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I Hate It Here | J.P.

feat James Potter x animagus!reader

SUMMARY: As a bat animagus, you're used to spending time alone: a creature of the night that prefers quiet solitude over the bustle of Hogwarts life. But when one James Potter charges into your life, you start to wonder why you hated daylight so much in the first place.

CW: MDNI 18+, FLUFFFF (James is down so bad), multi-pov, injuries and blood, shy!reader, protective!James, fighting and mentions of reader being bullied, light angst, HEA

AN: bats and deer are known to be close collaborators in the wild, with bats helping keep insects away from the deer, and the deer making it easy for the bats to find food. inspired by “I Hate It Here” from Taylor Swift’s album The Tortured Poets Department.

masterlist

James’ POV

“Pads, what the fuck!” James shifted back into his human form, scrambling to drag Padfoot out of the massive blackberry bushes he’d launched himself into. The run had been quiet, almost peaceful, just the two of them out for a moonlight romp to blow off some steam from the day.

Then, of course, Sirius buggered that right up.

Padfoot yipped and whined, the thorns pulling at his onyx fur, and flopped onto the ground beside it with a dramatic grunt. He quickly shifted back into a disgruntled Sirius, checking over himself for injuries.

“I didn’t know they were like…pointy!” Sirius huffed, relaxing when he realized he only had a few shallow scrapes. “Just wanted a fucking snack—”

“Of course they are—what is that?” A high-pitched clicking sound interrupted them. James crouched down, peering into the thicket of brambles and ripe, midnight purple fruit.

Something tiny and velveteen was trembling in a knot of thorns, it’s squeaks of discomfort barely audible. A wing fluttered out, delicate and leathery, a bead of carmine dripping from a hole pierced clean through the taught flesh.

A wee bat was caught in the brambles.

“Shit,” James cursed, tugging his sweatshirt sleeve down over his hand and shoving his arm socket-deep into the loathsome bush.

“What are you—”

“It’s alright, I’ve got ya’—please don’t bite me, please don’t bite me.” James wrapped his hand as gently as he could around the little bat’s body, feeling it’s heart fluttering rapidly in it’s chest. “Okay, there we go. I’m just gonna—fuck, ow, sodding thorns.” James brought the critter out as carefully as he could, making a concerted effort to keep his fist lax despite the thorns snagging his sleeve and jabbing into his forearm.

Once he had it completely removed from the bush, he slowly uncurled his fingers. The bat lurched upwards, flapping it’s tattered wings once, twice, then plummeted. James dove forward, catching the little thing just before it crashed to the ground, and cradled it safely back to his chest.

“Is that a bat?” Sirius asked, stepping closer.

“Must’ve been eating some fruit,” James muttered to himself, peeking open his fingers to peer at it. It blinked at him, eyes wide and dark as obsidian, the grayish fur of it’s snout stained with blackberry juice. It was trembling terribly, heart going a million miles a minute, and James knew he couldn't just leave it here.

Sirius looked stricken. “Shit, I’m sorry, mate.” he stroked a finger across the wing draped over James’ knuckles and the bat writhed in his hand, clicking disdainfully.

“Should we take it to Hagrid?” James asked, wincing when it’s thumb claw scratched across his inner wrist, uselessly trying to flap the injured appendage. Poor little thing.

“Poppy, probably. Hagrid’ll squish it.”

“Good point. Grab my scarf, will ya’?” Sirius tossed him his scarf from their belongings and James wrapped it as best he could around the creature, effectively immobilizing it, tiny head poking out from the top of the bundle.

“S’kinda cute,” Sirius said, leaning closer.

The bat loosed a vicious hiss, and he recoiled.

“Nevermind, christ.”

As quickly as they could, they hurried to the infirmary, the swaddled bat tucked into the crook of his arm, pressed against his chest.

“Boys! What one earth—” Madam Pomfry rushed to greet them at the door, probably expecting the worst given their history. “What’s that?”

“It got caught in a blackberry bush, tore up it’s wings…” he carefully unfolded the blanket, expecting the bat to try and fly away again, but it seemed to have exhausted itself, lying limply in his hands, breathing hard.

“Oh, dear,” Madam Pomfry tutted, taking the bat from him and setting it onto an examination table. “You poor thing.”

“It’s actually a bat,” Sirius joked, and she swatted him as she rushed past to grab some supplies.

“Have you nothing better to do?” Madam Pomfry bit, returning with a tincture and some stitching supplies.

“You know what, Poppy, I actually do. C’mon James, I bet the kitchens still open—”

“I’m going to stay—if that’s alright,” he said, glancing at Madam Pomfry. “Just to make sure it’s okay.”

“Suit yourself. Stay gorgeous, Pop!” Sirius blew her a kiss before making a swift exit.

Madam Pomfry began cleaning the scratches and tears along it’s wings and soft belly, and James was shocked to see how docile the bat had become. Relaxed even when Madam Pomfry lifted it into her hand to place a clean towel underneath it.

It was rather cute, almost puppy-like as it blinked up at him, nose twitching from the strong scent of the tincture, ears flicking this way and that.

“Dearie, I think it would be best if you changed back,” Madam Pomfry said gently, stroking the bats head.

James looked down at himself, confused. “To a deer?”

Suddenly, there was a flash of magic, one James knew all too well, and then there was a girl sitting where the bat was moments before, his scarf draped around her neck.

He reared back, stunned that not only was the bat an animagus, but an animagus he knew.

“Y/n?” He gawked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Potter,” you replied.

“You-you’re—you’re a bat?”

“And you’re a genius.”

He blinked at you, completely dumbfounded. A bat tracked, he supposed. You were quiet, a loner. He couldn’t remember ever seeing you with more than a friend or two, and you’d never attended a party. Really, he only ever saw you in his afternoon Charms class and in the library in the evenings. You hardly ever spoke, wrapped up in your own world.

He always had the distinct impression that you hated people, and now, staring down the barrel of your glare, he was certain of it. But saints, you were gorgeous. Death glare and all.

It then occurred to him that he’d had his entire hand wrapped around you not even ten minutes prior, and went hot under his collar.

James couldn’t remember the last time he’d been at a loss for words, but here he was, staring slack-jawed like a complete idiot.

“Perhaps you should thank him for saving your from that bush,” Madam Pomfry prodded gently, taking your arm to examine the gashes riddled there.

“Wouldn’t have been an issue if he kept a leash on his dog,” you bit.

James winced, guilt curdling in his stomach even though there was nothing he could have done to stop Sirius. The cuts on your arms looked bad, a deep and angry red, dried blood mixing with the purple stains on your skin.

How could he make this right?

Reader POV

You fought to hold your glare, but the pained look in James’ eye was rapidly unraveling your resolve. Of course it was James fucking Potter that found you. The golden head boy of Gryffindor, in all his infuriatingly handsome and tender-hearted glory, saved your dumbass from crucifixion-by-blackberries.

You’d almost rather be crucified than sit there for another second. The lights in the infirmary were too bright, the space too open, too sterile.

Why couldn’t you have been anywhere else tonight? If you had ever believed in good luck, you certainly wouldn’t believe in it now.

“Thank you, James,” you acquiesced, unable to mask the bitterness in your tone.

James smiled at you despite your tone, because he never stopped fucking smiling. “Thank you for not biting me,” he said, looking down at his palm—still stained with blood. Your blood. Because he had his hand wrapped around you. His giant, deliciously warm hand holding you ever so gently…

“Ow!”

“Sorry, dear. Just a few more,” Madam Pomfry soothed, having made the first stitch while you were distracted. Distracted by James fucking Potter.

You needed to get a grip. Him saving you doesn’t change anything. Sure, you would have been forced to stay there for eternity, or skewer yourself shifting back. But he was still James Potter, the embodiment of everything you despised most.

You hated Hogwarts, hated the crowded halls and musty rooms and catty students. You hated the classes, which either moved too slow or too fast. You hated the professors, with all their snobbery and favoritism.

Thus, you hated James. Because he not only loved the school, but the school loved him back.

Graduation couldn’t come soon enough. No more morning classes, no more roommates, no more James fucking Potter.

James seemed to sense your discomfort, his dark brows drawing together in concern. “Are you alright, though? Really?”

“Fine,” you hissed through gritted teeth, a headache blooming behind your eyes so sharply it rivaled the stitches you were receiving. You squeezed your eyes shut. Merlin, it’s too fucking bright.

You tried desperately to disappear into your mind, that secret garden where it was always midnight, always dark and quiet and safe, and escape for a little while.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to it then,” James said, sounding almost forlorn. Unsure in a way that was so unlike him, it made you open your eyes again. He shuffled on his feet, running a hand through his unruly black hair. “See you in Charms, then?”

You nodded, and he left without another word, glancing back at you a final time before the door swung shut behind him.

“James is a good lad,” Madam Pomfry said, giving you a pointed look. “Would do you well to let him in a little bit.”

You shrugged, and closed your eyes once more.

It wasn’t until you’d been patched up and sent on your way that your realized you still had his scarf wrapped around your neck, the smell of him, sun-dried laundry and cedar, lingering in your nose. You tucked it into the bottom of your trunk, telling yourself you’d take it to the be cleaned tomorrow morning.

The following afternoon…

You were dreading Charms, dragging your feet as you walked down the final corridor. You’d slept most of the day, your schedule being mostly afternoon classes, and the last thing you wanted to do was socialize.

Not that anyone talked to you, but still. Just being around other people was draining. Not to mention, James would be one of those people.

And sure enough, when you made your way into the classroom, you found James sitting next to your usual spot in the back corner, chatting animatedly with his friend Remus. The only one of his friends you found somewhat tolerable.

Of course, every other seat was taken.

James was dressed in his usual Gryffindor attire, a sweater vest and loosely done tie, white sleeves pushed up to show off the thickness of his sun-kissed forearms. Black slacks hugged his toned legs. Really, all of his clothes seemed just a fraction too tight over his Herculean build—saint’s sake you needed to get a hold of yourself. You were not interested in James Potter.

“There you are!” James chirped, and you groaned inwardly. You noticed the other students murmuring to themselves, wondering why James had taken an interest in you of all people, but James seemed oblivious to it. “How are you feeling?” He asked, pulling out your chair for you as you approached.

“I’m fine, a little sore,” you said, dropping into your seat and rummaging through your bag to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Goldenrod helps,” Remus said, giving you sympathetic look. “And chocolate.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, setting your books on the desk, and Remus shrugged, bidding you both farewell before walking back to the boys usual spot by the sunlit windows. It made your preferred corner look like a cave in comparison.

Flitwick dove into the lecture before James could ask anything else, to your profound relief.

But then—“I brought you these,” James whispered, sliding a tin across the table and under your nose. He seemed almost…nervous? “They’re, ah—they’re blackberry scones.”

Oh, no. You felt your heart swell in real time as you reached for the lid, a current of electricity flying through you when your fingers accidentally grazed his. “Why would you—”

“Ms. y/l/n!” Flitwick scolded. “Pay attention!”

You quickly pushed the tin away, heat scorching your cheeks. “Sorry, sir,” you squeaked, ducking your head back down to your notes. When the lecture resumed, you shot James a rueful glare.

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “They might be rubbish, I’ve never really baked before.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this real life? James fucking Potter baked you scones? “James, you shouldn’t have—”

“I wanted to, as an apology for last night.”

“You don't have to apologize. I’d rather just forget it, honestly,” you admitted.

“Oh.” A flicker of hurt passed through his expression as he looked down, and you immediately regretted your blunt words.

You really were terrible in these situations, sucking the fun out of the room like a blackhole.

“Well, I’m glad to have properly met you,” he said after a beat, flashing you a toothy smile, dispersing the tension as quickly as it came.

You stared at him, perplexed. Your attitude had rolled off of him like water on a duck’s back. “Uh, thanks,” you said, painfully awkward, and stuck your nose into your book.

James’ POV

His palms were sweating, why the fuck were his palms sweating? And he couldn’t keep his hands out of his hair. And he wanted to keep talking, merlin, he felt like he could talk your ear off, but he held his tongue.

Talking to him seemed like the last thing you wanted to do, so he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to annoy you further.

You practically ran from him when class ended, and now, he was racking his brain for something he could have done to make you dislike him so much while sitting at dinner in the Great Hall.

There was something different about you, a depth in your eyes that piqued his interest. He was so used to people fawning all over him, tripping over themselves to talk to him, but you couldn't care less about who he was.

If anything, you seemed to like him less because of who he was. Which as driving him a little bit mad.

“You reckon he’s still thinking about that bat girl?” Peter muttered to Remus.

“Oh, absolutely. He was up at 5 a.m. baking,” Remus chuckled. “Spent the entirety of Charms today practically drooling all over her.”

“That's pathetic,” Marlene tittered, and it was enough to draw James out of his head.

“Fuck off, ‘Kinnon,” he said, flicking a chip at her.

“What's the obsession, anyways?” Sirius asked, his feet kicked up on the table, twirling his wand in his fingers. “It's not like you smashed her into a thorn bush.”

“No, I believe that was you,” James bit, avoiding the question, an ember of irritation flaring in his chest. He wasn't obsessed. Just…intrigued. “Have you even apologized?”

“To her human face? No,” Sirius said, looking a bit guilty. Then, he stood up on the bench, sweeping his gray eyes across the Great Hall. “I don't see her.”

“She's not here,” James grumbled, sounding more petulant than he probably should.

“She eats in the library,” Lily supplied.

James whirled around to face her. “How do you know that?”

“Because I pay attention to other people, you git.”

“C’mon, then. I have wrongs to right.” Sirius hopped down and grabbed his bag. James was already on his feet.

“You really shouldn't!” Lily called after them, but they were gone, Great Hall doors swinging shut behind them.

As they neared the library, James felt his skin start to heat, palms going clammy as his heart beat faster and faster. When they reached the doors, James nearly changed his mind, almost told Sirius they should just return to the Great Hall and leave you be, but his friend was on a mission.

Sirius pushed open the doors, startling the dozen students milling around at the front. “Any of you lot seen y/n?”

James felt his lungs shrivel in his chest. This was going to go badly, he could feel it.

“Padfoot,” he chastised.

“She's always back by the Forbidden Section,” a Ravenclaw offered.

“Cheers!” Sirius grabbed James by the elbow and dragged him through the crowd that had gathered and towards the Forbidden Section.

James had never felt so conspicuous in his life, and it made his skin crawl with aversion. Normally, he loved nothing more than being the center of attention, but he didn't want you to see him like that.

They rounded a corner, entering the darker, quieter part of the library, and sure enough, there you were. Curled up in an overstuffed armchair under a single, low-burning lantern, a book open in your lap and a scone in your hand.

You brought it to your lips, nibbling on the edge while your eyes drifted over the page, focused intently on whatever you were reading.

James had the strange realization that he'd very much like to be scone right about now, and felt his cheeks warm for the upteenth time that day. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear the image from his mind.

“There she is!” Sirius called, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Though you quickly masked your surprise with irritation, lips pulling down into an adorable frown.

“Were you looking for me?” You asked, eyes flitting to James before quickly averting.

“We were, doll.” Sirius sauntered up to you, dropping onto his knees in front of your chair. You looked like you couldn’t decide whether to shift and fly away, or kick him in the teeth.

“Sorry to bother you,” James said, leaning against the bookshelf beside you. “Lily said you'd be here.”

“What, um, why exactly were you looking for me?” Your looked back and forth between the two of them, a small furrow forming between your brows, fidgeting in your seat.

“Prongs here was gracious enough to remind me that I hadn't properly apologized for hurting you.” Sirius patted James’ knee. “So, I am sincerely and deeply apologetic for body slamming you into an evil, evil bush.Can you ever forgive my inelegance?”

Your eyes widened, the color of you irises richer, more captivating in the low light.

Fuck, he was staring again.

“It's, uh—it’s okay, Sirius,” you said, glancing up at James again with a look he immediately recognized: help me.

Maybe you didn't hate him so much after all.

“Alright, mutt. You apologized, back off of her,” James said, sticking out his leg to push Sirius back a step. Your eyes melted with gratitude, and James’ heart lost its rhythm, beating slower as something foreign and liquor-sweet flowed through him.

“I vow to be more careful in my pursuit of late-night snacks.” Sirius stood up, crossing his heart.

“Just no snapping bats out of the air, yeah?” You said, a shy little smile lifting the corner of your mouth.

“Never,” Sirius promised, and you nodded.

“How'd the scones come out?” James asked, filling the small gap of silence.

You shot him another grateful look and holy shit, he could get used to that. “You only managed to burn some, so that's good.”

He smirked, thoroughly enjoying this more mischivious side of you. “I blame the ovens,” he said.

“Sure, James,” you chuckled.

He could jump for fucking joy. You laughed at his joke!

“That's impressive, considering it was the ass crack of fucking dawn when he made them,” Sirius teased, flashing him a malicious wink.

You pulled a face, nose scrunched up in faux disgust. “That's way too early.”

“Nocturnal type, hm?” James asked without thinking, mentally smacking himself. Of course you were a night owl, you were a bat for Godric’s sake.

“You could say that,” you giggled. “Most of my classes are later in the day.”

“Then you should study with us tomorrow morning!” Sirius said suddenly, and James groaned, ready to neuter him for being so uncouth. “We're going to meet here after breakfast to study for the Potions exam.”

“Oh, uh—” you started to pick at your nails, loosing your footing in the conversation as quickly as you'd found it.

“No pressure,” James added, seized by the need to alleviate your discomfort. “It’s just going to the four of us, Lily, and Marlene.”

“And Prongs will make more scones!” Sirius waggled his eyebrows.

It's decided; James was going to smother him in his sleep.

“Maybe,” you finally answered, avoiding James’ eye, and his heart sank.

Sirius nodded, apparently satisfied with how this disastrous encounter went. “Lovely. Now, if you'll excuse us, James and I have to, ah, hit the gym…for…Quidditch reasons.”

You raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie, but didn't comment. “Enjoy,” you said, sinking back into your chair and turning your attention back to your book.

James chased a cackling Sirius out of the library. “You're a terrible fucking wingman,” James hissed, smacking him on the back of the head.

“I know, that was god-awful,” Sirius snorted. “But, maybe you'll get to see her tomorrow? So not a complete failure.”

“Or, she’ll never talk to me again because I'm friends with imbeciles that send her to the infirmary!”

“I guess we'll find out!”

“Now, I'm actually taking you to the gym with me as punishment,” James glowered. He needed to work off some of this stagnant energy, too, his mind and body buzzing from that small interaction.

“No! Merlin, please—no!” Sirius cried as James hauled him by the hair down the corridor.

Reader’s POV

You lingered outside the library, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Were you really doing this? You couldn't remember the last time you hung out with more than a few people at a time, let alone in the morning.

But you couldn't deny that at part of you, a miniscule, insignificant part of you that barely garners mentioning, wanted to see James. And with James came his friends.

He'd been kind to you, saved you from certain stabbing, made you apology baked goods, the least you could do is show your face for one morning study session.

There was something about James that was hard to say no to. He was so genuine, so eager. Even you couldn't bring yourself to pop his optimistic bubble, no matter how ambivalent you felt towards most things.

He was making it very difficult to continue despising him.

You could suck it up for one morning to make him happy. And only because he saved you. You owed him. Not because you cared about him, his feelings, or his opinion of you.

Definitely not.

Before you could chicken out, you pushed through the doors and into the library. It was sun-soaked and bustling, energy humming along the walls and marble floors. The chandeliers cast rainbows across the space, brightening the countless rows of books. Dust hung in the air like glitter, and it was almost, almost pretty.

Already, your head was starting to ache.

It didn't take long to find James and his friends, James’ voice carrying across the quiet library.

“She gets headaches if it too bright! Help me or fuck off, Pads,” James said, his voice pitching with distress.

“You need to relax, James. Your stress sweat is stinking up the room,” Marlene teased.

“That is so not helpful,” James bit. “And I smell delightful, thank you very much.”

“Because you practically fumigated the dorm with cologne,” Remus retorted just as you stepped around the corner.

“I did not—y/n!” James nearly toppled off the chair he was standing on, dropping the robes he was trying to pin up over the window.

The whole group swiveled towards you, and your stomach dropped out.

“Morning!” They all chorused.

You managed a small wave. “Good morning,” you mumbled, kicking yourself for agreeing to this. What the hell were you thinking? You didn't belong here.

Then, James was beside you, dropping a brawny arm over your shoulders, the alleged cologne wafting over you like a summer breeze. Verdant and sunny. “I'm so glad you came,” James murmured to you as he lead you to an available spot on the less-sunny side of the table. His bag was sitting in the seat, though his stuff was cluttering the space directly next to it.

He'd saved the spot for you, knowing you'd prefer to be out of the sun.

“Me too,” you found yourself saying, butterflies tickling the underside of your ribs.

That's it, you've officially lost your mind.

James pulled the chair out for you and you sank into it, the shade enveloping you like a cool blanket, and you felt a little more at ease. The group immediately launched into conversation about classes and Quidditch, their ease quickly growing contagious as you worked on your Potions formulas. James was reclined beside you, apparently able to work on his essay while chattering endlessly, and you found yourself chiming in, laughing at his silly quips and lame jokes.

One study session turned into two, then three, then a week passed before you knew it. You'd spend the morning with them, studying in the library or common room, then James would meet up with you for dinner in the library after Quidditch practice, sometimes with Sirius and Remus in tow.

You hadn't given much thought to your new routine, brushing it off as a temporary anomaly, until Saturday morning, when you woke up two hours earlier than usual and realized there would be no studying this morning. A kernel of disappointment lodged in your chest.

You were starting to wonder why you disliked him, any of them, in the first place. They were kind, funny, and more welcoming than ninety percent of the other people you'd met at Hogwarts.

The kernel of disappointed grew into a boulder of guilt, crushing and cold, at the realization. Your comfort was a construct. You'd been so stuck in your own head, in your assumptions, that it hadn't occurred to you that maybe you were wrong. That maybe, way out of your comfort zone, you'd actually love it.

A soft knock sounded against your dorm door. You threw off your covers and wrapped the blanket around yourself before pulling open the door.

You were not expecting to see Lily Evans standing there dressed in shorts and a bikini top, a pair of sunglasses keeping her copper hair out of her face. She had a colorful bag slung over her shoulder.

“Morning, sunshine,” she chirped, smiling at you.

“Oh, uh, hey, Lily. What's up?” You pulled the quilt tighter around yourself. Merlin, Lily was beautiful.

“We're spending the afternoon by the lake and I was wondering if you wanted to join?”

“Who, ah, who’s going to be there?” You asked, tongue thick with anxiety.

“James,” she replied, green eyes glimmering. “And the others too, but who cares about them.”

“Well, I—I don't have a bathing suit—”

Lily pushed past you, dropping her bag onto your bed and rummaging through it before pulling out an adorable black bathing suit. “I had a feeling you'd say that. And before you start—” she held up a finger to shush your protests, “We can make it whatever size you need.”

“Lily—”

“Please? We really want you there. It's been nice having a sane person around,” she said, taking your hands. “And James was too shy to come here and ask himself.”

You snorted. “James Potter? Shy?”

“I know.” Lily nodded solemnly. “He's different with you—good different,” she clarified when your frowned. “He's baking, for Merlin’s sake.”

You giggled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Alright, you win.”

Lily grinned, clapping her hands together. “They're already there, so let's go!”

You quickly changed it the bathing suit and your one pair of shorts, fishing your sunglasses from the very bottom of your trunk.

“Oh, honey,” Lily purred, casting an appreciative eye over you. “He's going to combust.”

Embarrassment burned your cheeks, but deep down, you hoped she was right.

It was a gorgeous day, temperate and blue-skied, a rare, cloudless afternoon in Scotland. It seemed half the school was frolicking around the grounds, piled onto picnic blankets and playing football in the open fields, wildflowers dotting the hillside.

When your reached the edge of the lake, your traitorous eyes immediately found James.

Waist-deep in the blue water and sun-kissed, rippling muscles on display as he splashed around with Peter and Remus, dark hair slicked back and dripping onto his broad shoulders. He was practically glowing, a gilded God among scrawny teenagers, and your mouth went sandy.

Then, he saw you.

If you thought he was glowing before—Lily was right, the poor boy damn near combusted. His face shattered into an enormous smile, his glasses going crooked from the force of it.

“Y/n!” He called loudly enough to alert everyone in the general vicinity, throwing his arms out in surprise.

“Hey, James,” you laughed, giving him a timid wave. It felt like every eye turned to you, burning into your skin like the dazzling sunlight. “I'm just going to go set my stuff down,” you said to Lily, spotting a shady tree just by the water you could retreat to.

The tree was just wide enough to hide you from prying eyes, the shadow of its leaves a balm on your overheated skin. You'd only been outside for five minutes, and already you were floundering. Here you were, hiding away instead of running into the water with Lily, towards the fucking Adonis waiting for you.

“Hey, you.”

You jumped, whirling around to find James standing right behind you, rubbing a towel over his sopping hair. “Oh, uh, hey.” Merlin, he was even more beautiful up close.

“Lily dragged you out, huh?” He wrapped the towel around his waist, leaving his hair even wilder than usual.

“She did,” you replied, desperately trying to keep your eyes from wandering down his torso. “Said you were too much of a pansy to ask me yourself.”

James guffawed, head falling back on his shoulders as he laughed. “That witch,” he chuckled. “You didn't come just to humiliate me, did you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you are the center of the universe.”

“Your universe, ideally.” He flirted, and your stomach flipped, somersaulting with your lungs and leaving you a bit breathless.

Thankfully, a screech from Lily being thrown into the water by Remus saved you from having to formulate a response. You turned at the sound, and your gaze snagged on a group of fifth years ogling James, and glaring daggers at you.

One of the girls shielded her mouth with her hand, muttering something to her friend while her eyes flicked up and down your body, and they burst out laughing.

Anxiety coiled tight in your chest, skin suddenly too tight on your body, the bathing suit suffocating. Everything was too bright, too loud, too open—

“Hey,” James said gently, his hands finding your hips and turning so his body was blocking yours from the girls. “Love, look at me. What's happened?” He bent down, trying to catch your eyes as they bounced around from onlooker to onlooker.

Fuck, everyone was looking.

“Them,” you mumbled, voice pitched an octave higher.

James looked back towards them, brows furrowed, and you made a hiss of protest, grabbing his chin and turning his head back towards you.

“Don't look,” you pleaded, crossing yours arms over your chest to cover yourself.

His confused expression twisted in consternation, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Look at me.”

You couldn't, too focused on the others.

“Don't look at them, look at me,” he said, a little firmer, his grip tightening on your hips. Your eyes flicked up to his, finding them molten, burning, pupils wide and dark. “Do you want to be here with me?” He asked.

Tentatively, you nodded. Unable to lie to him when he was looking at you, holding you, like that.

“I want you here with me too. More than anything.”

“James—”

“If you want to go back to your dorm, I'll take you myself right now,” he promised, voice trodden with sincerity. “We will do whatever you want to do. Just say the word.”

We will. The two words echoed in your mind, as tangible and concrete as your bat sonar. Whatever you decided, whatever you wanted, he was with you.

“I want to stay here,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his eye so he knew you meant it.

“Would you like to swim, or stay here in the shade?”

You hesitated, then— "Swim,” you answered.

He grinned, and one his hands skimmed across your hip towards your stomach. “That's a brave girl,” he cooed, and with a flick of his wrist, he popped the button of your shorts open.

Your mind went gooey as James helped you shimmy your shorts down your legs, letting them drop into a heap at your feet, tingles erupting over your skin in the wake of his hands.

“Brace yourself, sweetheart. Water’s cold,” was his only warning before he scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and charging into the frigid water with you in his arms.

“James!” You shrieked as he spun you, the heat of his body a sharp contrast to the bite of the water reaching your ribs.

“Couldn't let you talk yourself out of it,” he hummed, one of his hands coming up to smooth the hair out of your face. Droplets of water ran down your neck, making you shiver, and his smile widened.

“Just don't throw me,” you warned, failing miserably at sounding stern.

He scoffed. “You're crazy if you think I'm letting you go now, love.”

Then, a giant arc of water came crashing over the both of you, soaking you completely in a blast of cold. James tightened his grip on you, sturdy enough to keep you both upright under the onslaught.

You sputtered and wiped the water from your eyes, cursing, only to find Sirius doubled over laughing.

“Hold that thought,” James said, carefully setting you on your feet, the water reaching your chest. He shot a withering glare at Sirius, and the tattooed boy straightened, eyes glinting with challenge. “You're gonna regret that.” And James lunged, tackling Sirius back into the water with an echoing splash.

You wasted the afternoon in the water, splashing and horseplaying until you were shivering, toes numb and fingers crinkly, cheeks sore from smiling.

James wrapped an arm around your middle from behind, catching you mid-yawn, the setting sun and the cold sapping the last dreggs of your energy. “C’mon, love. Your lips are looking a little blue,” he murmured, resting his chin against your shoulder.

“Why are you looking at my lips?” You chided lightly, turning your head so your nose brushed his cheek.

He chuckled. “Can't help myself.”

You let him coax you out of the water and onto the plush grass, and stretched out on your towel under the tree you scouted earlier, letting the warmth of the sinking sun soak into your chilled skin.

James sat beside you, his back against the tree and legs stretched long. “Never thought I'd see this,” he said, quietly enough you weren't sure if he was speaking to you.

“See what?” You asked, tilting your head back to peer up at him, dappled sunlight kissing his tanned chest.

“You stretched out in the sun like a housecat,” he teased. “Sunshine looks pretty on you.”

Affection curled in your chest, simpering and saccharine. “Thanks, Jamie.” You inched up at bit, resting your head on his lap and letting your eyes flutter closed, basking in the drowsy decadence of it all.

His fingers combed thorough your hair, untangling the knots sewn by the water, and drawing you deeper into oncoming sleep.

“But you look stunning in the moonlight too,” he murmured, fingertip tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your jaw. “My little night dweller.”

It felt like a dream, sweet and simple and golden, and you couldn't believe how different your life looked with James Potter in it.

“Tell me something awful about you,” you asked, twisting to look up at him.

“Something awful?” He smirked, dropping his arm over your waist, thumb grazing lazily on your skin. “I snore in my sleep. I put too much sugar in my tea. What kind of awful are you after?”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”

“I’d think you'd find plenty awful about me,” he ribbed.

“You'd think,” you hummed, turning your face away so you didn't melt under the radiance in his gaze.

Quickly, you were succumbing to James’ charm, being drawn closer and closer to his gravity, a lonely moon caught in the heavy orbit of the sun.

You felt helpless to it, and that scared you more than anything. You didn't want to need him, to need anybody. It was so much safer to be on your own.

But you weren't sure you wanted safer anymore.

James’ POV

After that day by the lake, James was hooked. Trailing your scent, your energy, your presence like a starving hound. He couldn't get enough of you, and you were kind enough to indulge him. Things hadn't progressed further than they did that day, lingering touches and loaded glances.

Normally, James would dive head first into the deep end, but he found himself wanting to follow your lead. Relishing in the quiet in between moments as much as the more charged ones, content to just be near you, savor you in whatever capacity you'd allow him.

He was just grateful you'd let him in at all. It felt like a gift, a glimpse at something secret and deeply rare, and it was not a blessing he was keen to squander by indulging in his usual hedonistic impulses.

He was happy to tread lightly, to let you step out of the shadows one bit at a time. Patience was never a virtue of his, but for you, he'd find the strength.

A week later, James was late to dinner, Quidditch practice having run well over. Sweat and dirt still clung to him, his training uniform uncomfortable against his balmy skin. But he was fucking starved, the gnawing in his stomach eating away at his mood.

The only thing getting him through was knowing that you'd be there waiting for him. He hadn't seen you at all that day, and it was wearing on him much like the hunger. Leaving him raw and wanting.

He went to push open the doors to the Great Hall at the same moment Lily came dashing out of them.

“Lils?”

“James! What took you so damn long?” She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him into the Hall. “I was just going to look for you!”

“Practice ran long, saints, Lily—what's up?” He registered the shouting in the next moment, Sirius’ booming voice echoing off the high ceiling. A crowd had gathered at the end of one of the tables, jostling and jeering. Slughorn was in the thick of it, trying to get between Sirius and whoever he was raging at with little success.

Then, James noticed you standing just behind Sirius, Remus hovering protectively at your side. You had a hand pressed to your mouth, the other arm wrapped around your torso. Tears were pooling in your pretty eyes, and the last shred of James’ patience severed.

He knew instantly what had transpired, had heard the mutterings in the hall, the gossip and the merciless chatter. He knew people were talking about the two of you, the Head Boy and Hogwarts' resident recluse, and he knew that it was wearing on you, despite the brave face you put on.

He just never thought anyone would take it this far.

He was across the Hall in a few long strides. He grabbed the bloke Sirius was screaming at by his hood and yanked him backwards, throwing him down onto the ground. “What do we have here?” James snarled, looming over the sniveling rat, his boot placed firmly on the pricks sternum to keep him from scuttling away. “Upsetting my girl, are we?”

“No, no! I, uh—”

“What happened, love?” James asked, looking over his shoulder to you, but you only shook your head, too upset to speak. His rage flared hotter. “Padfoot?” James tried again, turning to Sirius.

“Him and his buddies were crowding her, calling her mute—” Sirius voice broke, splintering with anger. “Asked if her tongue worked at all,” Sirius spat, glaring at the other two boys cowering behind Slughorn.

James turned his attention back to the roach under his boot. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip your tongue out and shove it up your ass?”

“Fuck, Potter! It was a joke!” He sputtered.

“Let’s see if it was worth the laugh, then,” James cocked his foot back, kicking the kid sharply once in the side, then again in the kidneys when he curled up to protect his vitals.

Too fucking bad.

James kicked him a third time, pain shooting up his shin from the force, but before he could drop onto him, imagining ripping the fuckers tongue out with his bare hands, breaking his face open under his fists, a pair of arms wrapped around his middle. They pulled back on him with meager strength, trying to tug him away from his groveling victim.

He immediately knew it was you.

“Stop, Jamie. Please stop,” you whimpered, your forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. “It’s done. It’s over.”

His hand rested over yours on his abdomen, his breath coming out in jagged huffs. He hadn't realized he was shaking with rage until he felt your steadiness pressed against him. Trying to hold him together.

“He hurt you,” was all James could think to say, the crimson pulse of anger still throbbing at the edges of his vision. No one fucking hurt you.

“And you hurt him back,” you murmured into his jersey, clinging to him like you were afraid he'd lunge again. Hurting him wasn't enough. He needed to ruin him, throttle him, beat him so badly no one fucked with you ever again— “It's over.”

James drew a deep inhale, trying to focus at your warmth against his back, your willowy fingers clasped under his. “It's over,” James repeated, fixing the perpetrators with a warning glare. “So apologize, and stay the fuck away from her.”

They all nodded, muttering apologies while scooping up their groaning friend and hurrying out of the Great Hall. Only once they were gone did you release him.

James turned to face you, guilt churning in his stomach and an apology on his tongue, but you were already half-way down the aisle, wiping angrily at your cheeks as you stormed out. Leaving James standing there, feeling as filthy inside as he was on the outside.

No, no, no.

He knew he shouldn't. Knew he should let you go, give you space so you both could calm down. But he ran after you anyways.

“Y/n!” He shouted, running out into the hall and catching up to you in a few long strides. “Hey, wait—sweetheart, please—”

“I can't do this James,” you blurted, spinning on your heel to face him, and he staggered to a stop. “I-It's too much.” You shook your head as tears rolled down your cheeks, like you'd come to some sort of decision in your head. “I thought I could, but I can't—I tried, I—I’m sorry.”

His mind was reeling, too cluttered with anger and adrenaline and panic to find the words to make you stay. “Baby, don't go—” He reached for you, but you took a step back, then another. “We can do this—” His fingers brushed your hand the same moment you shifted, rocketing off through an open window, disappearing into the dark night.

“No, y/n! Wait!” He cried, but you were long gone, leaving his heart cleaved in two, his soul hollowed out. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, tugging hard at the roots of his hair. It wasn't enough. “Fuck!” He shouted, his fist connecting with the stone wall and making the nosy portraits scatter. Something cracked in his hand, but he could barely feel it over the agony in his chest.

“Prongs,” Sirius called, he, Lily, and Remus following him out onto the hall.

“I went too far,” James muttered, chest rising and falling rapidly, barely able to breathe through the crushing guilt. The sucking vacuum of emptiness you left behind.

“We all did,” Remus said gently. “Sirius whacked one of them in the head with a dinner plate.”

James loosed a wry chuckle, splintered and uneven, and shook his head. “I fucked this up, pushed her too far.”

None of his friends commented. The pity on their faces was answer enough.

“You can fix it, just—just give her some space,” Lily said, approaching cautiously. Like he was some kind of wild animal.

He stepped back from her, unable to bear their sympathy when he felt so wretched. “I'll see you later,” he muttered, turning on his heel and stalking away.

Reader’s POV

A week later…

Burrowed under your blankets, cocooned in the thick warmth of your own labored breathing, steamy from your countless shed tears.

You couldn't believe you had run off like that, skittish as a hare, spooked at the first sign of trouble. He'd stood up for you, damn near got himself expelled because some dip shits wagged their tongues at you.

But you couldn't escape the cloying tar pit of shame their words opened in your gut—what if they were right? What if all you were to James was a conquest? Another trophy for his display case?

It ate through you, sticky and dark and consuming, worsened by the guilt swimming through like a barbed alligator. Because how could you think that of him? How could you dismiss all you'd learned about his heart over the last few weeks so flippantly?

James wasn't like that, and he surely wouldn't have risked his Head Boy status for a meager hunt already halfway snared. He wouldn't treat someone like a consolation prize.

But…how well did you really know him?

Certainly not enough to expose yourself to the inevitable agony of trying to wrap your arms around the sun. He was James fucking Potter. He was everything. And you were bitter and lonely and lost.

You were better off here, saving all your romanticism for your inner life, rather than waste it on a fantasy.

“Y/n,” one of your roommates called gently, shaking your shoulder through the quilt. “You have some visitors.”

“I don't feel well,” you muttered petulantly.

“That makes two of you,” Sirius said, and your stomach dropped.

Slowly, you inched yourself out of the blanket, squinting at the golden sunlight filtering into the room. The air was decidedly cooler out there than in your little cave, and it stung your tear-scraped cheeks.

Sirius and Remus stood by your bed, the latter looking supremely uncomfortable.

“What do you want?” You asked, scrubbing a hand over your face to clear the cobwebs and crustys.

“Normally we wouldn't, ah, get involved,” Remus began, scratching the back of his head. “But—”

“But James is our best mate, and he's an absolute disaster,” Sirius cut in. “And clearly you aren't fairing much better.”

“So you've come to lecture me?” You bit, stung by his bluntness.

“No,” Remus said, glaring pointedly at Sirius. “We wanted to talk to you because—”

“Because we probably understand what you're feeling better than anyone,” Sirius finished.

You raised an incredulous eyebrow. “That’s presumptuous.”

“Perhaps,” Remus placated. “But we know better than anyone what it's like to be loved by James, and not really understand why.”

Your jaw clenched, a bitchy retort lashing at the backs of your teeth despite the glow his words stoked to life in your chest. James didn't love you. How could he?

Sirius sat on the edge of your bed, yet again completely unperturbed by your attitude. “James can be really fucking naive, and entirely too optimistic. Down right ignorant sometimes if I’m honest—”

“But he's also genuine, and loyal,” Remus interjected. “And it makes you want to, ah, redirect him, if you will.”

“You push him away because you don't think he understands what he's signing himself up for,” Sirius clarified. “Moons and I have done it at least a dozen times each.”

“And how is that relevant to me?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, like that would stop them from seeing into your heart further.

“Maybe it isn't.” Sirius shrugged. “Maybe you actually do think he's a brute and hate him for defending your honor in front of the entire school.”

Ouch.

You shot him a loathsome glare.

“Or maybe you're scared shitless by how loudly he loves, so you bailed to try and protect yourself,” he shot back.

“And to protect him from you,” Remus added.

You shook your head, fresh tears burning behind your eyes. You hated how right they were, and how pathetic it made you feel.

“Look,” Sirius said, softening his voice. “We just wanted to say that it's worth it.”

You looked back up at them, their faces blurred with salt water, as the fight rinsed from your body like grime from a window pane.

Remus offered you a handkerchief. “It's vulnerable, and it's messy, but it's worth it,” Remus said. “He’s worth it.”

Sirius nodded sagely. “You just have to trust him.”

“It's not him I don't trust,” you murmured, ringing the handkerchief in your hands, Remus’ initials staring up at you in delicate silver thread.

Remus gave you a sad, knowing smile. “You have to trust yourself too.”

“Alright, that's quite enough sentimentality for one afternoon,” Sirius said, pushing to his feet and ushering Remus towards the door.

“His first match back is Saturday!” Remus called over his shoulder as Sirius herded him out onto the hall.

“We'll save you a seat,” Sirius said with a wink before closing the door behind him.

Their words echoed in your mind, ringing true despite the countless excuses you'd made over the last few days. Deep down, you knew Remus was right; James was worth it.

But could you love him the way he deserved with all your pessimism and anxiety and thorns?

Would it be so bad to try?

James’ POV

He didn't see you for two weeks after that, besides in Charms, where you kept your head down and refused to look at him. He returned to his usual spot beside Remus, wishing it was your warmth he felt instead of the afternoon sun.

Two weeks he sat in evening detention, staring out the windows and hoping to see your silhouette flutter past the moon. 14 days he was benched from Quidditch for his injured hand, remembering the way your soft skin felt under his rough palm. 336 hours he found himself without words, preferring the silence over pointless chatter. 20160 seconds he spent in his head, where you were still beside him, and you looked at him with fondness instead of fear.

Everyone was buzzing for his first match back on the pitch. But he felt disconnected from it all, like the James Potter they were talking about was someone else entirely.

He didn't want to be that James Potter, he wanted to be your Jamie.

He hoped the feeling would melt away once the match started, flying through the air always did wonders for his mood, but if anything, he felt worse. You weren't there to watch him, so what was the fucking point?

His mood reflected in his play, and so the match went on, and on, and on. In the sixth hour, the sun long ago set, the players were dead in the air, the stands listless. But Quidditch didn't stop until the snitch was caught or enough points were scored that losing team forfeited, and James hadn’t scored a single point.

His hand was aching, sore from disuse, and his captain was screaming at him. Even his friends looked disappointed, slumped against one another in their seats, where they hadn't budged for the entire game.

Something whizzed by, catching his attention. At first he thought it was the snitch, and lifted his hand to signal the Seeker, but then it flew by again. Zipping by like a little shadow.

He nearly fell off his broom when he realized.

You slowed a bit, fluttering around his head, the delicate breeze from your wings ruffling his sweaty hair.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, unable to stop the smile pulling the corners of his mouth. He reached out to touch you when you suddenly banked away, swooping down towards the goals.

You gripped the top of the largest hoop with your little feet, and dangled upside down from it, stretching your wings before wrapping them around yourself, like you were getting comfy.

The Hufflepuff Keeper spotted you and flew a bit closer, curious. James was about to shout for them to leave you alone when you loosed a wrathful hiss, flaring your wings, and the Keeper reared back, screeching about a flying rat.

“Potter!” King shouted at him, and he turned just in time to catch the Quaffle headed his way.

The Keeper was too distracted by you to guard the hoop properly, and James smirked.

“Potter scores ten points for Gryffindor!”

“Another ten for James Potter!”

“That's 50 points for Gryffindor, what a come back!”

The continued scoring seemed to re-energize the game, the crowd on its feet and roaring in approval. James couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed a Quidditch match so much, and it was all because of you.

“And the Seeker catches the snitch! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

James whooped and cheered with his team, but he was searching the sky for you, his heart so full he thought he might choke on it. It seemed you were gone, though, as he had a feeling you might be, the excitement and cheering too much for your sensitive ears.

He landed heavily on the ground, his muscles exhausted from hours of staying airborne, and straightened to greet the crowd of Gryffindors that were pouring onto the pitch. But as soon as he did, he spotted you racing towards him.

“You did it!” You cried, throwing your arms around his neck as your body collided with his, making him stagger back a step.

His mind short-circuited, struggling to process what was happening. You weren't gone, you were here and wearing his scarf and…hugging him? In front of the entire student body?

Did he fall off his broom and hit his head? Because this had to be a dream.

He dropped his broom to hold you properly, one arm looped around your waist, the other holding your head against his shoulder. He squeezed as tight as his tired muscles could, burying his nose into your neck and drawing a long, greedy inhale.

“Couldn't have done it without you,” he murmured, fighting back the tears of relief pooling behind his eyes. You were here. It wasn't a dream, or a fantasy. You were real, solid and beautiful and trembling in his arms as the crowd cheered, confetti raining over your heads as fireworks popped in the obsidian sky.

You pulled your head back, cheeks streaked with tears and gave him a wobbly little smile. “I'm so proud of you, and I'm sorry for what I said.”

He shushed you with a peck on the cheek, then another on your nose, temple, the corner of your mouth—Merlin, he couldn't stop himself.

“I want to try again,” you said through water-logged giggles, fingers curling the hood of his uniform. “Please, Jamie?”

“Of course,” he said, caving to temptation and pecking your lips. “I’m yours,” he mumbled against your lips, and you grinned, kissing him again. You tasted like nectar and moonlight. Sweeter than any victory. And he let himself indulge, setting you on your feet so he could kiss you harder, deeper, drown in your winsome little sounds as you finally, finally, opened up for him.

The shadow to his sunlight, the moon to his tides, the other half of his heart, safe in his arms at long last.

#james potter #the marauders #james potter fanfiction #marauders #james potter fic #james potter x you #james potter x reader #marauders fic #the marauders era #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #james potter drabble #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #the marauders era fic #animagus!reader

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wafflefries13 · 3 months ago

Text

Sick Day, But Cute (Multi TWST Cast X Reader)

Summary: A magical illness is spreading through NRC, with some... rather adorable symptoms. AKA, all your friends are suddenly toddlers?!

AN: I actually ended up starting this waaaay back when I started writing fanfiction again, but sort of forgot about it and found it again recently. It's kind of at this point where I realized a lot my tics in writing. Thanks for reading! Cross posed on my AO3 TheGhostInTheKitchen.

Warnings: Fluff, platonic relationships, AFAB reader, She/Her pronouns

From “Perfect Prefect”: omg, omg, omg

From “Jacked”: What’s up?

From “Juice”: Is there another overblot?!

From “Aces High”: I’ve got ten madol that it’s someone from Diasomnia

From “Crocodile Tears”: As if! Diasomnia students are far too refined and disciplined for that!

From “Eple Pie”: I’ll match that bet, Ace!

From “Crocodile Tears”: Hey!

From “Astro Boy”: What happened, (Y/N)?

From “Perfect Prefect”: Look who I found!

From “Perfect Prefect”: Picture sent

From “Juice”: …

From “Eple Pie”: omg is right.

From “Jacked”: Is that…?

From “Aces High”: On my way!

Despite the vast campus of Night Raven College, the group of first years convened on the Ramshackle dorm within minutes of the picture being sent.

“Grim,” (Y/N) called out to her fireball cat monster roommate. “Can you make sure the front door is unlocked? I don’t want them busting it down like last time.”

“Can’t you do it? I’m still scrubbing ink out of my fur!”

(Y/N) lifted the bundle in their arms, the cause of the excitement. “Sort of got my hands full here.”

A slam and the sound of cracking wood emanate from the front hall, followed by, “(Y/N!)”

The prefect sighed. “Too late.”

Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Ortho, and Sebek practically tripped over each other as they rushed into the sitting room, freezing in their tracks when they saw the Prefect and the small purple-and-white form they were cradling.

“So,” (Y/N) said, breaking the shocked silence. “I’m guessing this is one of those weird magic things?”

A large pair of blue-gray eyes peeked out from a mass of dark purple tentacles twisted around (Y/N)’s arms, gripping for dear life, before quickly ducking back down in hiding. The small figure emitted a small wail. (Y/N) bounced the tiny octopus-mer in their arms. “Shh, it’s alright, you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Jack took a cautious step forward, reaching out a nervous hand. “Is that… really Azul?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “I mean, it has to be, right?”

“It has to be?” Epel echoed. “What the heck happened?

“I was hoping you guys would be able to help me figure that out. Azul came over this morning to talk about a bill someone had racked up at the Monstro Lounge.” (Y/N) not so subtly glared at Grim, who rolled his eyes and kept scrubbing at his octo-ink stained fur. “I left the room for just a second to get some tea and when I came back, boom! Baby Azul.”

“Oh, man, this is great,” Ace snickered while pulling out his phone. “This’ll be great blackmail the next time he tries to get us into a stupid contract.”

“Ace, wait-!”

Before (Y/N) could warn them, Azul reared back and spit a large black glob of ink at Ace’s phone, covering his phone and hands and splattering his uniform.

“Yeah, he doesn’t really like having his picture taken.”

“Ugh!” Ace waved his hands, sending ink spraying the other first years with black goop. “You got a picture!”

(Y/N) shrugged with a smirk. “Maybe he just likes me more.”

Ortho cautiously hovered closer. “My scans indicate this is in fact Azul Ashengrotto. There is some sort of magical residue surrounding his body.”

“You think someone cursed him?” Deuce asked. “Hey, stop!” He shouted as Ace tried to wipe the ink on his jacket.

Sebek crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t be surprised, considering what he tries to get away with.”

Azul started sniffling. “Hey, knock it off!” (Y/N) defended.

Ortho tilted his head, examining Azul closer. Azul reached out a hand, fascinated by the lights on Ortho’s body and glowing hair. “I don’t recognize this kind of magical resonance from any curses,” Ortho said. “But I can research and find out! Idia might know something!”

“What are you going to do with him?” Jack asked, poking a tentacle that was wrapped tightly around (Y/N)’s arm.

“I’m going to drop him off with Jade then let the Headmage know what’s going on. You know, see if he actually has any answers for once.”

“Mrow!” Grim yelled, frustrated, throwing down the ink-stained rag he had been desperately using to try and clean his fur. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but that octo-punk is gonna pay for ruining my perfect fur!”

Epel sighed. “Hang on, Vil taught me some ways to get stains out. Maybe I can help. Prefect, do you have hairspray?”

“Check the upstairs bathroom, Grim can show you. Ortho, let me know if you find anything out, okay?”

Ortho saluted. “Roger that!”

Sebek rubbed his chin in thought. “Lilia might know something. And if anyone can reverse a curse, it would be Lord Malleus! Ashengrotto should be eternally grateful for the future king’s assistance-!”

“I’ll come with you to Octavinelle,” Jack cut in, purposefully ignoring Sebek’s offended look at being interrupted.

“Deuce and I have to report back to Heartslabyul,” Ace said as the two card soldiers flicked ink at each other. “If Riddle sees us like this we’ll be on hedgehog duty for a month.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Sounds like we have a plan, then. Let me know if anyone hears anything. Or maybe sees anymore babies.” They rubbed their nose against baby Azul’s, causing the little house warden to giggle.

The first years all went their separate ways, Jack, (Y/N), and their squirming package headed to the mirror chamber.

“Do you think he needs water?” Jack asked. “He’s a merman after all.”

(Y/N) carded their fingers through Azul’s soft, fluffy hair. “I gave him some earlier and he seemed okay. I’m sure the less time out of water is better though. We don’t want any octo-jerky, do we, Azul?” They tickled him under his chin.

Jack couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. As many problems as he had with the cunning and scheming house warden, he couldn’t help but be reminded of his younger siblings back home. “You’re good with children.”

The prefect blinked up at him, surprised. “You think?”

“You’ve managed to keep a rein on that one, at least. He looks like he’ll burst out crying the second you stop paying attention to him.”

“Hmm. Maybe I’m just spoiling him, then. That’s okay, though, right, Azul? You’re cute enough to spoil, right?” (Y/N) held him up, his tentacles wrapping tight around their arms. He made grabby hands to come back closer, giggling and basking in the attention. Jack chuckled and (Y/N) mockingly glared at him. “We never say a word of this when he turns back, of course.”

Jack nodded seriously. “Of course.”

“(Y/N)! Jack!” The two stopped. Kalim waved at them, jogging over with Jamil following behind. “Hi! What’s going on?”

“I would love to know,” (Y/N) said, shrugging.

Kalim stopped in his tracks, causing Jamil to almost crash into him, as he spied Azul. Kalim practically squealed with delight and rushed over. “Oh my gosh! How cute! Does Azul have a little brother?”

“Not… exactly,” (Y/N) said. She quickly summarized the situation.

While Kalim gushed over the toddler, Azul was more interested in Jamil, reaching out with his chubby hands and tentacles to try and wrap around his hands. “Aww,” Kalim said. “He remembers you!”

“I don’t know how much of that is a good thing,” Jamil scowled, torn between jerking his hands away and indulging the mer-boy in his exploration.

“Jamil, you know everything, got any ideas?” (Y/N) asked.

Jamil huffed, a small smile playing on his lips. “Not everything, apparently. Some sort of curse, obviously, but other than that I’m sure you would need to do some type of testing.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what we thought.”

They said their goodbyes, Kalim waving enthusiastically at Azul who really didn’t seem to know how to respond to his exuberance.

The trio arrived at the mirror chamber, stepping through to Octavinelle. The temperature immediately dropped several degrees due to the water surrounding the dorm, suspended in the air around the building and walkways. The light took on a cool blue tint, interrupted by the shadows of fish darting through the water. (Y/N) often wondered if the dorm was actually underwater or if this was some sort of illusion to help the mer students that made up the majority of the dorm feel more at home.

“I have to admit,” Jack said, looking around for either of the Leech twins. “The more I think about leaving Azul here, the more nervous I get.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Jade is good in a crisis and Floyd is surprisingly gentle with kids. Plus, they were all friends when they were little, maybe Azul will recognize them or something.” She frowned in thought. “Although, now that you mention it, I do suppose this would be a perfect opportunity to take advantage of.”

“My, I didn’t realize you had such a low opinion of us.” (Y/N) and Jack jumped, spinning to face the Ocatvinelle vice-housewanden. He was smiling slyly but wiped away a fake tear from his eye. “And here I thought we had built a trusted rapport.”

“Depends on the crisis, maybe,” (Y/N) said. “Or the potential reward.”

“Ooh, are we talking about rewards?” Floyd slid next to (Y/N), throwing a causal arm around their shoulders. “Not sure if it’s worth the effort, but I’ll take-” He cut himself off, eyes growing wide. He jerked forward, putting himself nose to nose with the tiny octo-mer. “No way, no way! Jade, check this out!”

“Oh dear,” Jade said, stepping forward. He actually looked surprised for once. “Isn’t this a blast from the past?”

Azul let out a small wail as Floyd started poking at him and tugging his tentacles. (Y/N) smacked his hand. “Hey, cut it out! Poor thing is having a hard day.”

“What exactly happened?” Jade asked. He chucked as Azul puffed up his cheeks in annoyance.

“We were hoping you might have an idea,” Jack said.

“He showed up at Ramshackle today normal, then, well… I didn’t see when it happened.”

Floyd snatched Azul out of (Y/N)’s arms, ignoring their protest, and held him high up. “Aww, aren’t you a cute little guppy? Maybe we should just keep you like this for a while. You don’t yell at me nearly as much!”

Azul puckered his lips in a now familiar motion. “Floyd, look out-!” (Y/N) tried to warn.

In the next second, Floyd’s face was covered in black ink. Jack and (Y/N) froze in tense anticipation. Floyd blinked before his sharp toothy smile split across his face. He burst out laughing, cuddling Azul, who was writhing in a desperate attempt to escape. “You haven’t done that since we were kids!”

Jade gently pried Azul away from Floyd, using a handkerchief to dab away dribbling ink from Azul’s face. “Perhaps I should bring him to our swim tank. Floyd, would you mind grabbing a pot and lid from the Monstro Lounge kitchen?”

Floyd frowned. “Aww, but if he hides I can’t pinch his big cheeks anymore!”

“That’s exactly the point.”

(Y/N) took a step back, worry about Azul’s condition and care growing smaller but not disappearing completely. “I’m going to go ask Crowley if he has any idea what’s going on. I’ll let you guys know once I know something.”

Jade waved a hand. “Please, take your time. I think we’ll have a fine time together, won’t we, Azul?”

“Uh, yeah, we’ll leave it to you guys, then.” (Y/N) ruffled Azul’s hair. “Bye, buddy. I’ll see you soon and hopefully we’ll get back to normal.”

Floyd hummed thoughtfully. “Hey, how much do you think he’ll remember when he turns back?”

As Jack and (Y/N) left Octavinelle, Jack decided to go back to Savanaclaw. “I’ll ask Leona if he has any idea about this, too. He may not like putting effort into things, but he is probably one of the most talented mages here.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for your help.” They parted ways and (Y/N) headed back to the main school building to talk to Crowley. Heading up the stairs, their phone rang, #CayCay showing up on the caller ID. “Hey, Cater, what’s up?”

“Uh, hey,” Cater said, slightly panicked, although he was clearly still trying to sound carefree. “Ace and Deuce were with you earlier, right? Were they, uh, okay?”

(Y/N) blinked, a nervous churning settling in their stomach. “Yeah? Ace kind of got, uh, in a mess, but they were okay when they left. What happened?”

“Oh, you know, it’s probably fine, Riddle’s looking into- No, wait! Deuce, don’t put that in your mouth!”

The line suddenly went dead. (Y/N) spun back down the stairs and sprinted to the Heartslabyul mirror portal.

Stepping through the mirror portal into Heatslabyul immediately assaulted (Y/N) with the scent of roses laced with sugar. Much brighter than Octavinelle, it was more confusing in its layout, with twisting paths that often doubled back on each other and confusing topiary walls. But (Y/N) was able to beeline to their destination, following the alarmed yelling.

“I’m here, I’m here!” She said, sliding into part of the garden where they often held unbirthday parties. “What happen- oh.”

(Y/N) had gotten used to the sight of a younger Azul, but the child Ace and Deuce sent a whole new wave of confusion and dread through them. The two of them were wrestling, getting grass stains on their uniforms with cake smooshed on their faces. Cater cooed from a distance safe from cake splatter taking pictures with his phone.

“(Y/N)! There you are!” (Y/N) turned to greet Trey but froze. He held a small, scowling redhead child.

“Oh. Oh, no.”

“That’s not an inaccurate read of the situation,” Trey said, chuckling as the little Riddle yelled at Ace and Deuce to stop roughhousing and getting dirty.

(Y/N) quickly explained the situation that had happened that morning with Azul. “They were fine when they left! It wasn’t even an hour ago.”

“We’re not sure what happened either,” Trey said. “Another student came to get me a minute ago. He said Riddle was lecturing Ace and Deuce for getting their uniforms dirty with ink, however that happened,” (Y/N) gulped and looked away. “Then there was a crash and they were just like this.”

(Y/N) sighed and put their hands on their hips. “At this point I kind of just accept this magic nonsense can do anything.”

“Have you asked any of the teachers about it yet?”

“I was heading to Crowley when Cater called me. Hey, Cater, did you see- Oh, come on.” Cater had now joined Ace and Deuce playing on the lawn, albeit in a much younger form. He tapped the screen of his phone hard, seemingly taking more delight in the random colors and shapes than the actual function of anything.

“Alright, this is getting ridiculous. Come on, Trey, let’s bring them to the Headmage, or the infirmary at the very least. Trey?” (Y/N) closed their eyes, taking a deep breath. “If I turn around and you're a kid, Trey, I think I just might scream.” They opened their eyes and looked around. Riddle and a tiny Trey, with glasses too big for his face, were hiding under the white metal table in the garden, playing cards. “Okay, fine, it’s too cute for me to scream. But I’m still very annoyed.” They snuck their phone out to get a couple of quick snapshots of the Heartslabyul children. Thoroughly documented for future reference, and future embarrassment, (Y/N) leaned under the table. “Riddle, sweetheart, can you help me get everyone in order? We’re going on a little field trip.”

Riddle jumped up to attention, tiny face set in determination. He raced out, corralling Ace, Deuce, and Cater over to (Y/N). Ace and Deuce raced around their legs before Ace tripped and fell. His eyes started to well up with tears. (Y/N) quickly leaned down and swept him up in their arms. They decided to ignore how Ace stuck his tongue out at Deuce. Compromising by holding Duece’s hand, she lead the small group back through the mirror portal to the Headmage’s office.

She had to use her foot to kick open the door. “Crowley, we’ve got a problem.”

“I am perfectly aware of the situation! Oh, it appears I am not perfectly aware.”

(Y/N) stopped to take in the chaos of Crowley’s office. Not only was a tiny Vil with perfect posture scolding a roughed-up-looking Epel with Rook, his hat engulfing his now little head, tugged on Vil’s sleeve for his attention, but a small Leona was curled up in a patch of sunlight snoozing. A young Ruggie was sneakily going through drawers on Crowley’s desk, and a child Jack was gently petting a tiny charcoal kitten with a forked tail and blue flames coming out of his ears munching on cookies. A toddler Jamil was hovering over a small and smiling Kalim who was drawing with markers on what looked like important school paperwork. Although, there was more drawing on his and Jamil’s skin than the actual paper. Possibly most surprising, however, were the three pre-teens and an exhausted-looking teenager around the room. They also looked concerningly familiar.

(Y/N) blinked, setting down Ace and Deuce who rushed off to play with a rambunctious Epel. “Professors? Coach? Sam?”

The much younger Professor Crewel huffed and put his hands on his hips. “If one more person calls me ‘professor’ I’m going to scream.”

“Come on, Divus!” The younger, but still surprisingly buff, Coach Vargus said. “Have an adventure! This isn’t all bad!” Vargus fell on his back, scooping up Kalim and Cater who were running around and used them as press weights while the two giggled. A young Sam was listening very intently to Vil and Rook’s conversation, even if most of it was incoherent babbling.

“So,” (Y/N) said hesitantly. “That would make you…” They looked at the person who had been reduced to around their age.

“Mozus Trein,” He said matter of factly. He held Lucius, still a full-grown cat who looked even bigger in the young boy’s hands. “I take it I am a teacher here as well?”

“Uh, yeah. You don’t remember?”

He sniffed. “I can’t exactly remember something that hasn’t happened to me yet, now can I?”

“So you all have just always been like this. Okay, cool. Crowley?”

Crowley looked up from playing with Deuce, who was fascinated by the former’s mask. “Hm? Oh, yes, well, as near as I can understand, there seems to be some sort of magical virus curse. It’s spread through contact, so our best bet of minimizing effect would be to enact a quarantine.” He lifted Deuce’s hands in celebration. “Sleepover! Yay!”

(Y/N) rubbed the bridge of their nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Okay, I get how that might have happened to these guys, but what about the professors?”

Crowley waved a hand. “Bucci came to my office earlier with Kingscholar and Howl. Immediately sensing the issue at hand, for I am intuitive and precise, I called forth our faculty to help round up any other signs of infection. Although, it seems our virus is more contagious than I first thought.”

(Y/N) scratched behind the kitten Grim’s ears. He blinked up at them with large blue eyes and let out a tiny, “Mew.” (Y/N) felt their heart melt a little.

“What about me?” She asked. “I’ve been in contact with everyone who’s changed but I’m still fine.”

“I would assume the virus spreads through magic,” The young Professor Trein said. “If you have no magical ability, you’re cut off from the method of infection.”

“It also appears not all of us have been reduced to the same age,” Boy-Professor Crewel added. “It probably has something to do with how old we all were originally, cutting back by a set number of years.”

“And any idea how long it will last?” (Y/N) asked hesitantly. “No idea!” Crowley said, with not nearly enough seriousness that the situation required, lifting Ruggie into the air, his pockets bursting with various office supplies he had plundered from around the room.

“Oh, man,” (Y/N) groaned. They jerked back to attention. “Oh, man! I left Azul with Jade and Floyd! If he’s patient zero he’s probably spread the infection already!”

Crowley nodded. “It would be imperative to retrieve them, as well as anyone else infected. We’ll meet in the gymnasium until we have a further understanding of how long this should last.”

“Alright, I’ll go get them and- Wait! Sebek! He was heading back to Diasomnia! He might have infected someone else. I’ll check there then- Really?”

Now, a boy about fifteen in a long feathered coat with a black bird mask bounced Ruggie on his knee. “Hmm? Did something happen?”

“Don’t worry,” Professor Crewel said, even if it felt strange calling him that when he appeared so young. “We’ll take care of it. We’ll meet you in the gym.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Alright, team, we’ll all meet up in an hour at the gym. Coach Var- uh, Ashton? Can you stop by the kitchens to ask the ghosts to make us something for dinner? If we’re all quarantined we won’t want to stop by during rush hour in the cafeteria. Sam, check out the infirmary and grab blankets and anything else that’ll make spending the night more comfortable. We’ll work on a more permanent solution tomorrow. Mozus, Divus, and Crowley, I’m trusting you three to keep all the kids in order and get them to the gym safely.”

“Go, Team, go!” Ashton shouted, encouraging the other children to cheer. He swept the sleeping Leona up, who growled and kicked at the older boy.

“Go, team,” (Y/N) echoed weakly.

Nervously leaving the group to migrate to the gym, (Y/N) made their way back to Octavinelle to see if the, admittedly kind of funny and cute, virus had spread further. On their way across campus, (Y/N) pulled out their phone and fired a quick text to Ortho.

From “Perfect Prefect”: What are the chances you haven’t made it back to the dorm yet?

From “Astro Boy”: Poor! I’ve been back for 23 minutes and 15 seconds!

From “Perfect Prefect”: And I’m guess Idia is a lot smaller now?

From “Astro Boy”: Picture sent

(Y/N) tapped open the attached picture. It was a selfie of Ortho, his eyes twinkling brightly in enthusiastic excitement. He held the phone up high, capturing the image of him holding a toddler sized Idia practically swimming in his already oversized jacket. The tiny Ida had tears pricking the corners of his large yellow eyes, clutching a soft purple demon-looking plush.

From “Astro Boy”: Now I’m the big brother!

From “Perfect Prefect”: Crowly says it’s a virus. I’m guessing it’s a safe bet that Idia hasn’t been around anyone recently? We’re quarantining in the gym till we figure this out.

From “Astro Boy”: I’ll bring games!

(Y/N) jogged back to the mirror chamber, bursting through the portal back into Octavinelle. She did a quick sweep of the Monstro Lounge, interrogating a few confused student-waiters, then headed to the dorm proper. Nothing in the main lobby, a few clusters in the study room, just drying clothes in the laundry room. She just about missed the kitchen, swerving so hard she thought she might have given herself whiplash as she turned.

There was a crowd of Octavinelle students, dressed in their crisp lilac and black uniforms, standing in a rough circle, looking at something on the floor. She just caught the end of a flailing green tail as a student reached down to touch the wiggling mass.

“Don’t!” She yelled, causing the whole ensemble to jump. She steadied herself with her hands on her thighs, breathing heavily now that the adrenaline had caught up with her. “Don’t,” She said again. “They might be contagious.”

The gathering flinched away as (Y/N) made her way to what they had been surrounding. There was the familiar sight of the squirming Azul, cheeks puffy with a pout and crossed chubby arms. His tentacles were all tangled up with two long string-bean eels, fluctuating their bodies like ribbons on the linoleum floor. Even as children, mirror opposites of each other, it was pretty easy to tell who was who from their actions. Floyd has wrapped himself around one of Azul’s many limbs, gnawing at one. Jade is also wrapped in his tentacles, but it looks like he draped them over himself. He chatted at Azul in a mixture of child-babble and what sounds like local mer dialect. (Y/N) squatted down, hand covering her mouth, as she contemplated the situation. Azul spotted her, raising his arms up and looking at her in a way that made her heart clench. Floyd and Jade matched his pose, their cries more delighted and excited than Azul’s worried ones.

“Alright, come here,” (Y/N) said, gathering the trio of slippery mer-babies in her arms. “I don’t suppose you guys have a tank around here somewhere? And maybe a trolley or wagon?”

The, still confused but helpful, students rushed around. After a few minutes, two of them carried a large fish tank between them, another pulling a small black flatbed cart behind them. (Y/N) loaded the kids into the tank, having to tug and pull to extract them from their tight grip on her, Azul leaving little circular suction marks on her hands and arms. With a hand on her hip, she pulled the faucet from the sink and filled up the tank.

She gave her number to a couple of third years who had stepped up in a semblance of a leadership role, telling them to text her if anyone else came down with symptoms. After reassuring the Octavinelle students, as much as she could considering she herself was trying not to panic, (Y/N) pulled her new load out through the mirror portal to the gym.

She felt a splash of water on the back of her head, turning to see the three of them ducking back down into the water, giggling mischievously. “Uh-huh,” (Y/N) said, wiggling her fingers at them. “I see you.” No sooner had she turned back to start walking than another cold splash of water soaked her head. She whipped back around, jumping near the tank with a big smile and hands up in claws, much to the shrieking delight of the small children. Even Azul had started to smile, laughing along and swimming around with Floyd and Jade.

(Y/N) saw Ortho flying across campus, a thick dark blue bundle securely in his arms. A Premo branded canvas back was slung over his arm, packed with board and card games, and a few gaming systems and cartridges. She called his name and waved, Ortho stopping to wait for her to catch up.

“Let me see, let me see,” (Y/N) said. Ortho was just as giddy as he held up the small toddler. Even when he was young, Idia still had his long fiery blue hair. His bright yellow eyes were huge in his puggy face, cheeks looking like he was hiding giant marshmallows in his mouth. He blinked up at the two of them, face scrunching up before sneezing. His hair flared for a second before sighing and rubbing his face. (Y/N) and Ortho both ‘aww’ed as Idia tried to hide by burying his face in Ortho’s glowing chest.

“Think you can take care of these guys, too?” (Y/N) asked. “I still need to check on Disomania. I’ve tried texting but haven’t heard anything back from them.” Ortho saulted, taking hold of the flatbed handle. The three tiny mers splashed, trying to catch the glowing reflections of Ortho’s and Idia’s hair on the water.

(Y/N) had to run interference back on her way to the mirror chamber for the umteenth time that day. By that point, most of the campus had heard about the magical virus, and the rather adorable symptoms. She reassured them that yes, they had everything under control. Yes, they were keeping track of who was affected. Yes, classes were canceled for the rest of the day. Yes, it was all going to be solved pretty soon. Probably.

She paused back in the mirror chamber, taking a second to catch her breath. Steadying herself for whatever trouble she would find in the Thorn Fairy’s dorm, she pushed through the Magic Mirror. She blinked in the diminished light, the sky perpetually covered by threatening storm clouds. The dorm loomed over her, reminiscent of some twisted gothic cathedral. The interior did nothing to diminish this facade, all marble floors, large arched windows, and dark stone walls with green fire sconces.

“Psst!” (Y/N) stopped in the strangely empty common room, looking around for the hissed whisper. “Psst! Prefect! Over here!” A first year was frantically waving to her from his hiding behind a massive tapestry. Now that she was paying closer attention, she was able to pick out more and more students, trying to dart between hiding places to make their way through their own home.

“What’s going on?” (Y/N) asked. “Did you guys hear about the virus?”

“Virus?” He repeated. “No, I just wanted to warn you that you need to be careful. Vice-Housewarden Lilia is - Ack!” He cut himself off, darting off and slamming a door behind him down the hall as he escaped.

Brow furrowed, (Y/N) turned, freezing just as a cold razor sharp edge met her throat. Her eyes traveled from the jade colored oversized cleaver down the arm that held it up effortlessly, to the familiar yet strange face of the person who held it. It certainly looked like Lilia, for the most part anyway. The same large ruby eyes, now narrowed and sharp, the same mouth with fangs peaking over the edge to bite into his lower lip, pulled into a frown, the same bi-colored hair, now much longer and a deep red pigmentation instead of the soft pink.

(Y/N) put her hands up and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. “Lilia,” She said, willing her voice not to shake. “I know you’re probably confused right now, but I-”

“Quite, human,” He snapped, to which (Y/N) immediately obliged. “You’re not going to try and confuse me more than I already am.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. But, and this may surprise you, this is not the first, nor probably the last, time I’ve been in mortal peril, so the effect has kind of lost its edge. Present company notwithstanding.” She pushed away the massive weapons with one finger on its slicing edge.

Lilia scowled and pushed the magearm back. “I said quite. I need to think. One minute I’m in the Briar Valley overseeing training and the next I’m… wherever this is.”

“Night Raven College, if that helps.”

Lilia scoffed. “I told you all I wouldn’t accept your enrollment invitation. Does such a ‘prestigious’ school resort to kidnapping now?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them, really.”

“Listen here, human-”

“Papa!”

Both of their eyes snapped down. A small boy with silver-white hair was tugging the hem of Lilia’s shirt, rubbing his eyes with a tiny fist. He reached up, grabbing at the air. “Up, up!”

Lilia looked from the small Silver back to (Y/N) several times before renewing his scowl. “What is this? Some kind of human trick? You use children in your schemes now?”

“I think he just wants you to hold him for his nap.”

“Listen you-”

“Papa?” They both looked down again, Silver’s arms still extended, waiting. His tiny, cherubic face has started to crumble, lips wobbling in confusion, tears gathering.

Lilia hissed in a sudden breath. Taking a step back, he leaned down, keeping his eyes and weapon trained on (Y/N), and scooped Silver up with one arm. He cradled the boy close to his chest. Silver sighed contently, wrapping his chubby arms around Lilia’s neck and snuggling into his chest.

“I-” Lilia started, trying to regain some of his bravado despite the napping toddler he was gently holding.

“Silver!” A boisterous voice echoed down the stairs. “Where’d you go? We gotta keep training so we can defend the Briar Valley! I’m gonna win this time, just watch!” He tripped down the last few stepped, falling hard on his knees.

“Sebek!” (Y/N) called, taking a step to him before being cut short by Lilia rushing forward.

Sebek sniffed loudly, pushing himself up, face turning red at the effort of keeping his tears at bay.

“There now, soldier,” Lilia said, kneeling down. “A warrior of the Briar Valley must keep his composure in the face of battle, yes?”

Sebek looked up and gasped. He jumped up to attention, retrieving the fallen play sword he had dropped. “Yes, sir, General Lilia, sir!” He said, saluting.

Lilia chuckled, ruffeling Sebek’s hair. “By any chance, young one, you’re not related to Baur Zigvolt, are you?”

“Is Grandpa here? I’m gonna show him how strong I got! Look, look!” He exaggerated flexing. Noticing Silver fast asleep, he frowned, an impressively frustrated look for such a small boy. “Silver! You’re sleeping again!”

“Nooo,” Silver whined, burying himself further in Lilia’s chest.

Sebek kept jumping up to tug on Silver’s shirt until Lilia set him down. Sebek immediately grabbed the still sleepy boy’s hand and dragged him away, waving his sword at the various still hiding Disamonia residents and talking about all the adventures they were going to have. Lilia watched them wreak havoc, a small content smile making its way on his face without his noticing.

He schooled his features back into stoney fury when (Y/N) sidled up next to him, clearing her throat. “So, I bet you have some questions.”

While Lilia was skeptical about (Y/N)’s explanation, he was more acceptable to going to a more secure location. They went to the gym, Lilia holding Silver’s hand in one of his, his large magearm slug over his other shoulder. Sebek kept watch in front of the group, jumping and swinging his sword and marching while promising to protect them and become a great knight. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the campus in warm gold and pink light, stretching shadows along the pathways.

(Y/N) pushed open the doors of the gym, the clatter and cacophony of excited children immediately pouring out. Ortho was playing some high energy kind of children’s music from his built-in speakers, flashing colorful lights to the beat. Jamil and Cater were dancing, holding hands and spinning around and around until they got so dizzy they collapsed in a fit of giggles.

Idia was sitting in front of the water tank, a board game laid out in front of him. Azul had his face pressed closed to the glass, pointing to indicate his moves for the game. Frustrated at a move Idia, who smirked triumphantly, made, one of Azul’s tentacles shot out of the tank to aggressively move his piece, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied smirk.

On the other side of the tank, Riddle and Trey were throwing a ball between each other then into the tank where Floyd would whack it with his long tail sending it carrining back out of the water. The two other boys would squeal and run around, trying to catch the ball and smack it back up before it touched the ground.

Jack was sitting with his back against the tank, a large seek-and-find picture book open on his lap. Jade was leaning half way out of the tank, occasionally dipping back down to look over Jack’s shoulder. Jack would lift the book up for Jade to get a better look at and they both would point out the various hidden objects.

Vil was sitting on his knees, braiding Leona’s hair. Leona’s tail twitch. He snapped his teeth at Vil’s hands. “Stop!” Vil said, commanding even as a child. Leona nipped again, half-heartedly. Vil huffed, fists on his hips. “Stop!” Leona rolled his eyes, yawned loudly, then rolled over, letting Vil continue unbothered.

Rook, Kalim, Ruggie, Epel, Ace, and Deuce were all involved in an intense game of freeze tag, supervised by Vargus. Seeing the newcomers, Ace cheated and broke his freeze by running over to them, grabbing Sebek and Silver’s hands and pulling them into the game. Sebek yelled in protest but made no attempt to avoid joining. Silver waved goodbye to Lilia before tagging Epel back into the game.

Sam and Trien were at a makeshift cooking station, a couple of portable food warmers under disposable aluminum foil trays, dividing up dinner of spaghetti, garlic bread, and a thrown together salad to try and pretend they were being healthy. This idea was quickly dismissed as Sam took off the cover of a tray of thick fudgy brownies. Kitten Grim would jump on the table and try to shove his face into the trays to get an early bite, only to be gently pushed off, where the process would repeat almost immediately. Crewel was rolling out mats and sleeping bags in another corner of the gym, rolling his eyes at Crowley who was giving some dramatic speech.

“This…” Lilia started. “Isn’t exactly what I imagine Night Raven College to be like.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) said. “Usually things are more on fire.” She couldn’t help but smile at Lila’s baffled expression.

She started counting heads, rounding up each dorm as the children all gathered together to get their dinner. She frowned, her suspicions confirmed.

“We’re missing one.”

“Hmm?” Crowly said. “I can’t think of anyone else.”

“Yeah, that tracks. Sit tight, I think I know where he is.”

A wind has started to blow across campus, twirling fallen leaves and casting a chill across (Y/N)’s exposed skin. Soon, the gloomy facade of Ramshackle dorm loomed on top of the hill. She opened the old iron gate, scanning around the yard. And there, just like she knew he would be, was a young boy with black horns.

He was staring up at the eaves and roof of the old house. To anyone else, it would have looked like he was watching the appearing stars in the sky, tracking constellations. But (Y/N) knew better, matching his gaze to the various gargoyles arranged around the dorm. She ducked inside, grabbing a quilt from one of the couches in the sitting room. She draped the blanket over his shoulders, crouching down next to him. He didn’t look away, only moving to clutch the quilt tighter over his slight frame.

“They’re pretty cool, right?” (Y/N) said.

“I like that one,” Malleus says, pointing to a gargoyle on the corner of the roof, crouched like a frog with stone wings forming an umbrella over his head, mouth open in a ghoulish grin.

“I call him Clyde. He doesn't really work anymore though.”

“Oh,” Malleus said, disappointed.

“Robins build their nest in his mouth. A friend of mine helped me block off the drain pipe so the birds wouldn’t get flushed out without hurting the statue. He really likes gargoyles, but we both thought the sacrifice was worth it.”

“Oh,” Malleus said again, more intrigued. “Are there babies?”

“Yup. They’re all bald with big eyes and their mama will swoop at your face if you get too close.” She replicated the swooping motion with her hand, ending with a boop on Malleus’s nose.

Giggling, Malleus points to another beastial gargoyle. “What about that one?”

“That’s Fredrick, but we call him Freddie. See how he’s facing that other one on the other roof? She’s Isabella and they’re hopelessly in love. A little while ago, they had a fight and Isabella turned around. Which was kind of a problem because then all the water she was draining away went right into the second floor bathroom. It was a really cold shower.” She exaggerated shivering, rubbing up and down her arms.

She continued pointing out the various sculptures around Ramshackle dorm, retelling Malleus all the stories and facts the older version of him had told her what seemed ages ago. The child Malleus would occasionally cut in with facts about gargoyle construction or history, enthusiastic to be sharing his precious information with a fellow gargoyle appreciator.

“You know,” (Y/N) said, the two of them sitting on the lawn, fireflies gently floating around them. “I met a gargoyle that could talk once.”

He gasped, jolting up on his knees. “Really? Where, where? What did it say?”

“Well, we were kind of in the middle of something important when we first met. But after we got all of that sorted he was really nice! He lived in a big bell tower that looked over the whole city and told us all about his friends who lived there. He had one friend who was really sad, and being sad made him angry. But the gargoyle helped us understand what his friend was feeling and helped us make everything better. And now we’re all friends! I think so, anyway. Not sure if Rollo would agree if I asked him…” She trailed off, speaking the last part mostly to herself.

Malleus sat back down. “I don’t have many friends,” He said in a small voice. “The palace is really big and there’s not a lot of people in it. Do you think he’d be my friend too?”

Imagining the scowl Rollo would probably give her for her answer, (Y/N) smiled and said, “Absolutely. I can be your friend, too, if you want.”

“Really?”

“It’s a promise. And I know some other people who would want to be your friend, too. They’re with Lilia in-”

“Lilia is here?” Malleus jumped up, eyes wide and smiling. “Where, where? Did he go traveling again? Did he bring me back a present? He brings me flags from all the places he’s been! They’re called, uh, they’re called…” He frowned, thinking hard.

“Pennants?”

“Yes, pennants!”

“Well, I don’t know, but he’s at a party right now and wanted me to come get you.” She could practically see the stars in his eyes as he hopped up and down. She stood, holding out her hand. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her down the road. “Come on, come on! It’s rude to be late when you’re invited somewhere!”

She laughed at his eagerness, despite not knowing exactly where he was going. Suddenly, she felt her skin prickle, like she had just been hit with a blast of cold air without the actual temperature change. “Hornton, I mean, Malleus, what-” Before she could say another word, they both were encased by a shimmering yellow-green light, vanishing and reappearing several feet down the road. (Y/N) felt a wave of vertigo at the sudden teleportation, not extremely dissimilar from when she went through the mirror portal for the first time.

After a few more overly excited teleportations, and (Y/N) gently redirecting them back in the right direction a few times, the duo arrived back to the gym. Malleus was hopping up and down in anticipation, but froze when she pushed open the door. His wide eyes darted around to each group playing.

“What’s wrong?” (Y/N) asked, kneeling down to him.

“What if they don’t like me?” He said in a small voice. (Y/N) felt her heart break a little. “What if they’re scared of me?” Okay, now her heart was fully broken.

She turned him so they were face to face, taking his hands in hers. “Malleus, it’s okay to feel nervous. A lot of new things can seem pretty scary at first. I know I was really scared when I first came here. But you know what? The people I met here are my best friends in the entire world. They can be prickly and stubborn and rough around the edges. But they’re also brave and generous and kind, even if they won’t admit it out loud. You’ll never find a better group of people to go through a storm with.”

Malleus squeezed her hands back, setting his face with determination and nodded once.

“There’s my brave prince. Come on, I know just who to introduce you to.”

The bed area that Crewel had so deliberately laid out earlier had been torn up. Blankets and pillows were stacked high in two barriers facing each other across the gym. The tiny pillow fort soldiers raced behind their barricades in oversized t-shirts and sweatpants as improved pajamas.

“Hey, there,” (Y/N) said, stopping Kalim running by with a touch on his shoulder. “Now what kind trouble did you all get into while I was gone?”

“We’re having a pillow fight!” Kalim said, clutching a bright blue seat cushion to his chest.

“It’s a war!” Epel yelled from his side of the barricade.

“Floyd threw a ball at Azul and Idia’s game and Idia’s hair went all ‘whoosh!’ and that woke up Leona so Leona stole the ball and popped it, and then Riddle got mad and tried to do his collar anti-magic magic on him but he missed at hit Vil and that made Rook sad so he tried to pull the collar off but it wouldn’t work, so then Jack tried to pull it off cause Jack’s much more stronger but it wouldn’t work and he let go too fast and he hit Sebek, so now we’re all at war!” Kalim said all in one breath.

“It’s not a war!” Epel yelled, waving two pillows in the air. “It’s a massa- a messacu- a massecure - you’re gonna lose!”

Pillows and balled up blankets started flying like snowballs. As the puffy projectiles flew, one veered off course, smacking right into Malleus’s stary-eyed face.

Everyone froze. The pillow seemed to be stuck to Malleus’s face for a few comical seconds before dropping, revealing his blank expression. A slow, eerie smile stretched across his chubby child face.

“Ah, so this is how other people play, is it?” He said. He started to hover several inches off the ground, discarded pillows rising up around him, surrounded by a holographic green light. (Y/N) could have sworn the lights started to flicker. “Then, let’s continue with the game!”

Levitating pillows flew through the air, zipping around like homing missiles. The children shrieked and laughed as they dove for cover or tried to swat away the projectiles with their own pillow weapons. Ace dove in front of Deuce to block and attack, Deuce dramatically falling to his knees to hold Ace’s overdramatically ‘dead’ body after. Jamil stood in front of Kalim, wielding two pillows like nunchucks to bat away incoming pillows. Kalim just jumped up and down, clapping his hands in joy, not noticing Jamil rolling his eyes. Ruggie was taking advantage of the bedlam to sneak past the teen chaperones, who weren’t doing so much chaperoning as taking bets as they watched. Ruggie pulled down the tray of brownies, snickering as he darted off to enjoy his spoils. Azul was at the top of the tank, head whipping back and forth to follow the attacks. Rook threw a pillow at him, smacking the octopus mer before it got waterlogged and sunk in the tank. Azul’s face started to crumble and he sniffed, holding back budding tears. Floyd and Jade zipped to the side of the tank, rearing up and spitting out two streams of water. Rook cried out at suddenly getting wet, running in circles. Idia had climbed up on Ortho’s shoulders, who was flying above the fluffy carnage.

Leona jumped up, grabbing a pillow midair, sinking his teeth into it and shaking until stuffing started to pop out. He spit it out, holding his own pillow aloft as he pointed at Malleus with all the authority and bravado of a decorated general on the battlefield.

“Charge!” He yelled.

“I’ll protect you, my liege!” Sebek shouted, he and Silver jumping in front of Malleus, one pillow held out like a shield and another above their heads like a squishy square sword.

(Y/N) picked up kitten Grim, scratching under his chin as he purred. She sat crossed legged next to the professors and Lilia. “So, I think it’s going pretty well so far.”

Lilia was staring at Malleus, who cackled in delight at the retaliation. “He…”

(Y/N) nudged him with her elbow. “He looks just like his mom, huh?”

“His-?!” He relaxed, smiling fondly. “Yes, he does.”

After the battle, which would be spoken about in legends for generations to come, finally petered out, (Y/N) started gathering the exhausted children to the bathroom to brush their teeth. Trey darted between sinks, double checking that everyone was flossing as well. Back out in the gym, they all climbed into their makeshift beds, snuggling down and yawing wide.

“Wait!” Deuce called out as (Y/N) stood up.

She knelt back down next to him. “Yeah? What’s up, bud?”

Suddenly bashful, Deuce crumpled his blanket in his hands. “I, um, I need a good night kiss! My mom always gives me a good night kiss and makes sure I’m all tucked in so the monsters can’t get me!”

“Hey!” Ace said, jumping up. “I want a kiss, too! Cause of the monsters, nothing else!”

Soon, all the kids were back wide awake, clamoring for attention and kisses.

“Down, down!” Crewel shouted. He sighed in frustration. “Honestly, you’re all like overexcited puppies.”

(Y/N) laughed as the kids grumbled back to their beds.”Don’t worry, I’ll make sure no monsters get anywhere near you.” She knelt down, kissing the top of Deuce’s head. Deuce blushed, diving under his blankets, pulling them tight over his head. Ace huffed, crossing his arms in the pinnacle of frustration. (Y/N) kissed the top of his head too, and he turned red, hiding his face in his pillow.

(Y/N) made her rounds, saying good night to everyone individually, giving them a kiss on the head or cheek. Some were excited, Cater, Ruggie, Kalim, and Floyd, while others were more bashful, Riddle, Azul, Idia, Epel, and Sebek. When she kissed Rook’s forehead, he jumped up, saying, “Plus! Plus!” She peppered his chubby cheeked face with more kisses as he giggled victoriously. Silver was already asleep, curled up on Lilia’s lap, but sighed happily as she pressed a kiss to his temple.

“What a strange human ritual,” Lilia said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “I… I suppose I should participate as well, shouldn’t I?”

(Y/N) laughed. “Of course, general,” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. He stiffened and turned his head to hide his blush.

“Leona?” She asked, kneeling next to the lion prince’s bed. “Do you want a good night kiss, too?”

“Hmph,” He said. “I don’t need it. I’m too big for that baby stuff.”

“If he’s giving up his share,” Malleus said, tugging on (Y/N)’s arm. “I’ll gladly take it instead.”

Leona threw himself across (Y/N)’s lap. “No! You can’t give the lizard more than you give me! (Y/N)’s mine!” He tried to roar, which sounded more like an angry wet cat than the king of the jungle.

They each grabbed one of her arms, tugging viciously. “Okay, okay! Don’t worry! You both can get as many good night kisses as you want.”

“Me first!” Malleus said.

“No, me first!” Leona countered.

“Easy, boys, no need to fight.” She took their hands, putting them together palms facing her, then kissed them both. Leona’s ears flicked up and back, tail whipping around, forcing himself to look indifferent despite how much he obviously cared. Malleus just beamed. She kissed each of their foreheads and tucked them back into bed.

Finally, with everyone satisfied with their kisses and tucked in, (Y/N) turned off the lights in the gym, leaving one on in the far corner to act as a night light. She scooped up Grim, cradling him in her arms, and slipped into her own bed.”Good night, everyone.”

There was a sleepy chorus of “Good night,” before silence filled the air, interrupted only by soft snores. Cuddling Grim close, (Y/N) closed her eyes and let all the exhaustion of the day drag her down into sleep.

(Y/N) was woken abruptly the next morning by a pillow being thrown in her face. She let out an “Ouf” as Grim, now full sized again, jumped out from her hold and off her stomach to escape getting hit. She sat up quickly, just in time to catch another pillow being thrown.

“I said get off me!” Jamil said, shoving a confused and bleary eyed Ruggie off from on top of him.

“Why am I soaked?” Azul said, wringing out his shirt as a pool of water formed around his, Jade, and Floyd’s feet, the water tank overturned next to them.

Around the gym, everyone had reverted back to their normal ages, untangling themselves from their flat beds and trying to recollect the events that led them there. The professors had also reverted to their previous size, spilling out of their own beds they had quickly outgrown.

“I guess none of you remember what happened yesterday?” (Y/N) said.

Jack rubbed his temples. “Something about a virus? I think? And…” He trailed off, looking over at Azul and lowering his voice. “Why do I want to call Azul cute?”

“Ack!” Cater yelled in surprise. “Why is my phone all sticky?!”

“Forget your phone!” Grim said. “Why are there ink stains on my beautiful fur?!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” (Y/N) said, standing with a mischievous smile. She pulled out her phone, opening up the photos app. “I took a very detailed record of everything.”

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lily-bisque · 11 days ago

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ＷＡＹＯＵＴＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

series masterlist

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: this is going to be my 1k followers special but i've already got a solid outline and plenty written. i believe this will end up being a multi-chapter fic. can't wait to release this, so check below the threshold for a teaser ;D

✦ ── word count: 12k/?

archive ─ playlist

volume one // womb

volume two // amateur blood

volume three // you don't mess around with slim

volume four // ???

volume five // ???

comment to be added to the taglist (status: open)

art by outdmilk on twt

teaser 𖠰 ✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

After getting fully dressed, you shuffled your socks on before you let out a loud hiss—a sudden piercing pressure on your ankle.

Gently setting your sock down, you sat atop a nearby rock and crossed your legs to take a closer look.

It seemed that the thorn that poked you earlier had done more than just that—the area swelling and red. The spot, previously a microscope hole, had grown and was practically glowing and exuding a heat.

You pressed a finger against it, immediately regretting it when it sent pain spiking through your veins, the skin bulbous.

“You’re not making it out of the forest any time soon in that condition.”

You yelped with a jump, full-body flinching and swinging your head behind you to see Sukuna towering over you, eyes narrowed to slits as he eyed your injury. “Jesus. Warn a woman next time?”

He ignored you, something you’ve noticed he has a habit of doing, as he folded in half, skimming a hand over your puncture wound. A tight whimper left your lips, his calloused finger pad ghosting over it before he straightened out. “Can you walk on it?”

You attempted to pull the sock back over before you winced, heart fluttering in nerves. “I-I can try,” you stammered out, trying to maneuver it carefully before he clicked his tongue.

“Fuck, alright,” he grunted, as if mulling something over before he stepped in front of you. He crouched down on one knee, jeans digging into the mud yet he didn’t seem to care. “Hop on.”

Your maw fell slack at the sight, suddenly feeling incredibly hot at the sight. This crude and ruffish man was offering to carry you all of the sudden.

“Uh, i-it’s alright. I can walk–”

“Quit your rambling and get on.”

You shut up at his interruption, muttering a ‘rude much?’ he didn’t acknowledge under your breath before standing to a wobble, doing your best not to bump your ankle into anything as the pain began to flare to what felt like your bones.

Oddly enough, he was practically your height on his knees, his massive form slightly intimidating you.

You brought your hands over his shoulders and clasped them in front of him, hoping he couldn’t smell the musk radiating from your sweat-soaked clothing.

As you tried to wrap your legs around his midsection, he suddenly rose, wrapping his massive hands along the underside of your thighs and straightening to his full height.

You did everything to ignore the flip of your stomach as he did so, the touch burning your skin.

Something sizzled in your mind, before you realized how leggy this man actually was. “Could make a joke about the weather up here, but it’s really quite nice,” you snickered, head ducking between his hat, cheek right beside his, as your eyes raked over his bird's eye view.

“Shut it or I’m dropping you.”

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hcneymooners · 6 months ago

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⋆ arcane headcanons but they're all vampires.

multi. vampire!f!characters x f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: what it says on the tin, baby doll.

cw: vampire-related violence, mentions of gore (nothing graphic), mentions of blood-drinking (duh), dom/sub, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, cunnilingus, power dynamics, power play, impact play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, semi-public sex on occasion, unhealthy relationships (in the sense of vampires + their fledglings! no abuse i swear), manipulation, gothic themes, mutual obsession, age difference, older woman/younger woman, morally gray characters.

notes: this includes jinx, caitlyn, ambessa, sevika, + vi. i just watched nosferatu and it’s now one of my absolute favorite movies. i loved it and so now i must invoke the spirit of the vampire into every fictional woman i’m desperately in love with.

this is also fully for @digit4lslut who wanted more evil women. i concur.

The winter is long and arduous and you find yourself hungering for something dark and warm. The world has always seemed to press against you, take from you, eat at you. You’re in bed now, and the spot next to you is plush and warm from your lover’s recent departure. Your neck stings and you press a hand to it, pull it away to find a gleaming sweet mixture of venom and blood. Beyond your hand the door opens and with a few more steps the curtain shielding from around the bed are pulled back.

This is your lover's return. You look at her, smile softly as she crawls over you and hovers with a blood-wet mouth. Her chest rises, body fevered and aching after a hunt. She places a hand on your stomach, pushes down until you gasp and clutch at her. Yes, this is your forever. You cup her face, turn her toward the light.

You see her. You see your history. Who is she? What is your history? What is her name?

jinx.

♱ you both were small when you first met. you had a tendency to sneak out into the gardens, tuck yourself under the thicket of white hydrangeas and stare out into the water. one day, the darkness shifted and she was staring back.

♱ she was all wild hair and wilder eyes, skin pale as moonlight. her hair was crystal, ocean blue. you weren't scared—maybe you should have been. instead, you reached out your hand and she took it, fingers cold against yours.

♱ you let her trace your palm, intertwine your fingers. something began to hum deep and low in your body and her eyes went pink, bright and starlike. she smelled so overwhelmingly of rose and plum, almost sickly sweet. you breathed in deeply, from your stomach up through your chest—like you were swimming.

♱ that was the beginning.

♱ for years, she was your shadow companion. you'd meet in the garden at midnight, sharing secrets and stolen sweets. You’d tuck a cake under the flat of her tongue and she’d hold it, smile close-lipped while it turned to ash. she'd braid flowers into your hair while telling you stories about magic and monsters to distract you while she spit it out.

♱ then one spring, she vanished. you woke to nothing but a puncture wound on the flesh of your palm, the holes almost tender with their dried blood and lack of pain. you didn’t know it then, but she’d spread her saliva, her venom over it to spare you from any pain.

♱ the hydrangeas bloomed without her, and you learned what it meant to mourn someone who left no trace behind. you grew into yourself slowly, carefully, always feeling half-formed without her there.

♱ when you saw her again, you were twenty-three and she was everything you'd dreamed of in the dark. she stood in her cousin's drawing room, all sharp edges and sharper smile. "this is jinx," they said, "she's been abroad." you knew better—the girl from your garden had never left, she'd just become something else entirely. maybe she always had been.

♱ her cousin, viktor, spoke of marriage within weeks. you agreed, but your eyes were always on her. you caught her watching you too, gaze heavy with something that made your blood sing. this was what you'd been waiting for, you realized. this hunger. this need.

♱ you couldn’t be alone with her. you recognized your lack of will, your deference almost immediately and set about avoiding her when you could. you only realized she allowed it, was indulging your fancy, when she cinched your waist with an arm just outside of the dining room and pressed her thumb into your chin until your jaw hinged wide enough for her to see the tissue of your cheek.

♱ “enough of this,” she told you, and then closed your mouth. she leaned forward, flooding your mind with her saccharine perfume as she held your head inbetween her spindly fingers and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

♱ she took to painting you. at first, it was formal portraits, the kind viktor commissioned. but soon the paintings changed—you in the garden, surrounded by hydrangeas, then by roses. you sleeping, hair spilled across silk pillows. you with bitten lips and eyes that held secrets.

♱ you never told anyone how you'd pose for her in the dead of night, how your skin would flush under her gaze.

♱ "you're my best work," she'd whisper, fingers trailing over fresh canvas. "my masterpiece." her studio became your sanctuary, far from viktor's polite affections and careful touches. she never kissed you, but god, how you wanted her to.

♱ the sculptures started after your engagement was announced. you in marble, you in bronze, you eternally preserved in cold, beautiful stone. she worked feverishly, possessed by something you both couldn't name. "i'm making you immortal," she'd say, and her eyes would glow like embers. "isn't that what you want?" it was. it is.

♱ you found her old sketches one night—drawings of you as a child, then a teenager right before her abandonment of you, then a woman, dated through all the years she'd been gone. she'd never stopped watching you, never truly left.

♱ the pages were stained with something dark at the edges. you traced them with your fingers, understanding finally what it meant to be beloved by something inhuman.

♱ "do you ever think about that night in the garden?" she asked once, hands covered in clay as she shaped your likeness. "when we first met?" you nodded, remembering the cold touch of her hand. "i knew then," she said, "that you'd be mine. but you didn’t understand it."

♱ the way your heart raced at those words should have frightened you. instead, you whispered back, "i understand now."

♱ viktor speaks of jinx with a mixture of fear and reverence. "she's not right," he whispers against your neck one night, and you feel nothing but impatience at his touch. "the things she does in that studio..." but he never finishes the thought. the family—the coven, jinx’s voice corrected you—needs her, so they keep her close.

♱ you need her too, but for entirely different reasons.

♱ sometimes she watches viktor touch you—at dinner parties, in the garden, during your dancing lessons. her eyes are molten in those moments, and later you find your face torn to pieces, canvas slashed with violent strokes of red.

♱ anyone else would be terrified, but the desperation with which she wants you makes your body riot with heat. you begin to leave your windows open at night, hoping she'll come to claim what's hers.

♱ "sit still," she commands, and you do. you always do. she's sculpting your hands now, obsessing over every line, every vein. "beautiful," she murmurs, and her fingers trace the paths her chisel will follow. your pulse jumps beneath her touch. she smiles, knowing. you smile back, trembling and wanting.

♱ the studio walls are covered with you now. sleeping, laughing, reading, dancing—moments you don't remember posing for. "my muse," she calls you, but it feels more like worship. every angle of you captured, preserved, devoured by her artistry. you wonder if this is what it feels like to be transformed into myth, and if she would lash out at your desire to be her priestess instead of her god.

♱ you find her one night in the garden, beneath your hydrangeas. she's painting with something dark and wet, and the flowers are turning red beneath her brush. she’s upset, her spin flexing agitatedly. "your wedding is in a month," she says without looking up. "i'm running out of time."

♱ you kneel beside her in the dirt, press your fingers to her cold cheek. "what do you need me to say in order for you to just take me?" you whisper. her eyes flash in the dark.

♱ the paintings change again. now they're fever dreams—you with wings of thorn, you with a crown of bones, you surrounded by writhing shadows. in every one, there's a crimson figure reaching for you. in every one, you're reaching back. they're no longer paintings but prophecies, and you ache for their fulfillment.

♱ "he'll never see you like i do," she tells you, circling your latest statue. “i know,” you answer. "he'll never capture your essence." her hand hovers over the marble's heart. “i—i know.” "he'll never make you eternal." the way she says it sounds like a promise. "i know,” your breathing is erratic now. “i don't want him to," you answer. "i only want you."

♱ the sculpture shatters that night; neither of you mention the blood on her hands.

♱ you start finding dead hydrangeas on your pillow, their petals black with age. beneath them, sketches of you in a wedding dress, the train stained scarlet, the veil made of lace and gray shadow. her signature is always in red. you press the flowers between book pages, collecting them like love notes.

♱ "tell me about the night you disappeared," you ask her once, lying among the ruined canvases of her studio. she traces patterns on your throat instead of answering. "i had to become worthy of you," she finally says. "i had to learn how to keep you forever." you turn your head, bare your neck and spread your legs. she lies against you, begins to drag two finger to your center. "show me," you breathe. “please.”

♱ she eats you like she does everything else: wildly, insatiably, and relentless. you feel out of control, grasping at your thighs as you finish over her.

♱ the night before your wedding, she asks to paint you one last time. viktor warns against it, but you go anyway. her studio smells of copper and roses.

♱ she doesn't use canvas this time. instead, her fingers trace runes on your throat, your wrists, your heart. "art needs sacrifice," she says, and her teeth gleam in the candlelight. "and i've waited so patiently. given you up for long enough." you think of all the years she watched, waited, wanted. your hands find her hair. “stop waiting."

♱ your first night as her creature, you understand why she always painted in red. the world explodes into color you never knew existed—violets deeper than bruises, blues that pulse like veins, reds that sing of life itself. "everything's so beautiful," you whisper. she laughs against your throat. "this is just the beginning, baby."

♱ viktor never makes it to the altar. the coven whispers that he fled, abandoned his bride-to-be. only you and jinx know the truth of his final portrait, painted in shades of crimson and hung in the deepest chamber of her studio. his last gift to art. you understand now—true art should hurt a little.

♱ the garden blooms year-round now, hydrangeas stained perpetually dark with your midnight feedings.

♱ "do you remember when you were afraid of me?" she asks one night, centuries after. you're both covered in bed, her mouth slick from where she’s been drinking. "i was never afraid," you correct her, licking the color from her fingers. "i think i just always loved you and found myself incomplete. that’s terrifying at thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty. and it never stops.”

♱ “good” she murmurs, and you know then that if you ever die she will be the thing that kills you.

caitlyn.

♱ she's been watching you grow into yourself for years. quiet, careful, always maintaining that perfect distance. you think she's just being professional—the respected vampire mediator, keeping an eye on the human liaison to her kind.

♱ she knows better, knows what you are. she feels the pull every time you enter a room, like gravity shifting to accommodate your presence.

♱ you begin to speak to her, lay yourself bare. you find that she’s so attentive when she listens, her body twisting to match the shape of yours as she leans her chin on hands and never breaks her gaze.

♱ "you'll find them," she tells you one night, when you're crying in her study about another failed relationship. her hand hovers over your shoulder, not quite touching. "your perfect one is out there."

♱ the lie tastes of rot in her mouth. she knows exactly where your perfect match is—sitting across from you, centuries old and terrified of how young you are.

♱ you bring her wine she can't drink and tell her your secrets. your life spills out of you, a thin timeline that is a speck in how long she’s lived. she collects each one like precious stones, storing them away with all the other pieces of you she's gathered over the years.

♱ "i just want someone to look at me and know," you confess. she grips her desk until the wood creaks, fighting the urge to say: i know. i've always known.

♱ she can’t help herself in some ways. there are some things she can't hide, one of them being her favor. books appear on your desk about subjects you mentioned wanting to learn. your favorite flowers stay blossomed in winter outside your window. a shadow follows you home on dangerous nights. you think she's just being kind. she's being careful—so, so careful.

♱ "do you ever feel it?" you ask her once. "that pull toward someone? like your whole body already knows them?" she looks at you for a long moment, memorizing the way moonlight catches in your dilated eyes. for a moment, she zones out and listens to your body pump and pulse. she hears your sudden arousal, the sticky syrupy run of your cunt as you watch her the swell of her chest.

♱ "yes," she says finally, slightly breathless. "i know exactly what you mean." you smile, relieved to be understood. she turns away, centuries of control cracking.

♱ when you finally find out, it's not gentle. there's a fight, an ancient vampire who gets too close, wounds you and tells you too much.

♱ "ask your protector why she keeps you close," he sneers before caitlyn tears him apart. "ask her why she won't let anyone else have you."

♱ you're magnificent in your rage. "all this time!" you seethe, hurling books at her head. "watching me cry about being alone. letting me think—" she catches a particularly heavy tome before it hits her face.

♱ "i was trying to protect you," she starts. "from what?" you roar. "from me," she whispers.

♱ you settle and she finds it worse than the rage.“caitlyn, you are my mate. out of everyone, you could only ever save me.”

♱ "i've lived centuries," she tries to explain. "i've seen everything this world has to offer. i didn't want to take your chance at a normal life. you will resent me as time passes. that is the truth." you laugh, bitter and broken. "that wasn't your choice to make. and it was the wrong one. resent you? it’s as if you don’t even know me."

♱ she finds you in her study at midnight, surrounded by her journals. centuries of entries about you, dreams at frist—about the pull, about fighting it. then you came into the world and it was real, more terrifying.

♱ "when?" you ask, voice raw. "when did you know?" she kneels beside your chair, finally letting herself touch your hand. "the moment you walked into my office five years ago. it felt like walking into sunlight after an endless night."

♱ "i've memorized all your habits," she confesses one night, when you're still angry but can't stay away. "the way you tap your fingers when you're thinking. how you always have to turn to an even-numbered page in a book before you leave it. the exact sound of your heartbeat when you're about to cry."

♱ you want to hate how well she knows you. instead, you ache.

♱ she starts leaving collections of letters for you, months of longing bound in leather. you read about the first time she saw you smile, how she had to leave the room because the wanting was too much. about all the times she nearly shattered, nearly told you, nearly gave in.

♱ "i wrote novels of you," she whispers when you confront her. "i just couldn't let you read them."

♱ "i want to know," you demand one evening, tired of careful distance. "show me what it feels like."

♱ she presses her hand to your chest, lets you feel the pull that's been tormenting her for years. it's like drowning in fire, like every love poem ever written condensed into a single touch.

♱ "oh," you breathe. "why did you keep this from me?"

♱ you find her old paintings hidden away—you in every season, every light. she's captured moments you didn't even know she witnessed.

♱ "i told myself it wasn't possessive if i never showed anyone," she admits. you trace a picture of yourself sleeping, rendered in oils and longing. you turn to her, face open and wet. "what if i wanted to be possessed?"

♱ the first time she kisses you, it's like coming home. "i'm still angry," you murmur against her lips. “furious even.” her hands shake as they frame your face. "i know. i'll spend decades earning your forgiveness."

♱ you bite her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "decades? is that all?"

♱ she tries to maintain control even now—always asking permission, always holding back. you learn to break her resolve with casual touches, with bared skin, with whispered confessions. "let go," you tell her, pressing closer. "i want you to trust yourself so implicitly, that you let yourself go. i'm not made of glass."

♱ when she finally does, there are stars exploding behind your eyes and gunfire in your head. you will never forget the feel of her, her cunt swollen and pink and weeping against you.

♱ "i used to stand outside your door at night," she admits, tracing patterns on your bare shoulder. "listening to you breathe, making sure you were safe." you should find it creepy. instead, you think of all the nights you felt protected without knowing why.

♱ "next time," you say, "come inside."

♱ you start finding little gifts—first editions of books you mentioned loving, antique jewelry that matches your eyes, pressed flowers from centuries ago. "i've been collecting things for you," she explains, shy suddenly. "since before the day we met."

♱ you wear her history around your neck, let her sink into your blood.

♱ sometimes you catch her watching you with that old hesitation. you've learned to read it now—the fear that she's taking too much, loving too deeply. "i choose this," you remind her, pressing your wrist to her mouth. "i choose you." she kisses your pulse point like a prayer.

♱ "i thought i was protecting you," she whispers one night, when you're tangled in her sheets and her guilt. "but i was really protecting myself. from how much i could love you. from how much it would destroy me to lose you."

♱ you kiss the confession from her lips. "you will never lose me. but i will ruin you, if you ever try to keep me from you again. in any fashion.”

♱ she shivers, understands that you are saying this as a vow. she rolls you over, climbs on top of you, tries to tear apart your body to find a place to stay.

ambessa.

♱ she never looks at you. not really. you're furniture to her, useful and invisible. you clean lip stains from her wine glasses, replace torn sheets, erase all evidence of her endless parade of lovers. sometimes you find drops of blood on the marble floor and wonder what it would taste like to be wanted by her.

♱ "excellent work as always," she says without turning around. you've just finished clearing away another morning-after scene—scattered clothes, broken crystal, the lingering scent of sex and copper in the air. her praise feels like acid in your chest.

♱ you want her to see you. you want her to devour you. you want, you want, you want.

♱ you keep track of her lovers in your mind, a masochistic catalog. the willowy blonde who screamed her name. the dark-haired man who left claw marks on her sheets. the redhead who stayed for three nights (a record).

♱ none of them last. none of them matter. but they get to taste her, and you're just the ghost who cleans up their remains.

♱ "my perfect attendant," she calls you, when she bothers to speak to you at all. she doesn’t even know your name, yet you know every detail of her life—how she takes her blood (warm, with a drop of rum), which silk sheets she prefers (harvest gold, 800 thread count), the exact temperature she likes her chambers (a cool 65 degrees).

♱ you know everything except what her fangs would feel like against your throat.

♱ it breaks on a tuesday. you find another lover's scarf wound around her bedpost, stained with blood and something else. your hands shake as you untie it. maybe they were kept captive with it. ungrateful. she wouldn’t have to hold you down for anything. you would prostate, beg for her. you would be good.

♱ "leave it," her voice commands from the doorway. you turn, and finally, finally she's looking at you. but all you can see is the fresh bite mark on her neck, already healing.

♱ something about it needles at you, guts you. she usually doesn’t let them bite her back. "no," you whisper. then louder: "no."

♱ she raises an eyebrow, amused at your defiance. "excuse me?" the scarf falls from your trembling fingers.

♱ "i can't—i won't do this anymore. i can't keep cleaning up after them. after you. i can't—" your voice breaks. tears spill down your cheeks. her amusement vanishes.

♱ “my entire life, i’ve been right there. and i know you know. i know you can smell it.” you practically hiss it. “every day, i debase myself in front of you. i can never hate you but i want to get close.”

♱ "you're dismissed," she says quietly. you laugh through your tears. of course. of course she'd throw you away the moment you showed weakness.

♱ you leave without packing your things, without looking back. you don't see her expression as she watches you go, the way her fingers dig into the doorframe hard enough to splinter wood.

♱ another coven takes you in. lesser nobles, but they're kind enough. you don't have to clean up after anyone's trysts. you don't have to smell blood on sheets or wonder about the sounds coming from behind closed doors. you should be happy.

♱ instead, you dream of her every night. hot, detailed, torrid visions that make you wake weak and wet.

♱ a month passes. then two. you learn to breathe again, to exist in spaces that don't smell like her perfume. "you seem sad," your new mistress says. you force a smile. "only tired."

♱ gyou don't tell her that every room feels wrong, that every bed you make feels empty without gold upon it.

♱ she comes for you on a moonless night. you're changing linens (always changing linens, even here) when the temperature drops. "did you think i would let you go so easily?" her voice slides down your spine like ice. you don't turn around. you can't. “i thought you’d have returned by now, would have reconsidered what you gave up.”

♱ "look at me," she commands. you've never been able to deny her anything. she's exactly as beautiful as you remember, but her eyes are different. starved. "my perfect attendant," she purrs. "do you know how many lovers i've taken since you left?" you flinch. she smiles. "none."

♱ "come home," she says, like it's that simple. you gather your pride around you like armor. “why should i?” her eyes flash. "because you're mine." you laugh, bitter and bright. "i am—i’m not a medarda. i was never yours. i was your furniture, remember? you didn’t even call me by name."

♱ for the first time in centuries, ambessa medarda looks uncertain.

♱ she starts leaving gifts—not just jewelry and silk, but tokens of attention. oysters, shelled and presented to make your consumption easier. books you'd mentioned wanting to read, when you thought she wasn't listening. a bottle of the perfume you wear, worth more than your yearly salary. you send them all back. she needs to learn that you can't be bought.

♱ "tell me how to fix this," she demands one night, appearing in your chambers. you're still in your evening dress from serving at the coven's gathering, throat on display and adorned with delicate chains. her eyes fix on your nervous swallow.

♱ "you can't just command everything better," you say softly. "not this time."

♱ she follows you to another gathering, watching from shadows as you serve blood-wine to lesser vampires. you're dressed in black silk, your neck a graceful line adorned with gold. the whole room's attention shifts when you move—too many hungry eyes, too many sharp smiles. you pretend not to notice. the attention means nothing; it isn’t hers.

♱ you hear her growl when one of them gets too close, asking if you'd like to "serve privately." before she can move, you handle it yourself: a polite smile, a steel-edged refusal. you've learned to navigate these waters. you don't need her protection.

♱ (but oh, how your heart races when you feel her rage across the room. you’re almost sick with it.)

♱ "they want to devour you," she seethes later, cornering you in an empty hallway. "i can smell their desire. their need." you meet her gaze steadily. "now you know how it feels."

♱ understanding dawns in her eyes, followed by something darker. "is this what you felt? watching me with them?" you turn away. her hand catches your wrist. "answer me."

♱ "yes," you whisper. "every night. every morning. watching you choose everyone but me. wanting—" your voice breaks. her grip tightens. "wanting what?" you pull away. "everything. anything. just one taste of being yours."

♱ she moves differently after that.

♱ no more commands, no more assumptions. she courts you properly, like you're something precious. leaves letters detailing all the things she noticed but never said. how graceful your hands are when you pour wine. how your hair settles against your back when you sleep. how she missed your scent in her chambers.

♱ "i may have taken you for granted," she admits one evening. you're both in her study, you perched carefully out of reach. "i thought you would always be there. my perfect girl." her laugh is self-deprecating. "i didn't realize i was losing my only match."

♱ another gathering. another dress. this time when the vampires stare, she's at your side. "she’s spoken for," she says evenly. you raise an eyebrow. "am i?" her hand finds your waist, possessive but questioning. "if you wish to be."

♱ "make me believe it," you challenge. she watches you, then sinks low. she’s kneeling before you and the sight makes you dizzy—ambessa medarda, on her knees. the room goes silent.

♱ "i have loved you," she says, loud enough for all to hear, "in all the wrong ways. let me love you properly." you touch her chin, tilt her face up. "prove it."

♱ she relearns you slowly, deliberately. no more invisible servant—now she watches openly as you move through her chambers. "tell me if you want me to stop," she says, but you don't. you want her to see everything she missed before.

♱ "you've redecorated," she notes one night, when you finally return to her rooms. you've replaced the golden silk with deep purple, changed the artwork, rearranged the furniture. made it yours. "i'm not here to clean up after you anymore," you remind her. she traces a finger along your jaw. "no. you aren’t."

♱ the first time she feeds from you, it's like death— you are breaking apart all at once; you are coming together and it is sweet.

♱ "you taste like nectar," she breathes against your throat. you thread fingers through her hair, holding her close. "you taste like mine," you answer. she shudders against you.

♱ the next time she kneels for you is in the drawing room, her head beneath your skirts and your legs on her shoulders. she laps at you, pulls orgasm after orgasm from you until you kick at her back. even then she continues, with fingers instead of tongue. the pain, the pleasure—it’s endless.

♱ old habits die hard—sometimes she still tries to command rather than ask. but now when she slips, you arch an eyebrow and wait. "please," she'll correct herself, the word foreign and stilted on her tongue. you reward her with kisses that always spiral out of control.

♱ you keep one of her old lover's scarves, tucked away in a drawer. sometimes when she's being particularly imperious, you take it out, let her see it. "i could leave again," you remind her. she pulls you into her lap, buries her face in your neck. "you won’t. it won’t be as easy. you know this." you gasp as her teeth sink in.

♱ "do you miss it?" she asks once. "taking care of me?" you run your fingers along her spine. "i still take care of you. i just do it as your equal now."

♱ she presses you into silk sheets, whispers "show me" against your skin. you do.

♱ you catch her watching you dress for bed, something vulnerable in her eyes. "what is it?" you ask. "i suppose i keep waiting," she admits, "for you to decide that you would like something different." you straddle her lap, cradle her face in your hands. "i decided that i deserve exactly what i chose."

♱ the other covens still whisper—about how the great ambessa medarda let a servant become her consort, about how she kneels for you in private (did it in public, even). they don't understand that she's never been stronger than when she's yielding to you.

♱ besides, it is you who often submits. she drives you insane with how much you need her. you just force her to work for it.

♱ "sweet girl," she calls you now, never attendant. occasionally, she speaks your name, usually in the midst of pleasure. you're arranging flowers in her study (old habits), and she's watching you like you're something holy.

♱ you meet her eyes in the mirror. "yes, mistress?"

♱ her eyes darken. she rolls up her sleeves, comes over.

sevika.

♱ she comes to collect on a sunday. you're serving tea to your mother when the door creaks open—no knock, no warning. just sevika, silco's enforcer, filling the doorway like an omen.

♱ "time to pay up," she drawls, flashes teeth. your mother starts to cry. you pour another cup of tea.

♱ "would you like some?" you ask, steady-handed despite your racing heart. she blinks, caught off-guard by your composure. "what?" you gesture to the cup. "it's jasmine. very soothing."

♱ her laugh is sharp as broken glass. "you think tea will save you from your family's debts?" "no," you say simply. "but it might buy me an hour to pack."

♱ she studies you over the rim of the teacup she doesn't remember accepting. you pretend not to notice how she watches your throat when you swallow hard. "one hour," she agrees. you hide a smile in your cup.

♱ one hour becomes one day. becomes one week. becomes one month. you're clever with your delays—always just reasonable enough, always with something to offer. "you're playing a dangerous game, priya," she warns you.

♱ your fingers brush hers as you hand her another cup of tea. "i know."

♱ she begins to linger after delivering silco's threats and your family home becomes a strange fairytale in this winter—ice flowers blooming on windows, shadows moving like living things, sevika's footsteps echoing on wooden floors. you serve tea in your grandmother's bone china cups, and sometimes there are teeth marks on the rims that weren't there before.

♱ you always meet in your mother's parlor, all faded elegance and desperate pride. snow falls outside like ash, and the samovar steams in the corner, waiting. when sevika enters, the dark worn world follows her—frost crawling up the windows, ice crystallizing in your lungs. you never stood a chance at escape. so you just shift the goal.

♱ you learn that her mechanical arm aches in the cold, the phantom of the real one haunting her. that she has a secret fondness for your mother's butter cookies.

♱ "you're stalling," she tells you over and over. "yes," you agree. "is it working?"

♱ your mother catches on first. "oh, clever girl," she whispers, watching sevika watch you over dinner. "but be careful. a jaguar is still a jaguar even if it hides its teeth." you think of the way sevika's hands shook when you touched her last, how she pulls back if you flinch even slightly at her approach. "mmm. the jaguar is still a cat."

♱ your first kiss tastes like smoke and metal. she's furious about something—another clever excuse, another day bought—and you silence her with your mouth. she pulls back, eyes wide.

♱ "you can't seduce your way out of this," she tells you, her voice almost dead. you trace her bottom lip with your thumb. "i’m not trying to. my desire for you is a separate thing."

♱ she brings you gifts that feel like warnings: a silver hairpin sharp enough to kill, a red cloak lined with raven feathers, a ring set with stones that look like frozen blood. "are you trying to save me or damn me?" you ask, letting her fasten the clasp at your throat. she kisses your pulse point. "both. neither. everything."

♱ you find out she's older than your great-grandmother's grandmother. "does it bother you?" she asks roughly. you're curled in her lap, mapping the scars on her human hand. "does what bother me? that you're ancient?" she pinches your side. you kiss her neck. "you're just well-preserved."

♱ eventually, your meddling works. after one too many unsuccessful collections, silco summons you both.

♱ "fascinating," he muses, taking in sevika's protective stance, your carefully blank expression. "you've found quite an interesting solution to your family's situation." you meet his knowing gaze. you let your heart marr your face with its emotion. "oh, how sweet,” he murmurs. “marry my enforcer, erase the debt. is this what you want?"

♱ “i want to live,” you answer, with your jutting out. you feel sevika turn and look at you, feel the realiztion come that she’s been a (delightful) means to an end.

♱ "you’ve been using me," she accuses later, pressing you against your bedroom wall. "from the first day.” you wrap your arms around her neck. pull at her hair until her head falls back."yes." she shudders. "why?" you kiss her mechanical knuckles. "because i see you and you see me. really see me. you know i am wicked and you still drink my tea.”

♱ she fucks you hard, fast. your stomach is bruised from where she holds you, your legs nicked by her claws as she grabs you when you try to scramble away. she’s mean, understandably confused and maybe even feeling betrayed. you let her rut her frustration onto your cunt, gasp softly as she laps her slick from between your folds.

♱ “i should drain you,” she murmurs into your sweat-slick neck. you pull away, grasp her jaw. “i often thought that you should eat me. dreamed of it. sometimes,” you confess, “i even came. i had to squirrel away the sheets before my mother could find them.” she shakes, slips a finger inside of you. “liar,” she accuses. “if that makes it easier,” you respond.

♱ "my mother believes i did this to save us" you tell her one night, snow gathering on the windowsills like secrets. "she thinks i'm sacrificing myself." sevika's hand whirs as she pulls you closer. "aren't you?" you smile against her throat. "i only reward myself in this life. it’s not a sacrifice if you really want it."

♱ your wedding preparations become a dance of power and submission. you choose a lavish black dress with silver threading for the rehersal, drape yourself in diamonds cold as death. "you look like you're already one of us," sevika murmurs, and you can't tell if she's pleased or terrified. "isn't that what you really want?" you ask. her silence tastes pleasant.

♱ the night before your wedding, you find her in the garden, snow melting around her feet. "having second thoughts?" you ask, wrapping your arms around her waist. she rocks into you. "wondering when exactly i lost control of this," she admits. you press closer, sharing warmth she doesn't need. "bold of you to assume you ever had it."

♱ your wedding is a power play, a business transaction, a love story written in blood and tea leaves. you wear red and gold, traditional colors for a vampire's bride. sevika looks at you like she's drowning. "still think i'm just a clever little girl?" you whisper during your first dance. she kisses you hard enough to break your jaw. "you're the most dangerous woman i've ever met."

♱ you move into her quarters in silco's mansion—all dark wood and darker secrets. at night, you hear screams from the lower levels, but you never flinch. instead, you pour tea rigidly in cups rimmed with gold, light candles that smell of grape and amber, create a home in the heart of a monster's lair.

♱ "you should be more afraid of me," she tells you one night, after you've watched her tear someone apart. you're helping her clean blood from her joints, gentle and thorough. "what’s the point? i’m in this now. anway, you should be afraid of me," you counter, pressing a kiss to her gore-stained knuckles. her laugh catches in her throat.

♱ silco watches you at dinner parties, amused by how you've tamed his beast. but he doesn't see how you feed her morsels from your fingers, how your soft touches leave her trembling, how your love is its own kind of violence. how you aren’t afraid to lash her with it, refuse her affection to keep her in line. you know she needs this, that she’s rarely had it before.

♱ "you've made her weak," he accuses. you smile, all teeth. "i've made her mine."

♱ you develop rituals together, sacred as prayer and sharp as knives. every night, you clean her mechanical arm—each gear, each plate, each deadly piece. your hands never shake, even when they're stained with someone else's blood. "my good girl," she murmurs, and you pretend not to notice how her voice trembles.

♱ the tea ceremony becomes something close to holy between you. your grandmother's samovar, polished until it shines like a mirror, brewing tea dark as sin. you pour with steady hands while she tells you about the night's violence.

♱ sometimes you taste copper in the cup and realize she's kissed the rim, leaving traces of her work behind. you drink it anyway.

♱ you draw her baths after hunts, water turning pink with vicera that isn't hers. she lets you wash her hair, lets you trace the scars on her back, lets you piece her together again. "i could kill you just like this," she says when you massage her scalp. you kiss her shoulder. "i’d drag you down."

♱ on cold nights, you brush and braid her hair, weaving in strips of leather and small, sharp blades. your touches are gentle but your intentions aren't, and she knows it. "am i pretty enough yet?" she teases. you rest your chin on her shoulder, dig down. "you’re easily the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen." her pupils dilate and her legs part, so you reach a hand around her waist to drag between them.

♱ the other vampires think it's sweet, how you wait up for her. they don't see how you position yourself by windows, arranging your reflection to watch all the doors. how your devotion has teeth.

♱ you keep her schedule in a leather-bound book, writing in codes you invented as a child. meetings marked in red ink, kills in black, feeding times in gold. "my good little wife," she coos, but you catch her studying the patterns you create, trying to decode your secrets.

♱ sometimes she brings you presents from her hunts—jewelry still warm from its previous owners, books with bloodstained pages. you accept them with genuine delight, arrange them carefully in your shared space. "magpie," she calls you fondly. "collecting pretty things." you don't tell her that she was your first collection. your most prized.

♱ your bedroom becomes a museum of decadent violence—diamond necklaces with broken clasps, antique daggers hung like artwork, silk sheets that have seen both birth and death. you keep her arm's spare parts in a velvet-lined box beside your perfumes.

♱ "do you ever regret it?" she asks one night, watching you stitch up a wound on her human arm. your needle is silver, your thread is silk, your hands are sure. "falling in love with someone—someone like me?"

♱ you tie off the suture with precise fingers. "you simply have claws and i’ve always believed love was meant to scar." she kisses you, surging forward to suck you up.

bonus: vi.

♱ you first notice her at the local underground fighting rings, all raw power and feral grins. you can smell what she is - werewolf, obviously - but she's so young and unrefined in her movements that you assume she must be newly turned. still, something about her draws your centuries-old heart.

♱ you only dare to attend the fights under the guise of accompanying your brother, a known patron of these brutal entertainments. each night you tell yourself you'll stop coming, stop watching her. each night you fail, drawn to the way she dominates the ring with savage grace. you wonder if she could make you fall like that.

♱ she catches you watching one night, corners you in the shadowy hallway with a grin that's all teeth. "see something you like, vamp?" she asks, and you flush.

♱ you turn, run away, your chest clenching tightly as you remember her in the privacy of your rooms. your fingers work deep inside you and you let out a small wail as you think of her tattooed hands inside you instead.

♱ she keeps showing up at your usual haunts, those golden eyes following you with an intensity that makes your dead heart flutter. when she finally approaches you again, her flirting is clumsier but endearing, and you find yourself charmed by this baby wolf despite yourself.

♱ “it’s good to meet you under proper circumstances, vi,” you say and her eyes shine at her name.

♱ your "guidance" begins with teaching her to hunt properly, but she always seems to know exactly where to find her prey. you chalk it up to natural instinct until you notice how the other wolves defer to her in passing. still, the way she looks at you with those eager eyes makes you forget your suspicions.

♱ quiet moments become your undoing - the way she brings you still-warm blood in crystal glasses, how she curls around you on cold mornings like you're pack. you find yourself sharing centuries of secrets, and she listens with an ancient patience that should have been your first clue.

♱ the first time she takes you to her territory, deep in the woods where the trees whisper ancient songs, you feel the power thrumming through the earth. she presses you against the bark and holds you as you’re ravaged by the first feel of the werewolf bond. you let her. her hands leave bruises that heal too quickly.

♱ you convince yourself it's only in your head, her unwavering attention, just the mental thrill of forbidden fruit. but then she starts leaving little gifts where only you'll find them - a baby blue ribbon for your throat or hair, a wolf's tooth on a golden chain. each token makes your dead heart ache with something you dare not name.

♱ but the world cannot allow you peace. the tension between covens and packs grows thicker than old blood. you see it in the way your kind bare their fangs at passing wolves, in how the wolves' eyes gleam with barely contained violence in return.

♱ still, you meet her in secret, pretending the world isn't fracturing around you.

♱ when the council announces the marriage alliances, you volunteer quickly - anything to make living easier for her. she is young, has so much ahead of her. you arrive at court in your finest blacks, ready to do your duty. then you see her standing among the pack leaders, power radiating from her like the sun.

♱ it's when, in the middle of this supernatural court, that someone addresses her as "heir apparent" and your world tilts on its axis. the realization hits like a stake to the heart.

♱ vi, heir to the most powerful pack in the territory, had been letting you believe she was some untrained pup. the way you’ve been treating her is deeply disgraceful. you can feel her eyes burning into you as you swear your agreement to whatever contract, make your excuses, and flee under the pretense of preparing for the following diplomatic talks.

♱ your pride wounded, you avoid her for days that stretch into weeks. but she's persistent - leaving gifts at your door, handwritten notes that smell of earth and pine. your resolve weakens with each gesture, even as you try to stay angry

♱ she finds you anyway, because of course she does. she corners you in your own haven, and there's nothing puppy-like about her now. her power fills the room like smoke, making your knees weak. "enough games," she orders, and when she kisses you this time, there's no pretense of submission.

♱ "i know i withheld, but i only wanted to keep this.” you say nothing, raise a hand to sound the servants bell. she grasps your fingers, holds your hand. “i know you’re upset, but did you really think i'd let them marry you off to some other wolf?" she’s walking you forward, backing you against the library shelves.

♱ "i've been working for months to position myself as the logical choice for this alliance." her laugh is dark and rich against your throat. “even brought up the damn idea myself.”

♱ “i wasn’t listening,” you finally say. “i only answered to leave faster. to be less humiliated.” she softens at that.

♱ "that wasn’t ever the intention, my love.” you look away. “but did you really think i was some newborn pup?" she whispers against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. "i've been alpha-in-training since before you noticed your first gray hair, little bat."

♱ "all those nights at the fights," she continues, "watching you try to hide your interest from your brother, from everyone. knowing you thought you were being so careful with the naïve little wolf." her hands grip your hips possessively. "when really, i was just waiting for the perfect moment to claim what's mine.”

♱ the way she manhandles you onto your own bed leaves no doubt about who's really in charge.

♱ "my sweet girl," she groans as she marks your throat, your chest, your thighs. "watching you try to show me how to track when i could smell your desire from miles away. how to fight when i've led warriors. but gods, the way you touched me like i was new to this world…"

♱ she bullies her fingers into you, milks you until you cry. after, her mouth finds your cunt and she eats of you—slurping so loudly that you cover your face with embarrassment. she only grins, laps at you harder. you white out as she orders you to cum again.

♱ and so the war that threatened to tear your worlds apart becomes the very thing that lets you keep her. your nights are filled with new lessons now - how her pack honors the old ways, how the moon-song flows through her bloodline. in public, you play the part of diplomatic necessity. in private, she follows your body like law until your weeping and can barely stay up.

♱ she returns from hunts, blood-drunk and fierce but still gentle as she pulls you close. you think that perhaps being prey wasn’t the worst thing. this was your way of finally belonging to something wild and true.

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tteotlma · 6 months ago

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Sugar and Skin

1. First Encounter || Next

Bucky’s never been sure if normalcy is something he’s cut out for. But when he meets you—a baker with a pretty smile—he starts to think maybe he could try.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (1.4kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI, mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers a/n: happy new year! this year i'd like to actually begin and complete a multi-parter story so this is my attempt!

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“Welcome in!” Bucky heard as he stepped into the bustling cafe shop. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, and baked bread quickly engulfed him. He looked around for the source of the voice while taking in the neatly curated shelves of novels, mismatched wooden tables and the large handwritten chalkboard menu boasting about an array of the day’s specials. Despite its charm, Bucky felt heavily out of place in his chipped leather jacket, and mud cracked boots.

With the patrons weaving past him like he was another display in the shop he continued scanning the area noticing a few stray cats lounging throughout the space. They basked in the early afternoon sunlight that poured through the large windows. One, a sleek gray cat with white mittens and socks stretched lazily on the windowsill, while another a white cat with piercing blue eyes, watched the room with curious intensity.

The customers greeted the felines as they entered the shop and followed the line that formed at the counter where a young man with boyish charm and unruly brown hair was expertly managing the register. Meanwhile a man with a clean shaven jawline and an infectious grin moved confidently between the counter and the coffee makers.

“You need some help?”

Bucky turned to the voice, finding himself at the end of the display case with a woman on the other side. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few stray strands escaping to frame her face. She barely paid him any mind as she deftly unloaded a giant tray of assorted pastries and bread into the glass showcase, her movements quick and practiced. The faint smudges of flour on her apron and the way she handled each item with care hinted at her role in crafting the delicacies.

“You look a little lost,” she said without looking up, her tone teasing but not unkind. "Can I help you find something, or are you just here to admire the cats?” she asked, finally glancing up at him. Her gaze was sharp but warm, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Her teasing tone caught him off guard, making him glance up sharply. His ears seemed to perk slightly, before he quickly refocused. “Pick up,” he said, his voice low and clipped, offering her a tight-lipped smile that was more reflex than intentional.

She let out a small hum. “Name?”

“Steve.”

“Oh yes–” Her demeanor instantly changed as she put the tray down, wiping her hands on her apron. “Let me get that for you.” Her hands masterfully opened a paper bag with clear cellophane, and slid open the sliding door to the showcase.

“Sam!” She yelled, causing Bucky to jolt. “I need Steven’s special.” She called out, and Bucky's eyes flicked back to her. Steven.

He heard a faint reply from across the cafe commotion and watched as she used the metal tongs to grab two bear claws from the wax paper lined tray. Bucky almost let out a snort but instead, he opted to shove his hands in his pockets, glancing down to his boots. He watched as crumbs of dirt crumbled from his shoe and littered the linoleum floor.

“What’s the Steven Special?” Bucky suddenly heard himself say. He looked at her through his lashes. He watched a small smile sneak across her lips.

“A medium white chocolate macchiato, with two bear claws.” She said, fingers crinkling the bag shut as she slid it across the clear surface. This time Bucky let out a snort. Before he could thank her, she went back to unloading her discarded tray. He hesitated on grabbing the bag.

“So you’re the new guy then?” She asked suddenly, quickly glancing at him. He looked at her. “Stevie's mentioned he’s expecting a new comer, and I’ve never seen you before so—” she explained. Stevie.

“Then yeah.” He gave a curt smile, reaching for the bag on the counter.

“Thought so,” she said, her tone a hint lighter now as she turned back to her work. “He’s been talking ‘bout you for weeks, you know.”

“Nothing bad I hope.”

She turned to set down the now empty tray, glancing over her shoulder, a glint in her eye. “Depends on your definition of bad.” Her tone was playful but laced with just enough intrigue to make him pause. She spins swiftly, closing the display case.

“Nah,” She shrugs with a smirk, “He’s just psyched you're here, it’s kinda cute.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. She waves a hand in the air.

“He’s just got this way of talking about things—”

“Order up.”

The sudden burst out causing the both of you to abruptly turn toward the man holding out an oat-colored to-go cup.

The woman cleared her throat, shifting back to allow space for the man to step in. Her smirk faded into a polite, neutral expression, her focus now on adjusting a tray of napkins nearby.

“Steven’s special,” the man announced, his grin wide and easy, breaking through the tension that had lingered just a moment earlier.

Bucky’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned toward the man, who was now leaning casually against the counter, holding the cup out as if he were presenting a prized trophy.

Bucky nodded and reached for the cup, his movements deliberate. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice steady.

“No problem,” the man replied, his tone light and teasing. “Better get it to him quick, he’s been talking about the claws all morning.”

“Noted,” Bucky muttered, though his gaze flickered back toward the woman, who was now bent over another display, her attention fixed on her work as if the earlier exchange had never happened.

The man cleared his throat sharply, drawing Bucky’s attention. When Bucky turned toward him, he was already side-eyeing the woman before shifting his gaze back to Bucky with a deadpan expression. It wasn’t accusatory, but there was a challenge in the look—like he’d caught Bucky doing something he shouldn’t be.

Bucky’s brow twitched in response, his face otherwise impassive, and he adjusted the bag in his hand.

“Thanks again,” he said curtly, stepping back from the counter.

Sam held his gaze for a beat longer, then turned his attention away from him.

Bucky stepped toward the door, the hum of the café enveloping him once more. His grip tightened slightly on the bag as he moved, but something tugged at his attention, making him glance back one last time.

The man was now leaning against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his head tilted toward the woman. Whatever he’d said caused her to laugh softly, her shoulders shaking with the motion. The earlier ease in her posture had returned, her movements efficient and unbothered, as though their exchange had been nothing more than a routine part of her day.

She brushed a strand of hair from her face as she replied, her voice lost in the café’s hum. They shared another laugh.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, though his face betrayed nothing as he turned back toward the door. Pushing it open, he stepped into the cool air outside, the bell above jingling faintly as the door closed behind him.

As he walked down the street, the warmth of the café began to fade, but the soft intensity of the exchange lingered. He shook his head with a quiet huff of air, the bag crinkling faintly in one hand while the other held the to-go cup. His boots scuffed lightly against the pavement as he approached a sleek, dark car parked a few steps ahead.

Bucky unlocked it with a press of a button, the quiet beep breaking the stillness. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he set the paper bag on the passenger side and the cup in the holder before resting his hands on the steering wheel.

For a moment, he sat there, the hum of the café replaying in his mind. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it.

With a twist of the key, the engine purred to life, the quiet power of the car grounding him. As he pulled out onto the street, the cool air rushing through the window carried away the lingering warmth of the café—but not entirely.

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a/n: I know there's barely anything there but I have an idea and im jsut trying to roll with it -- so if you have any ideas let me know! i’m begging — pls reblog to support!

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watchmegetobsessed · 2 months ago

Text

DO ANYTHING

A/N: some dirty boxx!harry x assistant!yn for yall on this fine evening

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: You're Harry's date for an evening, but it's only professional, you're his assistant after all. But when his ex-wife shows up, things take a turn.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

The sight in the mirror has never seemed more surreal than right now. The old mirror in the corner of your studio apartment has seen you in so many different outfits, work clothes, party dresses, stained sweats and even a Shrek costume (you were never the kind to dress up in something hot for a Halloween costume), but as you’re staring at your form right now, it just feels… not at all real.

The designer dress is hugging your frame so perfectly, you’re wondering if it was tailored to your body, it’s long, but on the right side there’s a pretty high slit, showing off quite a lot of bare skin when you’re walking and the top is pretty out of your comfort zone as well with the neckline dipping so low, you keep checking if the girls are in place. And to top it all off, the back of the dress is… well, almost nonexistent, the fabric only covers you from a little above the waist down.

Your hair is pulled up into a loose updo, your makeup is not too much, but just enough to enhance your favorite features and you’ve just stepped into your heels a minute ago to check the whole look, but you’re already afraid you might trip and fall at one point in the evening.

If you had the chance you’d probably spend hours standing in front of the mirror, pointing out every tiny detail in your appearance that is just not right or feels absolutely hideous on you, but when you hear your phone chime on the desk you jump at the sound and tear your eyes away from your reflection.

The screen has lit up, showcasing a text and though you already know who it is, your heart still starts pounding when you see the name in the notification.

HARRY: I’m outside.

Taking a deep breath you grab the phone and type a quick reply before dropping it into your clutch and heading down before you could change your mind.

Originally it seemed like a good idea to accompany your boss to this charity event he was invited to, the tickets were bought a year ahead of the event, a month prior to his divorce, so after everything went down with his ex, he needed a new partner, but he refused to look for one and then one day he just simply threw it in at one of your meetings that you should be the one coming with him.

“But… I’m your assistant,” you said, probably with a stunned face.

“Yeah. So it’s settled, you’re coming,” he simply nodded and then added that he would get you a dress and an appointment at a salon for the evening.

After some thinking it actually made sense that you’d be his partner for the evening, but then the thinking kept going and when you got to the realization that you’d be your multi millionaire boss’ date for a fancy event while you’re still secretly in love with the man, things started to look a lot less ideal.

It’s a cliché, you know it, falling for your charming boss while working as his assistant, you’ve seen this movie and read all the books, but you knew from the first moment the ending would be different for you. However, that didn’t stop you from falling for him more and more every day.

And now you’re his date for the night and even though you know it’s nothing more, just practically a task, a job, you can’t help but be excited and frightened at the same time.

When you step out of the building and see the sleek black car waiting by the curb with him leaning against it in his suit, looking like he just stepped out of the pages of a magazine, your ankles wobble for a moment at the sight.

Harry Styles tends to have this reaction on people, as you’ve learned in the two years you’ve been working as his assistant. He is a charming, handsome and incredibly talented businessman who is just simply liked by everyone. It’s one of his talents that he can easily shape himself according to who he is talking to and get them to practically be obsessed with him, which is a quite useful thing when you’re trying to build a business empire and need other people’s help.

But you also got to see his real self as well, the caring, smart and funny man who has sacrificed so much for his business but stayed just as humble as he was when he moved to the States from the small town in England where he grew up.

Harry Styles is simply the most wonderful man you’ve ever known. It’s no surprise you found yourself falling in love with him while working for him, though he always tells you he prefers to say that you work with him.

When he notices you stepping out he takes a tiny step forward and for a moment you see something on his face that makes your whole body light on fire instantly, but you can’t actually pinpoint what it is.

You start walking down the stairs and pray silently that you don’t just trip and fall down, but Harry is quick to rush up to you and offer his hand.

“Thank you,” you chuckle nervously.

“You look wonderful,” he murmurs lowly, sending a shiver down your spine and you pray he doesn’t notice the goosebumps on your exposed skin.

Well, today is not your lucky day.

“Are you cold?” he asks, as you reach the car.

“Um, just a little. It’s alright.”

He only nods, opens the door and helps you into the car.

You’ve sat in this seat a million times before, mostly going to meetings, yet you sit now as if it’s a completely new experience, back straight, knees pressed together tightly, making sure you’re as ladylike as possible.

“You seem tense,” he comments, a sense of playfulness in his voice that eases your nerves a little.

“It’s just… not my usual Friday evening,” you flash him a smile, which he returns warmly. “I memorized all the names of the people you should talk to tonight, I have some info about–”

“Y/N, you’re not working tonight,” he cuts you off with a wave. “I don’t want you to assist me, you’re here to enjoy it.”

It’s not the first time he said he doesn’t want you to be in work mode tonight, but it’s hard to turn it off when you’re around him. It’s also become your way of keeping yourself in check, categorizing your time spent with him as work helps you not to fall into a spiral and get lost in your feelings, but it seems like you have to put it aside, which is quite dangerous.

You whisper a faint okay and then just continue panicking in your head.

The event is nothing short of what you imagined it to be. Lots of influential people, amazing food, expensive drinks and… money. Everything is oozing… money.

At first you’re certain that you stand out like a sore thumb, that everyone you’re introduced to just knows you don’t belong there, that you’re an impostor.

But then you feel Harry’s palm on your exposed back, your skin burns under his touch and while it gives you a different kind of nervousness, it also tones down what you feel about being among all these wealthy people.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning close to your ear.

“Yeah,” you nod, but when your eyes meet his gaze, you know he sees right through you. “It just feels… odd.”

“What exactly feels odd?”

“Being here. As a guest. It’s not quite the place I go to usually.”

“Me neither.”

You give him a confused look, because you know for a fact he attends events like this about every other week. But then you see the smirk hiding in the corners of his mouth and it makes you laugh.

“Such a liar,” you scoff, but it just widens his grin.

“Always calling me out on my bullshit,” he chuckles softly.

He loves to joke about how you’re the only one to call him a liar, people tend to fear to call him out, not wanting to go against him and his power, but you never hesitate to do so even if he’s just joking. To be fair, in the first few months you were one of those bowing people, but as time went by and you got to know more of the amazing man Harry is, you stripped this fear down and now just one look is enough for him to know that you’re onto him.

It takes quite some time for you to stop being a rattled little deer caught in the headlights, but eventually you’re able to loosen up. Harry’s presence brings a sense of safety as well, he is great at leisurely leading a conversation without others noticing, so he also has the chance to only bring up topics you feel comfortable talking about. Every time someone tries to chat about something controversial or deeply political, Harry is quick to steer the conversation to safer territories and you couldn’t be more thankful for that. He knows how you feel talking about such risky topics with people with such influence.

Other than Harry, the champagne also helps to ease your nerves, though you make sure not to drink too much that might cloud your rational side that keeps you in check still.

But you’re definitely a bit tipsy, just enough to have your thoughts float to places they probably shouldn’t. And when Harry’s palm returns to your back, just a simple touch to pull you closer to him and out of the way of a bypassing couple, something shifts inside you.

A feeling you’ve been eager to keep locked in the back of your mind surfaces and you barely catch yourself.

Harry’s divorce was finalized five months ago. The three months period leading up to it was tough on him, though only a few knew about it and you were one of those. You tried your best to support him in such a trying time and it seemed that he was glad to have his mind taken off his personal issues. He was definitely using work as a coping mechanism and you happily assisted him in anything, often staying at the office with him until eleven in the night and then starting it all over again at eight in the morning.

These long days however turned into something more than just an escape. Harry never let you stay without ordering dinner for the two of you that you often ate at his desk, staring down at the night lights of the city. He made one rule for these late nights, that you can’t talk about work while eating and that forced you to conquer other topics in life.

Some days you stopped working at seven, but only left the office past ten, because you got so tangled in a conversation that time flew by. Every time you finished so late that it was dark outside Harry insisted driving you home and while at first you felt self-conscious to have him see the neighborhood you live in, which is not at all bad, but definitely can’t compare to his penthouse in the heart of the city, you slowly let go of these toxic thoughts and enjoyed the extra time you got to spend with him.

You don’t remember the point where the doubts started, but somewhere along his healing journey a feeling settled in your chest that it might be something more. That Harry might want something more.

At first you felt ridiculous to even think about your boss wanting anything to do with you other than work. But as one evening spent alone with him turned into another, there were tiny, almost unnoticeable things that kept fueling this thought to the point where you couldn’t ignore it.

It was in the way he looked at you, talked to you and cared for you. No matter how much you tried to tell yourself that it’s just his general character, you always circled back to the what ifs. Unfortunately, this state of mind didn’t help with how rapidly you were falling for him.

Now, as you feel his hand on your bare skin, the feeling instantly crawls its way up your spine and when your gaze meets his, you see something in it that throws you off the edge, but still can’t put your finger on it.

“Why don’t we check out that buffet table?” he suggests. You’ve refused to eat since you’ve arrived, not wanting to look bloated in this dress, but now you can’t say no and your champagne filled tummy would surely appreciate something solid.

“Let’s go.”

There’s so much food and everything looks mouthwatering, you can’t even decide what to try. Harry suggests filling a plate with a bit of everything to try them and then you can have a second round of what you liked the most. Soon enough, you’re sitting at a table in the corner with a plate full of food, sharing with Harry.

Your boss.

“What’s with rich people and mini hamburgers?” you ask, holding up one. “Why can’t they just make… a full size? I have to eat like five of these to equal a whole.”

“It’s bite-size,” Harry grins and steals the other one off the plate. “People don’t start munching on a double cheeseburger in a gown or tuxedo.”

“Alright, you’ve got a point.”

Shifting in your seat you try to move your feet a bit, the ache the heels give you starting to get to you, but you’re pushing through it. But you weren’t as subtle as you thought, Harry catches a frown on your face and he is quick to figure out what’s bothering you.

“How bad do your feet hurt?”

“Ah, it’s alright,” you shrug, but your eyes widen when Harry reaches down, his hands finding your leg under the table and they brush down your calf, pulling your foot towards him until it’s laid on his thigh. He keeps one hand on your shin while the other one gently presses and massages your foot as much as the stiletto heel lets him.

“They look amazing, but I kind of miss your sneakers,” he grins at you.

“They are surely comfier,” you chuckle.

“Thank you for coming with me, Y/N. These things are usually awfully boring to me.”

“And this time is different?” you smile absentmindedly, turning towards the plate once again to get another bite, but you’re quickly stopped by his words.

“Everything is different with you.”

This time that feeling is pulsating in your chest. When your gaze meets his, your breath hitches for a moment, his hands are still on your leg and foot, but they’ve stopped massaging, they are just gently resting on you, bringing you an odd sense of comfort.

You have no idea what to say but you open your mouth to reply just when you spot a familiar figure over Harry’s shoulder across the room and your adrenaline spikes instantly as you pull your leg back and sit up right, already feeling her piercing eyes on you, because she spotted you.

Harry’s ex-wife.

Your blood runs cold as you try to avoid looking her way, attempting to ignore her presence, but the change in you is obvious for Harry and he is quick to turn around and it doesn’t take him long to notice Stella.

If you’re being honest their whole relationship was quite a mystery for you. Stella is a model turned actress who met Harry at some kind of event about five years ago. His business was skyrocketing at that time, everyone was talking about his sudden success while Stella was making headlines for dating practically every bachelor in Hollywood. Somehow, they found common ground and tied the knot a little over a year after they met. For the next three years they were seen quite often together out in the city or on vacation, attending events or taking photos with fans of Stella. Seemingly, they were a great couple, the public loves it when two incredibly hot people get together and they can live their life through the photos they post or in this case, Stella posts. She loves using social media and most of the content that featured Harry came from her, allowing little glimpse into their life that seemed absolutely perfect from the outside.

But then about a year ago Harry started disappearing from Stella’s platforms, they were seen less and less out in public and it went on until their divorce was announced. Well, Harry announced nothing, but Stella went on an Instagram live to tell her fans what’s been going on. In her narrative they simply grew apart and decided it’s better to separate, but you were already working for Harry when it all went down and though you don’t know the whole story, you’re certain there was a lot more behind it all.

Stella used to appear at the office before, she never stayed long and sometimes you could hear them fighting in his office before she stormed off. The next day you usually saw a post from her online that was showcasing to the world how madly in love they are, but you saw through that facade.

You never dared to ask him about what happened, not even when you were having deeper conversations with him in the night in his office and Harry never brought it up. But one thing was sure, their parting wasn’t as peaceful as Stella tried to make it appear.

And now when you see him freeze and tense for a moment at the sight of her, you know that it was a nasty ending.

Harry is quick to recover, he pretends like he didn’t see her as he turns back to you.

“So, do you want more mini burgers?” he asks with a smile, but it’s different, definitely not as real as it was before.

“Um, I think I’m good for now,” you smile back, ignoring how your stomach has shrunk from the anxiety Stella’s presence just gave you. “I’m gonna find the restroom quickly,” you say, standing from the table, eager to have a moment to yourself and maybe try to level yourself.

“Okay,” Harry nods and you practically run off in the direction of the restrooms.

Once you’re in there, you lean onto the sink and try to regulate your breathing. The woman looking back at you from the mirror looks just like you, yet you feel like you’re an entirely different person.

You wash your hands and then hold a cold hand to your chest, feeling your own pounding heart under your touch. You will yourself to get it together and then finally make your way out.

You have no idea at this point where tonight is heading, one moment Harry is saying awfully ambiguous things, then his ex-wife appears and it’s like the room has frozen.

You don’t see Harry by the table where you left him, so you stop and scan over the sea of guests, relief settling in your chest when you spot him only to be thrown over the edge right after that when you realize he is talking to Stella.

They are standing by the wall, a bit away from the rest of the guests and from what you can see, they are in some kind of quiet argument. At first, you’re hesitant to interrupt them, but then you change your mind and slowly start to walk closer. You catch none of their conversation, not even when you get in earshot. Harry spots you approaching and he is quick to end their little talk and walk over to you.

“Everything alright?” you ask in a high pitched voice.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“Why would I? Do you want to leave?” He seems confused, but also tense at the same time.

“I just thought that…” Your gaze wanders over to Stella who has moved back to her own date, pretending like she didn’t just run into her ex. “Can I do anything to help?”

He looks at you with a stunned expression that you can’t quite decipher.

“To help?” he repeats after you.

“Yeah, I would do anything to… to make you feel better,” you say with a dying voice, eager to not let this evening turn into a nightmare for him.

He exhales through his nose, looking away from you for a second before his eyes return to your face, but his expression has changed. It’s fierce, full of a fire you don’t remember ever seeing in his eyes.

“Anything? Y/N…”

“Yes, anything!” you nod eagerly, taking a tiny step closer to him. “I know I’m just your assistant, but I–”

The words die on your lips when his mouth covers them, practically knocking you out of your heels, but luckily, he is quick to wrap an arm around your waist while his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw as he kisses you like no man has ever done before.

You’ve fantasized about what kissing Harry would feel like way too many times, but nothing compares to this moment, as his lips are so eagerly moving with yours while your whole body is pressed tightly against him, but not just because he is keeping you close, you’re also keep pushing against him, wanting to be as close to him as humanly possible.

Your hands move to the base of his neck and then into his hair at the back of his head right when his tongue pushes against yours and you can’t help a moan that slips into his mouth, which has him feral.

His hand on your jaw moves a bit lower to your neck, his thumb slipping under your chin so he can easily angle your head just how he wants. His other hand is still on your exposed back, his touch is burning on your naked skin as it drags down over your spine, reaching where the fabric of your dress starts. He stops there, but a few moments later his fingers sneakily dip under the hem and it just fuels the fire burning inside you.

Not too willingly, but he slows the kiss down until his lips pull back, but he keeps his forehead pressed against yours for a bit longer before he leans back, looking at you. His lips are sparkling from your lipgloss, his hair is no longer neatly combed thanks to your fingers and his eyes radiate a new kind of energy, one that you haven’t quite seen from him.

Your cheeks and neck are burning from the heat that’s spreading through your veins and then your gaze catches how your hands are still on the base of his neck and a sudden wave of shock comes over you as it all settles in your mind: you just made out with Harry, your boss.

Curling your lips between your teeth you look away and immediately spot Stella by one of the tables, staring right at you with a stern look on her nearly perfect face and then realization hits you.

Harry kissed you to make her jealous, it was all just a show for her.

Your chest feels like a rock suddenly, like everything inside you has turned solid and you feel heavier than ever before, but you don’t want him to see the utter disappointment you’re currently going through.

“Um, sh-she is still watching, we can–I mean if we kissed a-again she would… see…” You can’t stop your voice from shaking and you know he sees right through you in an instant. He follows your gaze over to Stella, then quickly looks back at you.

And surprisingly, he becomes angry.

“You think this was because of her? That I did it because Stella was watching?”

Harry was never the kind to humiliate you or bite your head off if you gave him a wrong answer, but right now you feel like if you don’t say the right thing he will flip.

Unfortunately, you have no idea what would be the right answer at this moment.

“I-I don’t… I mean…” You’re a stuttering mess and though Harry’s gaze is burning right now, you can’t look away.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbles under his breath and before you could get another word out he grabs your wrist firmly, but not enough to hurt you and he starts pulling you towards the exit.

“What–Where are we going?” you ask, trying your best to keep up with him in your heels. When he notices you’re having a hard time with the pace he is dictating he slows down a bit, placing a hand to your lower back and then pushing you forward from then.

“We’re leaving,” he simply answers while fishing his phone out of his jacket’s pocket with his free hand, texting the driver, you assume.

“Did I say something wrong?” you ask when you’re walking down the stairs after leaving the building behind, but he just grunts and leaves you unanswered.

Reaching the pavement he’s craning his neck with a frustrated expression on his face, looking for the car probably even though he literally just texted the driver.

“Harry, I don’t understand what’s happening,” you admit, desperate to get him to speak before you lose your mind. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Upset me?” he exhales, finally looking at you again. “Y/N, I–” His hands rake through his hair harshly before they fall to his side. “What do you think happened in there?” he then asks, obviously trying to calm himself down.

“I don’t… We kissed,” you unsurely say, voice barely more than just a whisper. He deflates and stepping closer he cradles your cheek in one hand and you involuntarily lean into his touch.

“Why do you think we kissed?”

“Because… Stella–”

You don’t even get to finish before he shakes his head no and cuts you off.

“Stella has nothing to do with it.” Your breath hitches in your throat as you stare back at him, your whole body buzzing as you wait for him to continue. “I was holding onto my last thread of self control all night and it snapped when you offered to do anything to make me feel better and I never wanted you more than in that moment. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wrapped around your finger, Y/N,” he chuckles defeatedly. “Stella and I had a fight because she told me she always knew I would end up with you, that she knew I was into you from the first moment.”

You want to say something, but words die on your tongue as you just keep listening to him.

“And guess what?”

“What?” you breathe out.

“She was… right. I’ve wanted you probably since you walked into your interview. I thought I could push it aside and focus on the professional side only, but you were just always on my mind.”

“But you were married!” you protest, suddenly feeling dizzy that you might have been the reason his marriage ended.

“On paper, but we were already having lots of issues by the time you started working for me. I gave it everything to try to work things out, but it just got worse and in the meantime I couldn’t just ignore my want for you.”

The car finally pulls up beside you, but you don’t move just yet.

“Harry…”

“We’ll get into that car now and I’ll let you think things through, I wouldn’t want to push anything on you, okay?”

You just nod, even though you have a lot to say, but you keep it in for now. Harry lets go of you and opens the door, helping you into the car before taking the seat next to you. You’re breathing heavily, mind racing as the car leaves the curb and you give yourself about ten seconds of peace before you flip your whole world upside down.

Luckily, the partition is up so the driver can’t see the back and you know for a fact the windows are so tinted no one can tell what’s happening inside. It gives you enough courage to jump into action.

You’ve never been the bold type, but the fire Harry has lit inside you is now urging you to leap out of your comfort zone. You slide closer on the seat to Harry, grab his face between your hands and kiss him without hesitation. There’s a moment of surprise on his end, but he recovers almost instantly, his hands moving to your waist as he kisses you back fiercely. He is pulling you, probably with the intention of just getting you as close as your sitting position lets you, but it’s not enough for you, so with another bold move you pull back but just for a second so you can sling a leg over him and settle on his lap. The high slit of your dress luckily allows you to sit comfortably and as you lower yourself you feel the unmistakable bulge in his pants, giving away just how much he wants you. His hands move to your exposed back, fingers digging into your skin while your lips collide once again and you swallow a moan of his when you roll your hips against his, his restrained cock meeting with your clothed center.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he breathes against your mouth and you can’t help a smirk that tugs on your lips, but it quickly turns into an O shape when one of his hands drop down to your ass, grabbing a handful of you so roughly you wouldn’t be surprised if he left a mark on you. With his grip on you, you start rolling your hips again and don’t even try to hold back your moans.

“Y/N, you keep doing that and…”

“And what?” you challenge him. He stares back at you, as if he is making sure this is what you want, but you couldn’t be more sure. You want him, you need him and you need him right now.

Before your insecurities could get to you, you reach up and pull the straps of your dress off your shoulders, letting the fabric pool around your waist.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes out before he pulls you in for another kiss.

It’s not the most ideal place and it’s not easy to move around, but you manage to unbuckle his belt and push his pants down just enough so you can reach into his underwear, palming his hard cock eagerly. As an answer to your touch, he bites into your bottom lip, making you moan and it distracts you just enough so he can reach between your legs, pulling the fabric of your underwear to the side. When two of his fingers slide between your drenched folds his name leaves your lips like a plea and your head falls back when he starts teasing your clit.

“So fucking wet for me, I can’t wait to bury myself in this pussy,” he groans before his mouth latches onto your neck, kissing and sucking and biting on the soft skin.

Your hips start moving again, his fingers working you like an instrument and your body is singing for him perfectly. You’re losing your patience, the need to feel him inside you is becoming unbearable. Your hands get to work and you eagerly pull his cock out of his underwear, instantly wrapping your palm around him, gasping when you realize just how big he really is.

“You want it right now?” he asks, lifting his head.

“Yes please!”

“Such a good girl for me.”

He pulls his hand back from between your legs, moving them to your hips as he guides you forward, angling his cock up to your cunt.

“Are you gonna take me well, baby?”

“Yes,” you nod and then start moving yourself down, gasping as he slowly fills you up, stretching your walls so perfectly. “Oh fuck!”

“You’re doing so well,” he praises, letting you get used to his size, squeezing your hips in encouragement. You’re breathing heavily, taking some time unmoving, while Harry leans forward and starts peppering your breasts with kisses, then his mouth wraps around your nipple, his tongue twirling around it sensually.

Slowly, you start moving, up and down, back and forth, your mouth hangs open as you feel him move inside you so perfectly.

“That’s it, you feel so fucking good, baby,” he groans, his head falling back on the headrest as you start to pick up your pace.

“Harry,” you moan, feeling your inside burning as your orgasm starts building up.

“I know baby, I know.”

His hands are everywhere, on your back, waist, your chest and neck and on the back of your head as he pulls you down for another fierce kiss.

You keep calling out his name as you get closer to your climax and when he reaches down and starts playing with your clit, you lose your mind.

He comes right before you and you try to stretch his orgasm as long as possible by squeezing him while you ride your own high, you both are a mess, lips smacking, hands groping, it’s the best you’ve ever felt.

When you finally start calming down you dare to look at him with clear eyes. Harry brushes your hair out of your face and smiles at you with awe.

The car comes to a stop and you realize you’ve arrived at your apartment building.

“If you’re not opposed to spending the night in a shoebox sized studio apartment, I would love it if you came up,” you tell him bashfully. His smile grows into a wide grin.

“That shoebox sized apartment sounds like the best place on earth right now.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

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13tinysocks · 2 months ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

He lied about being a superhero. You lied about not having freaky ass mind powers. You broke up- bitterly. End of story. No shot Invincible and some superpowered grunt for Machine Head would ever work out in any reality. Except. When he comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you.

[Invincible Varients x Reader] [Ao3] [current overall word count: 187k]

[long form, multi-arc, eventual smut, dark fic]

[6.7K, part one of ?] [2] Took a lot of liberties with this. Wanted the variants to be more distinct. Please excuse formatting issues, tumblr is actually ass. Header art is mine. Buckle up, I write like a bad girl with a hope for better days. TW: Lots of death, bad things, worse people.

1 * Buck Fifty

Where I think that we’re all gonna die, Just to get fucked in some parallel life, While a strange martian fungus sprouts, From our sexier parts. Canoeing on Mars - Go Hang Music

Semantics are a funny thing, really. You say, “Go jump off a bridge,” most people do just that. Jump. Here’s the not so fun part, some people, they go, “Well, what bridge?” And it’s a back and forth, you pushing, them pulling until you find that magic sweet spot in their logic and they finally jump. So because you were chatting with this asshole for the better part of ten minutes, people run to you asking questions. “Did you know him? Is he okay?” Clearly, he wasn’t. The guy’s brains were dashed on a rock, blood following the runoff stream, too shallow to break the fall. Your attention slides off the body. To the couple that pulled over the second he went over the ledge. Early thirties. Medium-ugly man, pretty girl with her hand on her swollen belly. Engagement rings glinting under the spring sun. “Get back in your car.” Power rolls off your tongue. Thick, heavy, and sour. “And drive away.” Concern leeches out of their eyes. Glazing over the moment the words meet their ears. The woman gets in first, shutting the passenger and sliding a seatbelt over herself. The man steps around the car, into steady traffic flowing carefully away from their car. He’s nearly clipped by the side mirror of a sedan that blares it’s horn. Swerving away, scraping the opposite side of the bridge’s barrier. He gets into the car. Unblinking as car after car rams into the sedan. A pileup in the making but he looks nowhere but straight ahead. The couple’s car, a buggy, pulls off the narrow shoulder. Catching a pickup in the side, sending it careening into the sedan’s front. You watch the sedan driver pop like a pimple and the buggy drive off.

You look back down, to the target, the only one supposed to get hurt here. He’s dead alright. Job’s done. Collateral doesn’t matter, not here anyway. Pileups happen all the time for no good reason at all. Still, you tug up your hood and make your way down the side catwalk of the bridge. Going the opposite direction of the pileup. Smoke thick in your nose. Air displaces, a woosh overhead. You’re at the bridge’s end, at the corner of Park and Main when the spandex clad cavalry arrives. You know that pink glow anywhere. Atom Eve sprung into action. Resetting metal, fixing tires. You make yourself watch her, not the blue-black blur that’s scooping civilians out of cars to safety. You catch a look at him anyway. Still at last, because the job was done that quick. Your gut tightens, brows press together, a sour lemon frown on your lips. He’s smiling at her as they talk about money. The city of New York a brand spanking new client of Invincible Co. Payday for them. You too. So stop being such a dill, and get a move on. You turn before Mark can see your face. He wouldn’t think of you as the culprit. A long ago thing of the past, pre-powers. Good, it’s better if you’re not on his shit list. The best if he had no idea you were still rolling with Machine Head. He’d seen you in his superhero skin at Machine Head’s side. God, how that ended. No longer seventeen. No longer needing desperate money for college. No longer innocent or wanted. When they start asking questions to bystanders, you’re already halfway down Main. You walk fast, you’re late. Twenty minutes out from the tower on foot without a car when the meeting was in five fucking minutes. Wasn’t your fault the guy had to be persuaded to kill himself.

Machine Head wouldn’t see it that way. You caught somebody by the arm. Alone, in nice enough clothes. They turn, lip curling, about to yank their arm away. “Give me your wallet.” You say low.

Fear doesn't breach their eyes. They simply pluck the leather bound thing from their jeans, detach it from a chain, and hand the whole thing over. You hold a thumb out until a taxi pulls up. You didn’t have to pay. With powers like these, you could’ve done anything. You could be living large. Countless pretty things on your arm, willing to do anything at your say so. But you’re here. In debt. A criminal. Because you don’t know where to go or what else to do or what else you’re good for. They’d find you anyway, you could tell them to go and forget you existed but somehow, through mental gymnastics, you told yourself they’d come back. Kill you for trying to leave. You pay the taxi fair out of courtesy because you once worked a shitty customer service job. You’re a killer, not evil. Consider it a good deed for the day. You run through the double glass doors. Careful not the leave prints on the glass. Machine Head was very particular. An evil megalomaniac, but particular. You know you’re late by the time you push open the Italian maple doors. He’s standing, ramrod straight, back to you, machine eyes (cameras you supposed?) scanning the city. His city. For a time it wasn’t. He was usurped, locked in the same jail house as you. You thought that your difference in sex would keep him away from you. But no, you were still working for him in the slammer to keep your back shank-free. He got out, took The Order by the throat, and now you were out too and- “Fifty-three seconds. You made me wait fifty-three seconds. Do you know how much money I could’ve been making in those fifty-three seconds, (Y/n)?” He turned to you. Suit crisp. Metal shining. You feel drastically under dressed in your sweats and hoodie. Lightly stained from cheap takeout. But you wouldn’t change it, it was practically the uniform of the average New York streetwalker. Not noticed. Perfect for the casual assassin, burglar, and occasional drug mule. You don’t apologize. Don’t explain. Because that’s more time wasted, more money piled onto your dept. “Granger is dead.” “Yeah, of old age.” You swallow back the anger. After five years of cat scratches like that, you’re more than used to keeping your feelings in check. “My next assignment, sir?”

His circuitry clicked. “Nothing. Maybe I’ll give you something next time if you aren’t so inconsiderate with my time.” You turn for the door. No argument there. “Oh and, (Y/n)?” You stop, hand on the polished knob. “Be here twelve tomorrow. Sharp. Or I’m adding another month.” His threat is real, but hollow. Another month under his thumb means nothing when you’re too useful to ever let go. Shallowly, you nod and slip out the door. *** Another two hundred. A month after the last raise in rent. You could kill her. Tell her to jump off the complex roof while doing a hand spring. “Miss Neighbor?” A voice behind you makes you look down, down, down. She’s a tiny thing. A sprout though she’s supposed to be eleven. “Caligula got out again.” Her arms piston forward, presenting the fluffy thing. Eyes slited and soft belly exposed. You sigh, taking him into your arms where he melts and purrs. “Thanks Cecelia.” You say, foot kicking open your ajar door. Caligula figured out how to turn the knob last year. Ever since you’d been vigilant about double locking the door but some days you were in a hurry and too stressed to worry. Like today. “I owe you one.” Your hand slipped into your hoodie, pulling out the last remaining dollars and coins stolen from the stranger. You spot a fifty in the wad that her eager hands wrap around. You hold on a little too long before letting go. There’d be more pockets to pick tomorrow. You could make rent with a few extra hours. Though, man, you didn’t want to. You were tired enough as it was. Her eyes glittered as she thumbed through the cash, the little capitalist. She slipped a single dollar and two quarters into one hand. The rest of the fat stack in the other. Ah, reward money for giving her money. Child’s logic. She holds out the wad to you. “Thanks Neighbor lady, but I just need a buck fifty for the vending machine down the hall. Gonna get me a Reese's Pieces.” She yelled a thanks more heartfelt than yours and toddled down the hall, knees awkwardly bowed. You watch her turn the corner. Slack jawed. For a change, somebody let you keep something. Something good happened, even after you made a stupid decision.

You push inside the studio and push away all thoughts of killing Cecelia’s greedy bitch mother. Who would find Caligula if she had to move to her aunt’s? Plus, if you got rid of her mom another, greedier landlord would probably replace her. There wasn’t a point. Early dinner was phoned in because you were so frazzled after this afternoon you’d forgot to grocery shop. Pizza. You waited, splayed on the couch, Caligula purring away on your knee. A Youtube stream pulled up on your junk laptop because you didn’t bother with a TV. News was a good thing to keep an eye on when you were a criminal. A knock at the door. You rise. The pizza boy looks about the age of minimum wage. Still, you tell him, “Give me your wallet and the pizza.” Before shutting, and locking, the door in his face, no tip. Good deed already done for the day. Another knock should come. Him demanding payment and his wallet. Instead, footsteps recede. He’s already forgotten. He’ll remember vaguely later, making a regular delivery. Losing his wallet, maybe in his car on while packing pizzas. He’ll panic, pause his debit card that you’ll never touch out for fear of being tracked. Working for Machine Head meant cash only. You’re back on the couch, indulging. Caligula licking grease off your fingers. You skip from one news stream to the next. Looking for yourself. You weren’t the costume and flashy mask type of supervillian. If you considered yourself super at all. No inhuman strength or speed or shape shifting. Just, talking and making people listen. You were lucky. Only caught the once. It was the second time Mark saw you rolling with Machine Head, a month after your cataclysmic teenage breakup. A year in the slammer, slap on the wrist. Machine Head paid your way out of papers and records. It was three months later, after a particular fuck up, Machine Head revealed to you that Mark came to the prison the day you were supposed to be released. You’d been let out a day early. At the time you thought they just wanted you out because of overcrowding. But Machine Head knew Mark would come. Would try and persuade you to his side of things. Maybe make up and be sweethearts again. By then, through prison and three months of being an official card in Machine Hand’s deck— you’d crossed lines Mark wouldn’t forgive. You couldn’t go running back, saying you saw his side now. Because you didn’t. Imagining what Mark would say if he saw you again, if he knew you stayed with Machine Head, it was enough to make you cry right in the middle of Machine Head’s office. He didn’t even have to rub your nose in the shame when you’d do it yourself. You were so angry. At Mark for putting you in jail, playing you right into Machine Head’s hands. At Machine Head for never letting you out from under his thumb. At everything, all of the time.

Working for Machine Head wasn’t all bad. Got his endless supply of grunts to teach you a thing or two about tact and not getting caught. Things like not abusing the pizza boy every day. You saved it for once every few months. Never the same boy twice. Any repeats would be begrudgingly paid. Another slice finds it’s way between your fingers. You’re mid-groan as your attention catches on the latest stream. Not ten minutes ago you were bored out of your gourd. Now, “A devastating attack has left Seattle’s space needle— gone.” The camera panned up, up, not that far up because the iconic slab of concrete was fucking leveled. Your brows raise but you make no move. Not your circus, not your monkeys. The camera raises further. “And it seems the destruction was at the hands of—“ The stream cuts, going blue on your computer scream. You scoff, lean forward and beat the corner as flashes of blue and yellow mock you. Finally, it clears, and you see somebody. Decked in white. Hovering hundreds of feet about the needle. The pizza turns sour in your stomach but you lean forward, elbows on knees. Unable to see a face but so familiar with the shape of that body. For every time you saw it, on the news or overhead, your stomach went sour. “What the fuck is he doing without his mask on?” You squint. Just seeing the dot of tanned skin that was his head, no details beyond. Caligula yowled, crossing over your laptop keys to get at your fingers. The stream changes. “—le are evacuating Universal Studios Hollywood in droves. Authorities are unsure what’s caused the majority of the studio to collapse.” A crash off screen. The camera pans. Smoke rises from the skyline. Wind carrying it down to pollute the central valley. There’s that shape, that body again. Silhouette dark in the smoke, with something else, something you hadn’t seen. A new low. A fucking cape? Caligula takes another step. The stream changes. “This just in, Big Ben is gone.” An anchor takes up the screen, pale and balding forehead shining with sweat. “Sorry, Keith, uhm, what do you mean gone?” “I mean it’s gone, Jared. Cut— Cut to the footage!” The stream flickers. There’s the London sky. Gray and dreary. Clouds overshadowed by pillars of smoke. Chunks of rubble litter the street. Cars with their horns still blaring, engines burning crushed beneath. People squashed like grapes.

There he is again. But. No. Not really. This shape in the sky, this man had the same makeup but wider, thicker. You lean closer to the screen, sure you’re seeing things and not his old super suit. Your phone vibrates in your pocket. The news is forgotten, half eaten pizza slice thrown to the pen box where Caligula pounces to lick pooled oils off the cheese. You don’t have to look to know it’s work. Nobody calls you for anything but work and you only work for Machine Head. “Boss is feeling generous.” Isotope’s voice grits through the speaker. “Get back here on the double.” Seeing what you mistook for your ex on so many streams has soured your mood. Spiked your daring. “You can’t just teleport me?” He scoffs. “You’ve got legs don’cha? Use ‘em.” Machine Head’s voice spiked the other end of the line. Isotope sighs. “Don’t move.” You wipe your hands off on your pants before he’s in your apartment. Appearing through a haze of radioactive green light. You don’t even get to stand before his hand is on your shoulder and you’re zapped into Machine Head’s sprawling high rise. You stumble but straighten. Isotope leaving your side to stand at attention by Machine Head. Who was currently heaving over his desk. Papers, pens, and pretty mugs dashed to the floor. It’d only been a few minutes. Did Granger survive? Did somebody see you? Report you? Is Machine Head going to have you killed, right here, right now? Power coils in your throat. Words ready to shoot like bullets to protect yourself. “Tell me, Dregs.” The word spits off his electric voice box like sparks. Your stomach cinches. In this room, on the street, in the normal world, you were (Y/n). On jobs with fellow grunts you didn’t trust, in Machine Head’s scant paper trail, you were Dregs. He reserved calling the insult of a ‘villain name’ for when he was particularly unhappy with you. The name wasn’t your doing. It was a nasty nickname that stuck when Machine Head, near dead, overheard Invincible, breaking up with you in the shattered remains of his office all those years ago. “You— you’ve been— you’re—“ His lip quivered under his mask. “I did this for us.” You’d said. “I needed money to go to college with you. It’s just a one time thing!”

“They tried to kill me. He hired you to help kill me.” His voice had changed then, matured a fraction. Gone was the boyfriend that called you dude. Here was the man, mask held in his hand, identity shocking you to your core. “I didn’t know it was you!” “So you were fine with killing somebody?” “I thought it was all talk!” You’d pled with him. In the middle of this very room, now reconstructed and shiny. “Well it wasn’t!” “I saved you.” You’d protested. “Without even knowing it was you— I saved you!” Because you had thought it was talk. You thought it was an easy paid security guard gig and you weren’t ready to kill someone for money. How times would change. “You— How long have you been working with these—“ He gestured to the room at large. The dead. The dying. The bloody. He wasn’t looking great himself, but you spared him most of the pain with your words. A few suggestions here and there could save lives. You could’ve been a hero. His face sucks in then the word comes flying out, “Dregs of society— these fucking—“ And it stuck. Hearing it always made you want to hit something. Though your punches weren’t particularly affective. You could tell Machine Head to jump out his shiny bay window but you don’t because there’s always a bigger thumb. “Why-“ You’re back to the present, “the,” staring down your shitty bosses back, “fuck,” thinking about killing him, “is,” again, “your ex boyfriend tearing apart my city!?” “What?” Now that, was not what you were expecting. “You heard me!” His voice synthesizer spiked, turning the words into a melody. “Use your eyes!” You look past his heaving form. So focused on the idea of being murdered you neglected the city scape. Sky scrapers were sliced in half. Twisted metal supports reaching for the sky. Smoke billowing, fire brewing. You heard it now, the screaming from below. A black streak cuts the horizon. Blasts straight through the empire state building. The top half of the building groans, hitting nearby buildings as it comes down, shaking the city. People fall out the windows, go splat on the ground. Others are crushed under fresh rubble. Standing up in the air was unmistakably Mark. Wearing his Invincible skin, the new blue and black one that made you angry with how good it looked on him. But he wasn’t wearing his mask, which was unlike himself. He also had a mohawk, which was also unlike himself.

“Jesus.” You say. Thinking of clones or illusions or shape shifters. Villain of the week type of bullshit. “Is that you trying to fix things? Stop him!” Machine Head’s hands go to his head, gripping metal like hair. “Now!” That’s how you ended up here. Standing on the roof of Machine Head’s high rise. Jerry-rigged megaphone in hand. No ordinary Walmart megaphone would do in a situation like this. Had to be a ‘roided up version of the original. Double speakers on the sides with complicated volume amplifiers in its guts. You’d been here before. Ontop a building, shouting into a megaphone. There was almost nothing ridiculous you hadn’t done to get someone to hear you. To do what someone wanted you to do. Usually it was ontop of a bank, shouting at police to leave, to forget about the robbery, to forget your face. This was new enough that your palms were slick with sweat around the plastic handle. Mark sliced through more buildings with his body. They went down like soft butter. His laugh cracking and wrong as people burst open on the streets. The cavalry had arrived. Nobody low-levels on the city’s payroll. Mark cut through them easier than the buildings. Not Mark, you tell yourself. Mark didn’t kill. You did. Mark wasn’t bad. You were. That’s why things didn’t work out. You breathe in. Anger surging. Whoever or whatever this loser was— was going down, hard. “Hey!” The megaphone twisted your voice from one to multitudes. From a shout to a building shaking scream. Not Mark paused midair. Holding a half dead hero against him. Fists beating his cheat while their guts spilled out their midriff. He was half a mile away, a spec, but you still felt his eyes on you. Hard and boiling a dot through your skull. “You! Yeah, you!” Getting their attention was always the worst part. If he didn’t think you were talking to him, your power would fall flatter than a popped balloon. One of the many drawbacks that’d nearly gotten you killed time and time again. The hero dropped. Still falling. You didn’t see him coming, human eyes too weak to see faster than light. He’d be on you before the hero hit the ground. “Stop!” The air cracks. You stumble back. Eardrums crackling. One good thing about having powers? The littlest, stupidest things are enhanced. Not your hearing, no, but your ability to not go deaf. You literally can’t. Sure, you could’ve had a naturally amplified voice, super speed, healing, but nope! You get— anti-deaf powers, if you could call it that, as a cherry on top.

Not Mark is suspended midair, a flower preserved in resin. Fist reeled back ready to punch a hole through your head. A grin that’s more of a snarl on his lips. Black piercings shining in the light of nearby fires. Brow, bridge, cheek, lip, like lizard spikes. Mohawk flattened against his head. Blood on his teeth, on his knuckles. Close up, he is Mark. A clone or deft shape shifter, but so close to your Mark it throws you off balance. Worse is the no mask part. Your ex-boyfriend stares at you will his full naked face. Eyes brown but darker, more sunken than you remember. With bags beneath, like being evil is so fucking exhausting. Shape shifter for sure, and a bad one. He blinks. Still in air. Eyes sharp on your features as you lower the megaphone. Something about those eyes scare the shit out of you. You expect glazed complacency. You except no expression at all. But he’s looking at you with so much emotion, too much to be really under your control. There’s no time for machinations. You knew aliens or other powered individuals could give you trouble. But nobody was able to fully resist, not yet. So you say, “Kill yourself.” Just as he says, “It’s you.” You’re both surprised. You double down. Power leaden on your tongue. “Break your own neck, now.” His arms move like an animatronic. One hand poised on his sharp jaw, the other poised on his shoulder for purchase. There’s no snap, death groan, and falling five stories. He is staring at you like you’re actually precious to him. Like he misses you. Like he didn’t dump you then throw you in jail a month later. Like he didn’t see other people, like Atom Eve and him weren’t going steady. It pisses you off. Power roils in your throat. You growl this time, “Rip out your throat.” His hands fall to his sides. You’d met resistance before but a rephrase, a second or third command always did it. He wasn’t dead and that was a very, very bad thing. “You made it.” He says. Soft but voice gruff. “To New York.”

“Die!” You command. Though your power didn’t work on vague words like die. “Die, right now!” His feet touched down on the ledge. You step back. “Stop breathing.” At those words he sobers. A smile, sharp toothed and easy and so un-Mark-like stretches his face. “Guess we want each other dead in every reality.” The words are an inside joke that make him laugh. “I almost respect the forwardness.” "Break your legs.” You spit, taking another step back. Megaphone falling to the floor. “Break your arms." “I think-“ He follows you in slow, languid strides. “You shouldn’t talk to your emperor and boyfriend like that.” Your words like bullets on kevlar armor, on viltrumite skin. They make him pause momentarily, shudder, then he breaks right though your hold and keeps coming. Boyfriend? Boyfriend!? You couldn’t have a boyfriend working for Machine Head. You’d seen what he threatened Titan with. You couldn’t have Mark, of all fucking people, as a boyfriend because of what he did. So you couldn’t let yourself have a boyfriend because you were so scared you’d get the same fucking reaction. And if things got to be too much you’d tell them forget, find someone else. You see red. “Eat your heart and shit it out.” “Jeez, did I really fuck up this bad here?” He chuckles, and it sounds like Mark. Your Mark. “Now!” The power forces out of you in waves. His step wobbles but he just keeps coming. “You really must want me dead! What’d I do, take over your planet? You know a man’s got needs, baby. No biggie.” The door to the stairs bursts open. Machine Head heaves with the effort of racing up the flights. Isotope behind him, less winded. “Dregs!” Machine Head hisses. “Fuckin’ kill him already!” “Dregs?” Not Mark tests the name on his tongue. “Is your name here fucking Dregs? Do- oh shit-“ His eyes alight, “Now I geddit. You’ve got powers in this universe!” He says like it wasn’t obvious. “That’s like your hero name, right? Oh (Y/n), baby, that’s so stupid it’s cute.” “Fly into the sun.” Power rips out you, sizzling through the air. He actually hovers off the roof. You wait for him to blast off and become a solar flare. His muscles tense and untense. “So that’s what that is. Shit, I thought it was just like, true love and stuff.” And he was going to kill you. “Man, that feels… weird. Do it again.”

“Kill him!” Machine Head insists behind you. “Kill yourself.” You can feel a migraine on it’s way, pounding in your temples. Powers are like a muscle. They can only do so much before giving. “Do it. Die.” Not Mark shivers, letting out a delighted laugh. “Man, you could’ve really gotten me if I wasn’t full apeshit mode. But…” He hovers closer, leering, “You didn’t, so I guess it’s my turn now.” “Isotope, take me to Seattle!” You speak before you think. Before his hand can clasp your throat. Isotope is next to you in a millisecond. Then you’re gone. Machine Head’s raging protests gone from your ears. The streets of Seattle are wet with blood and rain. Isotope stands beside you, in a haze he’ll come out of any minute. Coming here of all places was a horrible idea but you hadn’t thought. The city came off your tongue, fresh on the mind. “Help.” A voice croaks. A broken hand paws at your feet. Orange and gloved, once a defender, now an arm peaking out rubble. “Help me.” You stare at it because what the fuck? The air whips. You look overhead. He’s a hundred feet up, maybe more. Looking right back down at you. He’s more imposing than he was on your laptop screen. Broader of shoulder, uniform crisp white except where it wasn’t. Where glistening sinew chunks clung to his chest. He stares you down like shit under his shoe. You wait for sudden death that never comes. Whoever this was. Mark, Not Mark, some hot guy, he wasn’t hurting you though he clearly just killed a metric fuckton of people; and you didn’t know why and honestly? It scared the shit out of you. The hand finds your ankle. “Help. Help.” Not Mark comes down then like an anchor. Arms crossed, legs tight. Crushing the rubble beneath his feet. Making the hand go limp, blood framing around it. You knew at a distance and were even more sure now. It was Mark but wrong, again. Face too symmetrical, too sharp. Your Mark had little imperfections, a crooked nose from his Omni-Man induced beat down, ache scars on his hairline. This version was trophy husband material, mocking you in it’s image for what could’ve been. He’s taller. Why is he taller?

Not Mark number two’s eyes are cold, rock brown slates that slide to Isotope. The shift in his muscles are subtle but you know violence is coming. You weren’t staying to watch it happen. “Take me to Hollywood.” And it was done. You were in a outdoor walkway by studio six. Isotope on your arm, stupor elongated. The decision again proved to be bad, made from a sick need to check, to run. Studio six was burning and you could smell the bodies. “Take me to the road.” You command. A flash, and you’re there. Outside the heart of Hollywood, watching Universal crash and burn. The rest of the city was no better. You knew Hollywood was worse in person but you never imagined it a gray flattened husk. This couldn’t be real. You were dreaming, going to wake any second. A shadow passed overhead. You look up, nothing but smoke and sun. From behind, “Need some help, friend?” You turn. He’s back in black (and yellow), grinning with his mask on. Cape billowing stupidly in the breeze. A scar indented to his face from chin to lip. A sliver of lip gone, exposing half a tooth before the scar meandered up, under his mask. “Oh shit.” A laugh rips out of him. “(Y/n), you old so and so. What are you doing in my neck of the woods?” Like the others he’s splattered with the lives of others. Reveling, practically glowing in it. “Tell me who you are.” You say, holding tight to Isotope in case he sobers and decides to zap away. No way you were being stranded with this… thing. His body goes ridged at the command. You think he’ll resist like the other, then it comes pouring out. “Mark Grayson.” He says. “But not the one you know.” Your head pounds. He’s not lying, people can’t lie when you’re prying information out of them. “More than that. Details.” “I’m here to destroy everything I see. I’ve been…” He shakes his head, body loosening. You feel your control snap away like a cut cord. His lips seal then pull back in a wicked grin. “Oh, you’ve got different tricks here. Tell me, have I taken hold of this useless planet yet? Do you see me as someone to rise up against? Have you given up yet? Have you saved your own life by sucking my—“ "Tokyo.”

You’re somewhere you’ve only dreamed of going and it’s destroyed. You thought, since you hadn’t seen it on the news it’d be a safe bet. You could figure things out, come up with a game plan, but no. You couldn’t think with your head pounding and nose starting to bleed, power waning with overuse on too many overpowered targets. The muscle was straining. You weren’t used to this much. To resistance. To using Isotope, strong in his own right, like a puppet. It was exhausting. Isotope was wobbling on his feet. He could teleport over and over but being under your control so long as well? Wasn’t good for him. Clearly, the apocalypse was nigh so you couldn’t give a shit about anybody but yourself. You snapped back to reality standing over a pair of women, curled on the ground in fetal position. “Tell me what happened.” You say. The blonde one doesn’t unfurl but speaks, accented and injured, “He destroyed everything.” “Who?” Her arm unfurls, shaking finger pointing up. You look up, expecting. The sky is clear. The woman’s arm re-latches to her brain dead best friend. “I wasn’t expecting you here.” The voice is a river smoothed stone. Dark and solid— as a rock can be. You already know who it is before you can look. A sight you were starting to get a little more than tired of. Though you didn’t expect a red and white suit splattered with blood. He’s thicker, like the others, hair taller and spiked with gel. He steps forward, over the dead girl and her whimpering friend. The sounds catch his attention, the next step he takes crushes the living girls head. Brains dying his white boot pink. “It’s unfortunate you had to see this, but it’s better you did. We’re on the same page now.” “What the fuck does that mean?” Your power comes out weak, involuntary. You hadn’t meant to strain yourself but there you go, fucking up again. “I want you to understand that what I’m doing is necessary. I don’t understand why you fought me before. So… unneeded. You’d know you’d never beat me but you…” His brows press together through his mask. His lip twitches, “I’ve said too much.” And your hold falls away. Out comes his hand, fabric originally white but now red. “Come with me.” “Sydney.”

You stood across the water from the flaming opera house. A scream of frustration comes out as a cough, blood and mucous splat onto the cracked sidewalk. Your balance tips and wavers but you cling to Isotope who is barley upright himself. You really needed to stop going for capital cities. This one you see. Black and blue above the hundred foot tall fire. Watching it burn quiet as the night which it now was, across the world from your starting point. The mask completely covers his face, but knowing how today is going. It’s Mark, again. He disappears. You open your mouth, power rising up your throat. Air breaks. You’re thrown off your feet. He’s before you. Feet off the ground, staring you down though blue lenses. Same stupid spandex this time with a thick tool belt strapped round his waist and left thigh. A harness strapped to his chest, surely hiding things that could tear though your soft human flesh. Slight armor padding hiding his muscles. He hovers over the broken fence separating you from the water. Your panicked eyes reflected back at you through polarized blue goggles. You scramble to Isotope, splayed on the ground, bleeding from the back of his head. “Take me home.” His eyes lolled back into his head. You shake him, looking frantically behind you, to the unmoving phantom then back to him. “Hey! Wake up!” You watch the shape of a man. Terrified he’d come closer when you weren’t looking but there he stayed. Watching. Isotope’s eyes flutter. “Dregs.” He groans. “I… I can’t…” Sweat shines on his brow. You slap him hard across the face. Palm stinging. “I don’t give a shit! Take me home!” His pale narrow fingers wrap around your wrist. Green light grows slowly around you both. Not instant as if it would be if he weren’t fucked up. “Faster!” A sound from behind. You turn, finding something whipping toward you. You flinch, expecting a punch but instead find some cuff clapping onto your ankle. Thick and dark, matte finished. You don’t think of clawing at it as you’re teleported away. Yet you take one last look. He is still. Waiting. Your hovel of an apartment is like a church. You throw yourself to the unvacuumed floor, reverent. Caligula doesn’t come to love on you. When you peel up from the ground, Isotope is gaining his bearings. Eyes hazy with distaste as he zaps away, without you.

Leaving you alone in your tilted apartment. Everything was a little off skew. When you stood you stumbled back, partly from exhaust, partly from the floor literally not being at the right angle. It was then the building decided to creek. Letting you know of it’s incoming collapse.

Most of New York City had been ripped apart, so with your luck, why not your apartment? You’re out the door. Racing down flight after flight, two steps at a time. Beams whine in the walls. Pipes crack, spilling water from the ceiling into the lobby. You’re barley out when the building goes down. You run down the sidewalk, between crashed and burning cars. Hopping over bodies, bodies, bodies. When the world stops shaking, you look at the damage. Creeping closer, finally remembering your cat. The creeping gives way to frantic running. Tripping back over the bodies, screaming, “Caligula!” At the mountain of what used to be your home. You throw yourself to the most manageable bit of rubble. Throwing stone size pieces tossed away in hopes you’d reveal your cat. You didn’t have much besides the clothes on your back and this goddamn power of yours— but Caligula kept you going. Kept you hoping. Because if he could come up in life, going from a neglected stray to spoiled in a twenty-something year olds apartment. You could do the same thing. “Ca-“ “Cecelia?” You look up. Climbed to the apex of the disaster was your greedy landlord. Tossing concrete more frantically than you were. You climb up, carefully avoiding exposed leaking pipes. She had the right idea. Higher up meant maybe a better chance of survival. You search together, but separate. Calling different names. Kicking down different chunks. Waiting for heroes to come but after what you saw earlier— you doubted it. “Rrrrow?” You know that sound anywhere. Your head snaps. Watching the gray go from rock to a fuzzy back. “Oh God, Caligula!” You skid down to him and he jumps up to you. Meowing. Dust in his fur but otherwise okay. He’d gotten out again. This time all the way to the outside. He was okay. He was okay and you were so happy you cried into him. “Cecelia! Ce— Cecelia?” You shouldn’t have looked. Watched the landlord crack her back as she moved the largest piece of debris she had yet. Just to fall beside the severed arm of her little girl. Fingers curled around a buck fifty.

She threw herself on the arm. Dirty fingers clawing at the window ledge that covered the rest of her little girl’s body. Opening her nails up on broken glass. Screaming a scream so horrible you’d never forget— and you killed people for a living. A dent split open the back of her head, a waterfall of blood you hadn’t noticed before. The dent exposed her hind brain, though she didn’t seem to care, still screaming for her dead baby girl. You weighed the options. Leave. Help. Have a better chance of finding help for yourself. Put the bitch down like you’d dreamed. Survive. Chance being found by the monster that did this. You chose both. Not getting any close to her but turning. Power weak, watery but you didn’t need much. Not for the average person, distracted and distressed. “Lay down. Sleep.” She did just that. You climbed down from the rubble. Careful with Caligula in your arms. Retracing your steps away from the building. When you look back, she wasn’t breathing. *** “Where is she?” THUNK! Machine Head didn’t so much as feel pain. More so, felt his circuitry being shifted inside him. Any more of this and he’d stop working. Repairs on a piece as intricate as himself didn’t come cheap. “Probably in fucking Seattle, asshole!” He said for the fifth time. He’d explained, best a robo man could while his ass was being beat by his grunt’s now blood thirsty (or would it be oil thirsty?) ex boyfriend. “He can teleport and she took ‘im!” “Seattle’s gone idiot!” THUNK! Another punch dented the side of his head. Devastating for Machine Head, but nothing close to the skyscraper shattering power he’d seen before. The motherfucker was beating the circuits out of him but still holding back. Something was sparking and smoking within him. His camera eyes were starting to static. “What—“ “Boss!” Zip, zap, Cadillac. He was out of one man’s arms, into another. But not anywhere near far enough away from the little freak. Isotope managed to get his boss away, about thirty feet. Holding him up just barley, eyes still frosty with the mind fog that Dregs cunt had inflicted on him. He tried splitting reality again, just to fizzle out and land them right back in the same spot. Said little freak’s gaze slid to Isotope. Voice more dangerous than before. “She was just with you.” It was more of a question, a demand. Isotope was about to pass out but that didn’t leave him stupid. “At her place.” He breathed. The freak stepped forward. “Where?”

#mark grayson x reader #alternate mark grayson x reader #mohawk invincible #sinister invincible #omni mark #viltrum mark #phantom mark #invincible #invincible show #invincible comic #fanfic #x reader #MDGF #rea writes #long post #reabees fans PLEASE be normal about this #tw child death #tw death

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astra-ravana · 4 months ago

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Befriending And Working With Crows

Crows have long been associated with witches due to their behavior, mystery, and connection to the supernatural. In folklore, they are seen as messengers between worlds, carrying secrets and omens. Witches were believed to communicate with or shape-shift into crows, using them as familiars to gather information or perform magical tasks. Their black feathers and eerie caws made them symbols of transformation, death, and hidden knowledge. This connection persists in modern witchcraft, where crows are often seen as guides for those practicing divination, shadow work, and spirit communication.

Crows are among the most intelligent birds, possessing problem-solving skills, advanced memory, and the ability to use tools. Studies have shown that they can recognize human faces, plan for the future, and even understand cause and effect. Their complex social structures and ability to communicate information indicate a high level of cognitive function, comparable to that of primates. Crows have been observed crafting tools from leaves and twigs, solving multi-step puzzles, and even holding grudges against perceived threats. Their intelligence makes them highly adaptable and capable of thriving in diverse environments.

Crows are highly intuitive, mysterious, and deeply connected to witchcraft, omens, and spirit work. These birds are known for their symbolism in folklore, association with deities like The Morrigan, Odin, and Hekate, and their ability to form strong bonds with humans. Befriending crows can be a rewarding experience, offering companionship, spiritual messages, and even small “gifts” from the birds themselves. Connecting with the crows isn't hard as they tend to be everywhere and their bravery and curiosity makes them willing to approach certain humans. They have senses of humor, empathy, critical thinking skills, and a lifespan of up to 30 years, all of which makes them excellent companions. Get to know the crows in your neighborhood.

🐦‍⬛Understanding Crow Behavior

Before approaching crows, it's essential to understand their nature:

• They are highly intelligent – Crows can recognize human faces, solve puzzles, and even speak.

• They have strong social bonds – They communicate within their flocks and even warn each other about potential dangers.

• They can be wary – Earning a crow’s trust takes patience, consistency, and respect.

• They have fantastic memories – A crow won't forget the face of a human that was kind to it and especially not that of one who was rude.

🐦‍⬛Attracting Crows to Your Space

To encourage crows to visit you regularly, follow these steps:

1. Offer Food Consistently

Crows love high-energy foods. Some of their favorites include:

• Unsalted peanuts (in-shell or shelled) – A crow favorite!

• Sunflower seeds – Nutritious and easy to scatter.

• Fruits (apples, grapes, berries) – Fresh or dried.

• Leftover meat scraps – A natural part of their diet.

• Hard-boiled eggs – A great protein source.

What to Avoid:

• Never feed crows processed, salty, or sugary foods.

• Avoid bread – it lacks nutrition.

• Do not leave large amounts of food – too much can attract unwanted pests.

2. Choose a Safe Feeding Spot

• Select a quiet, open area where they feel comfortable landing.

• Keep a routine – feeding them at the same time each day builds trust.

• If possible, create a dedicated offering space, like a small platform.

3. Provide Fresh Water

• A shallow birdbath or bowl of clean water can help attract crows, especially in dry seasons.

• Change the water frequently to keep it fresh.

🐦‍⬛Earning Their Trust

1. Observe From a Distance

• At first, let crows come and go without interference.

• Avoid sudden movements or loud noises.

• If they seem cautious, step back and let them approach at their own pace.

2. Speak to Them

• Crows recognize human voices and can distinguish between friendly and hostile tones.

• Greet them softly or whistle a simple tune when feeding them.

• Some witches even give their crows names, reinforcing a bond.

3. Leave Small Offerings

• In addition to food, place shiny objects (small trinkets, marbles, beads) as “gifts” for crows.

• Some crows may return the favor by leaving tokens like buttons, feathers, or shells.

🐦‍⬛Building a Magickal Relationship

Once crows recognize you as a friend, you can incorporate them into your spiritual practice:

1. Crow as a Spirit Ally

• If a crow visits during ritual work or divination, take note—its presence may carry a message.

• Crows can serve as psychopomps, guiding spirits between realms.

2. Divination & Omens

• A single crow cawing may indicate a warning or message.

• A group (a murder of crows) could symbolize change, transformation, or ancestral spirits.

• Here's some more information about counting crows.

3. Offering a Sacred Space

• Create a small altar outside with natural elements where you place food and gifts.

• Meditate near their space, listening to their calls and energy.

• Put up wards and cast protection magick for the crows.

🐦‍⬛Strengthening the Bond

• Be patient – Some crows take weeks or months to trust humans.

• Stay consistent – Regular feeding and positive interactions reinforce the bond.

• Respect their autonomy – Crows are wild and should never be captured or forced to interact.

🐦‍⬛Crow Spells

Crows can assist with your magick as well, through their presence and the lovely black feathers they often leave as gifts or lose through natural shedding. Here are some spells you can do with your crows.

Crow’s Omen Spell (For Divination & Messages)

Needed:

• A quiet outdoor space where crows gather

• A small offering (unsalted nuts, shiny objects, or seeds)

Instructions:

Sit in a place where crows are present and place the offering nearby. Close your eyes and ask the crows for a message:

“Messengers of fate, winged and wise,

Show me the truth with your keen eyes.

A sign, a word, a lesson true,

I call on crows to send their view.”

Observe their behavior. Watch how they move, call, or interact. Their actions may symbolize an answer to your question. Thank the crows and leave the offering as a sign of respect.

Crow’s Wisdom Spell (For Guidance & Insight)

Needed:

• A feather from a crow

• A small black candle

• A piece of paper and a pen

Instructions:

Light the black candle and sit quietly, focusing on a question or situation where you need insight. Hold the crow feather and say:

“Wise crow, keeper of secrets and sight,

Bring me knowledge, clear my mind this night.

Show me the path, help me see,

Reveal the truth and guide me free.”

Meditate for a few moments, then write down any thoughts, visions, or feelings that come to you. Let the candle burn down safely or snuff it out to use again.

Crow’s Shadow Cloak (For Invisibility & Stealth)

Needed:

• A black cloth or scarf

• A crow feather

• A small mirror

Instructions:

Hold the black feather and visualize yourself surrounded by a shadowy aura. Place the mirror face down on the cloth, symbolizing the reflection being hidden. Whisper:

“Dark-winged shadow, silent flight,

Hide me well, keep me from sight.

As the crow vanishes into the night,

Let me fade from every light.”

Wrap the feather in the cloth and carry it when you need to go unnoticed.

Crow’s Omen Spell (For Divination & Answers)

Needed:

• No physical tools, just observation

Instructions:

Find a place where crows are naturally present. Ask your question either aloud or in your mind.

Observe the crows for signs:

• A single crow cawing: A warning or negative response.

• A pair of crows flying together: A positive or cooperative outcome.

• A group of crows circling or gathering: Major change or important news coming.

• A crow bringing or dropping something near you: A strong affirmation or message from the spiritual realm.

Thank the crows for their wisdom.

Crow’s Curse Spell (For Revenge & Justice)

Needed:

• A black feather given by a crow

• A piece of paper with the target’s name

• A dark stone (obsidian, onyx, or jet)

Instructions:

Write the target’s name on the paper and place the crow’s feather over it. Hold the dark stone in your dominant hand and visualize the negative energy returning to its source. Say:

“As the crow flies, swift and free,

Let justice return threefold to thee.

No more harm, no more pain,

What was given, be reclaimed.”

Let the feather sit overnight. The next day, release it into the wind or place it somewhere the crows frequent.

Crow’s Guardian Spell (For Protection & Psychic Defense)

Needed:

• A crow feather

• A small black candle

• A piece of black string

Instructions:

Light the candle and hold the feather. Close your eyes and visualize a crow circling around you, forming a protective barrier. Tie a knot in the black string while chanting:

“Black-winged guardian, fierce and free,

Stand between harm and me.

No ill may pass, no foe may near,

On shadowed wings, keep my path clear.”

Carry the string as a charm of protection, or keep the feather in your home as a spiritual ward.

By observing, working with, and honoring crows, you can create powerful bonds that enhance protection, divination, communication, and justice in your magical practice. If nurtured properly, crows can become lifelong allies, offering wisdom, companionship, and even protection. Treat them well, and they may even become your loyal feathered familiars.

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wosospacegirl · 4 months ago

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I don't know why I bite - part 1

Summary: Leah Williamson is determined to prove herself as Arsenal’s new head coach. Everything is going according to plan—until Y/n, the team’s latest signing, waltzes in late on her first day with a ridiculous excuse and even more ridiculous charm. Leah is not amused. Y/n is not taking her seriously. And the season hasn’t even started yet.

Warnings: grumpy x sunshine!!!!

Word count: 4.6k

Masterlist

Notes: I turned this blurb into a multi-chapter fic, this first chapters looks a lot like the blurb, but I added more depth to the characters. It was 2.6k before and now it's 4.6k

Leah Williamson became a living legend after leading the Lionesses to yet another victory in the Euros 2025 as the team captain and a defender.

Unfortunately, 2025 was her last year as a professional footballer, after suffering a career-ending injury at the end of the season.

Leah had been an Arsenal player since the age of 9, playing for Arsenal Academy. When she was 17 she signed for Arsenal as a senior and hasn’t looked back since.

Leah never felt the need to work towards an international career. She loved Arsenal, it had been her family club since it was formed. It was a club that valued community and a club that stood up for women and LGBT rights.

Arsenal was never just a club to Leah. That was one of the reasons she was so completely devastated when she was injured.

It was the Champions League final against Olympique Lyonnais. Leah had the ball and was getting ready to pass it to Beth when something collided with her knee.

One of the players–a younger and inexperienced one– had tried to take the ball, but the girl didn't measure how fast and hard she was going for the ball. In the end, her boot dislocated Leah’s knee.

In the end, Leah ended up in the grass of the pitch, but that time she was never to get up and play again.

It wouldn’t have been as bad if it wasn’t the same knee where she had torn her ACL years ago.

Leah was completely distraught when she got the news. She isolated herself from everyone she knew, finding it hard to discover another purpose in life.

She didn’t want to talk with Beth, Alex, or anyone else. Her whole life had been around football and she didn’t know who she was or what she could be without it.

In the following weeks after Leah discovered she wasn't going to play anymore she had a complete breakdown. She was home alone, trying to walk to the kitchen when the TV news started talking about her.

Arsenal had released the medic report that stated Leah was going to retire due to a career-ending injury. It was the first report and update the world had of Leah Williamson since Leah was still hopeful that she could recover from her knee.

She didn't, and neither Arsenal nor the Lionesses could keep a player who couldn't run.

The news talked about her whole trajectory in football.

It stung watching her younger self lifting trophies and scoring goals. If only she knew how miserable she was going to feel for the rest of her life.

And that is how Serina–Leah’s formal Manager– stepped in and invited the blonde to some coffee in North London.

“I think I know what would help you,” Serina said, taking a sip of her cappuccino.

“Are you going to give me a new knee?” Leah asked, a hint of madness in her voice. Everybody thought they could help her, but in reality, half of her friends couldn’t even understand what was going on inside her head.

Sarina ignored Leah’s mood. “Belgium has one of the best Coaching centres in the world. I went there, Renée too. If you could get a Coaching certificate, you could start working as an assistant, or as a youth Manager at Arsenal. You’ve been there since you were a kid, and with your history Arsenal’s management would be mad not to give you a chance.”

“Manager?”

“Why not? You have a football brain, you have good leadership, and people trust you. You are a full package,” Sarina responded. “Just think about it, will you?”

Sarina left the coffee shop, leaving a contemplative Leah behind.

“If you need anything, you have my number.” Renée’s voice echoed through Arsenal’s training grounds.

It was Renée’s last day as the head Manager. Three years ago, Leah went to Brussels and got her Coaching certificate.

It wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. Not to be humble.

She was already very keen on football. After eight months of entering the Manager Academy, Leah was ready to start a new chapter of her life: Assistant Manager of Arsenal, alongside Renée.

The whole time Leah spent as Renée’s assistant was very productive. Leah learned a lot from the older woman, but Leah couldn’t wait for the day she would be officially named Head Manager, aka Manager.

As an assistant, Leah had some type of power to make strategic changes during a match and give her two cents on matters of hiring new players, but still wasn’t enough.

Leah promised herself she wouldn’t stop until she became the Manager of Arsenal Women. She would build her dream team and be the best manager she could be.

She would fight her to be as good as Renée and wouldn't make any of Jonas's mistakes. Leah was ready to give her all to Arsenal again, but this time from the sideline.

And that’s what Leah did.

Renée decided to retire, and Arsenal agreed to sign Leah Williamson—the ex-captain of the England National team and Gunner-born—to their team.

“I have everything under control, Renée. You know I’ve been wanting your Manager position for a long time.” Leah said with a smirk. “The only thing you have to worry about is your wife and daughter, alright, mate? You’ve already done a lot for Arsenal.”

Both Leah and Renée were wearing Arsenal’s matching outfits. They had just left a small farewell party in the Arsenal’s event room; almost all players were there to say their goodbyes to Renée, and of course, welcome Leah into her new position.

Leah had to give a speech, her first speech as a Manager. She was very nervous but didn't show. She wanted the team to know she was a strong, determined and of course, caring Manager.

“Still, Williamson, if you need any help, tips or even a friendly shoulder, just know that I’m here,” Renée insisted. The older woman was carrying a box in her arms, the outside having Once a gunner, always a gunner written on it.

Leah stared at the box, she had seen Renée packing things up in her office earlier that day, carefully putting pictures, books and even newspaper articles about Arsenal inside the container.

It being full meant that Leah’s new office was officially ready for her to take in.

Both women walked through the front door of the Arsenal Training Grounds, and a cold breeze met Leah in the face, making the women shiver. Renée looked at the busy street ahead of her until she pointed to a black Audi A3.

“That’s mine, guess I’ll go then,” Renée said, a bittersweet smile on her face.

There was a woman and a little kid in braids waving in front of the cars. Renées’ family had come to pick her up. Cute.

Before Renée could walk, Leah hugged her. “Thank you for everything, If I ever need you, I’ll give you a call, I’m serious” Renée hugged the blonde woman back before heading to her car.

Before she could open the passenger’s door she turned to Leah.

“Don’t forget about the new girl coming in tomorrow, Leah. You’ll have to show her around and everything, plus she’s not from the UK, so—”

“Renée don’t worry! Y/n is coming tomorrow at 9 am, I have everything planned out,” Leah rolled her eyes playfully.

“Alright, alright,” Renée said. “Now it’s all with you, kid.”

Leah watched as the ex-Arsenal manager got into the car and left.

Now that Reneé was gone and Leah was officially alone, she couldn’t help but feel a slight insecurity growing in her chest. She was the one responsible for the team now, her players relied on her.

She needed to be firm, trusted, sincere and caring. She was the face of the team and she needed to do a good job. She needed to be focused only on Arsenal for now.

She already had made her name known as a player, now she was going to make her name known as a coach.

Leah Williamson. New Manager, now official.

It was embarrassing to admit but Leah Williamson giggled and skipped toward her office.

It was the best day of her life. Definitely.

Ok, maybe the second day.

Nothing compared to winning the euros.

Leah thought her first day as Manager would be unfazed. What could go wrong? It was her first day as manager, of course, but it wasn’t like she was completely new to it. She knew the corridors with the palm of her hand, she could name every staff member's family member, and she knew every crack that needed to be fixed and every lamp that needed to be changed.

Leah bleed Arsenal

Leah still had the same players from last season–no one had retired or changed clubes–half of which were her former teammates and friends. The players all had their routine schedule with gym time, physio, drill and pitch time.

Nothing changed. Leah’s day was going as planned on her Google Calendar.

“I need this first day to go perfectly. No mistakes,” Leah muttered to herself, closing her eyes for a moment. “I need to prove to everyone that I can handle this. And I will”

But then, Y/n happened.

Y/n, the newest Arsenal signing of the season and the only change of the team.

It was 9:37 am and the girl was nowhere to be seen. The cold bit at Leah’s lips, numbing them, and the tips of her fingers ached from the chill.

Leah was losing her mind. She had the whole day planned. A meeting to go through, hours of tactical footage to analyse, and a schedule that should have been running smoothly–until Y/n ruined it by being late on her first day.

Leah was waiting alongside the media team to greet and officially meet Y/n for the first time. But instead of focusing on the introduction, she was standing in the cold, fighting the urge to scream.

Leah didn’t participate a lot in Y/n’s hiring; it was mostly Renée doing the work of checking her statistics and all the bureaucracy of recruiting someone from another country. She didn’t even agree with Renée at first, she couldn’t see why Arsenal needed another defender.

“Arsenal needs a sweeper,” Renée had argued during one of their meetings. “Someone who is fast, and logical but not aggressive. This kid Y/n is great for the position.”

“She’s young, just finished playing in college football,” Renée continued. “Think of her as your Alessia Russo, but as your four.”

Four being the last defence position in Football.

“Leah, we really have to get going, we need to take solo photos of the players, maybe when Y/n gets here we can try to make a small welcoming video, or something,” Clarice, the media director said as she looked at her watch. “I mean she is very late, and we have so much to do—”

“Yeah, of course, Clarice, you all can go. If she arrives, I’ll give you a call,” Leah said, impatience clear in her voice, but not wanting to also ruin Clarice’s plans for the day, she still had to do pictures with Beth, Lotte and Vic.

Leah was alone in the car park, tapping her foot against the pavement.

How can someone be late for their first day of training? It was clear to Leah that Y/n didn’t care so much about being the priciest Arsenal hiring in the last 10 years since she didn’t worry about actually coming to training.

When Leah signed as a senior in Arsenal she made her mom drop her off 3 hours earlier. She literally helped the staff open the Arsenal training grounds with how early she was.

Leah walked around the car park and looked at her watch. 5 minutes. Leah would wait 5 more minutes and if Y/n wasn’t here, she would go inside, into her office and let the new girl fend for herself.

Leah was busy and she needed to watch a bunch of matches to study Arsenal’s future opponents, but instead, she was here waiting for this girl like a fool.

9:42 am.

Leah turned around, heading to the door and feeling stupid about waiting on someone who was not coming. At least now she could do some tactical work against Chelsea.

Before Leah stepped into the building, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and turned around slowly, not enjoying the non-welcoming physical touch.

She locked eyes with a girl.

Y/n.

Leah, for some reason, was expecting to find the girl in full footballer mode, perhaps with her hair tied back, or dirty clothing from an intense match, but Leah was not expecting to find a very… cute girl instead. Leah had only watched the videos Renée sent of Y/n on the pitch, so she was rather surprised to see the new girl didn’t naturally have grass all over her hair.

Y/n was wearing what looked to be five layers of clothing and a coat which was way too big for her. She was wearing very inappropriate shoes for the light layer of snow accumulation on the floor.

It was like Y/n didn’t know how to dress for cold weather. It made Leah angry, for some reason. Maybe she was just grumpy.

Before Leah could blink, the new girl began rambling.

“I am so, so sorry, ma’am,” Y/n quavered, quickly pulling her hand away from Leah’s shoulder as she noticed the frown forming on her face. “You see, my cat ran away, and I had to chase after him and that took me twenty minutes, and then I took the wrong Tube—”

“Huh?” Leah cut in, her frown deepening. The girl was talking way too fast. “Your cat…?”

“His name is Ball,” Y/n explained. “He's orange. You know how orange cats are.”

Leah frowned even more. The girl in front of her had a strange habit of saying whatever popped into her head. And what was that about orange cats? Since when did colour determine a cat’s personality? Leah wouldn't know–she was a dog person through and through.

And what was she saying about the orange cat personality? Leah didn’t know the colour of a cat mattered. Leah was through and through a dog person.

A heavy silence hung between them.

“What are you on about?” Leah questioned exasperated, crossing her arms.

Y/n fumbled for words. “Ball ran away and that’s why I am–” Y/n glazed at her phone and gasped. “–oh my god, so late!”

Leah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She should probably be more focused on the girl’s lateness, but one thing was bothering her more.

“Ball? Your cat’s name is Ball?”

Leah blinked. Once. Twice.

“Uh–football?” Y/n tried weakly. “Okay, forget it, I am so sorry for being late!”

Leah already knew three things about the girl standing in front of her:

She was disorganized and had too much energy, the worst combo.

She had a cat. A cat named Ball.

She was confused.

Leah wasn’t particularly fond of her so far. Maybe with some tough training, she’d be easier to deal with.

“You made me waste half of my morning here,” Leah said sharply “Don’t let it happen again.”

Leah turned on her heels and headed for the Arsenal training grounds. Behind her, she heard footsteps and the squeak of Y/n’s shooed against the pavement. Leah clenched her jaw. The sound was enough to make her want to rip her own shoes off.

“I–I’m sorry, and of course, it won’t happen again, ma’am” Y/n apologized, looking down at her feet.

Leah stopped in her tracks so suddenly that Y/n nearly bumped into her. Leah turned, her gaze was cold.

“Don’t call me ma’am.” She snapped. “It’s Williamson”

Today was supposed to be a good day, Y/n thought. She had written down on her planner everything she needed to do in order to get to the club in time.

She had printed the map of the Tube so she could get around easily and not get lost, but of course, it didn’t work out and now her new Manager was clearly pissed at her.

And of course, the woman angry at her had to be THE Leah Williamson, one of the most skilful defenders of all time and one of Y/n’s biggest inspirations. Y/n even had a poster of Leah in her dorm room–and maybe in her teenage bedroom as well.

Y/n had just graduated from her college in biology. The only reason she was able to get a diploma was because she had the opportunity to be an international student-athlete in the USA. It wasn’t easy being away from home and managing a social life with school and football, but she made it work.

Y/n biggest dream was always to play in a good and competitive league after she graduated. She got a handful of offers in the USA Women’s League, but she didn’t want to be in America anymore, she also didn’t want to go to her home country, so that’s why she screamed when she got the proposal from Arsenal.

Renée had first sent her an email asking her if she had any interest in playing professionally after finishing college. Y/n replied right away, telling her that she pretty much had no other choice: football was her one and true passion.

After that first interaction, Renée and Y/n exchange a few more emails. Y/n sent Renée her whole university’s league statistics, as well as some game tapes.

Renée replied that she was excited to have the girl on their team. They used Facetime to talk about important things, like calendars, dates and salary.

Oh, the money. It was more money than Y/n ever had in her entire life. Yeah, it didn’t match the man’s team, but it was way more than she made while working on the weekends as a baby and pet sitter.

Y/n was trying to see the bright side of this situation. She was in a new country, had her own apartment, and she had signed with one of the best teams in the league.

She was so happy but so terrified of joining Arsenal. Arsenal was a club with history, it was a big club with deep roots in all of London and the UK as well.

Y/n was grateful that Renée had seen potential in her, she wasn’t bad or anything, honestly, she had a way of tackling without getting fools which was impressive. But from now on her teammates weren’t going to be college girls like her, she was going to be surrounded by world-class players.

Was she good enough for that? Maybe she was just good at college football. Her manager said she was talented and skilful, and her Manager back in college said she had promising features. But it all depended on her now, could she do it? Could she fill up some big girl boots and show good football on the pitch? Y/n would have to wait and find out.

She was sure of one thing: Leah’s treatment of her wasn’t very welcoming. Yeah, maybe she was late and maybe she called her ma’am. She had messed up, but did Leah really need to walk in front of her a few feet away as if they were social distancing?

When Renée talked through her about her signing she did say she wasn’t going to be in the position as Manager much longer, she just hadn’t said Leah was the one stepping in.

Not that Y/n was mad, she did deserve it after being almost an hour late, she just wished Renée had stayed a little longer to actually give her a good and warm welcome.

“Walk faster,” Leah said, turning her head around, frowning on her face. “We have the whole building to see.”

Does she ever smile? Y/n didn’t think so.

Leah Williamson didn’t look so grumpy on screen

“Sorry,” Y/n said, stepping up the pace.

Y/n was off to a hard start.

Leah was a grumpy Manager, but it was clear how much she loved the club. She was giving Y/n a great tour despite their bad greeting earlier today, but the snappy comments and impatience attitude were still there.

Should Y/n buy her an apology gift? Would Leha like that? What could she do so Leah wouldn’t be so angry at her? She couldn’t have her manager not liking her on her debut as a senior player! That would be embarrassing.

People had told her before she was hard to be around, too energetic, too forgetful, just too much. She thought it would change when she moved to London, but it didn’t seem like it.

“This is the locker and the changing room. You can grab that one on the left,” Leah pointed at one of the lockers, with no identification on its door. “Basic rules: don’t let your clothes or boots lying around, lock your locker and just keep tidy.”

Y/n hated Leah's tone. It was like the Manager wanted to be everywhere else in the world but here with her. But she couldn’t blame Leah, she wouldn’t enjoy it if somebody kept her waiting for almost 50 minutes.

“Look, I’m really sorry about what happened earlier,” Y/n mumbled, following Leah through the corridors. She didn’t know where they were going. Maybe the kit room? “I’m normally very punctual.”

“Hm,” Leah said, sounding indifferent. “Show that from now on.”

Maybe Y/n was going to cry on her first day after all.

Leah took a turn in the corridor and both women were in front of a white door, with “Medical Room” written on it.

The room was fairly normal, having a couple of physios and massage tables. It looked like the place hadn’t been used today, since the tables were all made. A few Pilates objects were scattered around, making the room seem more lived in.

What really caught Y/n’s attention were the photos on the wall. Y/n took a step closer to the wall, leaving Leah behind her.

Kyra and Alessia were smiling, both receiving messages from an older woman, whom Y/n guessed was the physiotherapist. Kim Little was right next to the girls’ pictures, wearing an air cast and using a crutch.

Vivianne Miedema and Beth Mead lay on a massage table, holding hands as they smiled for the picture. “ACL couple #1”, written just below it.

Next to it was a picture of Leah, a few years younger — maybe she was Y/n’s age — running in her arsenal kit. “Leah’s first run after ACL”, written in the same way as Vivianne and Beth’s photo.

Y/n felt her heart ache for Leah. Y/n was young, but she remembered how the football world was talking about how much Leah was trying to be back after her ACL tear. Ironic how it wasn’t even that injury that ended her career.

Leah did everything available, every new therapy, and nothing worked. Sure, she could walk and even run for small periods of time, but she would never come back to football again.

Y/n wondered how Leah felt having to look at that picture every day. Memories of a time that would never come back.

“This is obviously the physio room,” Leah said, breaking the awkward silence that had formed. “I’ll email you the medical staff's schedule. If you ever need anything, you can just talk to them, they’re great”

“And if you need any medical speciality that we don’t have here, Arsenal will book one for you at the closest clinic to your house,” Leah continued.

When Y/n turned around to talk to Leah, she didn’t expect her to be so close. Their bodies bumped together, making Y/n lose her balance and stumble forward. If things weren’t bad enough, she stepped right into one of the exercise objects on the floor.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact of her head on the wall. But it never came.

Leah was faster.

One hand gripped Y/n’s waist, the other cradled the back of her head, steadying her before she could fall;

“Careful!” Leah muttered, almost like a warning

And that’s when it hit her

A soft scent–strawberry and… vanilla? It quickly found Leah’s nose, she breathed it in for a second too long before she realised she was holding Y/n’s hip a little too tight.

Y/n opened her eyes, meeting Leah’s gaze just for a second.

They were frozen in place for a moment.

Y/n’s breath hitched. Leah’s body was pressed against her and she could feel its warmth, well, as much as she could considering Y/n was wearing seven layers of clothing.

Leah’s breath ghosted over her skin. Too dangerously close.

“Hey Mary could you see my knee—”

Y/n and Leah were met with Katie McCabe, her green eyes staring at the two women in confusion.

“Oh– hi?” Katie said. Y/n could swear she heard teasing in the Irish woman’s voice. “Am I interrupting something?”

“What?! No, of course not.” Leah blurted, taking her hands off of Y/n’s body abruptly, if it wasn’t for Y/n’s years of training balance not to get tackled to the floor so easily, she would have fallen again, that’s for sure.

“I was just showing Y/n’s physio room, but Mary wasn’t even here…” Leah seemed defensive now, looking everywhere but at Y/n or Katie.

“She almost fell,” Leah continued, overexplaining herself and pointing at Y/n accusingly. “She tripped on this thing,” Leah lightly kicked the equipment, it was just a rubber ball.

Y/n would laugh if Leah didn’t seem so nervous all of a sudden.

“You know I hate when things are left lying around and–”

“Leah.”

“Yeah?”

“You are rambling,” Katie said, making the blonde close her mouth.

“Why don’t you go do some manager things and I’ll finish the tour with her, yeah? It’s Y/n, right?” Katie offered her hand to Y/n, shaking it firmly. “I’m Katie.”

“Hi, yeah I’m Y/n, so sorry this is how we met,” Y/n said, looking down. “Guess I’ll just go with her if that's okay—.”

“More than okay,” Leah mumbled. “Bye, McCabe, I’ll see you at training.”

Before Y/n or Katie could respond, Leah had already left the room, a frown on her face.

Katie was a way better host than Leah, showing all the places in the facility without making the young girl feel like a chore. The Irish woman couldn’t help but notice that Y/n wasn’t as happy as new players usually were when they first visited the club, so Katie asked what had happened.

“She hates me,” Y/n confessed as soon as they got to the pitch, the last place on the tour.

Y/n didn’t know why she was venting to Katie McCabe. The Katie McCabe, but she seemed nice enough and Y/n was tired.

“Who?”

“Williamson.” Y/n mumbled “I was late earlier, and everything went south after that. I don’t know how I’m gonna get her to like me, or well, tolerate me, at least”

Katie placed a comfortable hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “She doesn’t hate you, she is just grumpy like that, Leah doesn’t like it when things don’t go the way she planned, she’ll come around.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course, it’s your first time at Arsenal, but it's also Leah’s first time as our manager. She never had a new player before; you are her first. Renée was the one handling the greetings and initial meetings with the players. Leah will understand that other people don’t always react in a way she expected.”

Y/n hoped Katie was right.

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D