#i did go back and forth about whether she should lose her memories or keep them or what

[romance-rambles]

modern* cael | a guide to handling your girlfriend's amnesia

Whilst attempting to recover your memories of your father, you end up losing your memories of the past few years instead—including the part about how you're on your way to be the future Mrs. Anselm.

8.1k, mostly fluff + slight angst + some suggestive stuff, flashbacks + amnesia, takes place sometime after hot springs event, reader is mc, series: none

"WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF I lost my memories?"

A question, innocently asked. Cael thinks nothing of it at the time—thinks nothing at all, actually. The sky is blue, the grass is green, you love him, and he loves you. Therefore, there's only room for one answer, the same one as yours.

"I'd help you get them back," he says. Gently. Patiently. Though you seem to have come to terms with the fact that the amnesiac Cael you saw was your own doing, the experience seems to have to left you clingier than normal. "I'd tell you about all that we've seen and done together. The good, the bad, and—"

Even in the darkened room, he thinks he can see you grin.

"And the weird?"

He chuckles softly. "It sounds like you have ideas."

You start exactly where he expects you to, with the man who was once Darya's lover. An orb-shaped third wheel that gave relationship advice—and pestered Cael every chance he got. When it came time to part ways with him, you were rather sad.

As if, to you, Darya's lover was no different from a friend you made on one of your own journeys.

Next on the list is the time they both spent in White City, as beautiful as it was when it stood tall and proud. But rather than the cleansing ritual that demanded all travelers leave their negative emotions behind, or Darya coming to destroy the city, having lost her mind after the loss of her lover, what sticks out to you is—

"And you were so young! And this tall." you exclaim, gesturing in the dark. A dreamy sign gives way to a fit of giggles. "You were so cute."

Trying to fight back a smile in your presence is a fool's endeavor. It spread across his face anyways, warm and fond—and though you likely can't see it either, he feels as if you simply know. You snuggle closer and hum in satisfaction.

"I see," he says, amusement dripping from every syllable. "So, in your eyes, I'm no longer cute."

A muffled protest escapes your lips, though undoubtedly half-hearted. From your voice alone, he can tell you're pouting, happily unhappy—an oxymoron, if he's ever heard one—that he's derailed the conversation.

"You're always cute," you murmur, and he takes his victory with a faint laugh.

MEMORIES ARE A FICKLE THING, fragile yet everlasting—it takes great skill to painstakingly manipulate every element of someone's past to offer them a coherent illusion. To this day, Cael isn't sure how his senior managed to wipe your memory so thoroughly that no traces of your father remain. Even he, arguably an equally skilled prefect, cannot manage such a feat.

And yet, here he is, against his better judgement, fiddling around with your memories in hopes that he can undo Prefect Crimson's finest work.

Fitting for such an endeavor, a pile of notebooks containing information he compiled on the subject sits nearby, on the floor beside your bed. The pillow cushioning his knees, though unnecessary, deflates as he stands up, wiping the sweat of his forehead awkwardly. You insisted upon it, though he's half-certain you were teasing him for his age, and he found he couldn't deny you in that moment.

The thing is, one hand rests on top of your forehead, though the ritual has long since concluded. The other hand holds onto yours, having never given up your warmth for even a moment. Even when he felt his ponytail loosen, he merely gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

As he watches your peaceful form, he can't help but sigh.

When you brought up the possibility of re-tampering with your memories, he'd been hesitant. You did not remember the times your heart could not forget Godheim, but he did. And from then on, he simply had no reason to mess around like that.

All this to say, he, Prefect Silver of the Thousand Empires, is afraid of messing up—not for the first time, in these past few months.

"Cael…?" A groan—and the faint squeeze of your hand—draws him out of his thoughts. You blink blearily, your free hand coming to rest on your forehead as well. "What…"

"That's right," he says, squeezing your hand back, "How are you feeling?"

"My head…" You complain. "Where exactly did I fall from?"

Almost immediately, you attempt to sit up. Cael presses down on your forehead gently, quietly reminding you to rest for a bit longer. You comply, without complaint, though a frown tugs faintly at your lips. In his heart, he harbors no doubt on whether you consider him fussy; still, he accepts your silence gratefully.

"Cael—" After a few minutes have passed, you call his name again. "—where are we? This doesn't look like my room. It doesn't seem like a hotel either."

And with that, his heart drops.

If you aren't pulling his leg, it means something definitely went wrong. The fact that you remember him at all is a good sign. That narrows the amount of explaining he'd need to do by a lot. There's also the simple fact that he's not sure he'd be able to keep a straight face if you forgot him.

"What's the last thing you remember doing?" he asks.

You frown, watching him as though he's the one who's lost his mind. "We were about to go to France for the summer. For Van Gogh, remember?"

"What year do you think it is?"

"2022…?" This time, you actually do sit up, your hand removing his own before he can make a move. It goes back to where it sat on your forehead, your grimace saying much about the state of you. "Did something happen? You look…pale."

Cael bites back a grimace.

"I'm fine," he says reassuringly. "I simply…wasn't expecting that answer."

Raising one eyebrow at him, you joke, "How hard did I hit my head? What is it, 2035?"

Somehow, it manages to pull a weak smile out of him.

YOU'RE STILL A GIGGLY MESS, by the time you let him go.

And if someone is to assume that phrase implies that his limbs are no longer bound, they would be incorrect. Though his hands are now free, you waste no time in throwing your legs over and in between his own. He thinks he should snap a photo of this moment, for the next time you complain that Beanie feels more like his cat than yours.

Like owner, like pet seems to ring true in this situation.

"You know—" The words come out with a gasp, a brief prelude of silence before you devolve into another fit of giggles. You're laying on your back, and the start of your next sentence is marked by the sound of your hand hitting the mattress. "—I think the first thing you should do is tell me that we're dating."

He quirks an eyebrow, well aware of your motives. And though you can't see his expression, he knows you've read him correctly when you shift your head onto his shoulder. Your hair is soft, and tonight, it smells the same as his own.

These days, he can understand your shy mood during hotel stays when the two of them would use the amenities offered, instead of bringing their own.

"After all, I used to write Mrs. Anselm on the margins of my notebooks."

Cael snorts, shifting his arm to accommodate the way your hands insist on wrapping around it. "And now you scribble it every else."

And he does mean that.

He's seen his last name traced on napkins at a restaurant and on the base panel of your laptop. On the fabric of your tights underneath a table—and on the smooth pages of your textbook during class. Your phone case is not immune to the treatment either, and by now, half the student body must be convinced you're in a tragic love that will never be reciprocated.

"Well, it's not like we can let anyone know!"

The vision of you, with your lips pulled into an angry pout and your cheeks puffed, comes to him easily. It becomes the catalyst for his laughter, soft and gentle—enough to disarm you completely. Yet, by then, you've already pinched the inside of his arm.

You rub at the spot gently, as though a pinch from you has ever left him wounded.

"In a few years," Cael promises.

CONTRARY TO YOUR WISHES, CAEL does not start with the part about their relationship.

Understandably, you have questions, and many of them center around your college of choice. From the day you learned of his workplace, St. Shelter Academia became the school of your dreams—you were hardly subtle about it, and perhaps you never intended to be.

For the you facing him now, the thought of them going their separate ways may as well have be a nightmare. One carefully concocted to attack your worst fears, head on. So, Cael softens his tongue the best he can, hovering somewhere between the man he is now and the man he once used to be, and you look at him as if he hung the stars and the moon.

And in the middle of his detailed explanations, which he suspects you've half-tuned out, you notice something tucked away in your desk drawer.

You've been fluttering around the room in a daze for a while now, thoroughly enraptured by the design sense of your future self. It was only going to be a matter of time before the topic began shifting towards Godheim—and all that entails.

"What is this?" you ask, flipping through the pages of volume three of your manga. The curiosity in your eyes dims the more you make sense of its pages, until you look upon your creation with dread. "Is this…my manga? Why is the heroine with the emperor?"

Cael is sitting on the edge of your bed, his legs crossed neatly at the ankles. He lets you run through your thoughts out loud. Some of them are borderline conspiracy theories, and others make his smile falter, though not enough for you to be able to see his grimace.

His favorite one, in a dark humor sort of way, is mind control.

You—the one from 2025—would find it quite funny.

"No to all of those," he cuts you off.

You've been pacing around the room, with your hands in your dark hair. They form little pigtails, the kind you always complain you can never get right. He worries for your hair. For you, and the headache you'll have later.

"Quite a bit has happened in between," Cael says calmly, as the memories of that time flood his mind. What he remembers most is that meteor shower, the moment when the cracks seemed to begin repairing themselves. "There was a period of time when you and I did not speak to each other."

You bite your lip.

"But we're fine now." There is no question in your words. Only a statement, spoken in a distressed tone. And the answer you seek is a resounding yes. "Or you wouldn't be here."

As if sensing his owner's emotions from downstairs—or perhaps Beanie is simply tired of being excluding—a meow sounds from outside the door. A question, and the sound of his paws scratching at the door.

Let me in, a voice that sounds remarkably like your rendition of the cat's human voice yowls in his ear.

"Is that…a cat?" you ask. Your earlier worries seem to have disappeared, replaced with pure, unadulterated excitement at having a furball of your own. "Do I get a cat?"

With an exasperated sigh, he opens the door for Beanie.

The spoiled cat walks in, rubbing his chubby cheeks against Cael's leg. To him, the scene feels not unlike the first time you met Beanie. You crouch down beside the cat, eyes sparkling in delight. This time, Beanie does not spurn you.

Instead, he merely looks at you curiously, as if he can sense that you aren't quite the same human who feeds him every day.

"Hi kitty," you whisper, your hand hovering in the air, above his fur.

"This is Beanie." As he introduces to you the second love of your life, Cael mimics your sitting position and smooths over Beanie's fur. "He's yours."

FOR A FEW MINUTES, THERE is silence.

Then, the discussion begins once more. The subject, this time, is Beanie. A long-running joke in their relationship is that Cael happens to be the favorite parent—and you are simply someone who feeds Beanie every so often, with startling regularity.

Every time you bring it up, he becomes more and more convinced that it's perhaps rooted in an actual insecurity. Like now.

"Do you think Beanie will still like me?" you ask, a yawn interrupting you halfway.

Cael suppresses his instinct to mother you in favor of answering your question. Telling you to go to sleep has never actually worked—he's not so much of an idiot that he can't figure out why you're always tired in the morning, even when he's not staying over.

"I don't see why not," he says sincerely, remembering how despondent the little guy was when you were in the infirmary for three days—all thanks to Cael's most obnoxious colleague. "He adores you."

"Mhm, I know." Your voice is soft. He thinks you might be thinking of the same thing, or the other times you returned from your long journeys. "I won't make him worry."

The silence that follows tricks Cael into thinking this is the end, once again.

But you still have more to say, and he wonders how much of your own worries have yet to be revealed. You must've worried about how to break the news to Beanie—that perhaps Cael wouldn't be in his life in the same way as before.

"I won't make you worry either," you promise.

His gaze softens. "I know."

WHEN YOU REPEAT HIS WORDS back at him, it becomes easy to see why you're skeptical of the truths he's revealed to you. The first time around, when he informed you of your mother, you had already witnessed the depths of his cruelty and learned of his mission. Your travels through Godheim—through its past and its future—also lent him much credibility.

Right now, Godheim is simply the nameless otherworld of your manga. And its trio of protagonists—the maiden, the emperor, and the knight—exist only in its pages, as a mimicry of the love triangle that actually existed.

Or, from the perspective of someone stuck in 2022, the love triangle that will one day exist.

"So, you're actually an alien," you repeat slowly, as though it may make him reconsider his words. It's the same tone he used on you when you mixed up the laundry detergent with dish soap. "I'm also an alien, but only half. And I tried to stop you from destroying the world?"

Unfortunately, as he happens to be very correct, it does nothing to hinder him. Rather, he feels a childish part of him that once went dormant with the fall of White City quietly urge him to be, in your words, a smartass.

"A world," he corrects.

You shoot him a withering glare before proceeding to match—and perhaps exceed—his energy. "Right. A world. The world of my manga, which I wrote."

Cael nods thoughtfully, ignoring the way your glare transforms into the most incredulous of expressions. "That sounds right."

"I'm starting to wonder if you're the one who hit your head."

"LET'S SAY THIS DOES HAPPEN, and you do lose your memories," Cael says, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Would you believe me if I told you about what transpired in Godheim?"

You've wrapped yourself around half of him like an octopus, in such a way that the only comfortable place to put his other arm is over you. The digital alarm clock to his right reads 1:00 AM, but the only symptom that can be attributed to your sleepiness alone is your vaguely nonsensical declarations.

Like the one you shoot off in response to his question, one paired with a snort and, he imagines, a roll of your eyes.

"If I can land you as my boyfriend—" Taking a moment to nuzzle into his shoulder, you pause. "—aliens kind of seem…more realistic, don't they?"

Raising an eyebrow, he parrots your words back at you, in a tone that makes it plainly obvious what he thinks. "Aliens. More realistic?"

To the average human living on Earth, aliens are fantastical creatures of all shapes and sizes—some with, and some without, the intelligence they themselves possess. The most common are colored green, with a penchant for shapeshifting. And if not, then it means they usually do not possess a humanoid body.

Cael, as someone who might be considered an alien himself, would argue that you getting a boyfriend is a far more realistic option for a girl who knows nothing of travelers and prefects—and the empire they belong to.

"Trust me on this one," you say, your voice half-muffled. "It might come in handy one day."

He thinks of his own devastation in Godheim, when the timeline would renew, leaving only the memories of a past that no longer existed in his mind alone. That must be the closest to what you felt when the Cael of your own creation could not recognize you. If he never witnesses such a thing again, it might still be soon.

"I hope not," he mutters.

You laugh. "Me too."

There's a joke at his expense waiting to be made. And you're hardly one to disappoint. Your voice pitches higher, taking on a distinct quality that can only be described as baby talk. You let go of his arm and lay your head down on your hand, propped up by your elbow.

"Can you imagine forgetting about the cutest—"

The positions flip.

As he pins you in place, you giggle, unaffected by the implied threat. It takes kissing you—on the lips, on the cheeks, on your eyelids, and anywhere else he can find—to get you to abandon your train of thought, but even so, his hard-won peace is only temporary.

The moment you pause to catch your breath, undoubtedly smiling up at him with a mischievous grin, is the moment it goes away.

"Sometimes, he even gets jealous of himself."

AFTER FORCEFULLY CHECKING FOR ANY bumps on his head and finding nothing at all, you observe him suspiciously. Beanie has already left by now, having realized that there's nothing of importance for him in the room. It's just the two of them, and whatever dialogue that must be going on in your mind right about now.

At some point, the two of them had swapped positions. You sit on the edge of the bed now, and Cael stands nearby, one hand in his pocket. Every so often, you remember to kick your legs in the air aimlessly.

In this way. an eternity seems to pass.

Cael waits for your verdict with all the eagerness of a man heading out to the battlefield, one wrong move away from losing a limb. He's taken back to the months when the two of them were only cordial, hardly as close as they once were—and definitely not as close as they are now.

Finally, you seem to reach a consensus with yourself.

"What else?" you ask, with a sigh. "I've never known you to pull my leg. Any other riveting stories you have for me?"

By his calculations, the next time that he can fix his mistakes will be a week from now. The cooldown has nothing to do with any energy exerted on his part, but rather, what your body is able to handle. In theory, the procedure itself should be a quick fix.

And, well, he did promise you he would tell you about your relationship status, if you ever happened to forget.

"You have a boyfriend," he says carefully, keeping a close eye on your expression.

"Oh," you say, sounding disappointed. He wonders about your reaction to his next words—if you'll perk up like a dying flower exposed to magic. "That's nice. I'm sure he's nice."

"It's me," he adds.

The current expression on your face speaks much about the state of your mind. You blink rather forcefully, and your tense smile seems to be permanently frozen onto your lips.

"…It's not nice to pull someone's leg like that, Cael," you chide him. "Aliens, I can believe—"

He quirks an eyebrow. "You can believe aliens?"

"But this is—" Sputtering, you begin to gesture wildly in the air. "Is this April Fools' day?"

Your words from before echo in his head. Aliens kind of seem…more realistic, don't they? To think you would be right about that—Cael watches the current you comb through your hair and wonders, not for the first time, about your priorities.

By now, you've started searching for your phone. It occurs to him that perhaps you weren't joking when you asked him that. But, by the time he opens his mouth, you've already learned that it's actually March right now.

"It is not," you mutter, sounding shocked. You don't even seem to have the strength to point any more. "You—we—we're dating."

"That's right," he says gently. "If you're curious, I—"

"Prove it." You cut him off, all of a sudden, your words carrying an intensity he doesn't often see. "If we're dating…then you've probably kissed me before, right?"

"HAVE I EVER TOLD YOU that you're a good kisser?"

"A few times," Cael says, sounding faintly amused. "What brought this on?"

You have your arms wrapped loosely around his neck. From where his hand rests just below your shoulder, he can feel your chest rise and fall. Every so often, a small exhale escapes your lips, when you remember that holding most of your breath in is bad for you.

You shrug. "I was just thinking, if lost my memories, I wouldn't know you were a good kisser."

He waits for you to continue your train of thought. But you offer him nothing more in regards to your stray thought—instead, you're oddly silent. Still, he knows better than to assume the discussion's end.

Burying his face in the nape of your neck, he waits.

"I think—" Your hands assume a more comfortable position on his back. "—that might be the first thing I check."

Cael raises an eyebrow. "And nothing else?"

It's said that a person's personality is often tied to their memories. So, upon losing their memories, it's entirely possible for them to act like a different person. Assuming the premise of the situation you've put forth involves you entirely forgetting him, he can't help but doubt the validity of your claim.

If you retain your memories of him, however—that may be a different story.

"You can be the responsible one." As you giggle, your hands curl into fists. And as you begin to count, you put down a finger for each number. "One kiss. Maybe two."

"I can't imagine that an amnesiac faced with a man claiming to be her boyfriend would be so quick to jump into my arms," he says dryly.

You hum one of the love songs that have been playing everywhere recently. It's your politest way of telling him that he may be correct, but he is also very wrong. On his back, your thumbs and index fingers form the shape of a heart, after a few clumsy attempts at drawing one instead.

"Why not?" you say finally. "As I recall, someone else we know seemed to really like me."

Cael can point out that it was his adult self, with his adult self's feelings, all he wants. The truth is, he isn't really sure if that's the case. It's evident that there's much he doesn't know about his life before the Empire—and then there's the complicated matter of you traveling back in time to meet him.

If the day comes where it turns out his younger self was somehow involved with you, Cael doesn't think he'd be surprised.

"I think I'd really like you too," you murmur. "If there's such a thing as soulmates, I'd like to think that's us."

LUNCHTIME SEES HIM IN THE kitchen, his hair still tied up and an apron tied at his waist.

Yesterday, you said you would want something unhealthy and easy to cook. Something greasy and fried, so thoroughly awful for your body that it would help you cope with what you'd lost. So, he bought a frozen pack of fried chicken and french fries—and he decided against getting buns, just to keep things simple.

He's in the middle of frying the first batch of chicken—having gotten himself out of the previous situation by half-jokingly instituting a one kiss per day limit—when you poke your head into the kitchen.

"So…boyfriend." You step out from behind the wall. "Can I help in the kitchen?"

The gleam in your eyes only promises disaster upon him. It's almost as if you never lost your memory at all. Muscle memory prompts you to tie your hands behind your back and lean forward, the very picture of innocence—in a few minutes, he suspects your arms will be wrapped around his waist.

Your definition of helping tends to be loose at times, but you've spent enough time in the kitchen that he feels comfortable assigning you to the chopping station.

It is then he remembers once more that this simple moment of domesticity is all too new to you.

There's a smile on your face, giddy and uncontrollable. Ordinarily, you'd feign a pout. Insist there are other ways you can help—ones that involve holding his hand, leaving you to grab whatever is he can't at the moment.

His lips thin into a straight line, a compromise to the frown that wants to come out instead.

You don't notice. You're already reaching for your designated apron. Once you've tied it around yourself, you flash him a bright grin, and he can hear your thoughts—the very same words you said the first time you wore it.

We match.

A week, he reminds himself.

Soon, lunch is fried. The unhealthy aroma of frozen fast food wafts through the first floor of your house, and he suspects the same is true for half of the second floor. He did make sure to close all the doors in the house so the rooms, he figures, should be fine.

And as he's setting up the table, you seat yourself in your chair and stare. More of that muscle memory, Cael thinks. He's used to being stared at—you've never hidden your thoughts on his beauty.

And yet, somehow, a simple compliment leaves him at a loss.

"Have I ever told you," you whisper, as he walks away to grab something, "that you look beautiful with your hair tied up?"

There's a lump in his throat. It stops him from offering you a snarky Often. So, he smiles faintly at you and hopes you don't notice what it's meant to hide.

EVEN WITH GREASY FAST FOOD in front of you, you can't seem to take your eyes off of him.

There's something almost reverent about the way you watch him. It takes him back to a time when you knew nothing—and believed wholeheartedly that Cael would always be there, no matter what.

Enough time has passed that the knowledge of how the next week will play out has begun to settle in. Part of it still feels like a dream, as though he might wake up and you'll chase the faint ache in his heart away with a steady stream of kisses.

When he vowed to be his most authentic self in front of you, you had already seen the worst he had to offer. The only place to climb, at that point, was to climb up.

In the present, Cael isn't sure how much of the world-destroying alien part of his explanation has stuck.

"Cael," you speak up suddenly, setting down a half-eaten piece of chicken down on your plate. "Are you really my boyfriend?"

Upon finishing up the piece in his own hand, he asks faintly, "Is it that hard to believe?"

You snort. "You've seen yourself in the mirror, right?"

At the end of the day, you are his girlfriend. It isn't so much of a surprise that the you in front of him and the you locked away in your memories are so painfully alike. Even down to the way your gaze changes, a hint of incredulousness swimming in your purple eyes.

He regrets not asking what he should do if you remember him—just not as your boyfriend. It should be fine to treat you normally, right? You've only lost your memories, and nothing else.

And in the event that he can't get your memories back, it might be a good idea to start getting used to this.

"You're beautiful," Cael offers, his longing evident in every syllable of his confession.

Scarlet blooms across your cheeks. Suddenly, you're a bit shy, tucking a strand of dark hair behind your ear. For a moment, normalcy seems to return to the household.

Coughing politely, you mumble, "I wasn't fishing for a compliment."

The thanks that follows your words comes out as a whisper, almost imperceptible, if not for the fact that he knows you so well. He feels himself relax a bit as he bite into a singular fry.

He's not giving you enough credit—you've already proven you're willing to love his flawed self. More than that, you seem to take an immense amount of glee in finding out that he is, in fact, not perfect. Even now.

And then, you open your mouth, and it's enough to startle him into forgetting what it is he was worried about.

"Does that mean I get an extra kiss?" you ask eagerly, your earlier shyness having vanished in only a moment.

Almost automatically, in a bland tone, he answers, "Ask me tomorrow."

"Okay!" you reply cheerfully, as if you didn't believe, for a moment, he'd say yes.

WHEN NIGHT FALLS UPON HARP island, and you begin to yawn, it becomes increasingly obvious that they must discuss living arrangements. And the opportunity comes when you rest your head on his shoulder and close your eyes.

For most of the day, he helps you familiarize yourself with your current friends and acquaintances—and lets you mourn the loss of your old ones. And then, there's the matter of your tstudies. You deliberately chose a weekend after your midterms, when your load would be the lightest.

But you need to know where your classes and what they're for, with only a day in between today and Monday.

Needless to say, you're incredibly spent.

If the expression on your face is not enough to sell it, the way you cling to him does.

Affection has always come easy to you. And when your walls are at their lowest, it comes pouring out of you, aimed at the nearest you hold any ounce of affection for. When Cael first properly entered your life, he deduced that allowing such a thing would increase your trust for him.

So, for you, his only boundary was meant to ward off any romantic pursuit.

It worked spectacularly—that is to say, not at all.

"Cael…" you mumble. "I'm sleepy. Can we stop?"

The clock reads 11 PM. Though you act differently, he's aware that this is perhaps the earliest you'll be sleeping in a while. Holding back a sigh, he turns off his laptop, then turns to you.

"You've had a long day," he says, finally, his tone gentle.

"Mhm, can you carry me up? And…" You yawn, cutting off his exasperated response. "Can you stay?"

Cael wonders what might be going through your mind right now. Without his deduction abilities, he feels oddly vulnerable—a notion he hasn't related to in months.

"Alright. It might be good for you to have someone familiar with you tonight," he says, painfully aware of how much he misses his own version of you. "I'll sleep on the couch. So, come get me if you need anything."

"No…" The noise you make vaguely resembles a whine. You wrap your arms around his neck, hands grasping at the fabric of his collar. "Stay. A little longer…"

He can only smile weakly. "Just for a little bit."

"Mhm…I'm not gonna—" A yawn cuts off your words. "Don't wanna wake up."

In the end, Cael must concede to you and your vice grip.

When he sets you on the bed, you cling to his shirt and refuse to let go. You've done this before a few times, mostly after you began dating him—and he, a Prefect of the Thousand Empires who could easily remove himself from your grasp, has never had the heart to escape.

In the week that follows, all his nights happen to follow a similar pattern.

HERE ARE THE FACTS: CAEL goes to sleep with one girlfriend and one cat. He wakes up with one of them laying on top of him. Given their distinctly human-shaped form, it is definitely not the cat. In addition, he locked Beanie out, in case it could be overwhelming to wake up to that.

Therefore, Cael's girlfriend is, for some reason, laying on top of him, their legs tangled together and her intense gaze boring holes into him.

"Good morning." You've stacked your hands on top of each other—and on top of him—which is the base upon which you rest your chin. "…boyfriend."

Bleary violet eyes blink up at the woman trapping their owner in place. Cael's arms, however, are the only part of him that can freely move. And move they do, of their own volition, gingerly wrapping around your waist as they do every morning.

"Good morning," he croaks out, vaguely aware of the troubles awaiting him for the next week. Liore will almost certainly know that something is wrong with you, as will the paragons. That, however, is for future him to worry about. "Go back to sleep."

You ignore him, and the very clear message his closed eyes send. Poking his cheek, you tell him, "Let's go on a date."

Cael cracks one eye open. "Right now?"

"I have to get used to things at St. Shelter, don't I?" Your eyes are sparkling. They're beautiful, like amethysts in the sun. You're beautiful. He wants to sleep. "You're the only one who can help."

He has to be responsible.

With a sigh, he opens his eyes. "I'll make breakfast. Give me a minute."

The world immediately goes dark. Cael is, of course, aware of the dangers of leaving you unattended when you're brimming with energy. Tiredly, he drops a kiss on your forehead and tightens his grasp on you.

Not another word escapes you for the next hour.

THE CUP OF COFFEE IN HIS hand is still warm, by the time the two of them find a bench to settle down on. To call the whole experience a date, in Cael's opinion, is pushing it—interrogation is, perhaps, the better word for it.

For example, on the way to the park, you asked him about how he slept in today.

In your memories, he wakes up as the sun rises, and he's at your house before you even wake up. You once told him that you sometimes pretended he stayed the night. That if you came down at 3 AM, you would find him snoozing on the couch.

You never did, because he never stayed.

In some ways, at that time, you were a nine-to-five and he wasn't keen on working overtime. And when it did become appealing, he justified his distance with the impending goodbye. Wendy would soon no longer need Peter Pan.

Another thing you seemed to be curious about was his suddenly snarky personality. He was still the same gentle Cael you remembered, but different. Even now, as Cael analyzes your words, it seems clear you didn't mean different in a bad way.

Just different.

"So, what else do we usually do on a date?" Although your coffee is already on the cooler side, you still blow air into the cup. "Lunch?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Maybe a movie that's playing right now."

You hum. He wonders if you're remembering the time you tried to scare him by taking him—or, more accurately, begging him to take you—to a horror movie. What happened instead was that Cael had to check the backyard for any serial killers and groggily comfort you at 4 AM via the phone after you woke up from a nightmare.

"That movie would never have scared you, huh?" you ask.

He grimaces, thinking of all the inaccuracies he could've pointed out back then. "I've seen much worse."

At this point, the only horror story he can't tolerate is the thought of losing you. Not through a break up, or even in this way, with you having lost your memories, but through death—something so permanent he would have to take over the Empire to bring you back.

He thinks you—the 2025 you—have caught on, especially after the fiasco that was Spirit World.

You bob your head up and down rather seriously.

Birds are beginning to gather near their bench, likely recognizing you from all the times you've fed them before. Before leaving the house, Cael made sure to grab some breadcrumbs for your bird friends, knowing how you tend to be. Even before coming to Harp Island, this was a habit of yours.

Having taken a sip of his coffee, he's about to start digging through his bag when you ask a different question. Predictably, one that he chokes at, already anticipating how you might tease him.

"Am I the only girlfriend you've ever had?"

BARRING A FEW INCIDENTS, MOST of the week goes by quietly.

The threat of being possibly exposed leaves you hesitant to leave the house more than strictly necessary. So, although Cael went through the specifics of an average week in your life, you make use of approximately a quarter of that information.

You pass half the time by going through your stuff. The other half is devoted to pestering him for dates, usually in remote places, where the chances of running into someone are nil.

You seem to really like Greece.

You tell him it'd be nice to have the time to hunt down a flight and sit tight for hours—and there's a wistful tone to your words when he allows himself to scrunch his nose. It makes you laugh too.

And, three days before the deadline, Cael is in his office, preparing a few things for his next lecture, when a familiar ring tone cuts through the silence. Right now, you should be on your way back from your last class of the day.

The contents of your call could be anything from being "kidnapped" by Lars to actually being in trouble to having no explicit purpose at all.

"Hello?" he answers, glancing distractedly at the email from his TA about a question from one of the students. "Is something—"

"You're Emerald?" a familiar voice half-shrieks in his ear. "The award-winning artist Emerald? My favorite artist ever, Emerald?"

As usual, he lets you run through your thoughts out loud. Your chatter serves as the backdrop to his prep work. He catches the words idol, boyfriend, and dream crop up a few times. It's only when you drop Liore's name that he pieces together what might've transpired.

The local art gallery is hosting an event where they'll be showing off some of his newer works, post-hiatus. It isn't for another month, but the tickets for it were given to him in advance—a fact that you mentioned to the older woman when she offered to buy you the tickets.

You did, of course, exclude the part about it being a date.

"It slipped my mind," he responds apologetically. "I'm sorry."

And it was, in fact, a genuine mistake on his part. Given that his identity as an artist rarely cropped up in his day to day life—unlike, say, the fact that he was a Traveler—he hadn't seen the need to bring it up.

You're silent for a few minutes.

"I'll forgive you," you finally respond. "But only if you give me another kiss."

"You know I made that up, right?" he asks, unable to contain his amusement. Cael pulls his phone away from his ear. "You don't have to barter for a kiss."

Your silence soon turns into sputtering.

That's the only response he gets out of you for the next five minutes.

SOON, THE PROMISED DAY COMES, bringing with it a light drizzle.

You settle down on the bed, eyes closed, with all the bravery of a soldier going to war. Your only request is a kiss—and whatever thoughts are swirling in your head, you don't say. And as for holding his hand, you don't ask; your fingers simply grasp his hand tightly, like they had week ago.

The next time you open your eyes, Cael gets a sense of deja vu.

"Cael…?" You blink blearily, your free hand coming to rest on your forehead—where, once again, his own hand sits. "What…"

Squeezing your other hand tightly, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"My head…" You complain, attempting to sit up. Once more, he gently forces you back down. "Where exactly did I fall from?"

As you grumble about being able to sit up and that you're absolutely fine, Cael breathes a sigh of relief. At the very least, you still remember him. And given how freely you can complain about him, he suspects that you might've recovered all of your memories back.

"What year do you think it is?" he inquires carefully.

You look at him like he's an idiot. Cael doesn't budge on requiring an answer. Instead, he squeezes your hand encouragingly, the expression on his face quietly asking you to humor him. A long-suffering sigh escapes your lips—and that's when any doubts about your memories wither and die.

"It's 2025. We were—" As a realization dawns on you, the blandness in your tone transforms into disappointment. "It didn't work."

"What do you remember about the last week?"

The expression on your face implies much about your thoughts at the moment. You open your mouth, undoubtedly prepared to give him the wrong answer, and then you seem to realize something.

Eyeing him warily, you ask, "What happened last week?"

It's as good a confirmation as any that you don't remember losing a few years worth of your memories. Cael settles down on the edge of the bed and recalls how clingy you were in that time.

As it so happens, you often tend to be all bark and not bite—until you're so used to the action in question that it becomes instinct.

"Well…" he starts, a faintly amused smile on his face. "For starters, you really liked calling me your boyfriend—"

THE NIGHT BEFORE IT ALL ends, you ask him a question—one he suspects you've been holding onto for a while.

The two of you are lying in bed, separated by the eternal third wheel that is Beanie. And if ever there's a reason to stop sneaking him treats, it would be for this. But, for a destroyer of worlds, as you like to point out often, Cael is surprisingly soft-hearted.

One distraught mewl, and it's game over for him.

On the bright side, you no longer have the twin bed he prepared for you, back when you first moved into this house. After the first couple of sleepovers, it became evident you needed a bigger bed, especially if Beanie would keep crawling into bed halfway through the night.

So, you went out and bought yourself a bed—and when Cael came over the next time, the layout of your room had changed drastically.

Never let it be said that feeling shy about something has ever prevented you from doing said thing.

"Cael…" you whisper, and rustling sounds ensue. In your attempt to shift onto your side, he hears your elbow hit the backboard. "What if—what if my memories don't come back?"

His gaze is fixed onto a point in the never-ending darkness, where the ceiling should be. In the silence, he can clearly hear your soft exhales—small reminders that you seem to have forgotten how to breathe. He shifts onto his side, and sure enough, his hand finds yours, curled loosely into a face on top of your pillow.

"Then you'll still be my girlfriend," he says carefully, then pauses. "Just—with a few holes in her memory."

Cael has pondered that same question as well. Many times, in fact; whether over a cup of coffee or in the middle of a lecture, the reminder that you've lost your memories has a tendency to creep up on him.

How will they explain it to everyone, knowing that you haven't left Harp Island in quite a while?

What would be the easiest way to help you relearn the basics of your life, knowing that you nearly fell asleep the first time?

Going forward, will living together—as addicting as it is—be the new normal? Should he start looking for an apartment the two of you can share? How would they explain it if anyone asked?

And sometimes, a little voice creeps into his mind, and it asks, What if you change your mind?

But you haven't yet. In fact, Cael suspects those same thoughts have been running through your head as well, down to the little insecurities that he can't seem to shake.

"More than a few," you murmur softly, squeezing his hand.

He closes his eyes and squeezes your hand back. "Hopefully, not more than right now."

"I think you'll be fine," you say, your words succeeding a nervous giggle. "You have a very pretty face."

A sense of deja vu washes over him and, along with it, a familiar kind of sadness. He's reminded of your previous predictions—and of the way he has to remind you of them. For as long as their relationship grows, the number of inside jokes they accumulate will grow as well.

But the ones they already had might be lost.

He can't imagine his mocking impressions of his past self will land quite as well. This, in a nutshell, perhaps describes perfectly the answer to your next question.

"What's it like to have someone forget about you?"

"Strange," he says, condensing his rapid fire thoughts into only a single word.

It is neither a good thing nor a bad thing. Except it is a bad thing, because this whole fiasco occurred due to his mistake. But that's not your fault. If anything, the blame lies with him. But if he said that, you would deny until your face turned blue.

When you ask him to qualify his single-word statement, Cael naturally struggles to describe his feelings—in a way that won't make you feel bad.

Eventually, he settles on:

"You still remember who I am, don't you?"

In your voice, he can hear the slight downward curve to your lips and the way they flatten every so slightly into a straight line. And with a sigh, you flop onto your back loudly, sending a shockwave through the mattress. Your hand slips out of his grasp and makes room for its twin instead.

"I'll put that down as 'undecided'," you say, and sigh #2 soon follows.

But silence does not.

You call his name once more, still in that fretful and plaintive tone. "What if I get my memories back, but I don't remember this past week at all?"

"Then I'll tell you all about it," Cael answers easily.

For a moment, you ponder his words. If he could look into your eyes, as though the room was illuminated by the lamp in the corner of your room, what sort of emotions would he see?

"Okay. Don't let me forget about it, okay?" you tell him sternly. He's about to ask what that entails, in a teasing tone that's sure to have you reaching for a pillow, when you add, jokingly, "I can live without the embarrassing stuff."

He smiles and lets his silence do the talking.

You acquiesce to your fate rather easily, with a sigh. "Then, let this be the last time we have to deal with any memory shenanigans…"

"Indeed," Cael says, and hopes for it with all his heart.

— happy (very belated) birthday to the local caelmc art dealer, @nekonyaniii!

[soulofamy]

ive gone back and forth on what i think the outcome will be on amy and her relationship with viola and i think after spending a lot of time really dissecting soulcalibur 6 and what lines are filled in for amys story, heres what i think is going to happen.

first and foremost, yes i am going to assume that amy and viola are the same person, no one is going to shake this belief, if you are here to try and convince me amy and viola are sisters or that viola is amys clone, you are wasting your time. and yes i am also going to assume that, just like in the old timeline, amy is going to lose her memories and become viola. the only differences will be that this time we know how it happened and this transformation will have more to do with the main story. that is a discussion for another time though. anyway

i have always believed that viola is eventually going to get her memories back and remember her time as amy. but i have thought a lot about what that realization will mean for her. because while her central identity as amy is extremely important, as it is where she started and it is also raphaels main motivator (please give him something else to do alongside being amys groupie bamco i am literally on my hands and knees begging), it is also quite possible that amy has spent over half of her life as viola. we dont know when exactly viola came to be but if the difference between sc4 and sc5 is 17 years, theres literally nothing stopping us from speculating that amy has had her memory gone for that entire timespan. it could obv be shorter but my point is, amy had a very big and eventful chunk of her life go by AS viola so i can imagine there is a big clash of identities as amy wonders which one she should be embodying going forward.

i think at first, when her memories come back, she will be a LOT more distressed than she thought she would be. to remember raphael and how he took care of her to then realizing that raphael died all those years ago to then coming to realize that his body became soul edges marionette who was bent on killing her and her best friend. i imagine she would have no idea what to do with all this information. it would also depend on WHEN she got those memories back too, whether it would be before or after zwei killed graf dumas, etc.

in a world where graf dumas was able to come to his sense and be raphael for her again, i imagine that she would be furious with him for what he put himself through but she would ultimately, after a little time to process, be happy to have her father back. especially if he apologized for it all.

as for her name, i think she would continue to allow zwei and the rest of schwarzwind to call her viola but she would go back to introducing herself as amy. she chose that name for herself in the first place, she refuses to let whoever is responsible for her memory loss strip her of that.

she would go back to using albion as her primary weapon over her orb. i can totally imagine post amnesia!amy fighting against zwei with albion and him having victory lines against her along the lines of "you fight even better with a sword" or "and i thought you were good with that orb!" or smth along those lines

as for what happens to the orb, i am actually not really sure. canon suggests the orb might possibly be sentient and want to protect her, like it did when the pack of wolves cornered her in the forest. but canon also suggests that the orb is why viola couldnt access her memories before and it was keeping her from the truth so i truly dont know what to expect from her relationship with it going forward

idk if all this makes sense or not, im really curious to know what other people think

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Sleeping With The Enemy II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Part 3 of 3

Summary: Being a Slytherin yourself doesn’t make you hate Malfoy any less. So why can’t you stop fantasizing about him? (18+)

PART 1 PART 2

A/N: I’m thinking of combining this concept with another series that I’m planning rn because I had so much fun writing this mini series! I hope you guys like the ending! Thank you so much for your support! <3

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader, Words: 3.2k Warnings: post-war Hogwarts, smut, swearing, oral sex (male receiving)

Once again, an image was stuck in your mind.

This time however, it was way worse than your ex and Pansy. It was of Draco Malfoy and Pansy. Of his hips thrusting into her; of her legs wrapped around his waist, accompanied by the sound, sweaty bodies slapping against each other. It haunted you whenever you closed your eyes, it followed you into your dreams that night. You still couldn’t believe that happened to you. Twice in one week.

At breakfast you could barely look at them. You sat at the far end of the table, next to Millicent, keeping your head down. In your first period, it was the same. You were glad they were both seated behind you. Well, until Professor Slughorn decided to pair you into groups. He chose Malfoy as your partner.

What a huge surprise.

Of fucking course.

“Did you sleep well last night?”, Malfoy asked nonchalantly while reading the instructions.

You almost dropped the glass of snails. “Exceptionally well,” you then said and cleared your throat. You didn’t have to look at Malfoy to know that he was smirking. Clenching your teeth, you continued working in silence.

Malfoy spoke again after a few moments. “Never would have thought you’d be into something like that.” He walked past you to grab a bottle with snake blood from the other side of the table. When he did that, his arms brushed your side. You hated yourself for the shiver that ran down your spine.

“Something like what?”, you asked innocently. “The smell of honey?” You gestured towards the cauldron where a pink liquid bubbled, smelling like honey and wildflowers. The potion could let the person who drinks from it forget anything they want. How fitting, you thought. Exactly what you needed right now. It was also extremely toxic when given too much.

“Watching.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks. “Don’t, Malfoy.” You kept your eyes on the liquid. “If I didn’t know it’d kill me, I’d stick my head into the cauldron right now to erase the memory from my mind. So can we please just … forget it. Please?”

“Begging suits you.”

You groaned. “Fucking hell, Malfoy.” Everything seemed to be a joke to him.

The blonde Slytherin chuckled at your reaction and for the first time since you started working together, you looked at him. His stormy eyes sparkled with mischief and he lowered his voice when he continued: “I don’t want to forget about it.”

Me either. You stared at him.

“Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Malfoy, are you making progress?”, the voice of your Professor made you flinch. Slughorn had appeared next to you, looking curiously into the cauldron.

“We’re almost there, Sir,” Malfoy replied and your cheeks burned. “Almost there.”

***

The remaining lessons of the day followed the same plot - you sat far away from Malfoy and Pansy and avoided eye contact at all costs. It worked perfectly - until your eyes accidentally wandered over to his table.

He wasn’t writing. His quill layed loosely in his hand and his gaze was fixated on you. Only then you realized what you did - 

You bite down on your lip when you concentrate or listen to the professors, Malfoy had said during that faithful night where you first talked, combine that with your skirt riding up your thighs and …

You crossed your legs, causing your skirt to ride up even higher. Malfoy shifted in his seat. When you felt the soft tingling in your stomach, you turned your head away.

***

“Theo, if you don’t stop eyefucking that Hufflepuff right now, you’re gonna sit on the bench and watch today. I am not losing against Gryffindor - again,” Blaise looked at the Chaser with narrowed eyes.

Your team members chuckled and Theo only rolled his eyes at Blaise - however not before winking at the 6th year Hufflepuff who gave him a little wave in response as she walked towards the stairs.

You stood outside the Slytherin locker rooms, all dressed in your quidditch uniforms. Today was the second game of the season and your team captain was dead set on winning it.

“Maybe Y/N should sit on the bench today, Blaise,” Malfoy suggested. “I heard she’s good at watching.”

You clenched your jaw. “Then you probably also heard that I’m even better at kicking your ass.”

“Please,” he raised one eyebrow. “I want to see you try.”

“Alright, whatever this is, stop it.” Blaise sighed. Apparently, the whole team seemed a little distracted today. “This is the second game of this year but it’ll also be the first game we win. So, pull yourselves together and make the Gryffindors regret the day they were born.”

You lost the game.

It was embarrassing, really. In the history of Quidditch, not once did Slytherin loose this high to the Gryffindors. When you walked off the field afterwards, heads hanging and accompanied by the laughter and songs of the Gryffindors, Blaise was fuming. It came to no surprise to you that he ordered you and Malfoy inside the boys locker room, after everyone had left.

“Both of you - in here,” he demanded in a sharp tone. Draco returned from the far end of the room while buttoning his shirt. You leaned against the doorframe, annoyed and frankly tired. A lecture from your team captain was the last thing you needed right now, considering you’d get one at the next training session anyways. Blaise looked back and forth between you and Malfoy before announcing: “Get your shit together?”

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

“We all get it, you hate each other,” Blaise began. Malfoy snorted. “But if you let this affect our Quidditch games I have no choice but to …”

“To what?”, the blond one asked.

“Kick you off the team.”

Your eyes widened and you straightened up, taking a step inside. “So, Malfoy is the one who keeps making inappropriate comments and I’m the one who gets kicked off the team?!” You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Are you for real, Blaise?”

He looked at you calmly. “You are distracted.”

“Because he distracts me.” You gestured at Malfoy who rolled his eyes.

“During the last training sessions, you didn’t focus and kept your eyes on him instead of the Quaffel. Didn’t matter whether or not Draco said something beforehand,” Blaise said. “So, to answer your question - yes, I’m for real.” 

You swallowed. You were speechless (and a little embarrassed). You opened your mouth but then closed it again.

“Don’t, Draco,” Blaise shot his friend an annoyed glance. You quickly noticed why - Malfoy watched you, amused. He obviously held back a grin. When Blaise confronted him, he gave a dismissive wave. “Give it a rest, Zabini.”

“No, I won’t,” Blaise scoffed, “stop trying to get her attention unless it’s Quidditch related. It’s annoying and I won’t allow it in my team.” He looked back and forth between you again. “Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Malfoys voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Yes.” You nodded, anger still burning inside of you. Blaise nodded, not content but slightly less mad, and left. You decided to find him later and talk a little sense into him.

It was quiet for a while.

“Should have fucked him when you had the chance.” Apparently Malfoy was incapable of keeping his thoughts to himself - no matter how stupid they were.

“Oh, when will you ever shut up?!”, you sneered at him. “I can’t believe you almost got me kicked out of the team!”

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep your eyes off me.”

“Right,” you laughed bitterly. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You stare at me, you make inappropriate -”

“Stop saying I’m the one who’s inappropriate when you literally watched me fuck your best friend last night.” 

This managed to shut you up. You gasped at his words and then the image appeared in front of your eyes again. His hair that was still messy from the shower resembled his hair from last night after Pansy had tugged on it and run her fingers through it.

“Did you know we’d meet there?”, Draco continued. “Did Pansy tell you?”

“Of course not!”, you exclaimed, “What’s wrong with you!”

“What’s wrong with you for not leaving?” Malfoy walked towards you until only a few steps separated you.

“You would have caught me!”

“I caught you anyways.”

“I’m sorry,” the apology left your mouth before you could think about it.

You saw a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “For what?”

“I should have left.”

Malfoy looked at you. He was so close. So awfully close that you could smell his spearmint shampoo. And there was something else … something beneath that fresh scent. He smelled like sex. You smelt it before, you realized. But this time … this time it was because of you.

“Why didn’t you?”, Draco finally asked in a low voice.

“I couldn’t.” You were trapped in his gaze.

“Why?” He moved his hands slightly and they brushed against yours. Your breath shuddered.

“Because I keep thinking about -”, you trailed off.

“About what?”

“What you said that night.” The words were barely a whisper. You were scared he might have not understood you, unsure about whether or not you could repeat them.

“Do you want me to turn it into a reality?”

Your heart began to pump faster in your chest, you were scared it might jump out of it. The second the question left his mouth, you knew the answer to it. Your body knew the answer to it. The way, the hair on your arms and neck stood up, told you.

It would be like an itch. You would scratch it once (maybe twice) and then it would be gone. Forgotten. You could go back to hating him and finally start grieving your lost relationship. Your breathing hitched when he tilted his head and his eyes dropped to your lips.

“Yes,” you said.

Your lips collided and the world stood still.

You felt his hands on your hips immediately, pulling you closer to him, as his lips worked tirelessly against yours. When they parted, his tongue slipped into your mouth and it swallowed the soft moan. Before the war, before he became a Death Eater, there were rumours floating through Hogwarts passed by giggling girls and jealous boys. How many times did you hear Pansy swoon over the way he kisses, the way his lips taste against hers? Countless times. And yet, nothing could have prepared you for this.

He was leading and it came to no surprise to you. You lost yourself in him, all the doubts and anger and embarrassment from the past days faded away, and all that was left were his lips against yours. His hands found your hair, tugging on it sharply to expose your neck. You whined when he traveled down to kiss the sensitive skin on there.

“Fuck,” you whispered as he sucked on the skin before abruptly pushing him away.

Draco looked up, visibly confused. You smirked, your hand still on his chest, as he walked backwards until he felt the bench against the back of his legs. You pushed him down and straddled him, your skirt riding up your thigh. When you let your hips roll against him, you heard it again - the same low moan from the night before. It resonated within you, causing you to press yourself tighter against him and deepen the kiss. You felt his erection and an ache began to grow inside of you. Just feeling it like this … you could imagine how big he truly must be. You wanted, no, you needed to see it, feel it, taste it. 

His hands searched for the hem of your skirt and you felt his fingers trailing up your thigh. “Not yet,” you whispered and playfully pushed them away. Keeping your eyes locked, you slid down his lap and in between his legs. A smirk spread to his lips as you unzipped his pants.

His cock sprung free, fully erect and dripping. You gulped at the sight, your panties dampening. You reached for his shaft and Draco let out a sharp hiss when you gave it a few good, hard strokes. His breathing became ragged and when the look in his eyes darkened, you leaned forward and licked over the length of his cock. Your tongue circled over the top and you moaned when you tasted the salty precum.

“Tease,” Draco mumbled and you chuckled.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” you whispered in response.

“I want you to take my cock in your mouth,” he said, “take it like the - ah, fuck!”

Your mouth closed around his shaft and he let his head fall back. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to bop your head up and down. You couldn’t take him all in so your hand pumped him in the same rhythm as you sucked him off. Moans and curses escaped his lips. “I knew there was a reason why I wanted to fuck you all this time.” 

You moaned around him, the familiar ache growing stronger and stronger inside of you. It was the same sensation you had felt the night prior. But now you weren’t forced to stand aside while he fucked another girl - now you were the one making him tremble. Draco’s hand found your hair, guiding you.

You gagged when his cock hit the back of your throat and he cursed. “Good girl,” he was out of breath, “sucking my dick like the good little slut you are …”

You looked up at him through your lashes - and you thought he looked beautiful the night before? Well, this was truly a sight for the gods. Seeing him staring down at you, his blonde hair hanging down messily, his eyes dark with lust - if your panties weren’t completely soaked before, they sure as hell were now.

You sensed that he was close. His legs started to tremble, he tightened the grip in your hair, and then he abruptly pulled you up. If you had it your way, he would come inside of your mouth. You wanted nothing more than for him to release himself inside of you as he fucked your mouth. Draco had different plans. 

He got up, his clothes falling to the ground quickly, and pushed you against the locker room wall. You licked over your lips before his mouth claimed yours again in a hungry kiss. He ripped at your blouse, buttons clattering on the ground. His hands explored your body, grabbing and squeezing and then he finally, finally, slipped underneath your skirt and panties. You moaned loudly when his fingers teasingly stroked over your wet folds.

“Oh, you’re soaked, darling,” he chuckled cockily.

“Shut up and touch me already,” you shot back.

“Your wish is my command.” You felt the smile against your skin and then pleasure exploded inside of you. His fingers circled over your clit, stroking, teasing, flicking over the sensitive skin and your moans turned into whimpers and pleads and begs. With every movement of his hand did he push you closer to the edge. You were so close, so fucking close - Draco stopped.

Your eyes flew open in anger but then you felt him pressing against your entrance. He looked at you, his grey eyes searching for something in yours - you nodded. The simple sign of consent wasn’t enough.

“Ask for it,” he growled.

You snorted. “What?”

His thumb flicked over your clit once more and you moaned. “Shit,” you managed to get out breathlessly. “Oh, fuck me, Malfoy!”

His cock pressed against you. You would just have to buckle your hip and he would slip inside of you. “I said,” his hot breath sent shivers down your spine, “ask for it and say my name!”

You whimpered. “Please, Draco, please will you fuck me? I need you.”

He thrusted into you in one swift movement. Your walls stretched around him and it was almost too much. The pleasure almost bordered on pain, but gods, if this wasn’t the most delicious pain you had ever felt in your life. He gave you only a little time to adjust before he started pounding into you.

“You have no idea what you did to me last night,” he whispered in between sloppy kisses. “When I saw you …”

“It was so fucking hot,” you said, another loud moan escaping your mouth as he sped up. For a second you were scared someone might hear you and come in but the thought got chased away when Draco groaned in your ear.

“I forgot all about her, I only thought about fucking you. The look in your eyes … let me see them …”

His hips stuttered when your eyes met. Your body arched against him when he shifted, hitting that sweet spot from a different position. You didn’t think it was possible for you to become even wetter but slick juices ran down your leg. “I thought about you tonight,” you whimpered, “touching me … taking me …”

It was true. When Draco and Pansy had left the Astronomy Tower and you were up there all alone, a moment of weakness overcame you. The pleasure inside of you had grown too strong and in the haze of the aftermath, your body craved release. You came silently, the image of his grey eyes staring at you still in your mind. Shame had followed quickly. Shame and embarrassment by what you did.

“Fuck,” Draco groaned before he loses all control. There was nothing sweet or slow about his thrusts anymore - he fucked you violently, took you as he pleased. His hands gripped you so tightly, you knew it would leave bruises but the sharp pain was drowned out by the pleasure. It built and built inside of you; your legs started shaking and then you heard him calling out your name before the orgasmn rolled over you like a wave. You held onto him desperately, cursing loudly as you came all over his cock. Draco followed shortly after, pounding into you, moans escaping his throat, until he finally released himself. Warmth spread inside of you and you shuddered.

Your breath trembled as you rode out the last waves of the orgasm. When Draco pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness allowed a last, short whimper to escape your mouth. He lowered you to the ground carefully, before sitting down next to you.

You leaned against the wall with your eyes closed. When your breathing calmed down you turned your head towards him. He looked at you, his chest rising and falling steadily.

“I understand the hype now,” you said after a few more moments.

He raised an eyebrow. “The hype?”

“Around you,” you make a vague gesture in his direction. “I understand now.”

Draco snorted. “I’m flattered,” he said dryly. “But this wasn’t my best work.”

“It wasn’t?”

He shook his head.

“Then what is?”, you asked curiously.

“Get under the shower and I show you.”

***

HP Masterlist 

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[just-dreaming-marvel]

It’s Always Been You ~ 149

OUT OF TIME MASTERLIST

IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,820ish

Summary: Y/N sacrificed herself to end it all. But is she really dead?

Notes: You must read Out Of Time in order to understand this. The chapter numbers continue from Out Of Time.

Once the blinding white light subsided, the heroes all looked around as the enemy quickly turned to dust. Strange let Tony go from his magic hold, the two men watching Y/N collapse onto the ground.

“Y/N!!” Tony cried, rushing over to his wife. As he lifted her up to cradle her in his arms, he noticed the Stones were still seared into her arm and blood was trickling out of her nose and ears. “Honey, come on.”

Steve was the next to notice the scene. “No!” He exclaimed as he ran over, causing others to see as well. “Y/N!” He fell to his knees beside the couple. Tears ran down both mens faces, creating pathways through the dirt and grime covering them.

“She’s not breathing….”

“What?” Bucky gasped, suddenly appearing near them.

“She’s not breathing…” Tony rocked back and forth, Y/N held close. “Don’t do this… please… I can’t— You can’t—“ He sobbed into the base of her limp neck as he clung to her and begged.

Clint was the first to get down on one knee in respect, the other heroes slowly following. Some bowed their heads, others shed tears, but they all felt an immense amount of pain and sorrow. Their hearts cracked a little more each time they heard a sob, whimper, or sniffle from one of the three men that loved Y/N the most.

With a hand on Steve’s shoulder, Bucky collapsed next to his friend. “No…” he cried. “Doll…”

~~~

“Mom!” The boy’s voice was worried. It sounded like it was underwater. “Mom! Wake up!” She groaned as someone began shaking her, still not opening her eyes. “Come on, mom! You did it! Wake up!”

“W-what…?” She rasped. She slowly blinked, trying to get her eyes used to the light and the orange tint around her. When her eyes finally focused on the boy leaned over her, she gasped. “AJ?”

“Hey, mom,” he smiled.

“Where…” Y/N pushed herself up, with AJ’s help. She studied her surroundings. She was at the cabin, laying on the grass. But it wasn’t the cabin. “How did I—“

“You used the Stones. You did it, mom.”

“I did it,” she breathed out.

“Now you have a choice,” the Ancient One’s voice said. AJ and Y/N turned their heads to see Phil, Natasha, and the Ancient One standing there.

“Phil, Natasha?”

“Hey, Y/N,” she greeted. “You did good.”

“You did,” the Ancient One agreed. “And now the Stones have given you a choice.”

AJ helped Y/N to her feet. “What kind of choice?” She asked.

“Whether to stay here or go back… there are consequences, good and bad for either choice.”

“I can’t make that call,” she shook her head. “I have family—children on either side of that equation. Why are they giving me a choice?”

“Because your journey is not over with the Stones, but they want it to be up to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you choose to go back, you will be granted certain abilities. That you will not need the Stones to use. You will not be as powerful as you are when you channel all the Stones, but you will still be very powerful.”

“And if I stay?”

“Your daughter would lose her mother and your husband, his wife. The whole team would be affected. But, there are many significant events that would still play out. They will just be harder—longer, without your help.”

“Mom,” AJ tugged on her hand, turning Y/N’s attention to him. “If you’re worried about me, I’ll be fine. I have Uncle Phil, Auntie Nat, Grandma and Grandpa Rogers and Stark!”

“Stark? Like… Howard?”

“Yes.” The boy nodded. “He didn’t want to be here just incase he could be a distraction. Said something like you always had a thing for Starks.”

Y/N laughed. “He wishes.” She took a deep breath and looked around. This would be a hard decision either way, but she knew what she had to do. She looked at her son before looking back at the Ancient One. “How much time do I have?”

“You have until they take the Stones back,” the Ancient One responded.

“Okay,” she nodded. Y/N gazed down at her son, grabbing his hand. “How about we go for a walk AJ?”

~~~

“Tony,” Rhodey gently called, coming to a stop a foot or to away from the three men. “We need to get her to a hospital. Or home.”

The man shook his head. “I’m not letting go of her,” Tony replied. “And I— I can’t… Morgan needs her mother.”

“She also needs her father.”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter called, coming up beside Rhodey. It was clear that he had been crying as well. “You don’t have to let her go… you—you can carry her the whole way.”

“They have a point, Tony,” Steve agreed through the tears. “We need to get her and the Stones out of the open, just in case.”

“They asked too much of her,” Tony mumbled as he continued to rock. “Too damn much…”

Steve stood up and walked around to help Tony stand, Bucky joining him. Tony didn’t resist, standing and fixing Y/N’s position in his arms. The other heroes watched, their hearts breaking further as they realized how limp Y/N truly was. But upon further observation, Wanda noticed something.

“She’s being preserved,” she whispered.

“What was that Wanda?” Clint asked, standing beside her.

“She’s dead, but she’s being preserved. Her coloring is too normal.”

“Are you saying there’s a chance we could bring her back?” Sam asked, joining them.

“Not we,” Wanda shook her head. Her eyes were glued to Y/N as she was carried away. “It’s all her… it’s all up to her…”

~~~

AJ lead Y/N around, talking her here off about anything and everything. And she was enjoying every minute of it. Eventually, the two came to a stop at the edge of the pier. They sat down, letting their feet touch the water.

“AJ… You know I love you, right?” Y/N nervously said.

“Yes,” he answered with confidence.

“And that I would never want to leave you?”

“Mom,” AJ looked at her, firmly, “you need to go. Morgan, Dad, Uncle Steve, and Uncle Bucky need you more than I do. I’ll be fine.”

“Uncle Bucky?” Y/N chuckled.

“He’ll be okay, mom. He will… Bucky understands that he kept you waiting too long, too many times.”

She pulled the boy into her side, kissing the top of his head. “You’re so much stronger and wiser than me… I love you. So very much.”

AJ hugged his mother. “I love you too.” 

~~~

Happy and Pepper immediately sensed that something was wrong when the quinjet landed and Rhodey was the first one out. He walked to the house and simply asked them to keep Morgan away from any of the windows and the garage. They didn’t question it, already knowing they weren’t ready for any answers that may come.

Rhodey went straight to the garage, Bucky and Steve joining him. They cleared off desks and tables, putting them together. Steve grabbed blankets and a pillow, laying them out on the large table they created. FRIDAY then informed Tony that he was clear to bring Y/N in. Bruce was with him as Tony carried Y/N in, having noticed how much the man was trembling. Bruce was scared that he’d have to carry two bodies in.

Tony gently laid Y/N on the table. He began pulling a blanket up to her chest, pausing when he noticed the Stones still seared into his wife’s arm. He clenched his teeth and let out an angry, grief-filled cry. Tony raised his hand had shot around the room, everyone having to duck.

“Tony!” / “Shit!” / “Woah!”

“Tony, you need to—“

“Daddy?”

Everyone froze at the little voice. Tony was breathing heavily  as he clenched his eyes closed, unable to turn himself around and face his daughter. Morgan was being held by Happy, clinging to his neck as she stared at Tony’s back. The others quickly moved so that Y/N’s body was blocked from Morgan’s view.

“Get her out of here, Hap,” Rhodey ordered. “We’ll all be in soon.”

“No, Daddy,” Morgan pushed. “Where’s mom?”

Tears cascaded down Tony’s cheeks as he thought about having to tell his daughter that she had lost both her auntie Nat and her mother in the same day. Steve, trying to hold strong, quickly took control of the situation.

“How about we going inside, Mo?” Steve suggested, stepping up. He was still all dirty from the battle. “I’ll hurry and clean up while you and Pepper get dinner situated. I’ll come join you after.”

“But dad—“

“You’re dad… He just needs a moment. Okay? He’ll be in soon too.”

Though a bit hesitant to, Morgan agreed. Steve let out a sigh a relieve before following Happy back inside. He couldn’t fall apart, not when Tony and Morgan needed him. 

“You should get out of the suit, Tony,” Rhodey said. “Get cleaned up.”

“I…” Tony spoke quietly, still not opening his eyes. “I can’t tell her… I can’t bare to see her face about Nat. I can’t imagine telling her about—about Y/N…”

“You won’t have to do it alone.” Rhodey set a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up."

~~~

“You shouldn’t have done what you did,” Y/N told Natasha as they walked allow the edge of the lake together.

“If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have gotten everything back,” she responded. “It was worth it.”

“As long as you believe so… Morgan will be devastated, so will the Bartons.”

“They’ll mourn, you all will. But it will make you all stronger. Individually and together.”

Y/N grabbed Nat’s hand and stopped her. “You are the sister I always wanted. You were always there for me, basically since I left the ice. Thank you.”

“Oh, Y/N,” Natasha wrapped Y/N up, pulling her close. “Thank you.”

“I’ll keep your memory alive.”

“You better. And I’ll keep an eye on AJ. He’s a great kid.”

“I know… I only wish that I had more to do with that."

~~~

Everything around him was muted. Color, light, sound. Everything, as Tony finished dressing himself after his shower. He didn’t want to believe it—he couldn’t. Y/N could not be gone. Not his wife… After everything they had survived—she had survived. How was he now suppose to go on without her? How was he suppose to help his daughter do the same?

A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door, before Pepper peeked her head in.

“Tony?” She called. “I’m just checking in on you. Do you need anything?”

“Where’s Morgan?” Tony’s horse voice was quiet as exited the bathroom.

“Downstairs with Steve, Bruce, Happy, and Rhodey. They’re putting dinner together.”

“Where’d Barnes go?”

The redhead sighed. “He won’t leave Y/N’s side.” Tony inhaled sharply as his eyes closed. “Tony…” Pepper slowly made his way over to him. “What do you want to do?”

“I want… I want my wife back… I want Morgan to have her mother…” A tear slipped through his closed eyes. “And I— I would do anything to trade her places…”

“I wish that I could bring her back, I really do, Tony. And I know that you need time to grief, but Morgan needs her father. She’s confused and those men downstairs keep staring at her with pity. She’s smart and has started questioning it.” Pepper moved so that she was standing in front of Tony. “Just go down and hold her.”

“I need to see Y/N first.”

“Okay. Let’s go then."

~~~

“Why must we always say goodbye?” Y/N asked Coulson as they sat on the steps of the cabin.

“I don’t know,” Phil answered. “But it seems like we always say hello again.”

“It does,” she nodded. “Thank you for taking care of AJ.”

“He’s a good kid. Though, too much like you and Tony.” He chuckled. “Always finding some way to get into trouble.”

“And you’re always there to help get him out of it, I’m sure.” Y/N laughed. “Some things never change.” She sighed as she moved closer and rested her head on his shoulder. “Are the others okay?”

“They’re great… they miss us though, that much is clear.”

“I miss them too.”

“I check on them every once and awhile. They’ve all gone on their separate ways, but they’re still a team. They’re still our team.”

“Always.”

~~~

Bucky couldn’t bare to leave Y/N’s side. Not like this. Never like this. It wasn’t suppose to be her. She had a daughter, a husband. For a few moments, he let himself hold her hand and cry. But then be decided to put himself to use. Bucky found a few towels and wet them. Gently, he cleaned off any skin he could see, being extremely careful around the Stones still imbedded in her arm.

He then brushed her hair out. Bucky couldn’t stand the thought of Morgan seeing her mother untidy. Tony entered the room not too long later. The men stayed on opposite sides, focusing on the woman in the middle.

“I forgive you,” Tony said quietly. Bucky’s head snapped up to look at Stark, who was still focused on Y/N.

“Wh-what?” Bucky stammered. “H-how… I… I killed your parents…”

“Trust me. I tried to hold it against you, and Steve for keeping the secret… But… Y/N… she never held it against you. Even though it was Howard. She never did.”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Don’t say that too loud. Y/N might come back and smack some sense into you…”

“I wish she would… She, uh… we ran into each other before the fight… I know that it was always going to be you. You’re good for her.”

Tony scoffed. “No I’m not. She’s too good for me.”

“That might be true,” Bucky nodded. “Your, uh, your daughter… she’s pretty.”

“She is. You know, Barnes, we don’t have to make small talk. We can just sit here and wish for her to wake up, together.”

“Good, cause I was running out of things to say.” Tony sat down. “Thank you though… for forgiving me… I’m still working on forgiving myself for it all…”

“You’re welcome.”

~~~

Coulson, Natasha, AJ, the Ancient One, and Y/N were all gathered together in front of the cabin.

“I guess this is it then,” Y/N said, nodding as she tried not to cry. “I don’t want to have to say good-bye to y’all again.”

“It’s not good-bye, mom,” AJ smiled. “We’ll see each other again.”

“You’re right… you’re always right. I love you, my son. I’ll see you—“

“You think you can leave without me actually making an appearance?” A voice came from behind Y/N.

She gasped, slowly turning around. “Howard?”

“Hey, Y/N,” he stepped forward. He was young, the Howard that Y/N was most used to. “Seems like my favorite Rogers is still getting into trouble.”

“Always.” They stared at each other for a moment before Y/N brought him into a hug. “Oh, Howard.”

“I remember,” he whispered. “I died and it all came back to me.”

“What?” She pulled away slightly.

“You erased my memory when you appeared in 1970. After I had talked to Tony.”

“You know.”

“I do. Way to not lie to me. You wouldn’t have met Tony without me, for multiple reasons. And I did end up knowing him.”

“I couldn’t lie to you. I just couldn’t tell you the truth either.”

“I understand. I guess I’ll let you go back now. Tony and Morgan need you.”

“Yeah… they do.”

“Can you… uh… can you tell Tony how proud I am of him?”

“Of course.”

Howard leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her cheek. He smiled before he turned around and headed over to a woman standing near a tree not too far off. Y/N knew that must’ve been Maria. She waved, Maria waving back.

“Okay…” Y/N breathed out. “It’s time…”

~~~

“How is she?” Wanda asked, coming into the garage.

“How do you think, Maximoff?” Tony responded, annoyed. “She’s dead.”

“No she’s not.” Both me sat up straighter and looked at Wanda.

“What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t either of you noticed how her body isn’t acting out a normal dead body would?”

The two men shared a look before focusing back on Wanda. “No,” Bucky replied. “We haven’t.”

“Well, the Stones are—“

Y/N gasped, head lurching up before coming back down to the table again. She coughed as she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings.

“Y/N!” The men exclaimed.

“And just when I was beginning to explain it all,” Wanda mumbled.

next chapter >

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[bts-hyperfixation]

Soulmates

JJK X Reader soulmate AU

Warnings: Minor character death(car crash, only mentioned nothing graphic), Drinking

I don’t know if this is what you (the requester) were going for? this is somehow where I ended up

Everyone in this world has a soulmate. Someone that is meant to complete them and make them feel whole.

Your other half can be identified by the matching birthmark hidden somewhere on their body. There are also a lot of people whose marks are so close to matching that it almost feels like the real thing… almost. Sadly, many don’t ever get to experience the love of their true soulmate, so they settle for the closest they can get.

Jungkook was convinced he was one of the lucky few. Looking at her made his heart feel like it was going to burst. Every time he saw her the world got brighter, the birds started singing a little louder, and his stress nearly melted away entirely … nearly. But at 17 no one is going to pay attention to nearly.

Their birthmark’s matched so closely, each sporting a small puzzle piece on opposite wrists. You wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at the loved-up pair as they walked together hand in hand. And he loved her so completely, and her him, that they never thought to question it. Madly in love until the day she died.

Jungkook spent weeks almost comatose when the news of her car crash reached him. Couldn’t move, eat, sleep. To lose your soulmate so young was said to be a fate worse than never finding them at all. Even after coming through the other side people could tell he wasn’t the same carefree young boy he had been, most likely never would be again. His eyes’ looked far older than his years now, his soft features much more angular.

Three months after her death he resolve to never fall in love again, happy in the knowledge that he got to know her even for such a short amount of time.

….

You met Jungkook at a party. Someone from Uni decided that 24 was the right age for a big birthday bash. They hired out an entire club and set up a series of activities for people to enjoy. A mechanical ball on the main floor, a ball pit to the side, a BBQ in the smoking area, and a bouncy castle in the downstairs 90’s themed area. It really was an amazing event. You however spent most of your time watching the quiet Korean boy in the corner, every time his eyes met yours you felt compelled to move to him, talk to him, dance with him, anything that would get his attention on you. At the time you put it down to the alcohol. It took you exactly 3 and a half drinks to pick up the courage and interrupt his current conversation.

He was very sweet, really sweet considering he clearly didn’t want to be talking to you. It was evident in the way his eyes shifted and the nervous playing with his sleeves, still you persevered. Something about him wouldn’t let you give up, not yet at least. Your saving grace came when your favourite band came blaring over the speakers. “PRETTYMUCH” aren’t an underrated band per say but it’s difficult to find someone who knows them in your circle, so when Jungkook’s face lit up at the same time as yours you knew you had your in. So with the Phases remix blaring through the club you took your opportunity.

“I love this song!” You took his hand and pulled him on to the dance floor before you really realised that’s what you are doing. To start with he was frozen, a little shocked by your boldness, but as you gave it your all he joined in, loosening up for the first time that entire night. After that it was a lot easier to talk to him, you actually went into the smoking area to talk more about shared music interests.

After you went to get a drink you got caught up with some others and he came to find you. It felt like an electric shock when he’d grabbed your hand to get your attention, but there were a lot of balloons around so that would explain the residual electricity. By the time the party was over, and the club was closing, you didn’t want to leave him, not just now but ever. You found yourselves wandering around aimlessly, talking about nothing until the sun came up. Looking back it was then you decided Jungkook was it for you. You had never really believed in the soulmate tradition until you met him.

Weeks go by of you texting back and forth. You found out the reason he was so into music was because he was a musician himself, he even promised to perform for you sometime. A lot of promises were made in those messages.

‘There’s this amazing Restaurant in the city’ you claimed promising to take him with you next time.

‘I really want to see this movie’ he said promising to pay for tickets when it came out.

‘We should go see this band together’ The number one promise between the two of you, quickly racking up a lot of different acts to see together.

So when one of those bands turned up on the roster for the local you’d bought tickets immediately sending him the confirmation. Your stomach had fluttered thinking about seeing him in person again. And so you counted down the days as they passed. Picked and repicked your outfit. Talked yourself in and out of going. Eventually the day arrived. The doorbell signalling his arrival was deafening, ringing out through your small studio apartment. You took a few deep breaths before opening the door.

He was flawless, your tipsy memory hadn’t done him justice. A broad chest draped in a white long sleeve tee, ripped skinnies straining against his thighs, his hair swept into a James Dean quiff. You might’ve laughed at the way your outfits had accidently matched (a black crop with white skinnies) had you been capable of making a noise.

“Ready to go?” He asked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. You’d nodded, blushing when you realised you had been staring.

It was a short bus ride into the town centre. Spent in relatively comfortable silence arms brushing against one another in the limited space on the crowded vehicle. The club was packed wall to wall when you got inside, no hope of getting to the front of the crowd, or so you’d thought. Jungkook grabbed your hand winked at you and began heading in the opposite direction of the stage. He led you up some back stairs and on to a balcony you hadn’t ever noticed before.

“I’ve played here before, almost no one knows this is here, but it will give us the perfect view.” He dropped your hand in favour of leaning over the railing. You couldn’t help but feel cold at the loss. The performance was great, you found yourselves screaming lyrics back and forth at one another. Some people had cottoned on to your little hiding spot and soon it became as packed as the rest of the club. Whether he was trying to protect you from the others or he was pushed there you will never know, but Jungkook ended up caging you to the railing, head resting on your shoulder.

After the show you’d decided it was time to ask him how he felt. The club was still busy, but the two of you had been in a quiet corner on your own nursing drinks and chatting aimlessly.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” You asked, broaching the topic carefully. You watched closely for his reaction, but he gave nothing away. Instead he just shrugged.

“I did once.” It was too blunt, you knew you should’ve stopped but you couldn’t, now you’d decided to tell him it was like verbal diarrhoea.

“I didn’t think I did, I mean I’ve never seen any ‘matching birthmarks’ and every couple I know is perfectly happy… but then I met you and I keep thinking about it, and you, and how I feel about you.” You watched as his face goes from pensive to a deer caught in the headlights.

“I… I have to leave now.” He got up and ran into the crowd before you even had a chance to reach for him. He dipped through a back entrance of the club and into the night before you could even push through the first layer of people.

The ride home had seemed a lot longer. Holding back tears had proved extremely difficult. Of all the reactions he could’ve given you that might’ve been the worst one. Somehow you found yourself thinking even him laughing in your face might’ve been better. You left the lights in your studio switched off that night. Made a beeline for your bed and passed out face down.

It would’ve felt like a bad dream when you woke up… if it hadn’t been for the crusty mascara tracking down your cheeks. You’d picked up your phone from where it lay abandoned next to you. Battery on 12%. You’d decided then it’d be best to run damage control, at least save the friendship.

Y/N: I’m sorry about last night…

You hadn’t expected his reply to be quick, so it’d surprised you when the typing bubbles appeared immediately; and furthered your sadness when they disappeared moments later without a message.

For days you spiralled. Going over the moment again and again in your head. Each replay turning the memory into something worse than the original.

Eventually you plucked yourself out of bed, deciding to face the problem head on and talk to the friend that invited you both to their birthday in the first place.

She met you at a café downtown during her lunch break. It was obvious by your red rimed eyes and sniffling nose that you had been crying but she was nice enough to ignore it for the most part. You caught up on her life for a little while until you physically couldn’t hold back anymore.

You told her exactly what had happened between you and JK, watching as her expression got both more understanding and pitying as you got closer to the end. Whatever you thought she was going to tell you was no where close to the story you got. You sat mouth wide open as she told you about the accident, and the way it affected Jungkook. It made you want to cry all over again. You didn’t know what to say once she had finished, stewing in your own thoughts for a while. The main thought that kept coming to the front of your mind was one that made you feel so evil. But you had to get it out

“What if she wasn’t really his soulmate. What if he was never meant for her” Its barely above a whisper but your friend heard it.

“He truly believes that she was” She replied squinting at you. Her break ended shortly after that leaving you alone with your thoughts.

…

It’s almost a month later when you see Jungkook again. Hadn’t heard a single thing from him since the concert but at least you knew why.

This time it was someone pool party. You honestly hadn’t been expecting to see him there. Didn’t even know you had mutual friends past that one girl. You didn’t think twice about your birthmark when you stripped down to your two piece. Why would you? Everyone has one. You were lay out on a sun-lounger with a drink when you spotted him. Tucked away in a corner once again, the only difference this time was his attention was already on you. He looked as good as ever, hair damp and slicked back, Long-sleeved neoprene shit covering his torso but trunks showing off his amazing thighs. You’d forced yourself to look away form him but could still feel the intensity of his gaze on you.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore, too hot under the sun and his stare you decided to change out of your swimsuit into a sundress for the evening. Heading inside you found your way into someone’s bedroom to get changed. Perhaps you should’ve checked to see if the door the locked though, because just as you had wiggled out of the bikini top Jungkook burst into the room.

“Ah shit… Sorry… I um.” His hand had flown in front of his eyes as he’d slammed the door shut behind him and you’d immediately reached for the flimsy dress pulling it over you torso so he could reopen his eyes.

“What in the actual fuck Jungkook?” you whisper screamed not wanting to draw attention to the two of you hidden away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t think… I just needed to see…”

“See what?! My boobs? I think you managed that one perv. You haven’t spoken to me in weeks and now all of a sudden you can’t wait long enough to knock.” You came across a lot meaner than you had meant, you just hadn’t been prepared for him to want to speak to you again.

“No I’m sorry I’ll go, this was a bad idea, I was probably seeing things anyway.” He mumbled looking sheepishly at the floor/

“No wait it’s okay, I really want to apologise don’t leave.” You took a deep breath and waited for his eyes to meet yours properly. When they did you could see the shock behind them.

“Why do you need to apologise? I’m the one that ran off, I never even told you why and I fucked up and I’m sorry I just…” You reached for him then, wanting nothing more than to comfort him and then realised it wasn’t your place, arm dropping heavily back to your side. “I felt so guilty with you, not because of you, because of me.” You nodded in understanding.

“I found about your soulmate after I confessed to you. I’m so sorry I didn’t know. I never would’ve brought it up if I had known you had already found yours.” You’d broken eye contact with him then unable to watch the sadness in his eyes and not be able to do anything about it.

“That’s why I felt so guilty though because the way I feel about you is so similar to the way I felt about her, how I still feel about her deep down. I was so confused because you’re only supposed to get one soulmate, and if I could feel the same way about you in such a short time… it just feels like I’m betraying her by loving you.” He stepped forward reaching for your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. “The today when I saw your birthmark on your thigh I could’ve cried.” He uses his free hand to unzip the shirt he’d been wearing. He pulled his left arm from the sleeve exposing his birthmark to you. A puzzle piece to fit perfectly into your own.

You’d gasped at the revelation you were right. He was meant to be yours. And yet it didn’t feel right. The anguish on his face was clear, the internal fight he had obviously been having with himself ever since the concert.

“Letting yourself love me now doesn’t mean you loved her any less” you whispered, allowing yourself to move even closer to him, wrapping him in your arms. He’d nuzzled into your neck allowing tears to stream down his cheeks and onto your shoulder. You’d felt every bit of stress leave his body as he cried. Emotions he hadn’t even know he had been holding onto, finally letting himself really breath since he had lost her all those years ago.

You’d lost track of the time, just stood with him, holding him until the final few sniffles came. His cheeks had been puffy by and red when he pulled away, wiping his face on the sleeve still on his right arm.

“Do you want to leave? We can go back to mine” You’d asked carefully, not willing to let him go home alone after feeling like that. He’d nodded weakly, sliding his arm back into the shirt before taking your hand in his. You’d headed for the door only to be brought back by the hand he had on yours. He’d pulled you so close you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, watched your reaction before leaning in and kissing you. It was salty with left over tears, but you wouldn’t change you first kiss for the world. Everything felt like it clicked into place in that moment, the world tilted on its axis. The exchange was short lived, a chaste peck followed by a few smaller pecks before he let you lead him all the way home.

Masterlist

[dark128]

KNOCKOUT - CHAPTER 11

“Do you want me to?” 

Bo nods down at the condom Harry’s stiffly holding onto. He’s coiled up so tight that it would be a bad idea to let her undress him. He’s having a difficult enough time as it is just toying with the inevitable of her touching him, let alone below the waist. 

Bo had watched in fondness from her spot lounging on the bed as Harry moved from candle to candle, lighting as many as he could before the flame on the match got too low. She’d laughed at his explanation for not striking a second match, claiming there was a fine line between romantic and sacrificial. 

But now in this soft, flickering room, she smiles at him and he almost loses his nerve. 

“No, it’s alright, I’ve got it.” Kneeing closer to her across the mattress, “just lay back,” Harry encourages softly.

On second thought, that’s probably the worst thing he could of suggested because now Bo’s laid beneath him and he’s acquired an audience to a process that makes his hands shake. Hair splays on his pillows and it’s been so long since he’s had something so pretty occupy his bed. 

She’ll linger on his sheets. The smell of her perfume and the fleeting heat of her body which escapes once the covers are peeled back, both temporary, both are not enough. He craves so much more. But the memory will be permanent. 

Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way she’s looking at him now, like he hung the moon and every star in the sky. 

He swallows before going through the motions of unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zip. The full weight of her gaze lands on his stomach as the bottom of his t-shirt is taken between his teeth to hold it up and out of the way. Fingertips unwittingly tickle as Bo traces his hip and on towards his belly button. And he sort of hopes she misses the goosebumps it raises on his skin.

As Harry gently presses to widen her legs, the winsome charm she led with earlier seems to escape her. He’s left feeling fully endeared by her absent fiddling of his belt loop.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

There’s a smile but it lacks prowess and so Harry removes himself from looming over her and comes to lay beside her. Bo shifts into him.

“We’ve had sex before.”

It’s quiet because he doesn’t want to disturb the delicacy they’ve slipped into. Facing each other, it’s still a little difficult to comprehend that he’s with her now. She’s in his tiny basement flat where the hot water is temperamental and the floorboards creak in odd places along the hall. 

“I know. But it feels new,” she softly smiles, thumb lightly rubbing at the tattoo on his hip. 

Her beauty has become more refined in the five years they’ve known each other, more of a classic look that has Harry pinned every time she holds his eye contact. Despite her wishes for a growth spurt, Bo stands at the same height against Harry’s shoulder. But now there’s a confidence in the way she holds herself, filled with achievements and future aspirations. 

He can’t really imagine what she’s seeing. He’s been greeted by this image of tattoos and damaged eye every morning for years whilst he brushes his teeth in the bathroom mirror. So perhaps this intimacy does feel new to her now. 

He’s pliantly patient as he waits for Bo to initiate further contact between them. They talk quietly, muffling laughter into the pillow as Harry recounts one of his mishaps in the kitchen. It’s not long before she’s bashfully rubbing her nose to his and Harry’s sighing into the sweet kiss they share. 

He welcomes the palm warming his side and it’s when she gets a little more handsy that Harry encourages Bo to seat herself upon his lap. Sat with his back to the coolness of the wall, there’s a heavy clash in temperature between the brickwork and the woman he holds close. And whether wilfully calculated or involuntary, Bo’s hip movements are progressing the thoughts in Harry’s one-track mind. The longing of experiencing another person so intimately is finally being quelled, soft mouths and testing fingertips reaffirming to the both of them. 

But it’s the tug to Bo’s hair that sharply clears the heavenly ascent, lacking in any sort of lustful passion and is instead leaning more towards unintentional pain. She breaks the kiss, fingers wrapping Harry’s wrist.

“AaaaAA,” Bo’s pitch escalates as he attempts to remove the hand riddled with silver rings from her hair. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Harry fusses. 

She’s instructed to hold still, huffing out a sigh, whilst Harry sorts the situation out with a commentary of swears. Looking like she’s sucking on a lemon, Bo obediently follows Harry’s lead as he adjusts so he’s not working in his own shadow. Once she's free, her hair is tangled enough to make drawing her fingers through it bit of a pain. 

Harry twists the rings off his fingers, throwing them in irritation to the bedside. Another colourful curse falls from his mouth as he shuffles them both down the bed before flopping backwards onto the mattress. Bo watches as he rubs his eyes with tightly clenched fists. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry sighs through his hands that are currently covering his face.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I cocked that up.”

Still currently residing in Harry’s lap, she’s not quite sure if she should remove herself given that the mood has taken bit of a nosedive. Bo’s answer is given moments later as Harry’s knees come up behind her and palms splay out on her thighs.

“Don’t. Feels good.”

“You ok?” 

“I’m fine, are you alright?” he tightly replies. 

“You just seem a little tense,” she warily suggests. 

“It hasn’t exactly gone as smoothly as I’d hoped.”

He doesn’t quite meet her eyes, the action weighing heavy on her chest. 

“You been thinking about this a lot then?” Bo teases, eyebrows suggestively raising as she tries to lighten the tone. 

“‘Bout what?” he fires back, palms softly squeezing where they’ve remained. 

Harry loves the flirting, and is more than thrilled to have it reciprocated, to have her play with him in this back and forth. Suggestive tones that are made even more fun because he knows there’s a depth to it. 

But he sort of also wants to hear her explain their situation. Explicitly. 

“What do you think?”

“Couldn’t say,” he goads. 

“About having me under you,” Bo simply replies, not missing a beat. 

Prayers answers. 

“Maybe, but it’s mostly been about the cuddling and kisses on the cheek.” 

“Liar,” she accuses, lightly pinching at his side. 

“Ok, ok!” he jostles her as Bo’s fingers find a particularly ticklish spot under his arm. “I might have thought once or twice about getting you in that window seat.”

“You said you were kidding about that,” she implores, batting him across the arm.

“A guy can dream.”

“Well, you’ll be dreaming for an eternity.”

“Shame, any thoughts about the same activity in the shower?”

Bo laughs, rearranging herself out of Harry’s lap.

“Maybe we should concentrate on the current situation,” she motions, “lay back."

Harry’s on his back and he feels like a fucking lemon because his hands don’t know how to play it cool and his heart is hammering like it’s his first time. He can’t be sure what Bo is doing until she appears with her hair tied back from her face. She’s assumed the odd position of straddling his knees. And Harry watches her crawl up his body before a kiss between them only has four inches to make contact. 

“Hey,” Bo hushes with a smile. “How ya doing?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?” Bo lightly tests, her fingernails running across his stomach.

Harry lays with his brain between his legs and his bottom lip between his teeth. He enjoys the lingering tingle as nails drag just that little bit too deep; done it to himself when the occasion arises and he’s in the mood to get off. But this is different because for the first time in a while it’s not Harry’s own hand palming over the seam of his jeans. And it’s the partially choked sound he makes that sets her smile. 

Her touch is gentle, easing his jeans down until another tattoo is uncovered. She gives it some consideration, thumbing over the patch of inked skin. 

“Is this a tiger?” she asks, grinning up at Harry.

“Thiger.”

Bo snorts before clamping her hand to his thigh to lean in for a kiss, which ends up being a clumsy kiss to his chin when Harry moves his head at the last second. They laugh again. 

“Please tell me you didn’t just get that tattoo so you could make that joke,” she scorns him whilst edging his underwear down. 

“It did make you laugh thou-“

The sentence is choked off as Bo takes him into her mouth. All thoughts evaporate from his mind, only ones of pleasure and utter desperation remain as she licks around the tip.

“You’re gunna have to bear with me, it’s a steep learning curve.”

And Harry thinks she almost looks smug as her index traces the curve of him from base to head. Even more so as his cock is laden with chaste kisses, an innocent gesture for such an erotic setting. And apparently mirroring his dilemma between either wanting to take Bo sweetly or just nail her into the mattress. 

He only realises how pent up he is when his fists loosen in the sheets once she’s finished with her little display. He’s hardened fully and he’s having trouble with digesting the image of her laid between his legs. 

Even with a mouth full of cock she’s trying hard not to smile. 

“You’re gunna kill me,” he pants, eyes rolling back.

She huffs a laugh around him which proves to visibly tighten the muscles in his thighs. And it’s only now that Harry thinks, she tied her hair back to suck me off. He may have transcended to a higher plain of existence as her hand begins to work him over - deliberate with her strokes and squeezing just slightly to keep him coiled up.

Harry’s own hands have returned to the sheets, balling them in fists as he endures what’s panning out to be the most long-awaited oral of his life. He’s a little embarrassed to say that he can already feel the muscles in his stomach tightening. It’s a hot clench that only burns warmer by the second. Harry’s approach is a little haphazard, but the hand he brushes to Bo’s cheek hurriedly catches her shoulder to encourage her away. 

“I-I think I’ll be alright now.”

Or maybe not, Harry swallows as Bo passes the back of her hand over the corner of her mouth. 

“Spoilsport,” she teases.

***

“I always loved your thighs,” Harry comments, warming his palms to the inside of Bo’s legs. 

He’s going to satisfy that heavy ache she feels low in her belly. It only intensifies as Harry looks up at her through his eyelashes. He’s going to bewitch her senses and leave her wanting him again and again. It’s been so long, Bo would forgo sleep and forfeit any sort of productiveness the next day just roll in the serenity of candlelight and a lover’s warmth. 

She’s still sporting her bee-saving t shirt as she watches the muscles in his chest and shoulders transform with his movement. An ungainly squeak is produced on account of Harry sharply dragging her a little further down the mattress. Something which he finds highly amusing judging by the crinkle to his nose. 

“Brute.”

Harry laughs. 

He murmurs a quick apology, brushing his fingers to her cheek before retrieving a condom. The process is smoother as his hands refuse to quake and now Bo’s onlooking makes his blood rush in electric excitement. He’s practically thrumming with it as his touch leisurely slips between the apex of her thighs. She clamps his hand there with the forgotten feeling of someone else’s kind fingers. Harry’s treated to a series of spectacular little sounds, whisperings and then small startles that are muffled into Bo’s arm as she hides her face. He’s being brazen with it, not just the fact that his fingers play but knowing that this is what she wants, she wants him. 

There’s a look of wild revelation as his fingers dip into wet warmth. The couple hold eye contact, Harry’s movements gentle and without haste in the knowledge of acts to follow. There’s an actual throbbing between Bo’s thighs, making them shake in the effort to keep them from falling completely open. It’s barely a whisper, but Harry hears it, the “please” that tells him she’s barely keeping it together. 

She’s ethereal laying below him, all soft features and devout gaze as he lines up and finally pushes in. It’s almost jarring the way she feels around him again, giving him that pliant smile, the one he recognises, the one that means she’s not completely with him. That is until he starts to move and it’s like she’s a drowning woman breaching the surface. Her back arches from the bed, arms around his neck as she pants into his, clinging to him like he’s her saviour. 

“Harry.’

His name is spoken in a raging half whisper. 

“I know,” he replies because he can feel it too.

Rapture. She’ll be his undoing and his sexual reawakening. Harry welcomes that warm pull in his belly as he angles his hips to draw new, breathy sounds from his lover’s lips. 

Bo’s an honest delight beneath him. The way he can feel her toes curling against his calf, her fingers gripping his nape to encourage him further on top. As if he could get any closer, they’re already sharing breath and fumbling kisses. 

Harry’s pretty sure a bottom corner of the fitted sheet has sprung loose with the way they’re contorting to keep damp skin close. His skimming hands have pushed her t shirt up, deft fingers hooking the right cup from her bra down so he can kiss at her breast.  

She’s more fussy than he remembers, especially when he leans away and takes a heady breather. Her huffing is a tad undue but Harry thrives in it, noting her disgruntled expression as he slips from her entirely. There’s a flash of an unpleasant second when Harry’s mind tells him he’s going to be booted in the face. 

But Bo’s brought her feet up to lightly drum against his chest and Harry can’t help but laugh at the playfulness, grabbing at her ankles before she has a chance patter against him again. 

“Come on,” she almost whines. 

His hands move of their own accord, sliding down her calfs to press his thumbs into the back of her knees. 

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you,” Harry replies, leaning into her whilst spreading and gently bearing down on the back of her thighs. 

There’s pink blooming on her cheeks, and Harry can’t be sure if it’s the temperature in their duvet fort, or the fact that Bo’s ankles are now resting on his shoulders. 

“You promised me a whole evening.”

Harry thinks her chide lacks the lustre needed to fully penalise him, especially when he can feel her wriggling to meet his hips. 

“And I wouldn’t want to go back on my promise.”

He lightly kisses at her ear, unworried about hiding his smile. 

“Because that would make you a shitty person.”

He’s not expecting the pinch to his hip, so the growl he produces in response is a surprise to both of them. 

“I don’t remember you being so boisterous.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re practically bending me in half.”

Harry lets Bo unfurl, her legs slipping down to rest beside his hips once more.

“You’ll have to forewarn me next time so I can stretch beforehand.”

“Next time?” Harry curiously enquires. 

“I’m not just having you once,” Bo breathily promises in his ear, the tone making it seem like that fact was obvious.

Harry plays along with their distracted conversation, leaning over her with an elbow propped and his thigh between hers. 

“Tonight?”

He’s not ready for the shove to his shoulder or the dominating role reversal, so when Bo’s sat astride him Harry’s sure she feels him twitch. She doesn’t play at coy, but there’s definitely something more bashful in her movements as she delights in the feel of him again.

“Forever.”

That promise sets his heart soaring. 

She reaches behind for him, shuffling back to seat herself fully down with a flutter of eyelashes and somewhat of a startled whimper. And Harry can’t help but grunt at this all-consuming feeling; this time with the added pressure of hands splayed on his chest as he’s halfheartedly held down.

“Was that a bit cheesy?” Bo asks once she’s chased her breath. “It sounded romantic in my head.”

“A bit, but I think it worked in the moment.”

“Good, because I meant it."

He doesn’t want it to sound insincere whilst she’s riding him, so Harry bottles up the ‘I love you’, and saves it for when he can confess with a clearer mind. Instead, he grabs at her hips, eyes devouring the way her body moves against his and he’s delighted with the repeat image of her bouncing, slack jawed. And because he’s a tease, Harry delights further in the sounds she creates when his hips come up to meet hers. 

She wants him every way she can, but that wish may have to wait. 

“Lean forward,” he pleads.

Bo’s forehead comes to rest on Harry’s as his feet plant to the mattress and his knees come up behind her. With the strength of his tattooed hips, he meets hers at a toe-curling rate. Bo succumbs, allowing Harry to take the lead and guide them both, her face finding the crook of his neck and his arms wrapping around her back. He cradles her into completion, hearts hammering as Harry chases the rapture that Bo blissfully makes peace with. It’s only with the last few stuttering thrusts that Bo pushes up, taking his face between her hands to kiss away the curses that slip free from his smile. 

***

“I like them,” Bo admires, fingers running over twin inked dates on his shoulders. 

She shifts a little to sit back on his thighs, taking his forearm with her as she intently inspects all the splashes of black ink she’s unfamiliar with. It’s all Harry can do to give Bo a soppy smile whilst she carries on, giving each design her attention. They’re partially dressed again, Harry only decent enough to have taken delivery of their pizza before returning to the bedroom. 

“Who’s this?”

Harry’s arm is raised as Bo taps a finger to the tattoo in question. It’s a delicate gesture that challenges her comical disapproval. 

“My mermaid.”

“She’s cute,” Bo says, finger following the swish of dark hair. “Why’d you get her?”

“Dunno, I’ve always liked swimming.”

He’s met with a surprised laugh. 

“So, of course, logically you got a mermaid permanently tattooed on your body,” she chides, shaking her head. 

There’s a small “B” inked just below the inside crease of his elbow. She tilts her head, smoothing over the skin with her thumb.

“That one’s yours,” he says simply, like it couldn’t be anything else. 

“Mine?” she asks, eyebrows shooting up. 

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Yep, “B” for Bo,” Harry tells her quietly. “Beautiful.”

She licks her thumb, rubbing at the letter.

“You really got it tattooed?”

“Yeah,” he laughs.

“That’s permanent.”

“I’m aware,” Harry smirks, biting at her neck. “Just like my mermaid.”

“Yeah, just like her,” Bo thoughtfully rephrases. 

It’s a few moments before she replies, still rubbing at the small letter. 

“Why’d you get it?”

“You’re important to me, you’ve helped me through so much, it just felt right.”

She doesn’t say anything in return, not sure that she actually can. Pouting in contemplation, Bo shifts a little in Harry’s lap. 

“Maybe I should get your name tattooed on me.”

“Oh, really?” Harry smirks. “Where? Hopefully somewhere only I get to see?”

“Hmmm, I was thinking more of a chest piece,” she leans away, gesturing to a band of skin above her breasts.

Harry appears a little horrified for a moment but his composure cracks before laughing and grabbing for her hands. 

“I’m not sure that’s your best idea.”

She slumps back to be cradled into Harry’s side. 

“Or maybe I’ll just get a ‘H’ here,” she hushes, voice more sincere as fingers point to the exact spot on her arm where he has her inked. “So we can match.”

Bo’s treated to a kiss to the tip of her nose. She sighs before further squirming away to continue the inspection of body art. 

“Roll over then.”

She makes herself comfortable, sitting astride his lower back as delicate fingers trace more tattoos curving around his side.

“Oh God, that one’s awful.”

Harry huffs a laugh into the pillow in response to her brash opinion and feathery touch. 

***

Harry wakes to the heart wrenching feeling of an empty bed. He sits up rather abruptly, hands skimming bed-warm sheets as the duvet slips to pool at his waist. He swallows twice, mind reeling to kickstart foggy memories from hours before. 

The bedroom door has been left ajar, just enough for a thin strip of light to hollow out the darkened room. Soft footsteps follow and Harry’s heart climbs back down his throat for it to thud against his ribcage.

His body flops back against the pillows before the door is nudged just enough for Bo to slip back through. She doesn’t think anything of Harry now sprawled out on his back, but she knows he’s awake because of the subtle inclination when she draws back the confusion of sheets. 

“Your hot tap is broken,” Bo hushes whilst climbing back into bed on the floor.

She receives a rough hum, Harry’s arm draping her waist.

“Did you hear me?”

Instead of moving himself closer, he opts for coercing Bo until the length of her body is flush to his, like he’s seeking the cool side of the pillow. 

“Broken,” he grunts.

“And you don’t have a bath mat, my feet got cold. I can go out and get you one tomorrow. Or today?” she adds, trying to lean over Harry to confirm the time on one of their phones.

He mumbles something incoherent into her shoulder, lips forming words like kisses upon her skin. With her on her back and Harry now on his side, he’s almost perfected the art of blurring the lines between them and creating one warm entity under the covers. 

“Repeat that.”

She gently catches under his chin with the tips of her fingers, prising him from the nook in her neck.

“Don’t need one.”

The raspy words catch in his throat. 

“Everyone needs a bathmat. Where will you dry your feet? You’ll just track wet footprints through your room.”

“I’ll think about it.”

No, he won’t. 

“Of course you won’t, I’ll just go and get you one,” she pauses. “It’ll be a fluffy orange monstrosity because you’re being difficult about it. Probably a matching toilet cover as well - if they still even sell those?”

The arm banding her middle squeezes tighter which Bo thinks is Harry’s silent way of getting her to hush..

“I love you.”

Oh.

Bo stills in his arms.

It’s something she’d insinuated hours before. That she would still be his in the morning, and every other morning of her promised ‘forever’. But for him to utter the words into their lengthy, soft post-sex haze - Bo was just about ready to settle into the cradle of sleep. But now she’s fully awake. 

He’s still pressed against the length of her, his hair brushing her cheek as the urgency to gauge her reaction grows. 

“I’m in love with you - still.”

Still. Like he’d never stopped. And that’s a little terrifying to know, especially in the knowledge of their separation and the years between then and their reunion. 

“I’m still in love with you,” he rephrases. “Got there in the end.”

His lips catch a soft smile which diminishes as his words rest into silence. Harry feels Bo draw in a grounding breath as though she’s trying to compose herself. Unsure as to whether this conversation should be illuminated, Harry decides against turning on the lamp. Partly because he frightened to disturb her but mostly because he can’t bear the thought of seeing Bo’s face if it’s rejection that awaits him. 

“If you’re not ready then I - well, I understand -“

“I’d like to take you out,” Bo interrupts.

“What?”

“Not fatally,” she hurriedly explains, “like on a date?”

“Oh - ok.”

“Yeah? We could go out to dinner or have cake at a cafe in one of the parks? Or there’s that cinema experience that looks quite fun.”

*** 4 Months Later ***

Harry can hear it in her voice, that she’s not prepared for his confession of undying love just yet and she certainly isn’t ready to say it back. But this is the start that they both deserve, a calm, normal beginning to their new relationship. It’s a chance to get to know each other again and to see where it progresses. And Harry’s happy with that as they lay and bounce date ideas between them, all the while Bo’s fingers have found his own. 

“Why must everything be so high up?” Bo grumbles. 

Her complaint is voiced to the glasses on the top shelf in Harry’s kitchen cupboard. Despite her irritation, he’s pleased to see her emerge minutes later with two drinks in hand and his socks pulled up nearly to her knees over leggings. 

“I see you were successful,” he grins as Bo sorts out coasters.

“Well, I did nearly pull everything off the worktop in my struggle, but it’s fine.” 

Her words are accompanied with a sugar-sweet smile that can only mean trouble for Harry. He hopes he’s forgiven with the choice of Tuesday night Bake-Off on the telly. And it’s as Bo’s laughing at some awful bread pun that the question just feels right. 

“Bo, do you wanna move in?”

She smiles, pressing into his side and rearranging his arm so it curls around her back.

“No,” he huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I mean move into the flat - with me.”

“Really?”

Bake-Off forgotten, Bo swivels to face him. There’s joy dancing in her eyes as the bun atop her head bobs with her excited wriggle to move closer. The TV is set on mute and Harry becomes confused at the sharpness in her eyes. 

“I want the left side of the bed, permanently,” she negotiates. 

“It’s yours. Even when you’re not here.”

“And you’ll leave space in the bathroom for my things?”

“I mean, there’s quite a lot of your stuff in there already - but of course.”

Bo kisses his cheek. 

“I just got my first pay from work,” Bo happily states. “I’m gunna buy some proper glasses, so we don’t have to drink wine out of mugs.”

“What’s the point?” Harry laughs. “The fact that you stick a straw in everything sort of lowers the tone of a proper wine glass anyway.’

The remark earns him a sore shoulder. 

“And we can always get you a step for the kitchen.”

She rounds on him so fast he nearly spills the drink he’s just picked up from the coffee table. 

“We will not be doing that. You’ll help me move everything down so I can reach it myself.”

“No problem.” 

“I’m gunna phone my mum,” she rambles, untangling from Harry and tripping over a charging cable. 

“Should I set up a direct debit? Or do you just want me to transfer my half to you each month? What would be easier?”

“Don’t worry,” he laughs. “We can sort it out later.”

“I love you!” she calls from where she’s peeking around the doorframe.

It’s such a casual gesture but Harry’s settling into the knowledge that the love he’s bursting with is reciprocated by the woman he adores. 

“I love you, too,” he smiles. 

[creativelyderangedme]

Checking Sources

I’m taking a stab at the trope I’ve seen all over the place recently. But with a different twist. Oneshot - might continue if I get the desire.

“Ladybug?”

Paris’ spotted heroine jumped slightly after being pulled from her thoughts. She’d been staring out over the city’s glittering lights, lost to the maelstrom of voices and recalled memories swarming her mind with a thoughtful (at least she hoped it was) frown on her lips. So much so, that she hadn’t noticed when her leather-clad partner had shown up to sit next to her on a night he was supposed to be taking off.

When the hell had he gotten there? She wondered, looking around quickly for any indication of how long she’d been stuck in her own head. 

“Hey Chaton, what are you doing out here? It’s my night to patrol.” She asked as another entirely panicked thought came to mind - that she’d been so dazed she’d missed the tell-tale signs of an Akuma.

But, before she could freak out any further, she took in Chat’s relative ease - or at least, he didn’t look like he was on the verge of jumping into a fight. He did seem apprehensive, though. She could tell in the way it tensed and squeezed his shoulders together like he wanted to be close, but wouldn’t dare come in contact with her.

Which made her wonder if she’d said or done anything recently to give him the idea he was overstepping his bounds. Or maybe he was mad at her for something? And wasn’t that just the icing on the cake that was her day? 

First, Lila had caused a major scene that got Marinette detention for the rest of the week (it all happened so fast, she barely remembers what the hell had even happened). Now she was having a panic attack over whether her partner was mad at her for something she didn’t remember doing? Who else was she going to piss off today?

“What’s your stance on sharing your identity?”

Panic attack on momentary pause, a dark brow shot up at the question, and if she wasn’t so wary of the way he’d said it with that uncomfortable look on his face, she probably would have been angry. But he seemed so off tonight that it was throwing her usual emotions for a loop. So, choosing not to go off on her partner, she sighed heavily, trying to keep her focus on him despite the bubbling irritation, “Chat, I’m sorry, but we’ve talked about this. Our identities are a secret for a reason.”

For the first time since he sat down (she thinks), she sees him glance her way if only slightly. The uncomfortable look on his face had softened a bit but he still has something unreadable in his eyes that makes Ladybug anxious, “So... you’ve never shared your identity? With anyone? Not accidentally or otherwise?”

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say his words were a little accusatory. 

Which, okay first off, what the fuck? And second, why was he suddenly giving her the third degree? 

Again, though, the entire display was throwing her and she knew she had to be rational about this. 

“No. Of course not. I promised you didn’t I? Once Hawkmoth was defeated, you would be the first person I told.” She stated as calmly and resolutely as she possibly can. She’d been clear from the start where she stood on the subject. 

As soon as the words left her mouth, Chat Noir visibly relaxed. Shoulders slumping and a breath heaving from his chest as he nodded, “Right. Right, of course.” He finally managed to turn to look at her and the discomfort was quickly hidden by a small smile.

The shift in his attitude was almost as disconcerting as his arrival.

“What is this about, Chatton?”

That smile faltered a bit as he looked away from her again, “There’s this-” he began but his words died before he shook his head, “No, it’s - it’s nothing. Sorry for bothering you about this. It was stupid.” 

Chat made to stand, but Ladybug caught his wrist before he could get away, “Obviously not if it brought you out here as upset as you looked. I know I can be a real stickler about the secret identities thing, but Chat, I’m not doing this to hurt you. I promise!” She implored, feeling like she’d missed something major. “If you’re being hurt or-”

Blonde hair flew as he shook his head quickly, “No, no. Nothing like that. Really. I know why you do. I won’t pretend it doesn’t suck, but I get it. Really, I do.” He tried to assure her, and while it did seem like he understood and he was being honest with her, he was still hiding something. Something that had driven him to come out and ask her these strange questions.

“Then what was all of this about?”

He had the decency to look apologetic at least as the corners of his mouth pulled up and he shook his head again, “It’s too personal - talking about it might give me away, Bugaboo, but I really am sorry about this. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Ladybug’s eyes darted back and forth as she watched him closely, but eventually, hesitantly, she let go of his wrist and allowed him to get up.

The whole conversation left an unsettling anxiousness over her and a rather uncomfortable tenseness in the air between them as he backed away and saluted before she even had the chance to say anything - disappearing into the night.

That unease followed her home and through her restless sleep and when she woke up the next morning, she couldn’t help but let it consume her thoughts. Distracting her as she made her way to class earlier than usual.

Distracting her so much, in fact, that she almost didn’t notice the crowd gathered around two individuals crammed into her usual seat next to Alya giggling and talking loudly.

Almost.

As much as she hated it, Marinette had developed something of a sixth sense for the Italian exchange student Lila Rossi. A personal radar to warn her of the liar’s presence.

And it was going off big time.

It wasn’t uncommon for Lila to try and steal her spot when she could. Usually, it resulted in some sort of argument between Marinette and Alya when her supposed best friend defended the other girl for just wanting to hang out, and why didn’t she try being nice to the girl for once?

This time, though, Marinette was quickly made aware of three things:

1. Lila wasn’t alone.

2. Whoever this other girl was, she and Lila were already very close and that didn’t bode well for anyone - especially Marinette.

3. Adrien, who was an unfortunate captive in the crowd around his desk, looked really uncomfortable - more so than usual as he openly frowned at the desktop in front of him, trying not to associate with the things going on around him.

What the hell was going on? Marinette had only been gone from class for one afternoon! 

Alya was the first to notice her entrance to the class, giving her an unsure look from her seat (she had been pretty mad at her yesterday for whatever it was that landed her detention for the week), causing a ripple effect as Lila and her ‘guest’ looked up at her too, quieting down and catching everyone else’ attention.

The unfamiliar girl sized the noirette up before speaking, “Is this the girl you were telling me about?”

Lila put on her biggest, fakest, puppy-dog eyes and nodded softly, watching Marinette like she might lunge at her any second now. 

Like parting the red sea, the unfamiliar girl stood from her place at Marinette’s desk and the crowd around her gave her room to move, allowing her to make her way to stand haughtily before her. The girl was a tad taller than Marinette, but the platform sandals she wore made it so Marinette would need to look up at her slightly. She had dark, almost black, shoulder-length hair that hung loosely, but the color of her brows made it clear that it wasn’t natural. She’d dyed it, recently too, if the lack of root discoloration was any indication.

Marinette watched her approach with a raised brow, unimpressed by the superior gleam to the girl’s blue-green eyes.

“I heard you’ve been bullying my best friend.” She said, authoritatively, her hands propped on hips clad in Gabriel branded jeans.

There was a collective gasp among her classmates like this was some big reveal in a soap opera. 

The class rep merely blinked a moment, brow still raised because who the fuck even was this girl and why was she squaring up to her like she even had a chance? Actually, no, she didn’t care.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Marinette asked, but her tone gave away how few fucks she actually gave about the girl’s answer.

“For your information, it’s Bianca. I just transferred yesterday. But don’t change the subject. I’ve heard that you’ve been bullying my best friend Lila.”

Before Bianca had a chance to say any more, Marinette gave her a deadpanned look, “Well, sorry to inform you, but your best friend is a liar.”

Lila could immediately be heard breaking out into sobs somewhere in the background but Marinette was quickly losing interest in this conversation. 

“I don’t think she is. I think you’re the liar. In fact, I think people like you are what’s wrong with Paris. Always trying to hurt others so they get Akumatized and I have to clean up your mess.”

I’m sorry, what? 

That had Bluebell eyes snapping to focus on the girl in front of her. Interest piqued. 

“I’m giving you one chance. Stop being a menace to society or my partner and I will take action.”

There was quite a bit to unpack from that. Like... a lot. Menace to society? Partner? Take action?

Who did this girl think she was? Ladybug?

The one thing that seemed clear to Marinette after reviewing the word choices in her own head a few times, was that this was not a friendly recommendation.

“Are you threatening me?”

She probably should have sounded a little angrier. In fact, anything would have been better than bored. But she just couldn’t find the energy. 

A triumphant smile spread over Bianca’s face, as she disregarded the lack of fear in Marinette’s voice, “I don’t threaten people. But that is a promise.”

Marinette was left to blink at her a little longer. 

Because what even was happening here? What on earth had she done that the universe saw fit to drop this steaming pile of bull on her morning?

And why did it feel like the girl was hinting at something she wasn’t picking up on? Why was her body telling her that she needed to react while her brain was taking its sweet time to catch up with everything?

“Dude,” someone from the peanut gallery stage whispered, finding it in their heart to give her a helping hand, “That’s Ladybug!”

Lila shushed them loudly, “Guys, not everyone is supposed to know! We don’t know who we can trust!”

Oh.

oohhhhh!

Wow. When she’d made that comment in her head before, she’d been joking but... seriously? Did she really just?

“You’re Ladybug?” Marinette asked, wanting to clarify and make absolutely certain that she hadn’t just imagined that last forty-five seconds of her life.

Bianca’s chin raised, literally looking down her nose at Marinette, “Normally I wouldn’t share that information with someone like you.”

Behind her, Adrien stood from his seat looking absolutely livid, but Marinette barely had a moment to even register the malice in the gaze he pointed at Bianca before - 

Pfft...

Marinette covered her mouth with her hand to stop it, but nothing could hold back the onslaught now. 

They were giggles at first, tumbling from her in waves as she tried to clear her throat and treat this seriously. But before long, she couldn’t help it. She was laughing out loud, doubling over, completely ignorant (maybe not completely, but she didn’t care at this point) to the looks of confusion on the faces around her.

She made the mistake of looking back up at Bianca and that only renewed her laughing fit until it literally brought her to her knees, clutching her sides as she laughed so hard she cried.

Fucking cried.

It was a solid five or six minutes before she could breathe again. Sitting back up, wiping the tears from her eyes, she beamed at the girl standing awkwardly before her, “Wow. Thanks. I really needed that.”

She cleared her throat, clearly unsure of the strange behavior. She couldn’t blame her for that. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“All of it. Really.” She stood up from the floor, making a show of dusting off her pants before turning her full attention back on the girl. 

Because this was going to be fun.

“So, Ladybug, tell me this; if I’m such a menace to society, why would you entrust me with a miraculous?”

Bianca's smirk faltered, her eyes darting over to Lila for a moment, both of them looking a little lost for words. As was everyone else for that matter.

Even Alya, whose mouth hung open at this revelation. But the reporter flew to her phone, swiping quickly, "when?! There were no new heroes! How do we know you're not lying?"

Oh good. They were playing right into it. One thing you could always count on with sheeple... they always follow.

"Huh, well, then I guess if you can’t believe me at my word, it would be pretty easy to fact check." Her tone was a bit forced on those words and the reporter had the decency to look taken aback, "You could always just ask Ladybug, here."

"Well I-"

"Or you could ask her partner. Seeing as how he saw me transform."

Bianca's mouth snapped shut. It was still hit or miss whether or not Marinette was bluffing. And it's easy to claim something like that when the only other person who could confirm or deny the facts was not present.

This had been Lila’s game the whole time. The difference was, Marinette wasn’t lying.

But neither of them could take that chance.

Because neither of them knew what she knew.

And Ladybug was definitely in this room, but it wasn’t who they all thought it was.

"I asked her to give you a chance. Because I wanted to help you. I thought being a hero would make you a better person. But you just kept bullying me!"

"E-exactly."

Ah, so they were going to go this route, hmm? She could work with that. And given Lila’s proclivity for being Akumatized, maybe she could mess with Hawkmoth too while she was at it. 

Because it was only a matter of time before someone was targeted.

"How very generous of you, Lila," She said in her sweetest voice possible, but even to her own ears, it sounded fake. How did Lila keep this up all the time? “But, that’s not what you said on the tower when we fought that Akuma together.”

"What did you think I would say when you were obviously unfit to be a Hero! I didn’t want to risk you turning on me.”

“You didn’t think I was unfit when I helped save you and Chat Noir.” This time, it felt a little more realistic when she put the hurt look on her face, glancing away.

In the process, she caught sight of Adrien giving her a strange look. One she couldn’t really put a name to. But it was different than all of her other classmates. Why did he seem so much more confused than the others? 

The girl scoffed, "leave my partner out of this." She demanded, and it felt like a desperate attempt at redirecting the conversation. 

Fine. She could work with that too.

"You... do know that your 'partner' is my best friend, right?" She turned an apologetic look to Alya she only half meant, "sorry Als, but - you know," Marinette pointed between the two of them indicating the distance that had grown between them. They weren't nearly as close as they'd used to be. And while they were still friends, Marinette had a hard time categorizing her as her 'best friend'.

And the implication wasn't wasted on the reporter either. She was left staring wide with bewilderment and hurt. But Marinette was less positive it was because of not being best friends anymore and more that she hadn't told Alya that she spent time with one of the heroes she loved to chase.

"My partner would never hang out with someone like you."

God, she was just a broken record, wasn’t she? Did she really still think she was bluffing?

With a scoff and a soft shake of her head, Marinette pulled her phone from her pocket and swiped through her pictures until she found what she was looking for.

She wasnt trying to be smug about the way she flipped her phone around so she could show the class, but she definitely couldn't help the little smirk that pulled at her lips as the class gasped again, pulling closer so they could study the photo.

A photo of her and Chat Noir sitting a little too close together on her chaise lounge. Marinette sticking her tongue out at the camera, while chat gave the overly kawaii victory peace sign over his left eye like he was straight out of an anime. It was one of her favorites. They'd spent nearly the whole night binging on shows together after a particularly stressful day. The pictures had been a side effect of too much sugar, not enough sleep, and good company. And for some reason when Chat found out she’d been Multimouse, that increased her ‘coolness factor’ and they had something in common.

Of course, she couldn’t tell him that wasn’t the only thing they had in common.

Either way, it had brought them closer together as friends and they hung out often. 

Which was a reprieve given that most of her friends had abandoned her anyway. 

As Bianca stared a little blankly at the picture, a number of voices all began to pick up around them.

"You're actually friends with chat noir? That's so cool!"

“Does that mean you hang out with the other heroes too?”

“What is Chat Noir really like?”

"Wait, then that means you really were a hero? I thought heroes had to keep their identities secret."

That’s the one she’d been waiting on. Quickly silencing the others with a pointed look back at Bianca, "They do. But I'm not a hero anymore, am I Ladybug?"

"I-I..."

"Why was it again that I’m not allowed to be Multimouse again?" She put a thoughtful finger to her chin, but she felt her own fire building in her core, “I’m pretty sure it was nothing to do with being a menace to society.”

She tapped her chin a few more times, looking around deep in thought. Catching another glimpse of Adrien studying her carefully, but she refused to let his perfectness distract her because fuck these people.

Fuck the high road.

If he was going to be mad at her for standing up for her alter-ego then fuck him too.

But he didn’t seem mad. 

In fact, as soon as she locked eyes with him, a slight smirk pulled at his lips. It was roguish and totally out of place on his angelic face, but goddamn did it do things for her.

But the smirk paired with the slightly raised brow aimed at her said, ‘Yes, what did Ladybug say?’

It’s sarcastic and playful and familiar in ways her heart is not ready to admit.

But that would have to come later.

Marinette spun back to the imposter, narrowing her eyes dangerously, "Oh right! Because I'd accidentally revealed my identity to Chat Noir. Because identities are supposed to remain a secret."

"W-well th-there are exceptions!" Bianca tries to defend, but Marinette isn’t going to let her.

“No, I think you, just like your supposed best friend, are a liar. You’re not Ladybug. You don’t know a damn thing about Ladybug. Because if you were, you’d already have been beaten. You’ve been in this classroom all of what, one day? And the entire class already knows your ‘identity’? We’re all lucky you aren’t one of the heroes, otherwise, Hawkmoth would already have won!”

She was fuming now. All of the emotions finally catching up with her. She thrust an accusatory finger at Bianca, making the girl stumble back slightly, “You don’t know a damn thing about what it takes to be a hero. What they have to sacrifice to keep people safe. Besides, Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t even know each other's identities - why the hell would Ladybug share something like that with a classroom full of people who’ve been Akumatized at least once and not share that with her own partner?!”

Whatever fear she’d instilled in the new girl quickly swapped for something much closer to fury as she reclaimed her balance and advanced on Marinette with a fire burning in her eyes. “How dare you call me a liar, you little fucking brat!” 

Surprised at the outburst, Marinette didn’t move when she saw Bianca raise her hand to strike her, instead, closing her eyes and bracing for the blow.

A blow that never connected. 

A gasp brought Marinette to peak open her eyes before they widened at the scene.

Bianca stood where she had previously, hand raised and poised to strike. But just behind her, Adrien had moved - impossibly quick, seriously when the hell had she gotten up? - and grabbed the girl’s arm, hand clutching tightly at her, keeping her still.

“A-Adrien!”

“That’s enough.” He hissed at her, voice low and threatening. “If it wasn’t clear before, it definitely is now. You’re not Ladybug. She would never raise a hand to a civilian like that!”

“B-but - !” Lila tried to come to her ‘friend’s’ defense but was silenced when he shot her an equally terrifying look.

“I’ve had enough of you trying to turn everyone against Marinette. I knew you both were lying when you ‘accidentally’ revealed Ladybug’s identity to me yesterday, but I didn’t have proof to prove it. You’ve been lying to everyone about everything!”

Wait... The way he’d said accidentally... why did it seem so familiar? 

Her thoughts of the blonde-haired, green-eyed model were very suddenly replaced with thoughts of a similarly blonde-haired, green-eyed superhero who’d come looking for her on his night off, asking if she’d ever ‘revealed herself, accidentally or otherwise’.

“Adrien! Y-you’re hurting me!”

Marinette’s eyes were drawn to the boy’s hand, still tightly clutching Bianca’s in a vice grip that would likely leave bruises.

But that’s not what she was focused on. Instead, it was the familiar shape of his silver ring that drew her eye. Familiar because she’d seen him wear it since the first day she’d met him and never took it off. 

Except for the day they’d done the shoot for her website.

The day she and Chat had to switch Miraculouses.

Adrien.

Adrien was Chat Noir.

Her kitty had been there the entire time.

That’s why he’d been so angry. That’s why he’d looked so upset. That’s why he’d come looking for her and asking such strange questions!

Because Lila and her lackey had chosen the one person who’d know for a fact that they were lying.

And if she thought she couldn’t love him any more than she already did, she was sorely mistaken.

“What is going on in here?!”

Great.

She didn’t pay much attention to the chaos that ensued after Madame Bustier had walked in the room. Lila and Bianca had claimed Marinette attacked and Adrien had stepped in to help her and they were both sent to the hall because a number of people started speaking up and coming to their defense, suddenly not blinded by Lila’s lies any longer.

But now, she was standing in the hall next to her crush and her partner. 

“I’m so sorry Marinette.”

Her thoughts came to a startling halt as she turned wide eyes on him.

“I shouldn’t have ever told you not to call her out. I was stupid. I just hope you’ll forgive me someday.”

Marinette couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips, because how could she not have noticed? Model or not, that was the heart of her partner beating in that beautiful body of his. 

“There’s nothing to forgive, Adrien. Besides, at least you checked your sources.” She chuckled, finding so much irony in that statement. If he hadn’t come looking for her, she probably wouldn’t have put it together.

He turned a confused look on her.

The smile she turned on him in return was brighter than she’d given anyone in some time, “I told you, didn’t I? You’d be the first to know.”

[alovesthis]

all of those things // sam wilson

all of those things // sam wilson oneshot (also on my AO3 - pinned on my tumblr)

summary: Every single thing about Sam Wilson had made your stomach flutter with uncontrollable butterflies. The way he spoke and carried himself. His bright smile and the way he laughed. All of those things are what made you fall in love with him. But, you had some questions on why and how he loves you -- which leads Sam confessing every single thing he loves about you.

word count: 3.3k 

warnings: none

requests: send me a message, or an ask on my tumblr! I don’t have any prompts, but feel free to send me any ones you have on your mind! Marvel, SPN, Peaky Blinders. Just note, I’m currently mostly writing MCU characters!! specifically, Sam, Bucky, Steve... 

newly edited; may 24th 2021

Every single thing about Sam Wilson had made your stomach flutter with uncontrollable butterflies. The way he spoke and carried himself. His bright smile and the way he laughed and how it reached to his eyes. All of those things are what made you fall in love with him, but falling in love with your best friend was tricky.

For years you both stood in touch despite how many states you lived from one another. After Sam came back home and started living in D.C, you got a job there and he was fucking thrilled. You struggled to find a place to live, despite Sam’s efforts to get you to move in with him, as you wanted to do things on your own. But when it got extremely difficult, you gave in. How hard could it be to live with your best friend?

When you first asked yourself that, you didn’t really think anything of it. It was easy for the first few months. He was a clean person, kept things organized and had a great set up with his record player. That was one of the many things you adored about him. His love for music and the way he would always show you music you’ve never listened to. The way he’d cook breakfast early in the morning for you before the two of you went off to work. The way he’d say ridiculous jokes and laugh the hardest.

There wasn’t a thing you didn’t hate about him, or dislike. Sure, as best friends you’d annoy the shit out of each other from time to time. But, it never made you want to be without him. Even when times got rough, he was still there for you even if he was the one to make you upset. That was just the type of man Sam Wilson was; caring and the utmost loving human being. He’d gone through a lot, and that was an understatement.

Before The Snap even happened, you were scared you lost him forever. He was helping Steve find Bucky with some others and you had to stay on the sidelines, helping them find places of safety and running from everyone who wanted their hands on Bucky and them. You went months without seeing him because of that. And when The Snap happened, Steve came to you and explained everything. It hurt you because you knew that was going to happen: losing Sam.

Those five years were the longest years of your life. Family members dying, moving and you on your own in the apartment. It made a huge difference with the most warm person you knew was gone. Everything was cold and empty, no smile that could light up the room was there to be seen. No contagious laugh or someone to confide in. No more Sam. Although you two have been apart in life because he went on his tours, something was different about him being gone. No communication, no location. But still, the feeling you’d never see him again would linger in your heart, heavy on your mind. The picture frames were still there to remind you of him and all the memories you’ve shared.

Sometimes, staring at pictures of the two of you and listening to his favorite records made you cry. It made you regret that you never got to tell him you loved him. More than a friend, more than just because you were grateful for him. It was because you were utterly in love with your best friend.

For years, you couldn’t stand to be alone. And Sarah, his sister, knew how much you were suffering alone. No job, no immediate family around...so she made you pack up some stuff and move down to Delacroix to Sam’s childhood home. Sarah, and pretty much everyone who knew you and Sam, knew how you felt about him. And although you were oblivious to how Sam felt towards you, everyone knew how he felt about you. They all saw it. The way the two of you would brighten up either of you walked in a room. The way no one else took his place or yours.

During the five years he was gone, you would hang with Sarah and her kids. You were back and forth between D.C and Delacroix from time to time, whenever you could afford it. She never liked to ask for help, but you helped out because you wanted to. Sarah was a sister to you, and those kids were something special. Watching them grow up when Sam was gone, they reminded you of him. So did Sarah.

When Sam came back, there was no wasting time jumping in his arms. After the final war with Thanos (Sam told you everything about it), there was Tony’s funeral. Natasha’s. Everyone came together, including you. If that wasn’t enough to make things and everyone feel down, Steve left and it broke Bucky. Sam was in for a surprise when he was handed the shield.

For months, Bucky left and you and Sam went back to Delacroix. Although he went back into working after being pardoned, you worried for him and Bucky. You didn’t want them to overwork themselves and jump back in after fighting and running for so long.

But as you looked out for Sam, you realized he was okay. Even if you were worried about him every day (I mean come on, he’s your best friend), you knew that Sam was never to keep things bottled up. It was rare, but right now he told you he was fine but if he needed someone, he’d obviously come to you. As time went on, he went on missions. You stood back, working at home (in Sarah’s house) as a journalist for credible news sources in New York and D.C. Although you were grateful to have this family and them letting you stay, you were missing Sam too much. Sure, he wasn’t working everyday 24/7, but there were missions where he was gone an entire week.

After talking to him one night about it, he saw how concerned you were. He would change his schedule slightly, in order to make sure he wasn’t ever becoming work obsessed. He knew your family as a kid would be so invested in their careers, that you were somewhat neglected a childhood.

The things he’s done for you made you swoon for him. Sometimes, it made you feel guilty and selfish for asking for more time with your best friend. As you confided in him about little things like that, Sam would laugh and reassure you that you shouldn’t ever feel selfish or sorry for wanting him to be around.

He started taking it easy on work. Not only because you felt like he was working too much, but because the family business was struggling and he wanted to help out a lot more. This led to family time, which Sarah and you gossiped about while packaging plates for customers. Sarah would argue that Sam working is fine, and it’s better that he’s away from home. Although she understood your feelings for him (you didn’t think she knew, but Sarah had really good intuition), she didn’t want you or Sam to worry about the business, boat or home.

So yeah, he still kept taking time off work but that meant his missions were more tough and extremely longer than most. Even though that was a change, there were still those nights you both cherished. The ones where it was just you two, alone, staying up all night watching the classics you two both loved.

He caught you staring at him one night. Sitting on the couch together watching the third movie of the night. You stared at the way his smile made his cheek bones prominent, the way it reached his eyes. He would huff out laughs and his sculpted body would move up and down. You didn’t realize you were staring so hard, until he turned his head to react to a joke from the movie.

Your cheeks were set on fire and you were utterly embarrassed. The way his wide smile began to slowly fade as he watched your eyes glare down to his lips and back up to his eyes. Coughing, you quickly turned back to the screen with your breath hitching in your throat. You bit your lip and began bouncing your leg in anxiousness. Trying to watch the movie, you felt Sam’s stare burn through the side of your face.

“What?” Sam smirked.

“What?”

“What’s going on?” He asked softly. You didn’t answer, which makes him sigh and grab the remote so that the movie didn’t distract you. “Y/N?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” You stood up, hesitating whether or not you should head to bed or sit back down. “I’m gonna go to bed. I’m just exhausted.”

Sam had this thing about him. He knew when people were having a hard time, and he knew much better than to just let you walk away without letting you talk things out with him. He gripped on your wrist and pulled you down to the couch. You let out a tired sigh, and fell into his side.

“You gonna keep sighing or are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s been so hard these last few months.” You gulped, hoping it would stop you from being over emotional.

“You came back after all these years, fought against Thanos and Steve left the shield to you. And then you didn’t take it, so I thought maybe you would’ve taken it easy for a while. I worry about you every day, every time we’re not together. I kept trying to tell you every chance I had, but I scared. I got mad at myself for not telling you, but I was scared if I did I would ruin everything. I got mad at myself because I knew if I didn’t tell you, I could probably lose you one day on a mission and you’d never know…Sam, I-I’m-”

The nerves shoot up and down your body, making you anxious

“Hey, hey…” He pulled your hands from your face, making you look at him. “Tell me what? Is everything alright?”

Sam’s heart starts to drop in his stomach, worried that something was wrong and you didn’t tell him a thing about it.

“I’m in love with you. I really, always...truly love you.” 

You spilled your heart out, embarrassingly so, you try to leave his grasp. But he doesn’t let you go. He wants to listen, he wants to make sure you know that he feels the same way. So, he does.

He said your name lovingly, “I love you.”

Stunned, you tilt your head trying to make sense of those three little words you had no idea he’d say to you...in that way. He waited for your response, biting back a smile as he thought it was cute that you were flustered.

“I can’t...you?”

“Talk it out, baby, that’s alright.”

You swooned at the nickname, your heart pounding against your chest. Leave it up to Sam Wilson to make you melt by just speaking.

“I can’t believe you love me.”

Sam laughed lovingly, “What? Why’s that?”

“Fuck, I said that out loud.” You hid your face in his chest. The heat rises into your cheeks as you squeezed his biceps in embarrassment. “Sam, I’m serious. I just-”

“Look at me.” He tugged on your waist. His hand had started to glide from your hip to your jaw, caressing it gently. “Come on, I’ve loved you since we were kids. I thought all the flirting and back and forth was obvious! I love you now and I’ll continue to love my girl forever.”

Your eyes shoot up to his.

“Yeah, my girl.” He smiled, his eyes flickering down to your lips and back to your eyes. “This explains a lot too.”

“What?”

“Never bringing home anyone. Dates, sure. But the fact that we both knew inside we couldn’t bring anyone home, or came up with excuses.”

“You came up with excuses not to bring anyone home? Or date people? Jesus, Sam...why?”

“You’re telling me you haven’t?” You shook your head at him. “I thought so.”

“But why?”

“You really gotta ask me why?” He sighed, raising his eyebrows in concern. “Oh baby. I was gone for a second, but I lost years and so did you. I can’t ever imagine how that must’ve been for you, or Sarah and the kids. I’ve been thinking a lot lately, more than ever, about how the life I had before Steve walked in my life. All the people we had to fight, and save and run for our lives….That was hard. Being away from you for so long that sucked.”

“It did. So, I guess we both know how it feels when we’re away from each other for so long.”

“Yeah, and that made me realize I don’t want to waste anymore time. I love you because it’s always been you. The people I’ve met, all those dates or whatever they were: it didn’t work because they weren’t you. No one can even amount to you.”

You shook your head, “No, Sam. I’m not that special-”

“Don’t do that. Don’t think you’re not. Don’t do that self deprecating thing, because I know you know how I’ve seen you. How Sarah sees you, how those kids look up to you. Shit, even Bucky sees you. He won’t return my calls or texts, but somehow you get through to him. You’re special. The way you have the strength to get up early in the morning with me before I head off to work. I mean, who would really wakes up at five in the morning for someone and they don’t gotta wake up for another four hours?”

“You’re the only person I’d wake up early for.”

“See. It’s little things like that.”

“What?” He squinted at you, a smirk playing on his face.

“I mean...no matter what you do, or where we are. I just, it’s those things that made me fall for you. Much to my surprise, I didn’t think I’d ever tell you. Or even hear those words come out of your mouth.”

“Why?”

“For starters, you’re my best friend and probably the closest thing I have to a family. I didn’t want to jeopardize that. Not only that but just...I’m just me.”

“That’s right. You’re just you.” Sam said, pulling you into him.

“That’s why I love you.” You shrugged. “You let people know that they’re good, that they’re beautiful.”

“You’re just as caring and filled with compassion.”

“Yeah, but there’s only one Sam Wilson.”

“That’s true.” Sam laughed. “And there’s only one you. That’s what makes you unique, and that’s what makes you the woman I love.”

“Sam.”

Everything about you, from the way you woke up with him in the early mornings, to late night movies, cooking together was things he loved about you. From the way you passionately spoke about the things and people you cared about. The way you fumble over your words during a joke always made him laugh. The way you would stay up for him after his long missions and work, to make sure he was physically and mentally alright.

It was the little things and the big things in life that you did that made his heart grow even fonder of you by the day. And now, now that he had you here in his hold confessing your love to him...he really couldn't believe it.

He moved one of his hands to hold on your waist, as you sat together on the couch. He loved the way you said his name. Whether it was Sam, or Samuel, or Wilson when you were angry...or even when you called him Falcon in amusement, his mind couldn’t keep up with his heart that kept beating faster everytime he was with you.

“Y/N…” He said, matching your tone.

“You always know the right things to say, huh?”

“Yeah, and the truth.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

He laughed, then moved his fingers on your waist to comfort you. 

“Listen, I could list every damn thing and reason why I love you. Trust me, that list is endless. It’s always been you that’s made me feel things I’ve never felt for anyone, you know? The way you look in the morning, or anytime of day really. Your lips...whenever you’re concentrating on something you do that really damn cute scrunch of your face. You know, the one where your nose scrunches and your lips are pulled to the side. The way you listen to me. Whether it's my jokes, or going on and on about shit or just letting me open up to you. How could I not fall in love with my best friend?"

You closed your eyes, listening to the way he spoke. That’s another thing: his voice. Whether it was when he was joking around, or tired, or flirting...that voice made you feel more things for him than you’ve ever felt.

“Every, goddamn thing about you is what I love. Because it’s you.”

Suddenly, you felt his hand on your cheek and you open your eyes to stare up at him.

“You’re really warm.”

“You have that affect on me.”

“I know I do.”

You rolled your eyes at his confident flirting. Before you could even respond, his other hand is cupping your jaw. His lips gently grazed yours, slowly waiting for you to make the next move. But the fluttering in your stomach made you too nervous to even move. He caught on and with a faint smile, he leaned in more. You felt like you were frozen, in a dream. Your mind is still caught up in the ‘holy fuck my best friend, sam fucking wilson is kissing me.’ After a few seconds, he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours.

It stood silent between you too. Sam waiting for you to relax and realize what had just happened. He lets out a breathy laugh when he felt your hands start tugging on his shirt, asking him to come forward again. Your lips are instantly on his, and you finally feel it. The connection that pulls you into him, the love that you’ve felt for him for years.

Those butterflies in your stomach flutters up into your heart. Everything you’ve read, watched or heard suddenly starts to become true. There’s this wholesome feeling knowing you’re finally kissing this man you’ve had a crush on since you were kids. But then, there’s this loving and intense feeling that pulses throughout your body. His mouth opens slightly, allowing you to explore his. The nerves start up again, but you push them away once you feel confident enough.

Your lips detach from his for a second, and you both let out each others names in a low whisper. He felt it too. The way you were both vulnerable around each other more than other time. The way you both finally got those feelings off your chest, speaking them to each other.

Sam kissed you once more, just a peck but enough to make you feel weak all over. It was soft, but you felt him giving his all to you. And as he pulled away, it left you breathless and clinging tightly on his thick biceps.

“The things you do to me.”

“I could say the same thing.”

You leave a kiss on the side of his mouth, to tease him and for your own satisfaction. No words are spoken for the rest of the night. It gave you and Sam the opportunity to relax into each others arms.The two of you let out a relieved laugh, falling back into the couch together. He lets his hand wander from your head, down to your back, soothing you and making sure you know everything that had just happened was real. If you had the option of kissing him for the rest of your life, you would.

But right now, being in his arms and knowing that he loves you back, can suffice.

[forever-rogue]

#6 on prompt list #5 for Frankie please, thank you bye😌

Prompt: “You were supposed to be my friend. That’s all...that’s all I asked of you. To be my friend - to care-”

Did someone order from pain? Angst? Perhaps Fluff? Here ya go!

Frankie x Fem! Reader; no warnings

Frankie Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You sighed heavily as you sat in front of the television, watching the third - fourth? - mindless movie on Netflix, and while you were tired and felt strung out, your mind was wide awake. Like the frantic beating of a heart and the incessant tick tock of an aging clock your mind went back and forth from point a to w to d to l. 

Every thing, every word, every breath, every emotion was glued in your mind. It was like a recurring nightmare, continually plaguing you, but even that could be relieved by the light of day. This? This never seemed to go away. It haunted your dreams, causing you to wake up in tears and a layer of sweat, but during the day it occupied every part of your mind as well - every waking thought. 

Breaking up with Frankie Morales had been the worst moment of your life.

Except it hadn’t been a breakup...not really, but yeah?

If it wasn’t a real break up, then why did it hurt more than any other actual breakup you had gone through?

But best friend breakups counted, right? Surely, they must have. Or it definitely wouldn’t have hurt this bad. 

Then again, Frankie wasn’t just a  friend...he had never been just a friend. He was always much more than that, except he didn’t know that. And now he never would, because the two of you were no longer speaking.

It had been two weeks, three days, and fourteen hours since your heart had been ripped from your chest and you felt like nothing but a gaping hole was in your chest. It still hurt now just as badly as when your heated words were first exchanged. 

When would it stop hurting? You hoped it would soon. It couldn’t keep hurting like this, right? 

Turning off the television with a huff, you decided to try and get some sleep. It was still early, and night had barely fallen, some faint bits of gold and orange still visible in the distance. Yet, you were exhausted, mentally and physically and hoped that perhaps it would weigh heavily enough on you that sleep would come easily and dream free.

Shuffling back into your bedroom, you stripped off your extra sweater and climbed into bed, pulling the covers tightly around you. There was something comforting about the warmth being wrapped around you, almost as if trying to shield you from the horrors of the outside world.

Closing your eyes, you tried to conjure up your happiest things in order to pull in nothing but good thoughts to occupy your mind.

Unfortunately even that didn’t seem to work - all your happiest memories, in one way or another circled back to Frankie. Even if he was just some background force at work, he was there. It always all seemed to come back to him. 

And somehow, as you drifted off to sleep the happy bits morphed into the last heated moments you exchanged with Frankie.

“I’m doing this for you!”

“You’re being selfish - you don’t care at all!

“Of course I do! I’m your best friend. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t love you!”

“If you loved me you’d be supporting me, not trying to sabotage my relationship.”

“She doesn’t care about you, Frankie! I know she doesn't. Please just listen to me -”

“You were supposed to be my friend. That’s all...that’s all I asked of you. To be my friend - to care-”

“I do , Francisco, more than you will ever know. I love you and that’s why you need to hear this from me.”

“I think you’re lying to me. You just don’t like her.”

“I would never-!”

“Get out. This is over.”

You startled out of your dream and sat up, breathing heavily, and finding half dried tears on your face. You reached up and wiped them away, resting your face in your hands in order to ground yourself and regain some sort of balance.

But before that could happen - a loud, booming knock came at your door. You almost jumped out of your skin as you pondered what to do. Glancing at your phone you saw it was nearing one in the morning. Against your better judgment, your sleep deprived self hustled out of bed and grabbed your discarded sweater, slipping it on as you walked to the door. 

Without even checking to see who was at the door, you swung it open. As soon as you saw who the late night intruder was, your jaw dropped and almost hit the floor. There was Frankie, drenched in the frigid rain, his eyes glossy and red rimmed almost as though he had been crying. 

“Frankie?” you stepped aside to let him but he shook his head and stood there, wordlessly staring at you. His dark curls were wet and sticking about wildly as his lips trembled - whether from the cold or his emotions, you couldn’t tell, “Frankie, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” it was so soft, so gentle that you almost didn’t hear it. You met his eyes, those damned soft eyes and they conveyed everything that seemed to be stuck in his throat, “I should have listened to you.”

“Frankie, please, it’s pouring rain! Come inside, please,” you reached for his head but he refused to move, “what’s wrong?”

“I know I ruined everything, but I have to tell you this first and foremost. Even if you never speak to me again because of the jerk I was,” he was starting to ramble, but you waited for him to go, offering him a soft, reassuring nod. He took a deep breath and stilled himself before inhaling and exhaling deeply, “I’m in love with you.”

“Just come inside and dry off and  - what?” you reached for his arms but stopped yourself when you realized what he said. You looked back at him and his expression was so nervous, so expectant, and all consuming, “what did you say?”

“I have fucked everything up,” he admitted slowly, “I got mad at you for no reason, and I shouldn’t have pushed you away. And I know you might never forgive me, and I don’t know if I deserve forgiveness, but I had to tell you.”

“You have a girlfriend,” you pointed as he fiercely shook his head, “w-what’s going on?”

“I broke up with her,” he confessed, “right after we...fought. I realized you were right. I talked to her and she admitted that she never loved me - she’d been...cheating. She said it didn’t matter because I was in love with you anyways.”

“Francisco-”

“And she’s right,” he met your eyes and grew nervous as your eyes were wide, but he was unable to read what you were thinking, “it’s always been you. I...I pushed and pushed and pushed you away because I was afraid. I’ve always been afraid of what would happen if I told you,..a life without you is not worth living. And if I had to always keep you as a friend and nothing more, it would have been okay. But now…”

“How long?” you blinked back your own tears as you tried to keep your head and your heart straight and not completely lose your grip. There was no way he was confessing his love for you; if nothing else, you always pictured that it would be the other way around. But here he was, in the pouring rain at your doorstep in the middle of the night, “how long have you known?”

“Ever since that day, when we were in college,” he started, “it was with that chemistry experiment that burned me. You were so upset and mad that I was so careless and hurt myself and you bandaged and cleaned my hand up and then made me rest and take a nap. When I woke up you yelled me at some more and told me to be more careful. It was just a little acid burn, so small and insignificant, but you were so damn mad and upset. I knew since that day.”

“That was fifteen years ago,” you remembered the day so clearly, “all this time?”

“Always,” he admitted as you stood there and watched him. A million things were running through your mind at once, and at the end of it all, you didn’t know how to deal. So you watched him in silence, and eventually he gave you a small nod, along with another mumbled apology before turning to walk away, down the dark driveway to his truck. 

Before he reached the door, you called his name and ran after him, unable to let him go like that. Things weren’t going to just be over with him - not like this. 

“Frankie,” you stopped when you got to him, watching a confused expression cross his features. You were almost instantly soaked, but none of it mattered, not now. You needed to do this for yourself and him, “you hurt me, Frankie. Your words stung.”

“I know,” he agreed, “I told you I was a jerk and don’t deserve forgiveness, but I had to see you one last time.”

“You hurt me,” you said anything, “and it will take a moment to get over because I’ve been thinking of nothing but you for the last two weeks.”

“I don’t-”

“But I’m in love with you, too,” you finally got it off of your chest after all these years. It felt like the weight of the world was off of your shoulders as a gentle moment of quiet, despite the pounding of the rain, fell over the two if you, “have been for a long time too. That’s why I always wanted nothing but the best for you, even if it wasn’t me.”

“You...you love me?” he seemed shy as a bit of color rose into his cheeks, “I don’t know…”

“We've got a lot to talk about,” you informed him, “but right now, I really, really just want you to kiss me. I didn’t come after you in the pouring rain not to have a completely cliche movie moment.”

“M-may I?” he asked gently as you nodded, unable to keep the grin off of your face, “may I kiss you? Finally?”

“Yes,” you breathed out as he kissed. Finally.

It didn’t matter that the both of you were soaked and crying, and it was in the wee hours of the morning. 

The only thing that mattered was this. Everything else could wait for now.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 5

We back at it again because I love this right now

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

After smuggling Derek into my room via the window, the interrogation began. He sat in my computer chair, leaning over, resting his arms on his legs.

“Uh, first I want to say thank you for saving me again.” I began. He looked up and nodded. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“And uh, you’re a werewolf.” I said, starting to pace back and forth, “Is Scott a werewolf?” 

“He is.” 

“Did you bite him?” I paused, crossing my arms over my chest. 

“No, I’m an omega. Only Alphas can give people the gift.” He said. You call that a gift? I’d like a receipt.

“Is there a cure?”

“There’s a legend that says if the beta, one of the pack, kills the alpha then he will become human again. But I don’t even know if that’s true.” He explained. That meant Scott’s odds were not looking good and this werewolf thing is permanent. 

“Were you bitten by the alpha?” I asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed. 

“No, I was born with it. My family was a pack. After…” He paused, “After the fire, my older sister became the alpha since she had been trained by my mother to be the new matriarch. I came back here because I hadn’t heard from her. Now we know why.” 

“I’m so sorry.” I looked down at my socks. These questions were making him bring up what must have been incredibly painful memories and bringing up the fresh pain of the murder of his sister. 

“The thing following you in the woods was the new alpha. He killed her for her alpha spark.” 

“Alpha spark?” 

“It can transform a beta, or an omega into an alpha. It’s taken when the alpha is killed by either of those. Or it can be transferred willingly.” This was a little more complicated than I thought. I knew that there were hierarchies in wolves, but who knew it translated to werewolves?

“Why is the alpha coming after me? You said it was following me.” 

He leaned back in the chair, “Well, he’s either looking to eat you. Or he wanted to turn you.” At my shocked expression he added, “Probably the latter. He’s a new alpha so he’s trying to start a pack, probably why he started with Scott. Speaking of, you need to tell him to stop seeing Allison.” 

“Why, what’s wrong with Allison?” 

“Her family are a very old lineage of werewolf hunters.” He said seriously, “Chris Argent and I have an unspoken agreement. No deaths, I don’t end up dead. I can’t say the same for the rest of his family.” He was something in his eyes, a pain that couldn’t be described. 

“I know I said I wanted answers but if its too painful-”

“It’s fine.” He interrupted. I raised my eyebrows at him. 

“Derek, I understand what it’s like to lose your family in one day. It’s the most awful feeling imaginable. Because after the pain is the loneliness. I got lucky that I have Uncle Noah and Stiles. You had your sister and now she’s gone and you’re the only one left.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. 

“It’s not just me. I have an uncle in a vegetative state at Beacon Hills long-term facility. And my sister Cora, I haven’t seen her since the fire. I think she’s gone too, but there’s always the chance that she’s still out there. She just doesn’t want anything to do with me.” He looked down at his hands. He looked so vulnerable right now, something I never expected from him. He had so many walls up. There were still things he was hiding about the Argents, but pushing him now didn’t seem right. 

I gave him a small smile and kneeled down in front of him. Slowly, I reached for his hands, giving him plenty of time to pull away, but he let me touch him. I held his hands in mine, rubbing my thumbs over his knuckles. I titled my head to meet his eyes that he was hiding. 

“Hey, grief is hard. Especially since we lost our families in the same way. Let’s help each other. Would that be okay?” I asked softly. He met my eyes finally, his stern expression was more loose than usual. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“I want to. But I can’t.” 

The sound of the door opened behind us, and queue Stiles meltdown. And with the position I was in, on my knees in front of Derek Hale, maybe it was a little justified. 

“What is going on?” He asked. I quickly got to my feet. 

“Uh, Derek was just leaving. Just a quick little visit.” I took Derek by the arm, brought him out of the chair and ushered him to the window, where he left without another word. 

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Stiles shouted. 

“Will you keep it down?” I whispered loudly. 

“Oh you can cut the crap, Dad isn’t here. Why the hell is a wanted criminal in my house?!” 

I crossed my arms and shrugged innocently, “We were just talking.” 

“Why was he covered in blood?” He pointed to the dry blood that was on the arm of my chair. I sighed and rubbed my temples. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to tell your dad.” I pleaded. He crossed his arms and looked away from me. 

“As an upstanding citizen of Beacon Hills-”

“You cut the crap, Stiles. You have more priors than he does.” 

“I wasn’t questioned about the murder of my sister.” He shot.

“He was acquitted of all changes due to his alibi.” I shot back.

He grumbled and shook his hands, “Fine, fine. Tell me.” 

“Okay, so, Michael found me in the woods-” 

“Michael-” He started. 

“Hey, no interrupting!” He held his hands up in surrender, motioning for me to go on, “He found me in the woods and was probably going to commit a bunch of unsavory things on me when Derek showed up because the night before when you and Scott were arguing, I went to his house to get some answers of my own, he told me to go home so I did.” I paused and took a drink out of the glass of water on my nightstand, then continued, “Anyway, when Derek showed up he killed Michael because Derek is a werewolf.” I rushed out. 

“A what?!” He shouted. 

“Oh don’t act so surprised, you know Scott is a werewolf.” 

He stepped back, pretending to be shocked, “Scott? A werewolf.” Clearly trying to cover for his friend, but no dice. Stiles was a terrible liar. 

“Derek told me. And he also told me that Allison’s family are werewolf hunters. But I assumed you already knew that because you don’t look surprised at all.” 

“Well, ahhh, her last name does mean silver in French.”  He added. I shook my head, holding my pinkie out. 

“Pinkie swear me you won’t tell Uncle Noah.” He sighed, tapping his foot, “Promise!” He grumbled, throwing his hands up in the air, but eventually he wrapped his pinkie around mine. 

“Fine.” He paused, still holding my pinkie, his grip on my finger tightened, holding me there, “But you have to swear not to get romantically involved!” He pulled his pinkie away. I gasped loudly, staring between my pinkie and his. 

“You can’t do that.” 

He smirked, “I just did.” 

“I am not romantically involved with Derek.” I blushed. 

“Coulda fooled me.” He scoffed. I huffed. 

“Okay, time for you to go. Goodnight Stiles.” I pushed him out the door and slammed it behind me. I leaned against the door and sighed. I wasn’t romantically involved with Derek, we just had a connection. 

…

Maybe I was romantically involved. But could you blame me, he was my knight in shining armor twice. That was attractive. And he was far from ugly. 

- 

The next morning, I went downstairs and was surprised to see Uncle Noah in the kitchen making breakfast. 

“Morning, I didn’t hear you come in last night.” I said, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. 

“That’s because,” He yawned, “I came in this morning.” He motioned to the table, “Sit, sit. Let me make you breakfast.” I sat at the table, pulling an apple out of the basket on the table. He placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of me. 

I smiled up at him, “Thanks, Uncle Noah.” He nodded, sitting down with his own plate before eating. The few minutes were in silence, just chewing. I decided I should at least talk, make it seem like I was still scared that Michael would come back. 

“I know you don’t want to bring up work at home, but is there any news on Michael?” He sighed through his nose, swallowing his bite of food. 

“It’s okay. And I wish I had better news, but we still haven’t found anything.” He said. I nodded. 

“It’s okay, I know you’ll find him.” Find his body? Maybe. But he was very much dead. The only thing I’m worried about now in the woods was the alpha werewolf and whether he wanted to make me lunch or one of them. 

- 

I was making my way out to get groceries when I saw Stiles Jeep whipping through the neighborhood. Being curious, I decided to follow, where I was led to Dr. Deaton’s office, the local veterinarian that Scott worked for. 

“Is there a reason you’re driving like a bat outta hell?” I called, seeing Stiles get out. 

“Oh great, you can help me carry him.” Stiles said, opening the back of the Jeep where Derek sat. He was pale, his eyes looked sunken in, and there was blood dripping down his hand. 

“Jesus Christ.” I said, carefully helping Derek out of the Jeep. He grunted while Stiles and I helped him inside after Stiles unlocked the door with the spare key. Scott had gone to go find the bullet so that Derek could cure himself, he would have to steal from Kate Argent.

 We brought him back into the operating area. I’m sure Stiles was chomping at the bit not to say something. Derek explained that he had been on the trail of the alpha when a hunter saw and shot him. 

Stiles looked at his phone then Derek, “Does Northern Blue Monkshood mean anything to you?”

Derek was leaning on the operating table, “It’s a rare form of wolfsbane. He has to bring me the bullet.”

“Why?”

Derek looked from me to Stiles, “Cause I’m gonna die without it.” He said breathlessly. He took his jacket, then his shirt off to reveal the bullet wound in his arm which was bleeding, but the strangest thing was his veins around the wound were purple and crawling up his arm. I guess Monkshood must be deadly to werewolves, but then again, it is wolfsbane. Derek looked manic, he was getting warmer and sweat was dripping off of him in buckets. He looked around and grabbed an amputation saw.  I grabbed a bowl filled with water and grabbed a couple paper towels. I wet the paper towels, and moving to touch his wounded arm, he pulled it away.

“Okay, if the Blue monkshood doesn’t kill you, an infection will. Let me help you.” I narrowed my eyes. He glared, his nostrils flared but he held his arm out. I lightly dabbed at it, careful not to apply too much pressure.

Stiles gagged when he saw it, prompting me to elbow his side, “Okay, you know, that really doesn’t look like anything, some echinacea and a good night’s sleep couldn’t take care of…?”

Derek swallowed thickly, “When the infection reaches my heart, it’ll kill me.”

“Positivity” just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?”

“Stiles!” I scolded. 

“If he doesn’t get here with the bullet in time– last resort.” Derek grabbed an amputation saw from the table. 

“Which is…?” Stiles asked. 

“You’re gonna cut off my arm.” He rushed his words out, they slightly slurred together. 

“Okay okay.” I grabbed the saw from his grasp and set it back down on a metal tray, “Let’s just be a little optimistic. Scott’s going to be here soon.” He glared at me, causing me to raise my hands in surrender. He grabbed a rubber tourniquet and tied it tightly around his arm with his teeth to stop any further movement. 

Stiles held his arms out, “Oh, my God. What if you bleed to death?”

“It’ll heal if it works.”

“If it works?!” I snapped, not believing that any of this was happening still.

Stiles sight, “Ugh. Look - I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of the bone, and especially the blood!”

“You’re not afraid of blood. You don’t faint.” I said, confused. 

“No, but I might at the sight of a chopped - off arm!” 

“All right, fine. How about this? Either you cut off my arm, or I’m gonna cut off your head.” Derek glared. 

“Derek.” I scolded.

Stiles shook his head, “Okay, you know what, I'm so not buying your threats any-” Derek grabbed him by the shirt collar and lifted him up, “Oh, my God. Okay. All right, bought, sold. Totally. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” Derek dropped him and Stiles looked back at his arm, “What? What are you doing? Holy God, what the hell is that?” His arm was oozing from the wound. 

“It’s my body..” Derek breathed out, “Trying to heal itself.”

“Well, it’s not doing a very good job of it.” Stiles avoided his arm once again.  

Derek grabbed the saw, holding it out to Stiles, “Now. You gotta do it now.”

“Look, honestly, I don’t think I can.”

“Just do it!” He shouted. 

Stiles took the saw, “Oh, my God. Okay, okay. Oh, my God. All right, here we go!” 

“I can’t watch this.” I covered my eyes with one of my hands, the other was on Derek’s uninjured arm. But like an angel’s voice, we heard Scott yelling for Stiles. 

“Scott?” Stiles asked, looking at the frazzled teen who just ran through the clinic.  I uncovered my eyes, still seeing Stiles with the saw pressed to Derek’s arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott asked, exasperated. 

Stiles dropped the saw, “Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares.” 

Derek stood up more without the help of the table but he was starting to wobble, “Did you get it?”

“What are you gonna do with it?” Stiles asked. 

Derek swallowed thickly, “I’m gonna…I’m gonna…” His eyes fluttered shut, his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. 

“Derek!” I shouted, grabbing his torso before he broke his skull open on the floor. When Derek had dropped, it had knocked the bullet out of Scott’s hand and it had rolled.

“No. No, no, no, no.” Scott pleaded as he watched the bullet roll and fall into the vent in the floor. 

Stiles was down on the floor besides me, “Derek. Derek, come on, wake up.” He was tapping his cheek, “Scott, what the hell are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know! I can’t reach it.” Scott called from across the room.

“He’s not waking up!” Stiles said between his teeth, clearly in panic mode, but I wasn’t any better. I leaned my head down to his chest, trying to hear his heartbeat. 

“His heart beats slowing down!” I called, I grabbed his shoulder, starting to shake him, “Come on, Derek, wake up!”

“Come on.” I heard Scott grunt.

“I think he’s dying. I think he’s dead!” Stiles looking back in Scott’s direction. I started to panic, shaking him harder. I can’t lose him. I can’t. No one else I care about is allowed to die.

“Just hold on! Come on.” Scott let out a restrained yell, then shouted “Oh! I got it! I got it!” 

When Stiles heard that, he pushed me back and bowed his fist, “Please don’t kill me for this.” He swung and connected with Derek’s cheek, “Ugh! Ow! God!” He pulled his hand away, shaking it. Derek gasped and his eyes shot open, I helped Derek to feet and held his waist to steady him.

“Give me…” Scott gave Derek the bullet. He took the bullet between his teeth, and broke it open. He dumped the contents of it on the table. From his back pocket he pulled out a match book, he lit a match and dropped it on the contents. It burned quickly, an eerie blue flame. Once it went out, he pinched some of the ash in his fingers, then stuck his fingers in the wound. I winched and looked away. 

“Ow, God.” Stiles gagged. But we all watched in amazement as the dark veins that had been growing up his arm disappeared. I was finally able to breathe properly, I let out a sigh of relief, back away and leaning against the wall. I placed a hand on my chest, feeling my heart slowly go back into rhythm.

“That - Was - Awesome! Yes!” Stiles cheered, throwing his arms up. 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked.  

Derek grumbled a bit, “Well, except for the agonizing pain.”

“I’m guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health.” Stiles smiled, feeling accomplished. He probably just was relieved that he didn’t have to cut anyone’s arm off. 

“Okay, we saved your life, which means you’re gonna leave us alone, you got that? And if you don’t, I’m gonna go back to Allison’s dad, and I’m gonna tell him everything-” Scott started his threat. Which meant that I was severely out of the loop. 

“You’re gonna trust them?” Derek cut him off,  “You think they can help you?”

“Well, why not? They’re a lot freaking nicer than you are.”

 Derek glared at him, the pain was back in his eyes, “I can show you exactly how nice they are.” 

-

After the excitement was over, I decided to go to the Hale house to talk to Derek privately. I got there before him and waited for him in the driveway. I really shouldn’t have come unannounced. He would probably just tell me to get lost like he usually did. I was pulled out of my thoughts by his black Camaro pulling up beside my car. I got out as he did. Derek still looked pretty rough but his color was coming back to his skin.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” He said dismissively, walking towards his house. And we were back to this. Even after everything, it’s like our relationship reset itself every time we saw each other. I followed after him, hot on his heels.

“Why do you keep doing this?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

“Doing what?” He took his leather jacket off and hung it up.

“You and I, we talk, we get more comfortable with each other. I think I am finally getting through that shell of yours only for you to make another one.”

Derek turned to face me, “I don’t owe you any explanation. I am fine by myself.”

“No, you’re not.” I came closer to him, my face mere inches from his, “You’re not fine by yourself. I saw how you looked tonight when Scott brought up the Argents. You were hurt, and scared, and angry. You can’t just sit here in this house and pour yourself into finding this alpha, you’re going to kill yourself. You almost died today.”

“He killed my sister! He is killing people and now Kate Argent is back and she doesn’t follow the Code. She will do anything, no matter how awful it is, to murder my kind. She’s the reason my family is gone!” He barked back. I took a deep breath.

“I know you want justice for Laura. I do too. But you can’t do that if you’re dead. Is that what she would want? Her little brother dead trying to get revenge?” Derek avoided my gaze, looking through me more than at me.

“Derek.” I said softly, slowly bringing my hand up to his cheek. He inhaled sharply, becoming stiff under my touch.

I stood on my tiptoes to press my forehead against his and whispered, “This is selfish to say… but I can’t lose you too. I-I thought you were dead. You have to be more careful. Please.” His body became less rigid and he let out a shaky breath. He slowly brought his hand to my waist, the other sliding over my hand that rested on his cheek. In that moment, it felt like the whole universe stopped. It was only me and him. It was like our minds finally connected and our souls touched. There was silence, only the wind blowing softly through the trees. 

“I can’t do this.” He whispered, closing his eyes. 

“You can.” I laced my fingers with his against his cheek, “We can do it together.” 

“I can’t let myself.” He opened his eyes again to meet mine, “When I’m with you I lose focus, you’re all I can think about. I get distracted from what I need to do. So I ignore you, treat us like it's nothing because I can’t open myself up again. Not after… not after what happened.” He was opening up, if not all the way, just a little. Derek had a good point. Finding the alpha and killing him was the only way to get justice for Laura. And if I was distracting him, maybe I should keep my distance. He clearly has been hurt terribly by someone, and hearing him bare his soul made me think about how to make it better. But what was I to do? My demons were killed, Derek deserved to destroy his own. 

“Do you want me to go away?” My words were barely a whisper. 

He licked his lips, “If I was allowed to be selfish, I would never let you go.” I took a deep breath, dreading the fact that I had to leave him. 

“Okay.” I smiled, trying to ignore my burning tear ducts, “I’ll go home. And… I won’t come back unless you want me to.” I reluctantly slipped my hand out of his. But, I need one selfish thing if I was ever going to live with this. I leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. I pulled away, feeling his hand fall from my waist. I kept my eyes on the floor as I walked out of the Hale house, got into my car and drove away. 

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

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Beast Tamers

Ch.1 |  Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4(1) | Ch.4(2) | Ch.5(1) | Ch.5(2) | Ch.5(3) | Ch.5(4) | Ch.6(1) | Ch.6(2) | Ch.6(3) | Ch.7(1) | Ch.7(2) | Ch.7(3) | Ch.7(4) | Ch.7(5) | Ch.8(1) | Ch.8(2) | Ch.8(3) | Ch.9(1) | Ch.9(2) | Ch.9(3) |

Ch.9: No lies (4)

"Ah, you f-felt that?" 

Naruto stares at Hinata's round belly, where his hand covers her whole abdomen. 

"I did," he whispers. Still amazed at the movement going inside Hinata's body, at their baby moving. 

Hinata covers his hand with hers, moves it to the side of her stomach. "I think next is h-here." 

And she is correct. Naruto feels a kick in his hand a few seconds after, and he can feel in his chest something he can't explain yet. He crouches down and presses his lips to Hinata's pregnant belly. "Hello, baby."

She giggles and rests her hand on his hair. In love with him and the way he loves their child already. 

"So, dizziness and nosebleeds, is that all?" 

Naruto rests his ear on her stomach and Hinata ends up resting her hands on his arms. “N-nosebleeds sometimes, yes.” 

Naruto nods and hears her heartbeat against his ear. Her hand on his hair, her fingers sometimes tracing his whiskers. He closes his eyes and lets silence reign for a few seconds, before remembering something he wanted to talk to her about. “I’ve seen you taking your walks with Neji a lot these past few days.”

Her fingers stop for less than a second, and Naruto makes it as if nothing happened. 

“I h-have asked him t-to accompany me on my s-strolls.”

Which Naruto knows, because Sai has shared as much, but the question remains, “I thought you didn’t have that great of a relationship with him.” He remains on the floor, with his head on her, doing his best not to overwhelm her.

Hinata keeps quiet a second, but Naruto knows it is her putting her thoughts in order as her fingers trace absent-minded patterns across his cheek. 

“I… we have b-been talking about a lot of th-things. It’s been f-fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Uhm, we d-didn’t have the best ch-childhoods, I think.” Her voice gets lower, her breathing more controlled, “I… always wanted a r-relationship with him, I b-believe. He was the only one who… he w-was the only one who didn’t seem to h-hate me back then.”

Naruto raises his head, sits with his legs crossed facing her. Hinata looks at her hands, and doesn’t seem to want to look Naruto in the eyes. “He would do th-things that s-seemed to be for me, but then h-have the perfect excuse as to w-why do it for my f-father, so I thought… I w-wondered, you know, am I just a n-nuisance to him as w-well?”

Her voice is quiet, “I n-never knew… I couldn’t k-know, he barely talked b-back then,” she chuckles. Naruto offers his hand, touches hers with the softest of touches, and Hinata reciprocates, grabs his hand between hers. She is not crying. “It’s b-been good, talking to h-him. S-Sharing stories… having- h-having a relationship.”

Hinata fears tears will follow next, so she bites her lip. She knew she wanted to have a relationship with her cousin for a long time. For longer than a long time. He was the only thing keeping her from losing herself in screams and self-pity, he showed her the barest of kindness, the barest of encouragement and yet she treasured them, because that’s what they were in that house. Treasures. Tiny and yet important. 

She would have loved to receive more. 

And so she followed him. Bothered him. Looked for him for the things no one else would give her. And he did sometimes, and then he didn’t most times. And she still wonders whether it was duty or love or pity or a sense of at least being better off than her…

They still have yet to talk about the harsh stuff. They still have to talk about their actual relationship. Hinata yearns and fears that moment, but at least now… at least now she has a relationship with a person she holds so dear -against all odds-, a person she is ashamed to hold in such regards, and yet… 

She is so happy she can walk with Neji and talk about the weather without worrying about what’s gonna appear as they turn the next corner, about the people walking around them, about what’s going to be reported back to her father, about the disgusted face her father would give her as she came ba-

“I’m glad, then.” Naruto’s warm hand brings her out of her trance, as he gets closer and searches for her eyes, as his hands move up and down her arms, as he brings her in for a hug. She feels herself relax, lays her head on his shoulder and lets him pamper her. 

“Thanks, for… for t-taking care of him, t-too.”

Naruto remembers Neji’s silent work, as he asked for his help when Hiashi’s letter first came. The way he read the letter, explained what he thought all of this meant without even asking for them to be alone, his excellent work and his disposition. Never questioning Naruto, asking for permission to voice his opinions. 

Nothing like the rude man who had faced him that first time. 

Naruto tries to connect the rude man with the eager cousin. The cold asshole with the warm family member. But maybe none of that is important, because what he cares about is that his wife was able to make it this far with his… help. 

And thanks to that she is with him now, and Neji has shown nothing but his best behavior. So Naruto puts his worries to the side, “I love you.”

Hinata chuckles as she buries her face in Naruto’s shoulder. Nothing matters. Nothing matters because Naruto is here. 

Naruto wonders whether he should share with her his godfather’s news before his father arrives. But what would he say? And what would she say, too?

No answer is enough to let him relax, so he does the next best thing. He peppers kisses all over his wife’s face, filling the room with their laughs. And he remains quiet.

⁂⁂⁂

Minato arrives at the compound with Mito in tow and they stop in their tracks as they watch Jiraiya taking a stroll through the gardens with Naruto and Hinata. 

    Minato bolts towards his master, with a flustered Mito following behind. 

“Master!”

    “Oh, calm down, calm down, I’m not going anywhere!”

    Jiraiya is the one to bring the excitement down, with laughs and pats in the back that make Minato’s high come down in an instant. There are anxious looks coming and going between Minato and Mito that Hinata catches but knows not how to feel about. 

    Naruto remains impassive and he is the one to offer they go and find a private room in which to talk. 

    Hinata feels her chest tighten slightly, and although in any other time Naruto’s tranquil attitude would help her calm herself, this time, she grows nervous. 

    Jiraiya starts to tell of his travels -as he did before with Naruto and Hinata-, and it is with a mixture of interest and obvious haste that Minato asks questions. He wants to know, but he also doesn’t care about anything at all but whatever information can help Naruto. And yet he fears to hear no new information at all, or anything worthwhile. 

    Lady Mito remains quiet, staring at Jiraiya with her eyes shining in anticipation. Jiraiya is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He tries to gauge the room’s ambience, tries to control the emotions that reach him and he ends up anchoring himself in Naruto.

    Naruto and his tight smile. 

    Naruto and his resigned attitude. Out of anyone in this room, he knows what will follow. It’s what always follows whenever Jiraiya comes back, pleas and requests he never answers.

    He can never answer them.

    And now, although Jiraiya should feel accomplished and happy, although his travels have at long last brought forth an answer, he dreads talking about it.

    He knows what comes next. And Naruto stares at him, without blinking. Waiting to remain quiet and bear the sure goading that will follow.

    “What?” Minato catches on, and his eyes travel from his son to his master. “What’s going on?” 

    “So,” Jiraiya starts, “good news first, I learned of a technique that allows one to… uh, gather energy from the environment and replenish the user’s.”

    He looks around, with a face that asks for some smiles or positive feedback. Hinata gives him a faint smile and Jiraiya smiles back. She doesn’t know what this is about.

    “And?” Minato urges, and whatever ambience Jiraiya had been able to bring into the room disappears in a second. 

    “You know, that means that the Beast will take less of a toll on Naruto’s body.”

    “Good, then why aren’t you as excited?”

    “It’s… you gather energy from the environment but it asks for the user to become one with nature, so it entails extreme meditation and barely moving a muscle-”

    “I could do that,” chimes in Naruto. 

    Jiraiya nods to him, “Good, good, it will help. But, uh, I’m not as excited because from what I could tell from the quick check I did on Naruto, well…”

    “It took a toll, right?” Minato hates the idea, but Naruto just came out of a forced tearing of the seal. For him to come out of it unscathed is just, idealistic. “The forced tearing of the seal took a toll on Naruto’s body that you can’t fix, right?”

    “Good news is, it can be fixed, in fact, I think it will be fixed if he adds this new technique. Bad news is just-”

    “We’re back on square one,” Naruto finishes. 

    Lady Mito makes fist of her hands. Naruto’s life could have been extended… if none of this would have happened. But it did. 

At least… at least they’re on square one…

    At least they are back where they were before. 

Lady Mito feels her emotions going unchecked and raises her head to compose herself. But then sees Jiraiya’s eyes locked on Naruto’s and her heart squeezes. “What is it?”

Naruto’s eyes flash to her, almost ashamed, and she fears, anguishes over what’s to come. 

“Well,” Jiraiya starts again. Minato keeps his eyes glued to the floor. “Do you remember what we talked about, long ago?” 

Lady Mito tilts her head. They have talked about so many a thing regarding Naruto’s seal. Each time with a little more urgency. “Would you mind refreshing my memory?” 

Jiraiya lets out a heavy sigh and then blurts out everything all at once, “Back then we surmised that the Beast’s chakra seeping out of Naruto for so long meant we could in turn add something to the seal that could, you know, help with that, and if Naruto’s body didn’t have to worry about that, then, in turn, it may send resources to keep himself alive instead of sealing the Beast.”

Lady Mito doesn’t ask. Fears the answer.

“Do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“It’s done.”

Naruto doesn’t move a muscle and the euphoria of having something so tangible in front of her is enough to send Lady Mito in a spiral of anger towards the stubbornness of her grandson. 

“Does that,” she tempers her exhilaration, “does that mean that Naruto would have a normal… normal lifespan?”

“If he undergoes the procedure then he will have a longer life compared to what we expected before, yes.”

All eyes fall on Naruto. His eyes fixed on his godfather. 

“If I undergo the procedure, will I be able to use the Beast’s chakra as usual?”

“No.”

Naruto evades everyone’s eyes, stares to the floor for a second and then answers, “then it’s not an option.”

Jiraiya is the only one who seems to accept this answer. As Minato and Lady Mito open their mouths trying to find anything to say, but keeping quiet in hopes that the other would talk first.

HInata looks at everyone in turns, her last glance at Naruto's profile, whose jaw is tight. And then she stares at the floor. Quiet. 

“Why not?” says Minato, and Lady Mito seems to want to drill a hole in Naruto’s mind in search of an answer.

“We have just been attacked by a clan that was thought to be dead, we are now under unprecedented times with a truce between Beast Tamers and- hell, even if we were under normal circumstances it doesn’t make sense for us to give away our best card against enemies.”

“We can fight without your Beast. We can put up a fight.”

“Putting up a fight doesn’t sound that promising, dad, sorry.”

“We can fight without your Beast, Naruto.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“We have better guards and patrols and people on our side, and Shikamaru-”

“I remember an attack happening and reaching the inner compound a year and a half ago.”

“Even without the Beast you could have handled it.”

“But what if I couldn’t?”

“If you’re going to go down that way, then what, are you going to keep that damned Beast to protect us from even the weakest of enemies? You’d rather obliterate whoever comes than to try to keep yourself-”

“Listen,” Naruto presses his hand forward, stares his father down, “I am in charge of protecting this clan, and I will do that. If that means keeping this damned Beast inside of me then I will.”

“Naruto-”

“Dad. Even you can’t be sure of what’s to come now. Who would have thought an Uchiha would appear? How long till a clan breaks the truce between Beast Tamers? How long till a bunch of clans come together and try an attack?”

Hinata feels her chest being pressed down, but does her best not to lose her composure. She wishes Naruto’s answers weren’t so obvious, weren’t so factual, she wishes he were more selfish or weaker. But he remains unfazed, unflinching, and so Hinata bites down whatever tries to come out of her. 

“Maybe further down the road, dad… maybe, when we can be more sure of what’s to come.”

Lies, though. Because Naruto knows enemies won’t stop appearing, and not even Shikamaru is able to come down with predictions for the future that are without a surprise. But Naruto knows the people in this room worry for him, so his tough persona crumbles down a little. Just a little, just a second. 

“Further down the road won’t give you as much time, son…”

“I know… I know.”

Jiraiya believes some ripples will turn up regarding this matter, but the thick of it is now dealt with. He believes that if Minato can’t change Naruto’s opinion, then it’s not even worth it for him to try. He believes everyone in the room thinks that Minato is their last resort, maybe Naruto’s wife, but seeing her biting her lip and looking like talking is the harshest of tasks is enough to realize she won’t add on the issue.

But then Lady Mito speaks.

“If we could talk with our people and improve our security?”

“Grandma Mito…”

“If we could get all of this approved by Shikamaru? I know how much you trust him, we would get his approval first, and then-”

“Grandma Mito.” 

The room is silent, and then Naruto closes his eyes in pain, “Please, just, not now.”

Lady Mito is shaken, “We have the chance to recover so much time, Naruto.”

“I know.”

“You could live till- till you’re 50, 52 maybe. Naruto, this is such a gift.”

“We can’t now. If we are under attack and I can’t use my powers as usual it could mean-”

“We would protect the clan!”

“So what? You know how much the Nine-Tails chakra means in a fight, jeez, you know why whole ass clans try to get their hands on the Beasts, it’s because we win wars.”

“We are not under war.”

“We are not under war now, yes. Am I really the only one worried about the Uchiha’s going around? The same ones that were able to knock me out by looking at my eyes?”

“Now everyone is preparing countermeasures, you are ready to fight them again-”

“Am I, though? What if I’m not?” 

Lady Mito snarls, “Then we would step up.”

“And then a bunch of my people die. No, thanks.”

“Because now only you would die, right?”

Lady Mito feels white hot rage filling her. Because all of this could have been dealt with if she had been here when her daughter was attacked. And then she could have spared her grandson from this. All of this. But she wasn’t here. She is never here. And she hates it, and she hates it, and she hates it. She is desperate. She is guilty. She wants to cling to Naruto’s robes and beg and plead and cry and whine and never let go until he decides he is more important than them. 

She wants him to want to stay here. 

She lays eyes on Hinata, and Naruto puts his arm in front of her, his other hand pointing at her, “Don’t you dare.”

She is hurt. She is hurt and she is trying to come up with any kind of excuse that can shake her grandson’s resolve even a little. Enough to make his dumb stubborness crumble. She means to bring Hinata into the discussion, but Naruto shows his fangs too, and now Lady Mito wants to bawl. 

See? See how much you care? So her brain focuses on this tiny little bit of hope, and doesn’t think too much about it. It’s a fear of hers, too. It’s something she would never say out loud, because it’s a low blow. Something she regrets the moment it comes out of her mouth.

“Don’t you want to see your child grow?”

She freezes the second after, and she can feel Minato’s eyes on her. 

Naruto’s blue eyes open wide, impossibly so. He’s hurt and ashamed and his resolve does crumble. She can see that. He stares a second and she thinks he is going to cry. 

But he whips his head the other way, and leaves the room in haste. 

Nobody moves a muscle and Lady Mito whispers after a few seconds, “I’m sorry.”

But nobody blames her. They can’t.

It’s Hinata that stands then, with her hand on her belly.

“Hinata…,” starts Lady Mito, but Hinata looks at her with empathy in her eyes.

“It’s o-okay.” 

She follows after Naruto and finds him near a flower patch, under a tree. He stands there, but doesn’t let his weight rest on the trunk.

He feels her before she can say anything.

“Just give me a minute, love.”

But she can’t. Not now. So she keeps on walking and stops just behind him. Her hand to his back. 

“Please.”

“N-Naruto.”

He doesn’t move. 

“Naruto.”

He turns to her, and his eyes shine. His hair looks blonder than ever under the sunlight and he’s close to tears. He opens his mouth, trying to justify his actions, lest Hinata think he doesn’t actually care about her, about their child.

But he doesn’t get to say anything, because Hinata brings her hand to his face, to his whisker marks. She drags her fingers along, “I-It’s okay,” she whispers.

And Naruto breaks. 

His tears fall and his lip trembles, and it’s not until Hinata brings him into her that he buries his face on her shoulder and shudders as he gasps for air.

“It’s okay.” 

[gunterfan1992]

Interview with Half Shy (the songwriter of “Monster”)

For the last few months, I’ve been collecting information for a second edition of Exploring the Land of Ooo that will also cover the production of Distant Lands. This means that I’ve started to look into the new songs that we have been graced with this year, and this of course includes “Monster,” the beautiful track from the masterpiece that is “Obsidian”. And so I reached out to the song’s writer, Half Shy, who was kind enough to chat with me via email about the songwriting process!

(Photo courtesy of Half Shy)

In many ways, Half Shy is living the creative Adventure Time fan’s dream: She got asked by Adam Muto himself to write a song for “Obsidian” after he heard her music through Bandcamp! (I’ve dabbled in fan music before, and the fact that someone from the show might listen to it just blows my mind.) What an opportunity; I am so excited for her!

Since a second edition of my book won’t be coming out until after all the Distant Lands episodes air, I thought it would be best to share my Half Shy interview now. Read on for the fascinating behind the scenes story of how Half Shy and “Monster” came to be..

GunterFan: What is your origin story? How did you get involved in music, and how did the Half Shy project come to be?

Half Shy: I’ve been making music pretty quietly since I was in high school with a keyboard and guitar. I played one or two shows a year after college when I could find a friend or my brother to get up on stage with me, but I don’t really have that performer gene in me naturally. I get too much in my head and forget what the lyrics are to the song I wrote, or what the next chord is. Total brain freeze. So that whole experience is a bit of a mental drain. It’s something I think I’d like to dig into and figure out, but right now I’m really enjoying the time writing.

Even playing a song for my friends I still get pretty nervous. That’s where the name Half Shy comes from. I’ve always been interested in making things that by their nature draw a bit of a spotlight, but at the same time, I am just really quite nervous about the attention.

I recorded my first songs under my old name Hey V Kay in my bedroom and started putting them up online one at a time. When I got enough I thought about packaging it up into an album, but then got really distracted by learning how to fix up motorcycles and going to automotive tech school. When I eventually got back around to it I named the album Gut Wrenching.

After a few years I realized that I didn’t want the day-in-day-out life of a mechanic, I just wanted to know how to fix cars for myself and to have that knowledge in my back pocket. I got back into making music but grew frustrated at the process of writing and recording songs. I felt like I wasn’t able to capture the ideas I had in my head. Like trying to draw on your computer with a mouse. Doable, but it’s not going to come out like you’d hoped.

So these last couple of years I’ve focused more on learning the technical aspect of it, from the initial ideas and lyrics, to the recording and mixing. During that process I put out Bedroom Visionaries, and while writing I happened upon the name Half Shy in an old Thesaurus which felt instantly right. Learning all of that has been fun, I even went as far as to create my own book to solidify a daily writing routine (lyricworkbook.com). All that has been a bit of a tangent from actually making much music though. I should be getting my books in December from the press so I’m really looking forward to getting back into making more music instead of dealing with printing presses, setting up websites, and sourcing ribbon suppliers.

GF: What is the story behind "Monster"? How did the show get in contact with you?

HS: I keep a log of “Song Starters” with neat things I’ve heard in the world, and I would look through it every now and then and notice just how many came from Adventure Time. Eventually I thought well, I have to make a song about this show that just keeps breaking my heart. It was around the time I was nearly done with the first [Adventure Time-inspired] song “In My Element” that I got an email from Bandcamp saying “someone bought your album (Bedroom Visionaries).”

I get maybe one or two of these a month at most so I love to go in and say hi to the person and say thanks, be curious about who they are, [and] what they’re all about. Turns out it was Adam Muto, the executive producer of the show. (I asked and he has no idea how he happened upon my stuff. He guessed that I must have tagged something #adventuretime and he just happened to see it.) So I sent him an email saying, “Hey wow thanks for checking out my tunes. Also... holy crap you’ve made the best show I have ever seen in my life.” [I] played it real cool like. After finishing up writing my second [Adventure Time-inspired] song “Betty” I couldn’t help but fangirl real hard [and I sent him another message saying], “I’m sorry this is probably awkward, but I really love your show and I wrote these songs about it.” He was incredibly kind and shared them with his Twitter Universe, and a while after that I got a random email from him saying basically, “Hey, I’m working on this thing I can’t talk about, would you be interested?” I was like… well you know I’m pretty busy working at a sign shop so I’m gonna have to pass on this once in a lifetime opportunity (J/K. Obviously I fan-girl squealed and said yes immediately).

We chatted a bit about what the project was going to be and the direction. He mentioned there [would be] two Marceline songs in the special, [and he asked if I] would I be interested in giving the love song a try? Trying real hard to suppress my instant imposter syndrome I was like, “Yea, totally I’d be into giving that a shot!” So I read through the story and loved the idea of the dragon mirrored in Marceline, thinking through how they’ve both built up a protective shell, how she grew tough for a reason, but now she can open up and be vulnerable with PB.

From there I wrote the initial demo with the first two verses mostly intact and we went back and forth a few times editing it down into the final version. I recorded the final parts for the show in my little home studio in Seattle.

GS: When you were writing the song, what emotions, thoughts, or ideas were you channeling? Was there any sort of memory of event that you were trying to artistically "catch" or "recreate" with the lyrics or music?

HS: As far as channeling an emotion, generally I’d say just the experience of existing as a human. It can be so hard to open up and be vulnerable. I can remember that feeling even as a young kid—getting really excited about something and having someone completely trash it or look at you like, “Why are you so interested in that? It’s dumb.” [It causes us to grow] a little more weary to share ourselves because we know that hurt and embarrassment. The pain of being misunderstood is something I think a lot of us can relate to. Then having to decide whether to keep sharing those vulnerable parts of yourself or think, “They’re just not going to get it, I’m going to get hurt, so why bother?” and then stop putting yourself out there. You lose a lot with that thick armor though. You might feel protected, but you’re not feeling a whole lot of anything else other than the weight and chafing of it (I had a whole lot of armor-related metaphors that I didn't end up using.).

I struggle with this in songwriting too. I’m not the bolt-of-lightning type. There are pages and pages of cliches, total garbage, bad jokes, and cheesy lines that I have to get through in order to get to something that I am excited to put out there into the world: “Here I did this thing, I know it’s a little (this or that), but I made it... What do you think?” It’s hard to open yourself up to hearing the other end of that question.

I filled about 5 little pocket notebooks just thinking through the story, ideas, and trying to get this song right. I wanted it to feel familiar and honor the past songs of the show ([e.g.,] using the ukulele and referencing a few of the familiar chords from “I’m Just Your Problem”) but also be pretty open and vulnerable and different for [Marceline]. [I wanted to] show that she’s going through some tough emotions but also figuring herself out and growing.

GF: I feel like “Monster” is, at its core, an ode to the “Bubbline” ship. How do you feel about your song being intimately connected to one of the most famous LGBTQ+ relationships in animation? Do you have any general thoughts on Marcy and PB, Bubbline, etc.?

HS: Oh, I’m a total fan girl of Bubbline. The whole story of how Rebecca Sugar and Muto slowly morphed it into this deeper relationship is just great. As a part of the LGBTQ community myself it really means so much to see the representation of characters like yourself portrayed in an intelligent way. Growing up I was too young to fully understand what was going on but I saw Ellen getting cancelled, and [I] heard people around me saying they’d never watch her show again after she came out. That stuff sinks in as a kid and so to have these characters who are not only intelligent, but funny, complex, and unapologetically strong who also happen to be queer is really great. I love that the story here isn’t about their orientation, but that they’re people struggling with how to be open and vulnerable in a relationship.

It feels like something sci-fi and animated shows do so well—to show that ridiculousness of limiting who a person should and shouldn’t love. Marceline is a 1000+ year old half-demon/vampire and PB was born from the Mothergum of an apocalyptic radioactive world, but you’re going to get hung up on them loving each other? It sort of brings it into perspective in a really interesting way.

GF: Do you have any other thoughts about the experience that you'd like to share?

HS: Just how lucky, thankful, and honored I feel to be a part of my favorite show, writing a song for one of my favorite characters. It’s also incredibly cool how the people on the show are so willing to connect and collaborate with their fandom. Everyone [on the production crew] was very open and a real joy to work with.

I’d like to give a huge “Thank you!” to Half Shy for agreeing to participate in this interview; she really was quite amiable! If you’d like to hear more of her music, check out her website and her Bandcamp. You can also follow her on Instragram here and on Twitter here. And of course, here is Half Shy’s awesome video of “Monster”.

[hela-avenger]

To the Stars Who Listen- Part 3

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1583

Summary: When Loki desires to never fall in love, he casts a spell to prevent such a thing from happening. Except, well, in the matters of love and magic, you never know the result it may have in the end. Loki x Reader

A/N: And so it begins! Thanks for all the likes/reblogs/comments everyone! I see them and I appreciate them! I’ll probably be updating every Tuesday and Thursday now so there’s that. Tags are open!

TTSWL Masterlist

You feel like you’re floating in the middle of a dark pool surrounded by cold and unknown waters. It is relentless in its attempts to drag you down into nothing. Some part of you desires to just let yourself sink and try to ground yourself to whatever you find below. It would be so easy and yet a part of you knew that if you allowed yourself to reach the bottom you would be unable to float up once again. 

So you fight against the rising tide to keep your head above the water. It doesn’t take long then to be pulled out of that darkness. 

“She’s waking up.” 

“She can’t,” someone mumbles next to you. “That tranq should have kept her under for the rest of the night.” 

“It’s the power within her. Must have adapted around the sedative to wake its host up from it. The power won’t be put so easily to rest.” 

“Then do something about it!” 

“I can’t until she’s fully conscious!” 

As if on cue, your eyes flutter open. Your eyelids feel heavy and the brightness in the room doesn’t help your sudden weak state. 

“What’s-” you voice cracks and your tongue feels so foreign in your mouth. “What’s going on?”

Your sight blurs in and out but you recognize that bright red hair from anywhere. 

“Nat?” 

“Hey, Y/N,” she whispers beside you. “It’s ok. You’re ok.” 

You can’t help but feel suddenly angry at the lie that she’s so blatantly telling you at the moment. 

“Liar, liar,” you mutter through gritted teeth. “Pants on...”

A hand is quick to cover your mouth and you move to shove it off only to find your hands handcuffed to the hospital bed. 

“That would have not bode well and you know that.”  

You glare at your assailant only to find Loki staring down at you with a grin. The anger doesn’t fade away at the sight of him. It seems to enhance and he takes notice of it too. 

“Everyone out!” 

Your eyes snap away as you take in the crowd that’s in the room. Everyone is apparently there and you find this sudden urge to yell at them for staring. 

“We’re not-” Tony starts to say before Loki cuts him off. 

“She’s still quite volatile and until she gains some ounce of control, she will not stop until you are all disposed of.” 

With that warning, they all have no other choice but to leave. They all shoot you a sympathetic look and you despise it. You don’t know why you’re feeling so darkly about your friends but you couldn’t stop it. 

“I know,” Loki whispers as he looks down at you. “I know you are quite confused, but I’m going to let go of you now and I hope you can rein in your emotions and be civil with me.” 

His honesty is oddly refreshing and you find yourself relaxing under his hold. True to his word, he releases you and you watch closely as he retreats into the seat next to you.  

“I’m sure you have questions.” 

“So, so many, don’t know where to begin,” you answer. “My head is spinning and I see no end.” 

You frown at the choice of words that flowed out of your mouth so casually. 

“Why am I rhyming? Why can’t I stop? Tell me now before my head drops.” 

“I will answer your questions but I need you to remain calm,” Loki responds. “Can’t have you losing your head... literally.” 

You take a deep breath trying your best to ease your mind, but it was hard. You didn’t know what was going on and why, out of everyone you knew, Loki was the one assisting you with it. 

“You seemed surprised to find everyone here,” Loki states. “Do you not remember how you got here?” 

You shake your head feeling uneasy of not having any recent memories since the museum. 

“You found a book, one of mine, known as the Book of Veritas,” Loki explains. “Essentially, you got too close to it and it unleashed a power to you. I’m not sure exactly the extent of your abilities but I do know that you will have a knack of always knowing the truth of whoever you meet.” 

He pauses as you try to make sense of everything you’ve been told. Oddly enough, some innate part of you told you he wasn’t lying which further proved that his explanation was indeed right.  

“Now, as for your rhyming tongue,” Loki takes a deep breath and shrugs. “I can only presume that this new psychic development is one your mortal mind isn’t capable of withstanding. You are overwhelmed and your mind has reverted to a default language to ease the strain.” 

“This is not ok,” you mumble. “Am I stuck this way?” 

“No, not if I can help it,” Loki answers. “The rhyming is getting on my nerves already.” 

He frowns, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“Don’t know why I told you that. Must be another side effect of yours.” 

You open your mouth to respond but close it when you realize that whatever apologies you had would end up rhyming and sounding insincere. 

Loki doesn’t question your silence and instead props his hand up for you to take. You find yourself hesitating even though something told you he meant no harm.

“I just need to assess the power you have,” Loki explains. “It’ll be quick and harmless.” 

With that answer, you raise your hand as far as the handcuff allowed you to. Loki met you halfway and you instantly feel a warmth spreading through your body. 

“Hmm,” he hums. “That’s surprising.” 

He lets go of your hand and looks up at you. 

“You’ve grown stronger since you first came in. Not strong enough to expel your power physically so we will have to do this the hard way.” 

“Hard way?” you repeat. 

“You need to dig deep and spread some truth.”

“How is that hard?” 

“Because certain truths, the heaviest ones, we like to keep real close,” Loki explains. “You don’t remember this, but you pinpointed some of your friends' insecurities when you first came in. You were quite cruel with them.“

You frown at hearing this hoping your friends knew you hadn’t meant any of it. As if sensing where your mind had drifted to, Loki speaks up. 

“They know it wasn’t you,” he assures you. “It’s all because of the power residing in you. There is no way to extract it without killing you so the solution here is to gain control of it. Seeing as I am the expert on the book and magic itself, I’m going to train you. So first, let’s get you back to speaking normally.” 

You nod in response and take a deep breath. 

“Speak the truth. Use me as a target if you wish. I like to think I’ve got thick skin when it comes to taunting.”

You hesitate at Loki’s offer, but you find it so easy to read him. 

“Little Loki went into the Great Hall. Little Loki had a big fall. Little Loki was the laughing stock of them all. Little Loki felt so utterly small.” 

Loki chuckles at the memory you brought forth. It was simple and childish. Yes it was embarrassing to fall in front of the royal court but it was just a drop in the ocean compared to everything else. He sits back in his chair and looks at you. 

“Now I know you can do better than that,” Loki states. “Come on, dig deeper.” 

You find yourself focusing a bit harder on him and the words just slipped out of your mouth with ease. 

“Silver tongue turned to lead. Thor won her heart in your stead. Princess Elvira loved the royal prince. Loki wasn’t even offered a second glimpse.” 

That one did make him wince but Loki wasn’t utterly devastated at the memory of the Alfheim princess favoring his brother over him. You were getting close to gaining some control but your rhyming tongue still stood strong. 

“Dig deeper,” Loki repeats. 

You take a deep breath and clear your mind of everything but Loki. Envisioning his image, his voice, his overall being. 

Eyes turning red. Ivory skin turning blue. Cold, everything is cold. 

“I…” you stammer out confused. “I’ll rather not say.”

Loki pauses wondering what it is that you saw but withheld from saying. 

“Y/N.” 

“No, it’s a secret for a reason,” you shake your head. “I don’t really understand what I saw exactly but it felt so dark.” 

Loki knew better than to push you to state what you saw in him. He suspected already of the secret you might have uncovered. You had certainly dug deep if you managed to find it. 

He shrugs it off like he always does and looks at you with a small smile.

“You didn’t rhyme that time,” Loki states. “You managed to not only control what truth to find but whether or not to say it. That’s progress.” 

“Does that mean I can get these off?” you ask as you raise your cuffed wrists. 

With a snap of his fingers, the handcuffs are pried open. You stare down at your freed wrists and look up at him in surprise. Last you were told, Loki was incapable of doing magic.  

“How did you do that?” 

Loki doesn’t deem you a verbal response as he offers you a grin before getting up and leaving you on your own.

TTSWL Tag: @catsladen @is-it-madness @manyfandoms-marvel @mejusttryintogetby @illogicalfangirl @moonlightprime @islinglivesinshire @musicconversedance @missmadwoman @smaranshakthi @adaydreamingdragon @poetic-fiasco @like-a-wildfire @jasminecalia @ha-tep @charbokbok @setsuna-meiou31 @ms-blvck​

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-nightshade @aoirohi​ @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @just-a-donut-who-reads @day-dreaming-fox

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie @moonlightprime @badhollandfluff​ 

[guiltysecretpasttime]

Parapraxis

Note: So this was inspired by @peachchanvidel’s post and partially by that one-scene in Brooklyn nine-nine. Hope you like this :)

Linzin AU, one-shot

Parapraxis: a lapse of memory or mental error, such as a slip of the tongue or misplacement of an object, which, in psychoanalytic theory, is due to unconscious associations and motives; commonly called a “freudian slip.”

---

 If Lin Beifong were to look back at her life, she would think that some spirit was having a laugh at her expense – more than enough for her to wonder whether she had a past life that angered one of them.

 ---

The Dragon Flats Strangler had finally been caught and so the residents of the borough (and the police) could breathe a little easier now.

Chief Beifong tapped the report with her glasses, satisfied with the paperwork submitted. The sunlight was hitting her desk straight on, a signal that it was definitely later into the day and that she had not budged one bit since she sat down after lunch break.

She folded her glasses and placed it in its case. The pile of reports waiting on her desk signified that reviews and approvals were in her next hours. It was time to grab some coffee.

The police chief exited her room, seeing that everyone was working diligently on whatever assignments they had that week. None of that fake pencil pushing here in headquarters.

On her way to the pantry, she saw the Avatar nosily bothering Mako, who was, to his credit, shooing her away. Based on previous encounters with them, Lin supposed Korra was trying to wheedle the firebender into another double date with her and Asami, another blind date that the detective was adamantly against.

She decided to interrupt for the benefit of the firebender who was looking miserably at the pile of paperwork on his desk that the Avatar had been riffling through, likely looking for a piece of paper to write the details of the date on.

“Detective!” Chief Beifong approached the pair; Mako suddenly sitting up straight and Korra leaned back in her seat, waving weakly. “Good job on the paperwork on the Dragon Flats Strangler.” She frowned at Korra who was reaching over Mako’s desk to grab his pen. “I’d expect all of your files to be submitted with the same level of meticulousness and detail.”

Mako slapped away Korra’s hand. “Of course, Mom.” He answered distractedly.

Chief Beifong froze as did the Avatar – and everyone within hearing radius.

The detective managed to get his pen from the loose grip of Korra and proceeded to work on his next report.

Korra cleared her throat to get his attention, throwing a glance at Lin then placing an elbow on top of Mako’s paperwork.

“What?” Mako growled irritably.

“You called Chief Beifong Mom.”

Lin saw a brief look of panic on Mako’s face before it turned stoic again. “You must have misheard.”

“No, you did.” One of the other rookies from two desks to Mako’s right piped up.

Korra pointed at the man, nodding. “See, thank you!”

“No,” Mako emphasized but was quickly paling. “I said, of course Chief.”

“They’re right – you called me Mom.” Lin slowly enunciated then pursed her lips. “Detective Mako, do you see me as a mother figure?”

“I-I-I-.” The firebender could only stammer, a far cry from the capable detective who could easily spout off details of a report without even reading off a copy of it.

Normally, she would feel amused, but she took pity on the young man. “Don’t worry about it,” She attempted to downplay it. “We could have a mentoring session if you’d like, one of these days?”

Mako looked like a cat deer caught in the headlights of a satomobile so Lin quickly retracted. "Only if you’d want to of course, the offer stands but it’s not mandatory -.”

“Yes, I’d like that.” The detective managed to bite out.

She nodded and quickly went her way to the pantry.

Chief Beifong figured, having one more rookie to mentor is not so bad.

 ---

 “Higher, Dad, higher!”

The moment the words left her lips, Lin knew she messed up. She did not want to face Aunt Katara, who would likely pity reflected on her eyes. The earthbender just knew the older lady would be uttering the words “oh, sweetie” within the next few minutes, gently letting her down explaining that the airbender playing with her was not her father.

Lin knew that. It’s just – why can’t he be?

To the Avatar’s credit, he did not even bat an eyelash nor did he lose the rhythm of bouncing Lin up and down using an airball.

Before the waterbender could even remark on it, young Lin hollered quickly before she landed gracefully. “I know Uncle Aang’s not my dad – I just slipped, okay? Doesn’t mean anything!”

“Well,” Aang bent down throwing an arm around her and his airbending son, who was waiting patiently for his turn. “I wouldn’t mind being your dad. And after all, I could very well be your dad when you marry Tenzin here!” The airbender tightened his hold on the two children and brought them closer together.

“Ewww no!”

“Yuuuck!”

It would be a cold day in Si Wong desert before that would happen, Lin glared at the lanky airbender beside her.

Tenzin stuck out his tongue at her.

She rolled her eyes at him, stomping.

“Ow! No fair, Lin!”

Marry him? Of course not.

 ---

 Lin twisted the cap of one of the many soju bottles she had stocked in her house.

She smiled with satisfaction at the crack that the cap made and poured herself a shot. She quickly threw it back, enjoying the subtle burn of the alcohol and making that pleased throat clearing sound after.

The earthbender placed one of her feet on her chair while another one dangled as she sat at her dining area. A variety of fried, greasy and fermented food that she bought earlier was spread on the table.

This was the kind of me time that she could get behind. No one to judge her as she indulged on alcohol and unhealthy snacks. It was, after all, a difficult day for her.

At least, as she picked at the sliced fermented radish and chewed pensively, she did not have to attend the wedding of the century. She was invited, of course, but it was obviously a courtesy invite. No doubt, Tenzin’s bride would not welcome her presence. So she gladly sent her regrets and mailed the RSVP note immediately without even second-guessing her herself.

She skewered a piece of grilled picken and dipped it in a sweet sauce.

The ceremony should be about finished at this time, she surmised as she took a bite of the meat. This would be followed by luncheon at the island and maybe a short program.

The metalbender took another shot.

Then later that night, there will be the fireworks, of course, sending off the last airbender and his bride.

Well, good riddance.

  Lin had finished most of her food and was at her third bottle of soju. She was also at the middle of the book that she had impulsively purchased yesterday (fiction – she did appreciate the occasional escapism reading brought her) when her phone began to ring incessantly.

She decided to ignore it. Her officers could handle themselves for one day; she was sure there was not anything that would not keep until she was back. Anyway, her deputy was bound to be hammering on her door if there was something that urgently needed her attention.

For a few moments, the phone stopped ringing.

Thank Agni!

Then proceeded to ring again.

Lin groaned, she spoke too soon. Stretching herself from her perch in the dining room, she went to the living room to finally bark at whoever was at the other line for disrupting her day off.

“Beifong here – I swear if this is a salesman or you Saikhan I will -!”

“Lin!” The shrill voice cut through her reprimand.

Lin moved the phone away from her ear to stare at it, stunned.

“Lin? I know you’re there!”

It was Kya.

There was no reason for the sister of Tenzin to be calling her at this time.

“What is it?” She tamped down the irritation that the waterbender did not deserve from her.

“Have you heard the news – on the radio?” Kya’s words rushed forth. “Just wanted to give you a heads up – there’s bound to be something in the evening papers. The media would be keen to get your side as well – they’re having a field day! And -!”

“Kya! Kya!” Lin raised her voice to get a word in. “What are you talking about? I’ve given them my official statement for Tenzin’s wedding weeks ago.” She twirled the cord of the phone.

“Lin,” The earthbender recognized the strain in Kya’s voice. “Yes, it’s about the wedding but not in the context that you think.”

Lin paused in fiddling with the phone cord, sensing there was more to the story. “What happened in the wedding?”

“It’s Tenzin – he -!”

Donk-donk-donk! Donk-donk-donk!

Lin raised her head, hearing the loud pounding on the door. “Kya – is this important right now? Is it a security or safety issue?” The pounding on the door could only mean an emergency from headquarters.

“Well, no, but -.”

“Then it could wait.” Lin bit out harshly; if there was a life and death situation at the other side of the door, she could care less about Tenzin and his tacky wedding. “I’ll give you a call later.” She ended the call abruptly.

Donk-donk-donk-donk-donk-donk!

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Lin hurried to her front door, taking care not to trip over her own feet. She definitely needed to sober up before going on field. Without even checking who was behind the door, she pulled it open. “Saikhan! What is the emergency?”

Her eyes widened.

Flying fishopotamus.

Tenzin was standing there in his formal wedding garb, dripping under the rain. He was breathing heavily as though he had rushed in getting to her Republic City house. Judging by his glider which was sitting pitifully in the mud, Lin thought he probably did.

“What the flameo are you doing here?”

Her voice pulled the airbender from his stupor. “Lin.”

Lin inwardly shivered. The way he whispered her name was almost reverently. She shook her head; she must be drunk.

The man took a step forward, a hand extending towards her.

She stepped back. “What are you doing here – you shouldn’t be here – you’re married.”

Tenzin shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I am.”

 ***

“Repeat after me – I, Tenzin –.”

“I, Tenzin - .”

“Take you, Pema to be my wife, my partner in life and my true love.”

“Take you, Lin to be my wife, my partner in life and my true love.”

 ***

“What the -!” Lin let loose a string of curse words that would have earned her soap in her mouth had she uttered them within earshot of her Beifong grandparents.

Tenzin stood back, letting the rain and the wind batter him down.

“What were you thinking!” Lin clenched and unclenched her fist, visibly restraining herself from punching the airbender. “Think about how humiliated Pema is! Your family, her family! Tenzin – go back there and grovel! Pema…” She caught her breath. “She doesn’t deserve this.” The light in her eyes dimmed and the fight seemed to seep out of her.

“And that’s why I’m here – why it’s still you!” Tenzin’s wild eyes sought hers. “Even after everything,” His tone softened. “You still think about others. That’s how selfless you are and how selfish I am.” He wiped back some of the rainwater from his forehead. He inched closer slowly and hesitantly. “Even after everything, it’s still you.”

 ---

Chief Beifong extremely disliked doing press conferences. Given the choice, as illogical as it would have been, she would have done away with the press (something has to be said of freedom of the press and freedom of expression though so obviously the press needed to stay).

After the wedding of the century devolved into the faux pas of the century years ago, Lin did not have fond words for the press. They skewered Tenzin’s reputation and dissected their interactions over the past months of that year.

It took a few more years and several scandals of prominent members of the nobility for their relationship (or lack thereof) to fade from public interest.

Ironically, it was during this period that they started to become closer (with a lot of work and effort from Tenzin, of course and Lin still vacillating between taking him back or not).

The media circus a rabbit hole she dare not get into again, so she better make sure that her speech is flawless.

She shuddered involuntarily as she reviewed her speech, head bent and hands rubbing her temples. She nodded at the staff who were silently hurrying around, making sure all of the microphones were set correctly and the chairs and tables were available for all attendees.

The press conference today was about the opening of the cultural center in Republic City. The council would be there to give their opening remarks and she would speak in her capacity as Chief of Police regarding how the area would be secured.

After all, the cultural center was situated in a reclaimed area which used to be lorded over by triads. It was up to the police force to ensure that no crime or act of terrorism befalls the center and its opening in order to encourage more investors into Republic City.

From her peripheral view, Tenzin’s robes swept close as he sat himself beside her at the conference table set up for them.

She paid him no mind as she ran her finger on the figures in the packet she was reviewing.

“Seems like a huge crowd will be joining the press conference today.” The airbender arranged his own set of papers as he commented on the people who was starting to gather in the venue.

The metalbender gave a soft grunt in reply.

“By the way, thanks for doing this Lin.” Tenzin shifted in his seat. “I know you could have easily sent a representative to speak for the Police Headquarters.” He murmured softly, inching his head closer to her. “And, personally, I appreciate your presence. You know how much this means to me, it’s a chance to show case my mother’s heritage.”

Lin inclined her head and responded vaguely. “Of course Tenzin, you know I love you so I’ll do what I can to support you fully.” She tapped her pen on her speech and encircled a split infinitive. She would need to proofread a little bit better next time.

She felt a warm hand grasp her wrist; she finally looked up at her seatmate. “What?”

Tenzin’s eyes were suspiciously watery.

Lin became conscious with how whispers were increasing in volume. She raised an eyebrow at the airbender in askance.

Tenzin bit his lip, swallowing before tentatively covering her hand with his.

What was he doing? Why was he doing this in public?

Her thoughts were running all over the place. It was not like Tenzin to be bold or even indiscreet.

“Tenzin.” She hissed.

“You just said you love me.”

“I…” Lin went back to what she did say, realizing belatedly that she did. “I guess I did.”

The whispers were definitely louder this time.

Tenzin gripped her hand tighter; his other hand gesturing forward.

Her heart skipped a beat.

A microphone had been placed on their table for sound check without her noticing it.

Her declaration had been heard in the entire hall.

 ---

Lin Beifong swirled the wine in her glass, silently observing the people weave in and out of the dance floor.

Say what you want of the damn convict, Varrick truly knew how to throw a party.

She reflected on her life so far.

As much as she had emphatically refused to have children, Lin woke up one day realizing that, without meaning to, she had inadvertently taken in several teenagers under her wing. Thank the Spirits that Mako, the one mostly with her, was someone after her own cranky taciturn disposition.

And, despite her steadfast refusal in her youth, in front of the man’s father, she looked at the ring that adorned her finger for decades, Lin found herself wed to Tenzin.

Something has to be said about slips of the tongue, of the unconscious. When you feel strongly about someone or something, it was bound to slip right out – the truth escaping the barriers that the mind has built.

If this was how the spirits feel like treating her after all those mortifying moments, Lin Beifong decided that she was not one to complain.

After all, Lin contemplated with wonder as she looked at the spirit portals across the island with her husband landing a soft kiss on her forehead, unplanned and spontaneous words come up with the best results.

[eternallysarcastic]

winter moon/ch.3

Okay this took a little bit longer than I thought it would cause I had to figure out a few stuff in the story and its pacing. Good news is I have the next 2 chapters almost ready so the wait between this one and the next shouldn’t be too long! Comments are always appreciated! 

I also post this on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28999362/chapters/71169963

Chapter 3

“So, ojou-chan, where are we off to next?” Childe asked you. You were still around the fire, everyone was still too wound up to really sleep - and that meant Childe, seeing as he was the only human in a company of non-mortals that needed little to no sleep.

  “We’re looking for leads as to where she might’ve gone. My stars- I followed her until Liyue and lost track of her. We need to find clues on whether she’s still in Liyue or if she left it.”

  “And she’s a yaksha, she wouldn't dare mingle with the mortals of Liyue Harbour. Most likely she’s as far from them as possible. Not many mortals can withstand a yaksha’s energy.” Xiao continued for you. The teacup Zhongli had handed him remained untouched.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, shortie.” Childe mocked from his place beside you. You could almost immediately see Xiao lose his temper, weapon conjuring in his hand. 

“Hey, hey, there’s no need for that. We should rest and continue on our way once the moon sets.” You tried to reason but Childe had already conjured his own dual water blades. 

  “Come, have some tea with me.” Zhongli patted the seat beside him. You sighed in exasperation as you sat beside him. He handed you a new, hot cup of tea that you gladly accepted as your eyes followed Childe and Xiao out of the cavern.

  “This is going to be a long journey.” You said, listening in on the sounds of blades clashing.

  “Are you sure Yin really is here?” The sudden change of topic startled you and you looked at Zhongli quizzically.

  “What do you mean?” Why would he suddenly bring up your yaksha?

  “My loss of gnosis is very recent. I don't believe I would’ve missed it if someone as powerful as a yaksha stepped onto my territory. Perhaps she is no longer here or she never was in the first place.” He stated as he calmly sipped his tea. “Or perhaps have you come here seeking something else?” He knew something wasn't right with you. He noticed it the moment he saw you, saw it in the way you talked and the moment you had first laid your eyes upon Xiao.

“I-...” He was as perceptive as always, that or because he’d known you since you were a newborn god, had trained you and watched you grow into the feared yet respected Celestial Goddess you once were. “There is something else, that’s true,” you replied. 

 You didn't know how to continue though. How do you explain the sudden desire you’d felt to come back to Liyue, the weird nostalgic feeling you had once you finally stepped in its borders, the constricting of your lungs when you’d first seen Xiao or the mysterious agony that had overwhelmed you when you’d seen the half-frozen tree. 

  Was Zhongli’s trust in you wavering? So soon? On another hand, perhaps he was right. He couldn't have missed the fact that a yaksha had stepped into his domain. He would’ve definitely felt it. Or was it something else? It seemed that since you’d arrived in Liyue there always was something else.

  “Nonetheless, my priority is Yin. I’ve never been this close to finding her. I can’t give up now, Zhongli.” You said, turning to him with pleading eyes. 

“You know I’d never refuse to help you, you don't need to look at me like that. No matter what you say, you are still the current God of the Moon and I would never disobey you.” He stated as a matter of fact, continuing to sip on his tea ever so calmly.

  A silent rage swirled in your chest as you turned your whole body towards him. “I want you to help me because you’re you and I’m me, not because of your duties as an Archon to obey the Celestials. I want you to help me because Yin fought for you in the Archon war when she swore she’d never fight again just because of what you meant to me. Because I know how much she hates herself that she wasn't there when I-” You cut yourself off, you didn't want to finish the sentence. 

 Zhongli’s eyes closed in phantom pain as memories he didn't want to remember resurfaced. Images of your lifeless body, covered in blood flashed before his eyes. He knew that if Yin was with you instead of with him, perhaps what happened to you on the night of your descent from Celestia wouldn't have happened.

 “I’m sorry, Zhongli.” You were just guilt-tripping him at this point with how you were phrasing things. You were never too good at expressing yourself with words.

 “You need not apologise. You are indeed correct. My duties to you as an Archon may be over, but I am still your life long friend and I am willing to help you find Yin no matter what.” If you didn't know him like the back of your hand, you’d say he was emotionless when he said that. But you could hear the underlying determination coming from his words. 

  You smiled at yourself as you drank your tea, “Thank you, Zhongli. I promise you she is here in Liyue. I can feel it. Her constellation has never shone brighter.” Zhongli hummed as he poured himself another cup.

      Something shook you awake from your slumber. You opened your eyes and was met with the golden ones of Xiao and the restless figure of Zhongli. You hadn’t even noticed you had fallen asleep the night before. 

  “Wake up. Childe is missing.” What? 

  “What? How? I thought someone was keeping watch?” You looked around - the fire had long been extinguished, the tea was cold and the moon still hadn’t set. By the looks of it, it was close to early morning.

  Xiao ran a hand through his hair in annoyance. “I was keeping watch outside and Rex Lapis came over to discuss… something. By the time he went back in, the annoying harbinger was gone.” 

  “I see… Then we have no choice but to look for him.” You pulled yourself up. What was Childe up to? “Since you were both outside when he vanished… then there’s only one direction he could’ve gone.” 

   The deeper you walked into the cave the darker it got. You couldn't hear any sounds, even Zhongli couldn't feel any vibration in the stone floor. It was as if Childe had disappeared into thin air. 

  “How much deeper does this cave go? We’re losing light. We should've brought torches.” Xiao pondered. 

 Well, you could help with that couldn't you? You took off one of your gloves and concentrated on the pyro vision within you and brought it forth to your palm, lighting the cave around you. The small crescent moon sigil at the back of your hand glowed gently in response. 

  “You shouldn't do that.” Xiao said, grabbing onto your wrist, looking at the fire, or more likely into the slowly reddening flesh around the flame. 

 Your body had the ability to wield all seven elements but the downsides to that were the fact that it couldn't adapt to just one. Cryo was too cold, Pyro burned you and Electro electrocuted more often than not. But how did Xiao know that? Sure, it wasn't hidden knowledge that the Celestial Gods possessed all elements but it was a strictly kept secret that your bodies couldn't withstand them for long periods of time, so that no one could use that weakness against Celestia itself.

  You looked at Zhongli in question, perhaps he was the one that told him. Out of all the seven Archons, only Zhongli knew of your predicament. But Zhongli wore the same confused expression you did. So how did Xiao know? You decided not to comment on it right now. You had a harbinger to find.

  “Don't worry, I’m okay. This is nothing.” You smiled softly at Xiao. It felt nice to have the normally stone cold yaksha care for something as small as a slight burn on your hand. If you had a heart perhaps it’d skip a beat.

  The deeper you went into the cave the more lost you got in your own thoughts about the previous peculiar events. Of Xiao’s knowledge and his familiarity with you. It felt so out of place.

  “I feel something.” Zhongli spoke up, his deep voice echoed inside the cave. 

  “What is it?” You tried to listen in but you couldn't hear anything. 

  “I can’t tell which way it's coming from.” In front of you were two long, dark corridors.

  “Do we split up?” The moment the words left your mouth, the ground shook beneath your feet. Xiao immediately held you steady by the arm while his free hand found purchase on the nearby wall. “I guess we don't need to split up after all.” 

  The rumbling of earth was coming from the right corridor. When the earthquake stopped, you walked forward following the loud noises. You could see an exit at the end of the constricting tunnel, dim light that wasn't there before, shining through it.

  Out of nowhere, Xiao gently grabbed your wrist again. “You should extinguish that before we go any further.” Ah, yes, Childe wasn't supposed to know. You quickly extinguished the flame in your palm and was about to put on your glove when you noticed Xiao wasn’t letting go of your wrist.

  “I know some herbs that help with burns. We should look for some later.” He said, looking intently at your reddened palm before finally letting go of your wrist and walking forward. Instead of the wound itself burning, it was the skin that he had touched along with your reddening cheeks. 

  Before you could dwell on the action even more there was another earthquake and this time you could hear the sounds of fighting and… a roar? What exactly was at the end of the tunnel? You hurried til the end of it just in time to watch Childe being thrown high into the air by what seemed to be a moving assortment of… boulders? It looked like big rocks being held together by pure elemental energy. It stood in the middle of a giant cave opening with light shining through a hole in the ceiling.

  “I haven't seen one of these in a long time.” Zhongli seemed all to calm as he mused with a hand on his chin. 

  “Comrades! Took you long enough to join me!” Childe had noticed you from across the field and waved enthusiastically before he was thrown into the air once more. 

“We should help!” You ran without even thinking, the instincts beaten into you kicking in. Xiao told Childe you had an electro vision, so you had to be mindful not to impulsively use any other element. That seemed easy enough. You could do it.

  “Don't run into danger out of the blue!” Xiao growled from behind you as he ran after you and toward the stone creature.

  “I wonder if they can take down a geovishap by themselves and her… being able to use only one of her elements, she’s not used to that.” Zhongli stood silently at the sidelines to observe you fight. He wondered if you still used the techniques he taught you. 

  “I am not going to believe you if you say you only heard of the commotion until now.” Childe landed beside you and wiped the blood at the side of his mouth.

  “Where did you even go?” You asked him, paying half attention to the stone monster’s position. It seemed to have backed up a little, wary of the newcomers. 

  “My hands were itching for a fight after the disappointing one I had with this little adeptus,” Childe replied, panting. 

 He looked a little beaten up which surprised you a little. When you'd watched him fight Xiao last night, he looked like a very talented fighter.

“You were really this disappointed over losing? Don't fret it, not many can beat me.” Xiao said from beside you. 

 He looked just a little bit smug, which put an annoyed expression on Childe’s face.

“I didn't lose! I was just -” 

  “Can you stop fighting for just a moment? We need to find a way to stop this thing.” You interrupted him. 

 You didn't need them fighting each other and the giant boulder that looked as if it made up its mind that you were the enemy and was getting ready to charge at you. 

 “We can't attack it head first without thinking of some strategy. Not many elements work against geo creatu-” You stopped. 

 Childe was already charging at it, a water bow in his hand and trying to shoot the tiny shiny thing on its forehead. Something you guessed was a potential weak point. You sighed in annoyance and looked at Xiao, trying to silently communicate to him. He gave you a small nod. You both charged at the monster, following Childe. All the while you manifested a white sword in your hand, infusing it with as much electro as you could muster.

 Childe’s water attacks didn't even phase the monster, you tried to stupify it with your electro charges but it wasn't’ working. Xiao was trying to immobilise its feet but it proved futile. It’s geo skin seemed harder than any other geo enemy’s. You knew if you and Childe weren't there to get in the way of his attacks he would’ve been done with the monster already.

 You noticed that last night, too. How swift and fast his movements were, with every swing from his spear precise and thought out. The way he moved felt like art to you.

 “Nothing seems to work against it.” You said after you put some distance between it.

 “We just need to take out that silver sigil from its forehead.” Childe jumped next to you, having been flung yet again in the air. “I accidentally awoke it by placing that thing into some engraved stone. Never thought it’d awake a giant angry boulder monster like that,” he chuckled. 

 He was enjoying this, this fight and the fact that he couldn't beat the creature as easily. The masochist.

 “I need to take a closer look. If the right strategy would be to try and take out the sigil then why do you have us trying to beat it into submission.” You looked pointedly at Childe and he only laughed at you in response. 

 “I’ll watch your back while you try to get close to its forehead. Be careful of its arms - they may look like they are not even going for you but when they hit the ground, it’ll send you flying.” Xiao spoke. He didn't have one scratch on him, his fast movements evaded every attack of the monster.

 “As much as I’d like to continue this exciting fight, I guess we do need to head out soon. Be careful, ojou-chan.” Childe winked at you and then he was off.

The harbinger distracted the creature while Xiao leapt around you, watching its every movement, deflecting some of the strikes coming towards you. After jumping around, circling around the creature you managed to land on its back. The moment it felt you it tried to fling you off, shaking uncontrollably. Yelping, you tried to hold onto some of its stone scales and slowly climbed up to its head. 

 Its head was even more unsteady than the rest of its body, swinging it around wildly. You were just about to grab the sigil before you lost your footing and nearly slipped off save for one hand trying to desperately hold on. You struggled to pull yourself up as you were swung around. You barely managed to grab onto the sigil, eyes widening at the symbol on it before you were completely thrown off from the creature. 

  Your thoughts were still fogged with the surprise you felt to even try to land a clean landing. You closed your eyes and braced for impact, but it never came. Instead you felt warm arms catch you and swiftly jump from stone to stone. You opened your eyes to see Xiao, eyes concentrated on not getting hit by one of the many crumbling stones.

 Looking back you watched the creature continuously hit the ground with its crumbling arms, creating one shock wave after another. This couldn't be good and Xiao knew that as well.

 “Hold tight.” He muttered into your ear as he held you closer. 

 You weaved your arms around him and hid your head in his neck as you watched the creature wail pitifully as it crumbled away into nothing. However, the ground still continued to shake as it split in two as the ceiling caved in on itself. It was complete chaos from that moment on.  You watched Childe stumble before he was steadied by a stone pillar made by Zhongli who you guessed was nearby, after that you lost sight of them both.

 The last thing you heard was Xiao’s curse as more heavy stones fell and everything went black.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 10

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Sorry about the delay on this one guys! As I said before I wasn’t feeling that great these past few days because of the vaccine, but I’m doing much better now. Thanks for being patient.

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A WHILE LATER

THE TEMPLE

This was it. This was finally the day.

After what felt like an eternity of going back and forth with his emotions, Eivor would see Sigurd married to Randvi at last, and the alliance would be set in stone. Their two clans would be joined into one fearsome army, and they would stop Kjotve from ever roaming Norway’s seas again.

It was a wondrous day for everyone in the village, considering the nature of their agenda. Vibrant decorations had been placed on every surface imaginable in Bjornheimr, and lively laughter could be heard ringing throughout the air.

Ribbons and banners hung from the roofs, lanterns dangled from the trees, and all across the ground, Eivor saw nothing but fresh flower petals adorning the paths. Meanwhile, the sounds of drums and lyres harmonized with the whispers of Mother Earth, and not too far away from him, the young man could see people dancing with one another.

It was a sight that normally would’ve inspired happiness in Eivor’s heart, but for today, all he felt was loneliness. 

Ever since he woke up, he hadn’t been able to shake off the shadow that loomed over him. The weight of Sigurd’s absence continued to linger on his shoulders, and it hindered his motivation to get involved with the festivities.

At the moment, he was currently sitting on a bench that rested just beside the temple and overlooked the wedding, giving him a clear view of its events. He saw clusters of familiar faces beckoning him to come join them, but no matter what, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. And he knew exactly why.

Underneath the wedding arch, Eivor saw Sigurd and Randvi chatting with a group of people as they shared drinks with one another, getting a head-start to the wedding’s celebrations.

The prince was dressed in an ornate, white tunic paired with a crown of flowers that sat on his head, and his broad physique had been relieved of all the armor that he usually wore. He was smiling and laughing in the presence of the other guests, and on the surface, it looked like he was actually enjoying himself.

But underneath all the pretenses, Eivor could tell that the man was just as conflicted as he was. Every time he got a brief moment to himself, or was spared from the attention of scattered onlookers, his expression would drop, and a look of despondency would darken his eyes.

Sigurd seemed miserable, if Eivor was being honest. It was clear that he wasn’t willing to settle down with this marriage, but knew he had to for the sake of their clans’ safety... and it was ruining him.

Eivor just wished he could summon the courage to speak to him again. There were a thousand different things he wished to say to the man, but he had no idea how to word any of them. 

How could he talk to Sigurd while acting as if nothing happened between the two of them? Or that they weren’t both upset about this wedding? How was it possible that they’d be able to keep up that kind of charade?

At this point, Eivor knew better than to believe he’d be able to conceal his true emotions. He had already seen how easy it was for Sigurd to crack open his shell, and he didn’t want to risk losing control of any more of his impulses. Especially not on a day such as this. Ingrida’s warnings had yet to take their leave from the Wolf-Kissed’s list of worries, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to be the reason they came true.

“Everyone!” Arngeir called out, breaking Eivor’s train of thought as the music came to a pause. “Everyone, gather around!”

The jarl was currently standing at the front of the wedding with Styrbjorn at his side, and held a tall tankard of mead in his grasp. He addressed the crowd before them while Sigurd lingered next to the archway, greeting his people with a radiant smile.

“My brothers!” Arngeir said proudly, “my sisters! Today is a day for celebration. The seas of this war have been relentless with chaos, and we have endured a great deal to stand where we are now. I know many of you have sacrificed your heart and soul in the name of survival. You have fought, you have bled, and you have known pain unlike any other. But no more. Today,” he placed a hand on Styrbjorn’s shoulder, “the Bear and Raven clans will become one, and we will finally have what it takes to deliver Kjotve into the jaws of Nidhoggr himself!”

A unanimous cheer erupted from the villagers.

“So, drink!” Arngeir exclaimed over their voices. “Drink and feast to your hearts’ content! Let your spirits sing with joy as we celebrate this marriage, and let the gods hear our thundering war cries when the time for battle comes! May Freya bless this new couple with her loving embrace, and may Tyr guide us into victory. Or to Valhalla.” He raised his tankard in the air. “Skål, my drengir!”

The guests returned the toast. “Skål!”

A series of merry cries rose from the crowd as they happily downed their drinks in unison, eager to get the mead flowing. The music of the festival quickly resumed its lively beat, and chirps of laughter returned to the air. 

As for Eivor, the man remained seated by the temple and simply watched the festivities unfold, wishing more than anything that he could talk to Sigurd again. He knew the prince would likely welcome him with open arms despite the tension between them, but even then, there was just something holding him back.

He didn’t have the strength to approach Sigurd now that the man was officially married. Despite all his efforts to ignore it, Eivor did feel a spark of jealousy flickering in his heart whenever he laid eyes on Randvi, and he hated himself for it.

Randvi didn’t deserve any animosity. She was simply doing what she was told, just like Sigurd. Still, part of Eivor secretly wished he could be in her position. He wished he could openly display his affection for the prince, and not constantly feel the need to hide it.

But alas, there was no longer any grey area about the matter. Sigurd and Randvi had officially been bound by this alliance, and Eivor would have to stay away from him, no matter how alluring the thought might’ve been. They wouldn’t be able to repeat what they did last night, and to go against this marriage would’ve been a betrayal. 

“Eivor?” A stray voice blurted out, causing the Wolf-Kissed to glance over his shoulder. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be up here, and yet, he found himself gazing back at the one man who could’ve potentially eased his pain.

Ulfar.

“What are you doing here, little cub?” The old raider asked, pushing through the snow. “I assumed you’d be enjoying the festivities by now.”

Eivor turned back around and rested his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the ground.

“I’m not in the mood.”

Ulfar cocked a brow at the response. “Not in the mood for a drink? That doesn’t sound like you.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Must be something bad.”

He took a seat next to Eivor, allowing himself to rest for a moment.

“...Care to share your thoughts?”

The young man paused, throwing Ulfar’s inquisitive nature right back at him. “Before I do -- what are you doing up here? I’m surprised you’re not at my father’s side. He usually keeps you close.”

“Indeed, but today’s not exactly a usual day, is it? Eirik and I are patrolling the village at your father’s behest. He wants us to make sure the people are safe whilst they celebrate the wedding.”

Eivor glanced at the view in front of them. “See anything yet?”

“Nothing urgent so far. Eirik spotted a longship on the horizon earlier, but it’s impossible to see which clan it belongs to from here. He’s keeping an eye on it as we speak.” The warrior tilted his head at the other man. “And what about you? What brings you to the temple on a day like this?”

Eivor hesitated. “I... I don’t know if I should say.”

A tone of genuine concern took hold of Ulfar’s voice. “Is it truly that bad?”

“Yes. I’m afraid so.”

The raider leaned forward in his seat, looking the young man in the eye. “Eivor. Speak plainly to me. What’s going on?”

The Wolf-Kissed turned away from Ulfar, pondering whether or not to tell him. He trusted the man to keep this conversation between them -- he had never known him to be a snitch -- but even then, part of him feared how Ulfar would react.

Eivor was aware of the warrior’s doubts towards Sigurd after all, and the last thing he wanted was to tarnish the prince’s reputation even further. This alliance was as fresh as a newborn babe, and the young man wondered if it would’ve been foolish to expose his secrets so soon.

Still, Eivor knew he couldn’t keep it in for much longer. The stress that came with suppressing his emotions was quickly taking its toll, and he needed to let it out somehow. 

“Ulfar...” the young man said, “I’ll tell you what’s going on because I trust you, but this must stay between us. I mean it. No one else can hear about this. Alright?”

The older man’s brow was crinkled with confusion, but he complied nonetheless. “...Alright, Eivor. I understand. Now, what’s the matter?”

Eivor took a deep breath. “...Do you remember the conversation we had at the feast? When the Raven Clan first arrived?”

Ulfar chuckled. “No, not really. I’m an old man now, Eivor. My memory isn’t what it once was.”

Eivor returned the laugh. “You were telling me about Geirmund’s fortress. And how you met Linnea.”

The raider’s expression lit up with remembrance. “...Ah, yes.”

“You also asked me if I had found anyone significant in my life,” he continued. “I told you no.”

“And?”

Eivor knotted his hands together in nervousness. “Well... that’s changed recently.”

“Has it? Then why do you seem so upset? That’s a good thing, Eivor.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew who it was.”

Ulfar shrugged. “Well then, who is it?”

The Wolf-Kissed gazed down at the wedding. “...The man who just got married today.”

The old warrior followed his line of sight, instantly falling into silence once he realized whom Eivor was referring to.

“...You mean Sigurd?” Ulfar clarified, unable to hide the dread that was rising in his chest. “Oh, Eivor...”

“I know.” The younger man said. “I know it’s bad. I’ve told myself I shouldn’t feel this way over and over again, but no matter what I do, these thoughts just won’t go away. Sigurd and I tried to keep things platonic in the beginning, but over time, we just... couldn’t help it anymore.”

Ulfar let out a troubled sigh. “...And what about Randvi? Does she know about this?”

“No, I don’t think so. You’re the only one so far.”

That seemed to bring some relief to the raider. “Good. You’d do best to keep it that way. There’s no telling how others would react, especially the king.”

Eivor pressed a finger on his temple. “What should I do though, Ulfar? Out of honor, I can’t approach Sigurd now that he’s officially been wed. To entice him would be wrong. But I also can’t ignore how I feel.”

Ulfar’s gaze fell to the ground. “...I wish I had an easy answer for you, little cub. But the truth is, nothing about this will be easy. You have a special connection with Sigurd, and it isn’t going to disappear just because of this alliance.”

The young man grew despondent. “I only wish there was some way to forget about all this. Perhaps then, my mind would finally let me rest.”

The warrior shot a glance at his friend. “Eivor, are you listening to me?”

Eivor paused, urging Ulfar to continue his train of thought.

“You can’t make these feelings go away.” He reiterated. “You’re trying to fight a battle that’s already been lost. The best thing you can do right now is talk to Sigurd. Straighten things out with him. Clean up this mess before it becomes worse. It may not bring the outcome you want, but it will bring the closure you need. Trust me.”

Eivor peered in the prince’s direction, reluctant to accept reality. He knew there was truth to Ulfar’s words, but a part of him still wished for another solution. A solution that didn’t involve discarding his relationship with Sigurd. 

“...Perhaps you’re right.” He conceded in a downcast manner.

The raider’s voice softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Eivor. This must be difficult for you. But it isn’t your fault.”

That piqued Eivor’s curiosity. “You don’t think so?”

“No, of course not. We do not choose who we love. The Nornir determine that for us. Unfortunately though, our plans do not always match what the gods have in mind. I only wish you didn’t have to be the one dealing with this dilemma.”

“...So do I.”

Ulfar switched to a more encouraging tone, hoping to lift the young man’s spirits. “Hey, there’s no need to sulk. Remember what Ingrida always says. Any attempt to deviate from the path will be met with what was destined to be. Your time will come. Just not today.”

Eivor displayed a faint smile in response to his words. “Thank you, Ulfar. I--”

“--Ulfar...!”

Interrupting their conversation, a third voice suddenly jumped into the scene, causing the two men to glance towards the source. The voice was sharpened with a deep rasp that sat on its edge, and it seemed to scrape against the throat of its owner. It didn’t have much force standing behind it, but even then, Eivor could still hear the desperation behind its words.

“Yes?” Ulfar replied at the sound of his name. “What is it--?”

He came to a halt, taking a moment to process the peculiar sight approaching him.

Not too far away from them, Ulfar and Eivor saw Eirik limping towards the temple, practically dragging his feet through the snow. His labored breathing trudged along to the rhythm of his heavy footsteps, and his movements were sluggish with exhaustion. The main detail that caught Ulfar’s attention though, was the fresh trail of blood dotting the ground in his wake.

“Eirik!” The raider exclaimed in alarm, immediately rushing over to him. He supported the man’s weight in his arms, lifting him up as he spoke.

“Hey,” he called out, trying to get his attention. “Hey! Can you hear me? What happened to you?”

Eirik weakly gripped onto one of Ulfar’s arms, staring him in the eye. “...K-Kjotve. He’s... here. You must--” a numbing pain racked his body, coaxing a groan out of him.

“We must what?” Ulfar asked. But Eirik had already moved on.

“...please,” the injured man whispered, “keep my mother safe. Tell her... it isn’t...”

He fell limp in the old warrior’s embrace, passing onto the next realm with his final words trapped in his throat. His body keeled forward as his spirit departed from its shell, and upon greeting death, Eirik tumbled into the snow, revealing a number of arrows protruding from his back.

Before Ulfar had any time to mourn though, the rallying cry of a horn suddenly blared in the distance, calling for Bjornheimr’s warriors as Kjotve’s men emerged from the shadows.

The sounds of battle quickly rose throughout the village, and down at the wedding, Eivor could see Sigurd rushing to defend their people, storming around with a sword in his hand.

“Shit!” Ulfar cursed, rising from the ground. He whipped his axe out of its sheathe and placed a protective hand over Eivor’s chest, urging him to take shelter.

“Eivor, gather any survivors you can find and take them to the longhouse! I’ll join the other warriors and protect the wedding.”

“Wait!” The young man protested, grabbing Ulfar’s wrist just before he could leave. 

The raider glared at him with a bewildered look in his eye. “What is it?”

“...Let me defend the wedding. I’ll go in your stead.”

Ulfar clearly wasn’t on board with the idea. “What? This is no time to be arguing! You need to go, Eivor. Now!”

“Please,” he insisted. “I need to make sure Sigurd’s safe. He’s down there with the rest of my family. Let me do it. I’ll do whatever it takes to get them out of there alive. You know I will.”

The older man quickly shifted his mind, not willing to waste another second.

“...Fine,” he said in a hasty tone. “Do what you must, but do it carefully. I don’t want you following Eirik’s footsteps today. And don’t forget about the alliance, Eivor. I know how you feel about Sigurd, but we cannot lose him for the sake of this war either. Do you understand?”

Eivor gave him a firm nod. “I understand.”

“Good. Then may the Defender of Midgard guide our hand today, and may we pummel Kjotve’s skull with an axe at last.”

“Odin watch over you, Ulfar.”

The raider parted ways with the young man. “Odin watch over us all.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

THE WEDDING

Sprinting towards the ruined festival, Eivor fought his way through clumps of Kjotve’s warriors as they stormed the village and set fire to the buildings, staining the sky red with their morbid flames. Vivid sparks could be seen erupting from black pillars of smoke, and in the distance, the young warrior saw nothing but clouds of ash obscuring the path.

It looked like Ragnarök itself had been unleashed on Bjornheimr. Shrieks of panic filled the air like an orchestra gone mad, and just sitting on the horizon, Eivor spotted the striking silhouettes of Kjotve’s ships latching onto their docks.

It was a view the young man had been dreading for the past decade of his life. The memory of his parents’ deaths remained fresh in his head, and terror paralyzed his heart at the idea of losing a loved one again.

...But no. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. Ulfar was depending on him to protect everyone at the wedding, and that was exactly what he’d do. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. He wouldn’t simply stand by and watch people die like before. This time, he would defend them.

Heaving his axe with a ferocious amount of effort, Eivor let out a rough shout as he lodged the sturdy blade into the neck of a raider, cutting them down within a heartbeat.

By now, it looked like Kjotve’s men had taken control of the wedding and gathered a handful of captives, lining them up as if they were livestock for sale. They had bound them with numerous bundles of rope and shoved them down to their knees, forcing them to watch their attackers from below. 

What concerned Eivor the most though, was that the raiders were no longer alone.

Towering over the rest of the scene like a lion searching for its prey, the Wolf-Kissed spotted the very same man who slew his parents all those winters ago, now staring down at the prince he loved. His face had been folded with wrinkles due to years of waging countless wars, but the rest of his stature remained as intimidating as ever.

Eivor felt like a scared little boy again just by looking at him. Kjotve’s mere presence was more than enough to bring back a flood of unwanted nightmares, and the young man suddenly found himself questioning whether or not he was fit for this task. He still heard his mother’s desperate cries thundering in his head as if she were there, and the haunting view of his father’s lifeless gaze had been branded into the back of his eyelids.

“Do not abandon him or his memory,” Eivor thought to himself, repeating Ulfar’s words from when he was just a boy. “You wish to reclaim the honor your father lost? Then you must fight for it.”

A sprout of fury flared up in his chest at the profound memory, and he shouted across the battlefield at Kjotve himself, speaking with a level of rage he had never experienced before.

“Kjotve!” Eivor roared, leading the man to come to a halt.

The gargantuan raider turned around to see who was calling his name and peered through the smoke, narrowing his eyes as he tried to identify their face.

Emerging from the sea of fire, Kjotve saw nothing but a lone warrior prowling towards him with a strangely familiar axe in his grip, sauntering across the blood-stained dirt. Gusts of wind distorted the ash blanketing the battlefield around him, and behind strands of golden hair, Kjotve spotted a pair of arctic orbs glaring back at him, wide-open with wrath.

Before he could address the warrior though, his son stepped forward first.

“What do you want, bacraut?” Gorm barked, pointing a finger at them. “A blade to the gullet, perhaps?”

Kjotve held out an arm. “Hold, Gorm. Don’t bare your fangs just yet. There’s something... different about this one.”

The man scoffed. “Different? He looks just like every other ‘warrior’ in this village to me. Weak and cowardly.”

“...Perhaps,” Kjotve said, glancing down, “but that axe...” He approached the stranger. “You there! Where did you find that weapon? Who are you?”

The blonde viking stopped in his tracks, keeping his gaze nailed onto the other man as the entire wedding froze to see what was going on.

“My name is Eivor.” He announced, his voice resembling the hiss of a serpent. “...You know me.”

Kjotve grinned immediately upon hearing the name and strolled towards his opponent, meeting him in the middle. 

“...Eivor? The son of Varin and Rosta? Heh. My, my. You were just a little boy the last time we met, Wolf-Kissed. I must say, I’m surprised to see you drawing breath even after all these years. You’ve certainly grown a lot since then. But alas... you are still no more than a child chasing after his father’s honor. It seems you’ll never learn.”

Eivor clenched his hand around the grip, doing his best to keep his anger at bay.

“...I have no interest in your taunts, Kjotve. I’ve only come for my family. Let them go.”

The older man laughed and planted his battle axe in the ground, resting an elbow on its hilt. “And tell me, Eivor -- why exactly would I do that?”

The young warrior raised his own weapon, looking at the line of captives sitting behind Kjotve. “I may have been defenseless during our first encounter, but don’t think I’ll cower away from you now. I will take my family back, with or without shedding your blood.”

Sigurd’s head perked up at the response, and he struggled in his restraints. “Eivor...! Don’t!”

Kjotve noticed the prince’s reaction, allowing him to think of a different approach. He doubted there would be much difficulty in slaying the Wolf-Kissed one-on-one, but he wanted to indulge in another method.

“Hmm,” he said in thought, “you wish to rescue these fools from their fate? Perhaps... there is a way we could arrange that.”

Gorm snapped his head in Kjotve’s direction. “Father!”

“Silence, boy.” He commanded. “These are my slaves. Not yours. I will bargain with them as I please.”

Kjotve shifted his focus back to Eivor, presenting his idea. “Listen to me carefully, son of Varin. I am willing to offer your people a way out of this, but only one. It’s your choice whether you take it or leave it.”

Eivor grew impatient. “Just say what you have to say and be done with it.”

The slaver smirked maliciously. “As you wish.” 

Kjotve tugged his weapon out of the ground and rested the blade on his shoulder, preparing it for battle. “...Lay down your axe. Surrender yourself to me, and I will let everyone else go, including your beloved prince here.”

Eivor fell silent at the demand and clenched his jaw in spite, almost having to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of the request.

“You expect me to believe you?” He nearly growled. “After you spewed the same lies to my father, and broke your oath to him? No. I won’t do it.”

Kjotve lifted a brow. “Are you certain, Wolf-Kissed? You could be right, of course... but are you willing to bet your family’s lives on it?”

The young warrior’s expression twisted into a glower. “...You are a rat, Kjotve. A dishonorable wretch that will forever serve as a sheathe to Nidhoggr’s fangs...!”

The raider merely chuckled at the response, undeniably amused by his enemy’s distress.

“Well, if you prefer, I could always erase your doubt and simply kill them all right now.” Kjotve positioned his blade under Sigurd’s chin. “Starting with him.”

Eivor felt the urge to leap forward then and there, but held himself back. 

“Don’t... touch him.” He whispered, almost sounding feral. The slaver smiled back at him.

“You know what you have to do to stop me.”

The Wolf-Kissed gritted his teeth in rage and strengthened his hold on the axe, practically crushing it in his grip as his knuckles turned white. 

He couldn’t believe it. After thirteen years of planning for revenge and fending off the grief that came with his loss, he was now being forced into the exact same position as his father, and being humiliated like a thrall. Everyone’s lives depended on the sacrifice of his honor, but to comply would’ve meant giving up everything he had fought for.

What would happen to Eivor if he accepted the deal? What would Kjotve do with him? Would he truly keep his word and set the captives free? Or would he simply cut the young warrior’s throat, and demolish the rest of the village once he was dead?

Eivor didn’t know what to do anymore. He couldn’t bear the idea of watching anything happen to Sigurd or his family, but he also despised the thought of failing to avenge his previous one. 

Kjotve was the one who took everything from him. He destroyed his home, his childhood, and his life. To spare him now would’ve been an even greater shame than the one his father suffered.

But still... he loved Arngeir. He loved his sisters. And most of all, he was starting to fall in love with Sigurd. He had gotten so used to a world with the prince’s influence, that to see him drop out of it now would’ve devastated him.

He couldn’t allow him to die. He couldn’t disappoint Ulfar, and he couldn’t let the alliance crumble. Sigurd’s life carried far more value than his, and at this point, Eivor was willing to do anything to preserve it.

So, without saying another word, the young man reluctantly bent down towards the ground and gazed at Sigurd with an apologetic look, gently placing the axe right by his feet.

“No!” The prince exclaimed, his eyes widened with panic. “What are you doing? Pick up your axe, Eivor! Remember what this snake did to your father! Don’t let him corner you into his trap--!”

“--Quiet, you!” Gorm commanded, striking Sigurd over the head.

Meanwhile, Kjotve ignored his prisoner’s cries and grinned in satisfaction, focusing entirely on the man in front of him. 

“It seems you were correct, Gorm,” he remarked. “He is the same as everyone else. Weak... and cowardly. Just like his father. I should’ve guessed.”

Eivor’s glare only sharpened. “I did what you asked, Kjotve. Now, do your part and set them free!”

Kjotve shook his head in a patronizing manner, laughing shamelessly at the unarmed viking. A sheen of deceit plastered itself onto his barbaric smile, and simply by looking at him, the young man knew he had been fooled.

“Did you really think it’d be any different this time? I almost pity you, Wolf-Kissed. You’re an even bigger fool than Varin was. I suppose you’ll be joining him and your mother in Helheim, then. Send them my regards.” He turned to his son, bellowing a new list of orders at him. “Gorm! Take the strongest ones back to the ship alive. We can make use of them. As for the rest -- kill them all. We’ll leave their corpses for the ravens to feed.”

Gorm began strolling towards the prisoners. “With pleasure.”

“Wait!” Eivor shouted. But it was too late.

Within the blink of an eye, the man had already unsheathed his blade and pulled Randvi’s head back by the hair, preparing to slit her throat. Just before he could carry out Kjotve’s commands though, a lone arrow suddenly bolted through the air and planted itself into his shoulder, sending him reeling to the ground.

He flailed around for a moment and flicked his eyes around in shock, only to see the archer face-to-face once the chaos finally settled.

It was Ulfar.

“Cut them down!” The raider yelled, his voice thundering across the village.

Charging out from the smoke, Eivor saw a small army of men storming the wedding as Kjotve’s people froze in bewilderment, giving their clan the exact opening they needed to shift the balance of this fight.

The warriors immediately seized the battlefield and overwhelmed it like a fire feeding on kindling, driving their weapons through the hearts of their enemies. They hunted them down like animals running through a field, and showered the invading raiders with a hurricane of arrows.

As for Kjotve himself, the man fled to his longship with as many prisoners as possible and nearly dragged Gorm onto the boat, signaling his men to leave Bjornheimr. It was evident to him that he was now on the losing side of this fight, but even then, he still managed to take a group of captives that he was no doubt going to sell -- including Thora.

Ulfar, on the other hand, was busy freeing what prisoners remained. He had already released Randvi from her binds and was now carving his way through Sigurd’s rope, setting the prince free.

“Are you hurt?” The older man asked, helping Sigurd up to his feet.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He blurted out, eager to contribute to the battle. But Ulfar wasn’t ready to let him go just yet.

“Where’s Eivor?” He questioned. “I was able to see Kjotve and Gorm, but I couldn’t find the boy from where I stood.”

Sigurd gestured in the opposite direction. “He’s over there. He’s--” The man came to an abrupt pause, leading Ulfar to follow his line of sight.

“What is it?” The raider said, but it didn’t take him long to realize.

Kneeling in the dirt, Ulfar found Eivor sitting somberly amongst all the pandemonium, seemingly unfazed by the death and destruction surrounding him. His eyes were locked onto the axe lying beside his legs, and just by observing the boy, the old warrior could tell that he was trapped in another battle of his own.

Eivor just let his parents’ murderer escape for a second time. After thirteen years of waiting for him. He had been tricked by the same deal his father fell prey to, and now, there was nothing but humiliation weighing him down. 

He felt like a complete failure. His honor had been stolen from him once again, and now all of Bjornheimr was going to know it. They would see him as a coward for deciding to drop his weapon, and Kjotve’s forces would only grow stronger because of it.

But the part that stood out the most to Ulfar, was the fact that he did it all for Sigurd. Eivor had only known the man for about two weeks, and yet, he was willing to give up Valhalla itself in exchange for his survival. He knew the possibility of Kjotve going back on his word was likely, and even then, he still decided to take the risk.

Just how much did this man mean to him, exactly? Ulfar was aware of Eivor’s feelings for Sigurd, but he never expected the two of them to share such an adamantine bond. He could see now that the young man was truly in love with the prince... and it frightened him to the core.

This would not bode well for the marriage. Eivor could try to conceal his emotions as much as he wanted, but Ulfar already knew it would be for naught. It was impossible to ignore a love as strong as this, and he could only pray that the alliance wouldn’t fall apart so long as Eivor’s affections remained alive.

He supposed the best thing he could do now was guide the young man. Ulfar didn’t plan on telling anyone about his secret, but he also knew it’d be foolish to let his feelings roam free.

Kjotve was still out there. His army was still growing. And now, he had Thora as a slave.

If the people of Bjornheimr wanted to rescue her from his grasp, they would need the help of Styrbjorn’s entire clan to assault the slaver’s fortress. It would require every single warrior they had under their command, and Ulfar didn’t intend on letting Eivor’s hidden relationship put Thora’s safety in jeopardy.

He just hoped he wouldn’t hurt the boy by doing so. It was clear to him how much the Wolf-Kissed cared about Sigurd, so the last thing he wanted was to push the two of them apart.

But Arngeir needed Ulfar to maintain a clear mind. He needed his pragmatism. He needed his rationality. That was the whole reason he had kept Ulfar at his side for almost two decades now.

As much as it pained the old man, he would have to approach this objectively. He would have to keep Eivor away from Sigurd’s company, and ensure that the alliance remained strong.

Otherwise, he had no idea how the future would unfold. If anyone learned about their secret affair, Ulfar assumed that all hell would break loose. The friendship between their clans would instantly shatter, and the fires of a second war would likely ignite.

It was a dilemma that Ulfar wouldn’t wish on anyone in a paternal position, but alas, it was the one the gods had granted him. So, with a quick shift of the mind, the warrior brought his attention back to the battle at hand and left Eivor alone, allowing him to regather his thoughts.

He assumed the boy would be in a state of distress after the day’s events, and he didn’t want to be the reason he finally tipped over the edge.

Ulfar had enough to worry about at the moment, and he imagined it was just the beginning.