you. at last, his undivided attention. 

“nothing, you just looked like you were going to burn a hole in your paper by how you were glaring at it.”

he scoffed, looking back at his ‘mess’ sheepishly (it was still so orderly by your standards but nevertheless he always complained he had the bad habit of being a messy student). he ran a hand through his hair as he tried to amass the words to explain what on earth he was trying to do in simple terms that you, a noob in much of the niche areas of prehistory he took a liking to, could understand.  said-noob was merely fascinated by how the locks fell back as soon as his fingers eased through them, and then how much they wanted to do the same.

“it’s not my paper, really,” he began hesitantly, his brow furrowing again as he closed a tab or two on his laptop, “it’s just this Mr A. B. Stryder writes as if he  learnt english in the 18th century or something. i have to translate every single sentence he’s writing before i can even decide whether its the quote i want and some of the stuff he’s on about is just... that’s not what the tool found in Jeommal Cave was actually for! it’s widely accepted that it was actually hand crafted—” 

all you could do was smile like a lovesick idiot. not that you had any complaints about that either. he always through his hand about so emphatically whenever it came to stuff like this and frankly, it was adorable.

“—so honestly i don’t know what this guy is on about and the fact i have to incorporate his words into this thing,” he flung his finger down at his papers, “really makes me want to do something that would hundred-percent get me kicked off my course, but...”  he rather dramatically slumped back in his chair, his eyes coming to settle on you once again. “i need a break, don’t i.”

you nodded knowingly. “that’d be correct, mr kim.”  you got to your feet and he watched, a glint in his eye as you skipped around the table and came to his side. your hand found his and he held onto it as soon as your cold fingers slipped between his much warmer ones and joined you on your feet when you tugged. 

“so cold,” he cried in a murmur and faux grimace, “should’ve put you next to the fire.”

“when you dragged my suitcases in from the mighty blizzard outside, no chance,” you countered, leading him in the direction of the christmas decorations, stashed neatly in a box below the stairs.

however, after only a few steps you were suddenly brought to a stop. you very nearly stumbled backwards as doyoung planted his feet rather uncharacteristically and drew you back to him.

“what?” you searched his face for any clues of impending teasing or explanation. 

he simply tugged at your hand until your nose was practically brushing his. the warmth of the fire beside you was doing its best to warm you up but it really wasn’t necessary, just being near doyoung was enough.  he slipped his arms around your waist wordlessly, letting his head rest against yours as he relaxed in your embrace.

once your clasped your hands behind his neck you let your eyes close against the darkness and flickering amber dancing across the walls to lean into him. the scent of his cologne surrounded you just like the security of his presence did, and had you not been standing you very surely could’ve fallen asleep right there and then. 

“i love you,” he whispered, voice as delicate as the first snow.

“i love you too.” 

it was effortless.

the decorations could wait, you decided. what defined christmas wasn’t the material, after all. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

an: i mean its not really a uni!au bc like youre not even at the uni but you know its the closest thing i could think of aight

i love how the ambience says ‘victorian’ but the only real part that makes it victorian is the image sksk

welcome to the start of my christmas fics!

{anon your fic is coming!}

masterlist

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Until Forever - Sirius Black

Hello again my loves! Back at it again.Hope you enjoy! MASTERLIST I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X |XI | XII

Chapter 13. Countdown.

             A warm, fuzzy feeling slowly crept inside her mind. Dreaming about cozy, snowy New Year’s Eve at her home. She never did New Year’s Eve big; a pair of funny shocks, fluffy, oversized sweaters, a cup of hot cocoa and a lot of snacking while cooking with her family and friends. The whole day she would just enjoy herself rather than exfoliating and getting ready for a grand party. The softest of whispers reached her ears; at first, she thought that the dream was about to change but soon enough, she heard it again; her name being softly spoken by a different voice – one she didn’t know back at home.                  Taking her sweet time, mostly to annoy him but also to adjust to this reality, she stretched her body underneath the heavy bedding, appreciating the warmth and the size of the bed. With her eyes, still closed and with the hope that it would remain like that for another hour, she hummed to answer his calls. Sirius was almost never subtle, but something in the atmosphere that enveloped them, was discrete. She thought she heard a low chuckle but never thought about it twice.                    “Breakfast is almost ready, if you’re interested” he tried. When he got no response, he tried again, this time trying to also appeal to her love of berries, as he offered a tower of pancakes with them as a topping. She dismissed it again with a louder hum – an annoyed one too. He chuckled, lightly but audibly this time. Not a moment later, he closed the door behind him and sat near the foot of the bed. She became aware of the proximity, but in her sleepy state, didn’t mean that much. He was quiet at first, really at lose of words.                    “The weather outside, is your favorite. We’re having breakfast by the fireplace. Just us. I’ll wait as long as you need” he simply informed her but with those two sentences she was already sold. For a second there, he felt mature, without any mask covering his identity. She had heard that tone before, just a few times, when Sirius had decided to drop the act and be himself; and for a reason, quite unknown to her yet, she wanted him to be exactly as he was. She sighted loudly, mentally preparing herself for the cold air outside her bed.       “I’ll be down soon” she whispered. She never liked her morning voice – it was too raspy for her liking. He, on the other hand, thought of it as fascinating but she wouldn’t know this for a while. He nodded in understanding and left the room; she, just like any other adult in the world, covered her head with the soft beddings and remained underneath them in an attempt to hide from the universe and its sinful purposes.                  It would be the understatement of the century if she was to say that she wasn’t impressed by the accuracy of Sirius’ words. The weather was simply perfect to her. Dark clouds had covered the entire morning sky, forbidding any sunlight to pass. The stillness of the world seemed foreign; it was a slow day, with dark undertones that provided the perfect background for her. It wasn’t snowing at the moment, but everything had already been covered by the thick blanket of snow form last night.              The Potter’s Mansion was surrounded by fields of what any other day would have been green, with trees seemingly absentmindedly grew randomly around the property. Trees as old as time itself, she thought to herself. Once she reached the fireplace, she did indeed see just them. Without wanting to jinx her luck, she didn’t ask where were the girls. Probably sleeping or trying every beauty product ever created just to look good for the party – in any case, she was secretly thankful she got to hang out with her friends… well, was she even allowed to say that?                        She just laid on one of the couches, scouting James to the very end of it, but he didn’t complain, simply readjusting her legs to be on his lap as he sipped his tea. That raised Euphemia’s eyebrow and gained her attention. She was behind them, in “her” kitchen, preparing what seemed to be food for an entire country. She had been the first to tell James that the new girl was an ethereal creature but he had dismissed her – she was his long-lost sister.                        Euphemia wasn’t the only one that raised her eyebrow; Sirius wasn’t even that subtle but pretended he never saw it. Instead he got another cinnamon cookie and just like the royalty he was, even though he would never admit it, he ate it with a grace, she had never seen him do anything before. That’s what she had always in the mind. He was the royalty of this world, in a way, with manners and all the savoir-vivre shit engraved in his DNA. Then, he decided to rebel, and she got that, she understood every reason why. But there was a catch. As much as he tried, he would never be able to shake that dark, royal vibe he was giving off. And that made her even more stupid that she had originally believed. She was noticing the underlining details of his character, focusing way too much on him.             Oh, well.                    Peter was the one to hand her a cup of hot coffee, with a kind smile. She caught Remus looking at him, perplexed and he had every reason to be. Last night a lot of things had happened. She had finally been honest with him – he knew everything. He had taken his time to process things and she knew that it was too much for him. She was worried though. What if her intervention had caused them their last few years of happiness and what if it had changed the story but not for the better, which she had hopped?                    Remus was tense, but no one else seemed to notice. What if Peter had gone bad already? How could he know that she was right when she told him about the whole scheme that Peter hadn’t betrayed them long before that? All it took was one look at her; she was smiling at Peter, like nothing was wrong. Maybe she was on to something or maybe her beliefs were better than his. She had told him that she truly thought kindness and love were the only things needed to help people. Maybe by treating someone better, they wouldn’t turn out bad, afterall. He didn’t know and he could not guess anymore. A reassuring glance from her, and he was shaking his worries off of his head. It was New Year’s Eve and he owed it to everything that was to follow, to be present and have fun.                         The moments seemed to linger on a bit more than usual and maybe that was okay. Euphemia appeared behind them to ask them if the needed anything. James acted as any kid whose parent was embracing them in front of their friends but really, he loved that his mother cared that much. Sirius, her other son, as she had made sure to mention couple of times – the son I should have – was kinder than ever, thankful for everything; that was a feeling she had never seen him experience before and she loved the soft glimmer in his eyes.                        “The girls are preparing their grand entrance. I believe it may not be your thing, dear, but if you need anything, please let me know, okay? Okay! I’m going to do so myself, if you don’t mind. I will be seeing you soon” Euphemia nodded at her and walked upstairs.  “There is food in the kitchen! Eat something” they heard her saying as she moved further away. Honestly, she was not feeling it; the grand party, the dress-up, the loud music. However, she wasn’t exactly sure how did the Potters celebrated New Year.                  “Say, Jay, do you maybe, I don’t know, have a dress code for the party?” she tried to sound as indifferent as she could but obviously, she failed. James was looking at her with a ridiculous expression on his face, smirking all the way to hell.                    “Well, well, well. Would you look at that? She does wanna come!” he joked and she rolled her eyes, already getting off the couch.                

           “No, no, no, come on. I am just joking, lassie. Relax. We go big but not extra. Scratch that, maybe we do. A dress, I guess? We do parties differently. Classical music and a bouffe, open bar and – well… we do have a ballroom. So, I dunno. A dress?” he said while devouring a muffin.  She could barely hold her laughter and the remarks.                      “Lassie? Really, James? Lassie?” Sirius laughed at his friend.                “You are not a Highlander, honey. Don’t even try it. When they say it, it’s charming – when you say it, it’s laughable. Anyway, dress. Got it”. She mentally revisited every cliché movie she had ever watched. Big galas, balls, classic, elegant parties, women in long, perfect dresses and men in suits. A big shoutout to Minerva McGonagall, or she would be screwed.           The weather kept on darkening and she loved it. The clouds were almost black and she couldn’t take her mind off of her life – the one she had somehow left behind, or forward, or whenever her life was happening. She did miss almost everything but felt guilty thinking that maybe she would also miss like hell, this reality. A notable pause in the universe and she had become someone else.                  “Hey, you’re alright there?” Peter asked her, concerned and she battled with her demons to answer him honestly, but not so much. Remus was onto him like a hawk and Sirius founded suspicious; what if somehow, Peter liked her too? Of course, Sirius was way off but his jealousy got the best of him. And he needed to remind himself that if he wanted to be jealous about anyone – that had to be Marlene. He was a hypocrite, just like the ones he had escaped. Lying to everyone about his feelings, but mostly, lying to himself, while the truth was so evident.                “Trying to think of an appropriate outfit – it’s a real puzzle, I’ll tell you that” she smoothly lied, but not quite either. It was a puzzle. And she had to solve it, in the midst of everything that was happening, she needed to look fancy. Great. They all gave her sympathetic look to which she rolled her eyes at. The rest of their time together, she let the boys do the talking while she found herself lost somewhere between the fire and the snow.                      What if there were millions of possibilities? What if she had somehow found the time and place where two of them were connected? What if time wasn’t as linear as people had thought? What if everything happened at the same time, everywhere and people could only see it as a series of events? What if her friends were celebrating New Year’s Eve as well – but just in another possibility? What if she had fallen asleep and never woke up?                    Sirius was the one to notice her eyes – she wasn’t there; she was someplace else… possibly the place she had come from. He knew that she was not always a witch, that she wasn’t from their time. He couldn’t explain it, but something about her screamed future and the weight of knowledge. He knew it in his bones, she held the key to their futures.                He was about to ask her to… well, do something together but Lily and Marlene appeared all glowing and chatty. He saw the look of terror in her face and chuckled under his breath. She was one of the most dynamic people he knew, taking no shit from anyone, yet she was terrified of girl conversations and all that blabber. She want’s wrong – it did suck.                  “Hello, gorgeous” Marlene greeted her boyfriend and everyone puked a little. She could be… extra, and most of the times, she was. Maybe she couldn’t judge her too harshly; after all, she was trying to retain a certain relationship that seemed to be on its way to an end. Partly because she had fallen from the sky.               To everyone’s surprise, Sirius didn’t even smile, as if he hadn’t even heard her Ouch, that must have costed to Marlene but she shook it off. Once the blonde started kissing him, it was her cue to go. She could only take so much. She hated that she wanted someone else’s boyfriend. It wasn’t like her; she would have never gotten between two people but then again, she wouldn’t have been able to if there was no space for her. It was her fault as much as theirs. Bullshit, she thought.                        “I have to figure out what I am gonna wear. See ya” she chimed and before anyone could disagree or question her, she was already upstairs. Remus was left with his mouth open, as he was about to ask her to help him with his own attire but didn’t even get the chance to. James was surprised by her speed – add Marlene in the equation and she became hellfire. Well, sooner or later, they would have to come to terms with their situation, he thought but forgot all about it once Lily kissed him softly.       

           She looked radiant. She truly did. Looking at her reflection made her question whether she was looking at herself or another girl. A beaming, long, mermaid, backless, gold dress was underlining every aspect of her body – the deep neckline, the way it reflected every light in the room, the way it resembled a mermaid tale; her hair, effortlessly looking ridiculously on-point with those loose beach-y waves, almost every tattoo on her body, was finally visible. Her makeup skills on the other hand, that she was expecting to be glamorous. A bold winged eyeliner and a rather bold, matte fiery red lipstick, a lot of translucent highlighter and a velvet skin.                She was amazed by the girl looking back at her; she had never done that kind of grand or fancy before. She cleaned up nicely. And for the first time in a very long time, she felt those goddamned butterflies turning upside down in her stomach – it was annoying. Why was she nervous? She rolled her eyes at herself. Of course, she knew why. She wanted to be the one that he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of. It selfish, a low-blow and even mean but it was what it was. It didn’t make her feel better for who she was becoming but it was a fact and she couldn’t ignore it. She just happened to fell in love with a fictional character, who had an equally fictional girlfriend. No, not exactly. She didn’t fall; she didn’t believe in love at first sight – she believed in love at first words or eye-contact. And that was the case, here as well.                She had made the mistake of not eating, because that dress wouldn’t forgive a bloated belly; she knew that she shouldn’t drink too much but she also knew that she probably would. With one last glance, she opened her door and headed downstairs – no one seemed to be here. It was strange; Euphemia had told her to be downstairs before the clock ticked midnight, which she was, but no one had gotten the memo…?                      “Wow. You look splendid” James’ voice startled her as she turned around. He hadn’t seen her tattoos and now he was gawking, but not in a creepy way. He thought about it – it all made sense; why both of his friends were crushing hard, why she felt different… He looked dashing in his tuxedo.                    “Where is your princess, Mr. Charming?” she joked but smiled nevertheless. He chuckled at her remark and offered her his arm. She hesitated before she accepted. He was guiding them towards the ballroom – that was where everyone was.              “You know, I’m offended. You have the phases of the moon which coincidentally match with Remus, the Canis Major, you know, Sirius… but I don’t see me anywhere” he let on. He had decoded her tattoos and it scared her because he was one step from figuring out. She couldn’t resist, though. Right before entering the ballroom through the double doors, she put her hair aside, so he could see her neck – and the pair of antlers.              He placed her hair back, with a small smile on his face, which told her that he was guessing it all along.                        “Whenever you are ready” he told her earnestly as he gestured the doors but they both knew what he truly meant.              “Thank you, James” she smiled at him, reassuringly. He walked closer but she stayed put. She needed time and he got that. With a nod, he went in, allowing her a pick of the huge room. It was a grand ballroom, with high ceilings and chandeliers, decorative French-like panels and tapestry. She wasn’t sure but she thought that she made out the fleur-de-lils, which would be extremely appropriate for what James had planned for tonight.              She must have been waiting outside the ballroom for a while – longer than she believed – because she heard the music changing, becoming softer and even classier. It was going to be now or never, she thought. She pushed the double doors open, with both of her hands and entered the room – every single pair of eyes was staring at her, most of them were surprised by the loud noise or the person arriving so late. There were a few, that just couldn’t take their eyes off of her; quite a few, as one of them, noticed.                        She was magnificent, as if she had transformed into the sun itself. She was the single most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon; she was radiant and ethereal, illuminating the entire room, with her presence. His eyes were roaming her figure and felt him on her, like a second skin. She didn’t notice anyone else; not Remus dropping his mouth, not Marlene, gulping down her drink, not Lily looking worried at her blonde friend, not James worrying that there was a scene about to happen. She only saw him; not even what he was wearing; just him.              Peter was the one to break the tension, as he walked over her with a glass of champagne. He looked nice, she thought, breaking contact with the one person she wanted to spend the night with. She thanked him, as she took a sip of the sparkling wine. They walked towards the group but this time, she noticed Marlene looking defeated and Remus looking as if he had lost the battle. She reminded herself to care about the others, but it was difficult; for the first time in a very long time, she needed to be selfish, she wanted to do what her heart demanded.                 It was not long after that Marlene found an excuse and left the group to join her parents, who were also invited. Maybe she was being extra selfish this time, she bitterly thought. All it took was one look from him and she felt the entire universe changing colors.                        The music slowed down a lot, settling to an old waltz. She knew that melody – she used to dance to that with her ex. That was a chapter she didn’t want to reopen. It would shatter her. Instead, he asked James when was he planning on purposing, in a hushed tone.            “Not tonight – not in front of everybody. I want it to be intimate” he admitted and she couldn’t agree more. He offered Lily his hand to a dance, and she happily obliged. A stunning guy came over to her, and without second-guessing he asked her the same. She didn’t even know him but he seemed nice – at least, he was gorgeous. She politely declined his offer with a promise of a next dance. Sirius was fuming, Remus was tense and Peter mustered the courage to ask a pretty girl. She guessed it was the way it happened back in the day. Men asked damsels in distress for a moment in the spotlight – and she refused to be that person.                She became witness of people swirling to the beautiful melody, enjoying themselves. She indulged herself in a second of champagne. Soon, Marlene came back, a bit tipsy, asking Remus for a dance, which surprised everyone. Without a single glance at Sirius, she glided away with Remus – why did she feel jealous? He wasn’t hers – she didn’t want him to be hers, right? Sirius never spoke a word. He was looking at an imaginary horizon, too lost to care about what was happening around him.                        She excused herself and went towards the handsome guy from before; with a soft nudge on his shoulder, he turned around, ecstatic to be in her presence. She could see the family resemblance – red hair and green eyes.                  “I’m Fabian” he softly told her and she could hear the flirtation in his tone; there was mischief there as well. He was an incredible dancer, she had to give him that. He admired her tattoos and the boldness of her appearance, something he complimented her about. Many times. Like a lot. If she thought that James was a flirt to Lily, she had to change her mind.            He mentioned his sister and her boyfriend were here as well, and she felt drown to meet Molly and Arthur. She was being a part of the story, and somehow, she may have changed it a bit. Who knew? The music came to an end and Fabian kissed her hand – well, yes, she blushed. She wasn’t really used to chivalry and it showed.                      Returning to her friends, she almost floated above the ground – at least to Sirius’ eyes. And the countdown started just in time for her not to think about the consequences. Twelve minutes until the new year. She suddenly felt all alone, in crowded room that was never meant to part of her life, always thinking about the future. People would say that it was the right thing to do - looking forward to new greatness but it wasn’t to be. The only thing she could see was death, loneliness, inevitability.                     Nine more minutes. She thought about a saying, people used to repeat back in her day and time; “whatever you do the first moments of a new year tends to follow you around”. She never believed it; Partying, drinking, having “fun” – it was all fake. Eight minutes. Seven. She couldn’t do anything to change it. She was a spectator. Seven. Six. Five. Even if she wanted, even if she bled for it… how would a story in a book, could change?             Four. Nothing much, just a cold, dark feeling filled her heart. Three. Two. She felt the weight of the world collapsing on top of her, asphyxiating her in numerous ways; death, distraction, pain. She saw red, everywhere. She tried to drawn it in the glass of champagne. Everything kept spinning.                      One minute until the new year. Everyone was happy but all she could see was a room full of corpses; it felt like she was standing in a graveyard and it scared her. No, she wasn’t scared of the dead, she made her living that way. No, she was frozen in her place out of terror because she was unable to keep them alive. Sirius saw the shift in her mood. While everyone partied, she stood there, pale as paper, gulping alcohol like water. Something was wrong with her but she wouldn’t say anything.                  “Happy 1978!” everyone cheered, as she saw black.      

_____ @tb-ctn​