#and he’s been working to shake off the tarnish of his family name.

[katasstrophy]

*shakes you* i just thought of something and you and @itoshi-s are going to suffer with me🤕(read devils night guys it’s so hot)

bad boy! rin being sent to clean up his act at a private university for the esteemed to make sure the itoshi family name is no longer being tarnished but his parents naive thoughts of sending their youngest son to a boarding school and hope he magically turns into an angel that’s fit for his arranged marriage with a nuisance who’s after his money is ridiculous. rin isn’t bound to a single rule and does what he pleases as he walks the halls of the posh boarding school, giving the founding headmaster’s valued portrait the finger.

here comes you, who thrives off of academic validation who’s not afraid to keep her sharp tongue to herself. the youngest son of itoshi is here? scoff. he’s nothing but a jerk decorated in unbuttoned blazers and popped up collars with his fathers name to hide behind his acts of clownery. you don’t miss a chance to say it to the taller male’s face, his eyes practically boring holes into your own as if to memorize your look of annoyance at him. rin likes challenges but he thinks he’s going to love this one. he’ll make sure by the end of the school year he’ll have you on your knees, bowing in forgiveness, he says that you with a glare to make babies cry. with his thoughts rushing on how to make you beg for mercy you unleash a harsh slap to his face. stunning everyone in the common room and ignoring the gasps of surprise. “you better clean up your act itoshi or else you’ll lose everything including your family name.” you dare slap an itoshi? you’ve got bigger balls than everyone at this school. rin thinks the adrenaline you gave him in a second is the best feeling he’s ever had in years.

from that day on rin decided to play the good boy. smiles and effortless straight A’s to please his professors and make things work out in his favor, but his enjoyment isn’t getting the staff to kiss his feet, it’s backing you into corners of the library so that no one would catch on to mr. changed attitude wanting to keep his quiet, nerd to himself. you let him. slowly, but surely you break down each others walls as he allows himself to be vulnerable with you and shares his burdens of being the youngest son, always being forced into being his older brother’s shadow. but for once. just once, he had something his brother doesn’t have. he has you. he makes you feel warm and he fiercely keeps you safe from the judging eyes of his father as he peers down at you. as if he was looking at a lowly commoner. “you throw away your fiancée for someone like this?” “i’d throw away the family name in honor for her.” he walks away with his head held high, ignoring the stoic stare of his older brother as he smirks at the eldest, smirk growing wider at his words. “you’ll never inherit the itoshi name.” “i won’t inherit it alone. my family will.”

he beat his brother in not being able to continue the family name. he makes sure he pounds the thought into you as he thrusts feverishly into you as the moon shines a white sheet of light on your bodies. he makes love to you greedily as he marks your skin in red and purple, the marks blooming onto your skin like flowers. he loves you, he loves that no one in the world can know him and love him like you do.

“i’m going to put a fucking ring on that finger in front of my brother,” he growls. “no matter how far or high they separate me from you, you are mine and we’re going to live in a big house with you warming our bed.” he puts his forehead against yours, “and you will give me an itoshi heir.”

kayla what the— wHAT THE FRICKITY FRACK FHUUUCCKKK. !&!@! WHAT THE SHEEEEEII WHAT THE HOLYY FUCJCING SHIITT ??@!!!?? you DARE drop this ATOMIC ASS FUCKING BOMB ON ME???? OUTTA NOWHERE?? ON MF RIN DAY?????? NAAUURRR bc miss ma’am i’m gonna have to ask you to start paying rent cuz like,,,, 🤨🔫🔫 DO YOU LIVE IN MY BRAIN??? how did you know that devil’s night has been on my tbr for 5everrrrrr but i just know if i get hooked on the smut i will abandon all my responsibilities idcidcidc

they way i had to LITERALLY. TAKE. BREAKS. reading this so i could reduce my unholy demon spawn screeching to a minimum (spoiler: it DID NOT WORK) thIS IS FOUL THIS IS ILLEGAL I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU SOBBING

and oooohhhhhh i’m such a slut for academic settings :(((( especially when rich entitled bastard boy with a shitty past meets driven and cunning number 1 girl and they CLASH and have BRUTAL BANTER and have THE FILTHIEST MAKE OUT SESSIONS AGAINST PRICELESS BOOKSHELVES im clawing my eyes out

rin showing up to the posh uni like it’s his own personal playground, pretending like he owns this place much like everything else in his life due to his family’s wealth and status only to get mfing owned in turn and SLAPPED IN THE FACE (LITERALLY!!!) BUT HE FEELS EUPHORIC INSTEAD OF AGGRAVATED OOOOHHHH SO HE JUST HAS TO HAVE YOU GOD BESTIE U KNOW HOW TO GET ME GOING </3333 and then he pretends to be a good little student so he can get close to you:( keep you all to himself sniffle so possessive:( but the ANGST BC OF SAE >:(((( but now he also has you to patch up the empty cold pieces inside of him ur his future fuck his family 🥺🥺🥺🫶🫶🫶🫶 he’ll create a new one with you anyway AAAAAAAHHHDJFNFN so fucking UnWeLL

[the-pen-pot]

It was a strange thing, Primula Baggins thought, having a legend in the family. Oh, hobbits in the Shire were fond of their gossip, and more than one individual had become notorious across the West Farthing. Bullroarer Took was one such example, but frankly, Primula decided, he had nothing on Bilbo Baggins.

The day that Bilbo Baggins had scurried from his smial, off on an adventure, the chatter had been shocked and snide. Various hobbits had stubbornly claimed they always knew that he was odd, and that it had only ever been a matter of time. The stories in the Green Dragon had been judgemental and wild, and generally speaking, many people had assumed he'd gone as far as Bree and then been eaten by wolves or some such thing.

Prim didn't believe that for a moment. Bilbo Baggins may only be her cousin by marriage, but she knew that his quick wit was a subtle knife and his temper had always been a barb to bear in mind. He did not suffer fools gladly, and she had always believed there was more to him than met the eye.

The fact he had gone off in the first place was proof of that. She and Drogo spent many an evening wondering on his fate and wishing him well. They did their best to guard Bag End from the greedy clutches of his more stubborn neighbours, and waited to hear any news.

It was more than a year before it came, and then, the gossip reached them long before the letter.

Market Day in Hobbiton was a noisy affair, and though hobbits had little need for vegetables and such, they were eager for shiny things, as well as pots and pans. It made the occasional dwarvish merchant who stopped by on the long road from Ered Luin a real treat, and this time Mirri bore more than pretty trinkets and cauldrons to her store. The dwarrow-dam's eyes were danced with joy, and the heaviness that so often stooped her shoulders had lifted away, leaving her standing proud and tall, her iron-grey braids gleaming like silver.

'Baggins?' she said, when she overheard one of Primula's neighbours address her. 'Your name is Baggins? As in Bilbo Baggins?'

Prim had never known a busy marketplace could fall so silent in the space of a single breath. It seemed every pair of ears was turned in Mirri's direction, and there were plenty of staring eyes to join them. 'Yes?' Prim managed, tilting her head. 'He left on an adventure. Did he come your way?'

Mirri's laugh was a raucous guffaw, contagious and delighted. She slapped her thigh and beckoned Prim closer, reaching out a hand to take her own in her grasp before shaking it vigorously. 'Mahal strike me, I never thought to put it together! Everyone knows that the hero of Erebor is a hobbit. I should have known there'd been kin among the Shire-folk, but I never thought!'

'Hero? Drogo said weakly from where he stood nearby.

'He helped Thorin Oakenshield reclaim the kingdom of Erebor from the dragon Smaug,' Mirri explained, still beaming. 'A land lost to us for more than a century, won back by a dozen dwarves and a single hobbit. Then it is said he fought in the Battle of the Five Armies before saved the King and his heirs from their battle-wounds by treating with the elves.' Mirri frowned at that last bit, as if she thought it tarnished her story, before offering a shrug. 'Best of all, he won the King's heart. He is to be crowned consort next Durin's Day.'

'Bilbo Baggins?' Lobelia Sackville-Baggins sneered. 'The only thing he has ever loved is his family silver.'

'And why would he give a care for that,' Mirri demanded, 'when he will wear a crown, has a mountain full of gold, and Thorin Oakenshield's love besides?'

Prim smirked to see Lobelia's face turn as red as her bonnet, her mouth gaping unattractively. Every other hobbit in the market place was staring in shock, as if unsure whether or not to believe what sounded like a tall tale. Perhaps Prim thought it a bit fanciful, but then she remembered how much Bilbo had loved the stories in his books, and how his eyes had flashed whenever he saw a hint of bullying or injustice among his fellow hobbits. She recalled that while his father may have been a Baggins, his mother was a Took, and suddenly it did not seem so hard to believe.

The marketplace exploded into sound, gossip-upon-gossip, but Prim turned to Mirri, her grin unabashed as she offered her thanks. 'I'm just glad to hear that he is happy,' she confessed, surprised by the sting of tears in her eyes. 'I always thought he was meant for more than the Shire could offer.'

Mirri patted the back of Prim's hand in quick reassurance. 'He has found it,' she promised, 'and now I am certain there is not a dwarf in Middle-earth who does not know his name.'

'Thank you.'

It was a week later that the letter arrived. Prim came in from the garden to find Drogo sitting in his tatty armchair, his tanned face pale with shock. She immediately rushed to his side, fearing bad news, but when he looked at her, he could only offer a few simple words. 'It's all true,' he breathed. 'What Mirri said in the marketplace. He really did all that.'

She snatched the letter from his hand, recognising the curl of Bilbo's handwriting in an instant. The message was by turns happy and apologetic. He regretted his long absence and the fact he would not be returning to the Shire, but even Prim could see it was because he had found somewhere better, and had someone to share it with. Bilbo had always been a touch hesitant, but now he wrote with a confidence Prim envied. He sketched over the details of his adventures, downplaying his own role, and she stifled a smile to see how he spoke of his dwarven friends, with firm fondness and unwavering loyalty.

'He's says we're to have Bag-End,' Drogo murmured. 'And the family silver.'

'Lobelia will be furious!' Prim replied with relish. 'That's very kind of him, and now we have proof!' She waved the letter triumphantly. 'Oh, I'm so happy for him!'

'He really did all that,' Drogo repeated, sounding as if he had taken a blow to the head. Yet Prim knew the look that was sparking in his eye. It was something every Baggins needed: a little bit of fire to help them step up to the challenges of life. Drogo was a gentle soul, and people took advantage. Something told her that ended today.

'He did,' she said softly. 'And if he could, then so can anyone.' She rested her hand on his shoulder and smiled, the letter all but forgotten.

Yes, it was a strange thing having a legend in the family, but as Prim rested her hand over the child swelling in her belly, she found herself suspecting that Bilbo would not be the only one.

[narzissenkreuz-ordo]

wetrabbit has been on the brain so have some Thoughts that are floating around up there:

i'm still obsessed with the otter!Neuvi ideas, especially when Silvanus unknowingly to 'save' the little guy from running around in the streets of fontaine

so Neuvi has absolutely seen a side of Silvanus that does Not show up in a professional setting. some of its silly, silvanus is very neutral and serious about her job and otter!Neuvi gets to see her being soft and kind. but he also accidentally sees really Bad Things.

I know i've implied it mostly but, Silvanus' parents are abusive. emotionally and sometimes physically. and Neuvi witnessed things that he should Not have seen and it completely alters his perceptions and feeling about his involvement with humans

so some background on what happens leads up to this:

Silvanus' parents were always unreasonably harsh her, to meet up to family expectations and not to tarnish their reputation. The moment Silvie tries to object to anything, they shut her up by hanging up the fact that they pay for her medication, that she could not afford on her own salary.

the farthest she gets from any sort of freedom is her first internship @ Meropide. Being from a noble & well off family would not offer any advantages down there and would have to prove herself without outside help. Silvanus absolutely does not want her accomplishments being attached to the family name

and she DOES make it. Gets noticed by Wriothesley, who offers her a recommendation to the Fontaine Research Institute, which eventually gets her hired as Neuvillette's assistant

But being back on the surface and being employees by the most POWERFUL man in Fontaine, it has her parents FOAMING at the mouth wanting to use their son to build a relationship with the Chief Justice. And it makes her life a living hell, even though she is able to live on her own. She is still constantly hounded by her parents to introduce them to the Iudex. She tries so hard not to be visibly stressed: she likes her job but is also terrified of failing her parents by either not convincing Neuvillette or loosing her position.

So onto the actual Event:

Palais Mermonia absolutely holds some sort of holiday party that Furina organizes each year. The rich and wealthy always end up attending which is already bad new for Silvanus, being stuck with her parents for an evening at some work party. But then the bombshell that Furina was FINALLY able to convince Neuvillette to make an appearance so ALL the wealthy families are gonna try and swarm him to start some sort of business relationship, Including Silvanus' parents.

so the night of the part, Silvanus is trying not to shake like a frightened animal as shes trying to introduce them to Neuvillette

BUT SURPRISE. Wriothesley finally took up on his invitation offer after all these years, since he's been making more frequent trips to the surface to visit her (and Clorinde probably). and upon seeing the situation Silvanus is in, he strides up to them all and smoothly injects himself into the conversation; acting all surprised to see her again after soooooo long and introduces himself and talks up how awesome Silvanus is. Giving enough time for Neuvillette to slip away and be dragged away by the next person that wants to talk to him.

Later in the night, Silvanus slips away from the party quietly in hopes of avoiding talking to her parents after event ends. And Neuvillette has a similar idea and flees the party via his otter form. Silvanus runs into him, sweet talking this otter and picks him up and is about to lead the little guy outside of the city when her parents catch up to her.

And its an absolute mess. The two of them yelling at her in hushed whispers, berating her for allowing the Iudex to get away so quickly and other horrible things. At this point she's shaking again, holding otter!Neuvillette in her arms and attempts to fight back and stand her ground against them. But is does Not end well when one of them flat out slaps her and once again holds the fact that they are paying for her medication over her head. Which gets her to shut up and fall back into line, like she always does. Eventually leaving otter!Neuvillette alone to scamper back home.

And after witnessing that, Neuvillette is so shaken up by the whole thing. He is the Iudex and always keeps his distance from others, so no lapse in him judgement can happen. He knows people commit heinous crimes leaving their victims wronged, his duty is to appropriately judge those who break the law and keep the general population of Fontaine safe

But he has never actually SEEN such acts up front, no one knew he was there in hiding. and is absolutely shaken to his core.

And over the next few days his agonizes over the situation and the broader implications: was it right or wrong in not doing anything? Was he keeping his impartiality in place by not being involved or was he complaisant in the crime?

His whole perception of his role in human society was shattered and ends up having to reevaluate the last 500 years of his progress in understanding humanity.

He doesn't quite understand that this was the point where absolutely fell for Silvanus, and fell so hard. one mere mortal was able to completely alter his thoughts, feelings and overall existence...............

[theseshipsshallsail]

Chapter 4

There’s no set pattern, he learns, as they stroll alongside the billowing bed linen strung up on the line to dry.

“One minute she’s condemning Bush’s war. Or telling Little Ollie how I jammed a shell up my nose when I was six.” Elio adjusts his sunglasses, wiping the fine sheen of sweat from his temple. “And the next she’s crying uncontrollably. Dismayed we haven’t paid the knife-grinder ‘cause it’s Wednesday afternoon, and she can’t hear the grate of his whetstone over the pasta machine’s rollers.”

Nodding gravely, Oliver dodges a cobalt beetle flitting by the honeysuckle. “It’s curious,” he says. “The sights and sounds on which we grow dependent.” 

We are all products of our subconscious, mon cœur, his invisible Elio pipes up.

Some more than others, Oliver acknowledges, closing the orchard gate behind them. “I keep listening out for Anchise’s hammer,” he says aloud, skirting a patch of ruby-red poppies. “The snip of his pruning shears as he goes about his grafts.”

Elio chuckles: sunshine after a hurricane. “The endless quarrels with Manfredi over dowsing his tomatoes…” Changing direction, he strides through the tawny rye grass. “We lost him to cancer, too, poor man. I used to think he was so old, but he wasn’t even fifty.”

“Mortality is no respecter of age,” Oliver says, longing for a glimpse of Vimini’s sombrero amongst the heavily-laden trees. “I had a Humanities colleague who’d argue it’s the breadth of one’s life that’s paramount. Not the length.”

Elio smirks in his peripheral. “Is that a euphemism?” he asks, and Oliver shakes his head as he plucks a glossy cherry from the bough. 

“Goose.”

They’d begun their jaunt with a brief inspection of Samuel’s former office: Oliver cradling his first-edition Heraclitus as a Compaq laptop and dial-up modem whirred gratingly where Pro’s clunky typewriter once sat. From there, they’d ventured to the living room - past conversations rising up like dybbuks when Elio whisked a glissando upon the Bösendorfer’s ivory keys - but the notable absence of the Perlman patriarch soon drew them to the gardens outside.

“I had no idea he was so sick…” 

“Very few did,” Elio’d revealed, standing shiva by the metre-high oak whose roots sheltered his father’s ashes. “There’s nothing Homeric in dying, mio figlio.” His impression had been uncanny. “So why set the cat amongst someone else’s pigeons?” 

“These walls aren’t meant for silence,” Oliver tells him now. “Micol and the boys… they welcomed the leisurely pace that weekend. Lazing by the pool. Eating their fill of Mafalda’s bomboloni. But without you plunking Bach as Busoni or Liszt -” Without his barbs. His wit. His challenging disposition. “It all seemed false. Tarnished.” Something that saw him weeping in Sami’s arms during his late-night meltdown. “I couldn’t get past it,” Oliver confesses over the chirping cicadas. “The double standards. The disloyalty. The life we’d had to sacrifice to bring my traviamento about…”

Elio pauses by a thicket of brambles. “All forms of obligation entail some measure of submission,” he replies carefully. “Mankind is flawed; in that, we’re all the same. The mandate pressure to conform. To appease. To be liked and esteemed... that’s the modus vivendi. It’s how society works.”

Oliver appreciates the tact, but: “That doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” Elio replies, chewing slowly. “It doesn’t.”

“And to see your family dote on mine as if they were - oi!” Oliver baulks when a squidgy projectile ricochets off his forehead. “Did you just throw a berry?”

“Technically it’s an aggregate.”

“Pardon me?”

“Single flower: multiple ovaries,” Elio says with deliberate insouciance, calmly partaking of a second. “You need to stop torturing yourself, mio amico. We aren't made for looking back; not with all that lies before us. What’s done is done.” 

If only it were that clear-cut. “I’d still hear you,” Oliver mumbles, snapping the cherry’s spindly stalk. “Talk to you - in my mind, that is…”

Elio’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “In your mind?”

“Sometimes out loud.” Oliver scrunches his face. “Like a wise-cracking Jiminy Cricket,” he says, earning a baleful glare, and the raucous scuffle that ensues sees them howling in fits of wild abandon.

“This stuff is like gold dust in New England,” Oliver explains, smacking his lips as he smears the condensation on his bottled Peroni. “I lucked out in Manhattan - mom-and-pop trattoria near the dry-cleaners - but Hanover’s liquor stores are… well…”

“Scraping the barrel?” Elio suggests, snickering into the dregs of his sparkling Negroni. “I had a similar problem my freshman year at Julliard. Got so homesick for melanzane alla parmigiana, Mafalda had to teach me some recipes over the winter break.”

They’re seated underneath the tricolore parasol of the Pirozi’s open-air café. The exact same venue they’d loitered at the day Elio presented him a dedicated copy of Stendahl’s Armance. A mid-week market lays claim to the piazzetta, yet the grand, Baroque architecture draws Oliver’s gaze to the residential balconies above: where the same moss-riddled window boxes spill forth a scarlet cascade of geraniums; the petals of which create an arbour over the same slatted door by which their younger-selves would’ve kissed if they could. 

It’s about there, however, that the likenesses end, because the Zanetti’s bookshop has been replaced by a trendy wine bar, la osteria bears all the hallmarks of a pizza parlour, and the chalkboards advertising the traders’ wares tout the prices in euros, rather than lira. All in all, it should be jarring, but 1983 is another country, so Oliver revels in the casual brush of knees below the cast iron table, instead. The cathartic freedom that comes from such simple displays of affection.

“My roommates could barely make toast without setting off the smoke detectors,” Elio tells him then, wrinkling his nose at the exhaust fumes when a wheezing shuttle-bus pulls up by the Piave memorial. “We got by on takeaway menus and instant noodles for weeks.” A snort. “That all changed when I introduced them to torta barozzi and homemade ribollita.”

“I bet it did.” Oliver spies a cassocked priest disembarking the idling vehicle. “You’ll have to tutor me on ziti alla norma. Lord knows how Mafalda dices the eggplant that thinly.”

“Lo farò.” Elio leers. “It’s all in the wrist action.” 

“Reprobate.”

“You love it,” Elio says, taking an economic sip, and the bob of his throat makes Oliver’s mouth water for a delicacy more alluring than the deep-fried arancini they’d devoured earlier.

Because he does. 

He does love it. 

Loves him. 

And hard as it is to credit? Elio loves him, too.

“Do you know what else I couldn’t find in the States?” 

The other man tilts back in his chair. “Besides me, you mean?”

It’s coy to the point of transparency. “Yes, you miscreant. Besides you.” 

“Illuminami.” Elio swirls the melting ice cubes in the bottom of his glass. “What else couldn’t you find?”

“That.” Oliver nods at the harlequin awning of the gelateria. “The genuine article, at any rate. How about it, huh? A scoop of something cold before we hit the road?”

The tips of Elio’s ears rouge pink. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“And what if I am?”

“And what if I am, he says…” Elio bites his lower lip. “In that case, I’m ordering the stracciatella.” A beat. “Chocolate sauce, too.” 

“Chocolate sauce?” Oliver’s outright giddy; something he hasn’t experienced in a long, long while. “What are you? Twelve?”

Elio winks. “When in Rome…”

“Desecrate a fountain? Vomit in a trash can?” 

The gentle weight of a sneaker butts his canvas toe-cap, and Oliver grins indulgently as Elio hums a couple lines of Fenesta Ca Lucive. “Perhaps if I ask her nicely,” he says, low and teasing. “…Sofia might sprinkle on some peas…”

“A worthwhile goal is like a strenuous exercise, my boy: you must exert yourself to achieve it!”

That’s the mantra his zayde used to preach, giving his six-year-old self that extra boost when his stubby fingers couldn’t reach the rugelach cooling on his bakery counter. Solid advice, indeed - a motto that’s seen him through school and vocation, alike - so it’s no surprise that Oliver repeats it verbatim until the quad-aching moment he finally scrambles to the summit of San Giacomo’s spiralling belfry. 

They’d forgone their bikes at the base of the hiking trail; entrusted them to a crumbling cenotaph whose granite Neptune stood valiantly despite an encroaching veneer of bougainvillaea and silver lichen. Within minutes, Elio’d shunned the drab, wooden markers - their arrows so worn as to be almost indecipherable - and grabbing Oliver’s hand he’d leapfrogged a petering brook, steps brisk and undaunted on the cumbersome terrain.

“You know what?” Oliver says, bow-taut and gasping. “I stand by my previous assertion. I am too old for this kind of schlep.”

Both their shirts are dotted with perspiration, and Elio’s scoff bounces off the seventeenth century stonework as he doubles over; hip-checking him lightly. “Don’t be so defeatist. You’ve hardly aged a day.”

“Tell that to my joints,” Oliver grouches, rubbing his left patella. “Though I’d like to think I’ve gained some modicum of wisdom.” 

“You’ve always liked to think that.”

“Brat,” Oliver grunts, drunk on the build. 

They’re four-hundred metres above sea-level - if his sketchy interpretation of the bacheca informativa holds true - and when a balmy wind ruffles his hair Oliver leans into it. Leans atop the parapet, also; inhaling raggedly as he takes in the view. 

The vivid tapestry of poplars and cyprī woven into the verdant landscape.

The two-masted schooner where sky meets ocean.

The swarm of American sightseers clogging the tapered path, whose overbearing hubbub precipitated them taking Elio’s shortcut in the first place.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” 

“Bellissimo,” Oliver replies, sidling closer to where Elio’s propped his forearms on the rusty railings. “To-die-for,” he adds, evoking the parochial nickname. “It’s just a shame we’re not -”

“Da questa parte, signore e signori!” 

Oliver groans at the shrill interloper marshalling her troops in the flagstone courtyard below.  

“Riuniti in stretta. This way, please!” the tour guide continues, launching into a pre-prepared spiel on the history of the Franciscan watchtower. 

Elio sniggers when she starts in on the legends of the six copper bells - muttering his own annotations whenever she fudges - and Oliver’s forced to stifle a guffaw when the peeved woman glances up mid-flow; her entire entourage following suit like a mob of reproachful meerkats.

[aajjks]

we’re a team okay? i’ll piggyback off of you. just write what comes to mind 😊

mommy issues!JK

“i’m so sorry jungkook. i just…i can’t take it anymore!” you pant.

“OK calm down she deserved it. I’m so proud of you”

jungkook takes the metal baseball bat from your hand and does his best to calm you down. he slowly caresses your face before bringing you in for a hug; God, he’s so proud of you. never in a million years would he foresee something like this and despite him being a little shaken up (including eunwoo) he’s jumping for joy right now. nara has met her match and it’s you.

“i’m pretty sure nara is going to sue you, y/n but don’t worry. i’ve got a good lawyer for you”

“thanks eunwoo”

it’s so good to know that despite your impulsive and illegal actions, there are still people rooting for you. pedestrians walking the streets and even jungkook’s coworkers gather to watch nara lose her mind over the damages you’ve dealt to her car and when she sees you and jungkook together, that’s the final straw.

“HOW DARE YOU HUG THIS BITCH AFTER SHE DESTROYED MY PRECIOUS ROSY!!!” you roll your eyes. she even named the stupid the car?

“you know what? you’re FIRED!!!!!!! YOU, EUNWOO, AND ALINA ARE FIRED!!!! and you? you’re dead. you’re soooo fucking dead. i’d watch my back if i were you, bitch”

after that, nara angrily storms off leaving the three of you to reap the consequences of your actions. “i’m-i’m so sorry you guys. i shouldn’t have done that. what was i thinking? i should’ve just—,” you don’t even want to look at jungkook’s or eunwoo’s face because you’re sure they’re angry at you.

“hey, don’t cry. it’s okay, y/n” says eunwoo but you just shake your head. your hands are covering your face and you can’t help but feel awful for what you’ve done.

“alina is gonna kill me. i’m so sorry, guys”

“y/n it’s okay! we were already thinking about quitting anyways. remember that job in incheon? welllllllll alina works there. that’s why she hasn’t been here. i can get her to put in a good word for us and BAM!”

“but it’s not close to busan—,”

“it’s a teleworking job. she only goes to incheon like once or twice a month”

you wonder if eunwoo had this planned the whole time. he’s always looking out for jungkook and he knew this nara situation would blow out of proportion one day. there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his little brother and after seeing you stand up for jungkook the way you did he can’t help but like you a lot more.

“so quit crying, alright? i got it handled. our main focus is your protection. she threatened to kill you and knowing her family, they can easily arrange that”

~🫧

“if she even touches a hair on your body, I will actually murder her.” Something inside him snaps when eunwoo mentions the possibility of the Jang family hurting you for hurting their precious princess.

And he’s not too worried about losing his job because a few tears in front of his mother and he will become the CEO of the JH INDUSTRIES. His Mother is from a very rich background herself.

She fell in love with his dad and they got married, of course his father is quite rich too, but he’s just so greedy always wanting more… but they’re old and he’s their only child… and he’s got an heir.

He knows that his mother misses him because she’s always texting him, calling him longing to see her only grandchild, but jungkook did not allow it because she did not protect him when he needed her protection and support.

“Yn how about you quit your job at the school? I mean you’ve got quite a qualification if you want I could get you a job at my mothers company.” Jungkook suggests.

“I know teaching is what you love to do but seriously I don’t think it’s worth it… she has tarnished your reputation and you deserve better… and honestly it’s a huge problem because you cannot date me and I really want you to date me without any shame or guilt.”

This is a golden opportunity and he’s taking it

You have no idea about his background and it’s gonna be a hassle to explain that he’s actually from a rich background.., are you gonna think of him of him less?

“And eunwoo is right. I’ve got the incheon job too…” he winks. He cannot stand to see you so stressed out and so guilty because this is not your fault you only took your revenge.

And as for him killing… he killed his father’s mistress. She deserved to die. And the mistress was Nara’s auntie.

How could his father even think of betraying his mother who loves him more than her life? Nobody knows how she died because it was disguised as a suicide.

He’s not a killer and he didn’t want to become one, but.. he just cannot stand it when someone tries to hurt the ones he loves.

“Come yn- and eunwoo. We will have lunch together somewhere. I guess I am starving.”

“DUDE I am completely famished and I guess I will eat you if I don’t get to eat something right now.”

You both laugh at eunwoo.

And God knows you have the most gorgeous laugh.

[utterlyinevitable]

“‘The best thing a girl could be is a beautiful little fool.’”

“Okay, Daisy…” he chortles, because it’s absurd that this is the line their conversation has moved to.

“Gatsby? What Gatsby?” she mimics in the most breathy mid Atlantic accent she could muster. Palm up on her forehead and everything dramatic to prove nothing in particular. A jest. A joke. A levity on the situation before them.

“You’re not Daisy.”

“Then which of us is Jay?” There’s that breathy voice again. But this time it’s all-knowing, seductive. Luring him into another game to play.

He doesn’t say a word.

But she does.

“One of us is disrupting the life the others built. Flaunting and saccharine bravado without a care in the world.”

“One of us,” he’s quick to retort, he’s thought about broaching the subject since he saw her again, wasn’t going to bring it up. But now she’s comparing him to a tragically obsessed lover he’s got to play the card — “writes about it.”

He watches her jaw slacken and her face freeze with wide eyes caught in headlights. just as quickly as she was thrown she’s back to being cryptic.

“I’m not Nick,” she laughs off the absurdity as if he hadn’t just rattled her world.

He’s determined, “I’m not dying in a pool before the summer is through.”

“Interpret the classics however you want.” She shrugs and casts her gaze across the way.

[captain039]

Control it

Charles Xavier x reader (Young Charles before he was shot)

Warnings: past trauma, light hurt/comfort

Mutation: Create and manipulate fire

You wandered the overly large mansion wondering what plans the telepath had. You wandered and wandered actually lost now.

“CHARLES!” You yelled huffing as you didn’t know where you were.

“Yes darling?” His voice filled your head and you flushed a little at the name.

“I’m lost” you mumbled.

“Stay there” he said and you sighed leaning against the wall.

You saw the man walk to you and you smiled.

“How on earth did you get lost?” He asked his arm going around your shoulder.

“Because I have no sense of direction” you said.

“That I knew” he chuckled teasingly. He led you outside where you saw the others.

“Did you really get lost?” Raven asked and you nodded going to her, Charles arm sliding off you

“You grew up here, I did not” you said before she could tease.

“I didn’t say anything” she said and you smiled.

“What’s the plan?” Erik spoke up.

“We train” Charles smiled and you frowned.

“Train?” You questioned.

“Yes” he said confident and you sighed.

His training was apparently forced labour, not literally, but it felt like it. Raven and Hank had been together a lot while Charles trained the others. You weren’t one for fighting, your mutation wasn’t something to be fought with.

You leant against the railing looking out to the big field, you glanced to the big satellite and sighed.

“There you are” you turned around seeing Charles coming down the stairs.

“Are you purposely avoiding me?” He asked a grin on his face.

“I don’t know why you saw that” you rolled your eyes.

“You can control it” Charles said softly and you clenched your jaw.

“And set the whole house on fire” you huffed.

“My father built a vault that can withstand anything, even Havok” he tried to convince but it wasn’t working.

“Charles” you muttered and he sighed.

“Just one try?” He asked as you looked to him.

“If I blow you up I’m not sorry” you snapped. He grinned and led you to the vault. It was tarnished by Havok but not ruined. You raised an eyebrow at the marks and lines.

“Set the dummy on fire” Charles stood by you and pointed to the three mannequins.

“Those are mannequins” you said.

“Same thing” he huffed and you rolled your eyes.

“Can you stand back” you muttered and he nodded back away. Your palm warmed up and you created a small flame, you stared at it for a moment hands beginning to shake.

“Don’t think” Charles said but you already did. You remembered their screams and horrid coughing as they burnt to death. Your arm began to light up, burning your clothes.

“Y/n!” Charles had called you but you screamed body lighting on fire. A pulse of flame went out from you before you fell to the floor. You panted, clothes burnt to a crisp. You shook trying to keep yourself up. Others came in and you frowned as Charles came over wrapping a blanket around you and standing close.

“What happened?” It was Erik.

“Training” Charles said kneeling in front of you. He cupped your cheeks wiping away your tears.

“It’s fine Erik” he said rather snappy and the man left.

“Did I hurt you?” You asked tugging the blanket closer.

“No my dear” he said sitting down in front of you.

“I liked those jeans” you said and he scoffed smiling. You lifted your top half up sighing.

“Can I take a look?” He asked and you frowned till you realised he meant your mind.

“There’s nothing in there” you muttered and shrugged.

“Go for it” you muttered leaning forward slightly. He lifted his fingers to your temple as he went through your memories, your family, the fire. He went passed it though and you froze seeing your little sister on her tenth birthday, you felt tears in your eyes her big smile as you chased her around. Shoving her face with cake and laughing. You smiled hanging your head slightly as you let tears fall down. He looked a little deeper, to the night he found you.

You were a shaking mess barely out of your teens, sitting naked and frightened in a corner. Your house had burnt down from your burst, you had awoken to yourself on fire along with the rest of the house, you heard screams from your family but couldn’t get to them. Your body just pulled with fire, you couldn’t feel the heat though. After their screams had stopped you had returned normal, collapsing into the corner where your bed once was and crying. You didn’t know what happened, nor understood.

You heard voices after a few hours, figured it was the police or something but when you saw two men standing there you frowned.

“Y/n? Is it?” The shorter one had asked and you frowned nodding. He approached a little closer and you flinched backing.

“Don’t!- just stay there- I don’t want to hurt you” you said and he nodded holding his hands up. You caught their scents both alphas, the shorter one more intriguing.

“My names Charles Xavier” he said and you nodded.

“Are you police?” You asked and the taller one scoffed laughing.

“No, far from it” Charles shook his head.

“We’re mutants” he added and you frowned.

“Just like you” his voice echoed in your head but his mouth didn’t move. You frowned staring at him in confusing. The other man lifted his hand a few metal things coming to his hand and floating.

“Houses are full of metal” he said and you gulped slightly.

“What do you want?” You asked slightly nervous.

“To bring you some place safe” Charles spoke.

“Away from humans” The taller man said and Charles glared slightly.

“I can help you learn to control it” he said. His voice was soothing, his eyes soft, he was quite handsome.

“Ok-“ you stuttered as he went through the full memory, you pulled back flushing.

“You think I’m handsome?” He questioned a grin on his face. You flushed rolling your eyes as you stood.

“Y/n” he called chasing after you as you went to your room.

“I didn’t mean to pry, the reason I did though was to bring back good memories” you frowned at his words and slowed your pace.

“Your mutation goes off of emotion much like Eriks, using the right balance between anger and happiness can unlock your full potential” you sighed at his words and opened your door as you got to it.

“I’m a bomb Charles, a fire bomb” you said closing your door in his face.

You sighed hearing him walk away. You went to your closest grabbing some clothes and going to the bathroom.

After washing off the ash you sighed changing and lying on your bed. You were thankful your body was immune to fire, even your hair and nails, your clothes however just, well turned to ash.

You skipped dinner and went straight to bed as night came. You forced yourself to sleep and gain some energy back.

You shook awake, the lights behind your eyes startling you. You gasped fire all around and coughing from your family.

“Mum!” You called getting up. You were a flame again, you tried to shake it off furiously as everything around you cracked and burned.

“MUM!” You cried trying to unlock your door but it didn’t budge.

“Y/n!” You heard your sister call but you couldn’t do anything. You sobbed going to your knees as the fire raged around you.

“Y/n” it stopped though and you frowned at Charles voice.

“Charles?” You questioned as he stood a meter away. It was just a burning corridor now, you at one end, him at the other.

“I can’t control it” you sobbed.

“You can” he said as the flames roared slightly.

“It doesn’t control you, you control it” he added coming closer.

“No! I’ll burn you!” You said holding your hands out.

“You wont” you frowned looking down to see your normal hands. The flames around you went quiet, only little lights every now and then. Your hands shook as you looked to them, hands grabbed yours and you flinched looking to Charles.

“You just need to control it” he said softly letting go of one hand and letting it rest on your cheek.

You startled awake and heard a sigh of relief.

“What-?” You said confused as Charles panted on the floor.

“Charles?” You questioned smelling smoke.

“Charles what happened?” You began to freak out again.

“No- no calm down” he stood quickly sitting on your bed and cupping your face.

“Just look at me” he said as you tried to move. You heard another in the room and began to shake in confusion.

“She needs to control it” you heard Erik say sternly.

“Ignore him” Charles said and you looked around shaking his hands off. The wall was gone, burnt out you froze at the damage you had caused, the cold night air coming in. Erik had all the fire extinguishers by him, his arms crossed with a disappointed face.

“Erik get out” Charles said a little sternly.

“Charles-“ Erik sighed.

“Out now” Charles huffed pointing to the door. You had tears in your eyes as you looked at the damage you caused.

“I didn’t take the meds hank gave me” you mumbled looking to your side table.

“Too keep away the nightmares-“ you cried again and arms went around you.

You trembled as you cried leaning against Charles shoulder. He hushed you gently keeping you close.

“I can’t control it” you whispered sniffly.

“Yes you can” he fought slightly lifting you to face him.

“I know you can, with time and training” he said placing a hand on your cheek again.

“You can control it” he whispered as you shook your head. He sighed suddenly leaning forward as lips met yours. You froze shocked at the lips on yours but kissed back. You closed your eyes leaning to him and pulled back.

“I believe in you” he whispered.

[alicemitch09writes]

lame

04.

a fist full of fuck you

Junior school was always a rough patch for you and Izuku, especially because it was the reign of Bakugou Katsuki amongst the horde of crazy pubescent teens. On the first day at Aldera Junior High, he had made it clear that he was going to rule the school and become top, leaving the two of you out the dust.

Of course, with an acquired quirk and confidence like his, it was easy to assert his dominance. And with his rising fame and sheer dominance, the two of you were immediately cast out, because you didn’t have quirks. (It was easy to hide the fact that you had a nocturnal quirk anyway)

Throughout junior high, your only friend was Izuku, you didn't mind. But despite being the 'quirkless girl' nobody dared to cross you because you were a bit of a delinquent, a bona fide fighter who could beat anyone – with a quirk or not, to a pulp. Still, you tried to avoid fights for Izuku’s sake, your family name’s sake, and because you didn’t want to give in to their jeers. (You also had that annoying promise to keep.)

Due to your closeness, rumors began to spread of your relationship with Izuku, which you didn't correct. After all, nobody seemed to give two shits when you were younger, nor do they seem to care now. So, what was the point anyway? Izuku was your best friend, he was like a brother to you. He felt the same.

And as for Bakugou? Well, he was happy in his own little bubble, reigning, terrorizing, the occasional name-calling towards you or Izuku, casting explosions as a warning whenever your paths crossed.

It was your last year, if you could remember perfectly, your teacher had just passed out papers, happily announcing that everyone was going to take heroics. Beside you, you could see Izuku meekly shrinking in himself as the whole class went wild at the prospect of getting into a kickass school, especially granted with their own unique talents. Scoff.

However, Bakugou rose as the best – of course, besting everyone, even receiving praise from your ass of a teacher. He had no problem with calling them out as worthless extras to his great glory.

Per the norm, you and Izuku were alienated by the whole thing, but it didn’t phase you one bit. But when your teacher announced Izuku’s desire to enter UA, that’s when you phased, as his announcement caused everyone in the class to go deathly silent.

A smile immediately crossed your lips as you turned to your best friend, meeting his gaze and giving a supportive thumbs up when the class exploded into laughter. The smile turned into a scowl at the motherfuckers you call your classmates, even your teacher! Pathetic really.

“Izuku, pay them no mind-“

An explosion blasted before you could finish, the force causing the green-haired boy to jump back. Alarmed, you immediately were on your feet, watching as Bakugou lashed out on your friend. Venomous, mocking words were leaving his mouth, causing your friend to shrink even more, the class watching in glee as the school’s top student was putting the reckless boy in his place.

Having enough, you ran towards your friend, angrily shouldering the blond boy aside, crouching a little to offer a hand. “Izuku, can you stand?”

At the sight of you, his eyes lit, hands just reaching out to take yours before one of your classmates jeered behind you.

“Oh look, it’s the quirkless girl out to help the quirkless boy! How cute!”

“Haven’t you heard? She’s not taking heroics, she’s just gonna head to some generic lame-ass quirkless school to be with the rest of her lame ass quirkless normies. What a loser!”

“Just as I thought, the quirkless gotta stick together!”

The class laughed at that.

“And what of it?” you said, Izuku finally on his feet, his eyes turned to you. Giving him a reassuring look, you looked over your shoulder to your classmates with an impassive look. “So, what if I get to be with my fellow quirkless normies? At least I can feel normal and less of a freak like the lot of you.”

“W-What?”

“Stupid little quirkless bitch-”

“Quirkless, quirkless, quirkless. Wow, that’s really all you guys seem to care about. Why, jealous of us normies who don’t have to worry about shit aside from living peacefully? And as far as I know, maybe the lot of you will turn out as rejects since not all your quirks are as great as they seem. I don’t have to half-ass my so-called talent because there’ll definitely be others better than me.” leveling your eyes with carmine, you could see him grinding his teeth, a deep scowl on his features, you flashed one last playful smirk before you gave the last word “not many will actually care for the filth you all are actually are.”

Feeling a tug, you smiled brightly at Izuku, no longer shrunken but back to his normal self, before heading back to your seats, acting as if nothing happened.

Class resumed awkwardly, you being completely unfazed by the glaring looks from your classmates and dozed off easy.

Later that day, you were sitting on your desk, slightly refreshed because the day was ending. Bag in hand waiting patiently for your friend to finish packing so you both could go home; smiling at Izuku as he relayed the events that happened earlier that day.

“Eh, that sounds pretty exciting, Izuku. Well then, you better get home and write it all down!” you say encouragingly, feet swinging.

“Yes!” Setting his phone down, he lifted his Hero Analysis notebook, eyes sparkling with excitement at the notion of writing a new analysis on the heroes he’s seen.

Suddenly, the notebook was forcibly taken from him by Bakugou, who seemed unpleased at their ‘unfinished’ business earlier during homeroom. Two of Bakugou’s goonies appeared, laughing at the notebook in his hand.

“What the fuck?” Hopping off, you walked up the blond angrily. “Will you give it a rest already?”

“Kacchan,” shrieked your friend, standing from his seat. “give it back!”

Instead of returning it, the blond blew up the notebook, causing it to char, before tossing it easily out the window. Izuku screamed, completely at a loss of words. Angrily, your glared deepened at the blond, who didn’t bother looking your way as he headed towards the door breezily, goonies behind him.

Bakugou had always been a bully to both you, especially towards Izuku. It was so petty and cliché really, you wanted to throw up.

Long when you were younger, Izuku was always a target for Bakugou’s wrath, an easy pedestal to step over just to feel good about himself, a dummy he can just beat over and over because he can. It made you sick.

Gone were the happy days of you three, happily going about with your innocence, forever tarnished by quirks that branded you instantly the moment you had one. Gone were those days.

As for you? He didn’t even bother. You were a waste of space because you fought back, so there was no pleasure picking on a tomboy who could fight back and care less. It was always easier to aim for the weaker link.

But for Izuku, you had to be brave for you both. After all, you were his only best friend, his shield.

Worriedly, you turned to your friend, hating the crestfallen look on his face, reaching out to him.  “Izuku-“

“If you want to be a hero so much, there is an efficient way. Believe to have a quirk in your next life” your hand froze in mid-air; the world had gone silent. “and dive off from the school roof. “

Silence.

A beat of silence.

A twitch.

And then, a beat, a hitch.

Suddenly, you saw red.

Just as he finished his sentence, a heavy fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him back against the door with a loud clatter, as though it were ready to break off from the hinges, alarming students on the other side.

“(NICKNAME)!”

Breathing heavily, you dropped your hand to your side, your fingers were shaking uncontrollably, balling them into fists didn’t help the anger seething through your blood, seeping into your bones, nails biting painfully into your skin.

Watching the blond get knocked on his ass did little to give you satisfaction, especially when his words rang over and over in your head still.

If you want to be a hero so much, there is an efficient way. Believe to have a quirk in your next life and dive off from the school roof.

Had you been calmer, you would’ve seen the absolute shock on his face, eyes locked on you.

One minute you were next to Deku, the next, you were in front of him, punching him with everything you had. It was quite the punch, judging from how the door rattled so much that it opened a little.

Coming to his senses, he nearly stumbled back on his feet, grabbing at your collar, snarling. “You-“

“Fuck you,” you all but said in one exhale, voice shaky and words full of anger and venom. Words that matched your eyes – so full of anger and venom.

It was all it took for both your friends to turn to you, shock at the amount of hatred falling out of your usually calm demeanor. But as they say, one can only handle so much before they break.

Bakugou’s hold loosened, faltering at the words leaving your mouth, at the eyes burning deep into his own.

“Fuck you, fuck your aspirations, fuck your friends” your eyes rose, angrily turning to the gazes of the two boys behind you, who flinched at the anger emanating off you. “fuck everyone in this school and fuck your quirk.” There was a sharp intake of breath, coming from him. It made you scoff. “Because let’s face it, Bakugou, without your quirk, you might as well be fucking worse than a dead fuck.”

Those infamous last words of yours, that signified and solidified the death of whatever relationship you had with him, giving you the expression on his face, that was plenty satisfaction.

Izuku had to physically take you away, grabbing both your bags as you left the room. He had to calm you down, extremely worried to see you so worked up. Gulping, he squeezed your hand, green eyes searching for yours. Weakly, you squeezed back, a feeble smile on your face. That was plenty.

As the two of you turned a corner, the green-haired teen froze beside you, turning to him in confusion, you followed his gaze, heart twisting at his fallen Hero Analysis notebook that was being poked by the fishes.

“Stop eating it,” he muttered, voice weak. “it’s not fish food.”

“Izuku…” you called out, worried about the way his shoulders hunched, posture rigid.

If you want to be a hero so much, there is an efficient way. Believe to have a quirk in your next life and dive off from the school roof.

Balling your hands into fists, you could feel the anger boiling, threatening to take over. No. Instead, you walked up to your friend, took the wet notebook from his hand, and waved it in the air, water splattering everywhere in the process.

“(N-Nickname), be careful of the pages!” he cried, you stopped only when the dull look in his eyes disappeared. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The favour returned.

Satisfied that it was semi-dry, you appeared by Izuku’s side, browsing through the pages – which miraculously were still readable despite getting wet. Each page, you bugged Izuku to explain what was written, he’d readily go on about what he wrote and more.

Hearing him speak calmed you, but it reminded you of the absolute fear in his face from earlier, your heart clenched – that was not you. So, you swore never to get that angry in front of him again. Also, Bakugou Katsuki was nothing but a dead fuck to you.

And yet, why did you feel like dying at that moment? Why did a part of you die thereafter?

It was the worse day of your life.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

But the worst was yet to come.

One phone call.

One phone call was it took.

One call from your grandfather, urging you to come home.

“L-Listen carefully to what I’m going to say, (Name), okay?”

Never had you heard your grandfather, the feared Shihan of your family, the stoic, cranky old man, in tears, sounding so weak, so afraid.

“I-It’s about your parents…”

Amidst the infamous Sludge Incident, you received word of your parents’ death, they were killed in action by villains.

Was the universe playing with you? Did the impact of the punch you gave Bakugou earlier rebound and knock you out?

Suddenly, the anger from earlier immediately dissipated, replacing it with a feeling as though someone had pierced into your soul, taking everything there is about you.

Numb.

A numbing sense washed over you, unable to take any valid information, make sense of your environment, or even your senses.

Heavy.

Everything felt heavy, your heart, your body – everything.

All you knew was that your heart was in pieces, tears wouldn’t stop pouring for days, and your life would never be the same again.

“(Name), what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“Eh? Uh…um…”

“Don’t you want to be a hero like me and mama?”

“Should I be?”

“Well, according to family tradition, yes.”

“But how about according to you guys?”

“Us?”

“Well, actually, we’d be happier with whatever you want. Just so long as it makes you happy.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“…so, even if I want to be a gang leader?”

“Don’t push it, (Name).”

“Heh, kidding! I love you, Ma, Pa!”

“Getting cheekier and cheekier every day.”

"She is your daughter, after all."

For a whole week, you missed school to mourn.

Your mind too caught up in the loss of the two people you cared for the most in the world to even worry about your education.

Everything was a blur, a complete blur to you.

Understandably, everyone understood. Your grandfather. Auntie Inko. Auntie Mitsuki. Uncle Masaru. Especially Izuku, who came over to check on you from time to time. And during the burial, he held your hand. Tight. Warm. An assurance.

(Somewhere, you could have sworn you saw blond – aside from Auntie Mitsuki but paid no mind.)

When your parents died, so did a part of you.

The week after, you came back a hollow of a person you once were. Coming back to school, you were prepared for the onslaught of jeers and hatred, after giving Bakugou a beatdown last time, yet, all you got were condolences from everyone. That didn’t bother you much and just went on with life.

People were better. You suppose that’s what happens when people realize how much loss can affect someone.

Recovering was hard.

Every day hurts.

Every second was a reminder of loss.

Every waking hour felt like a bitter pill.

You just wanted to scream, to wreak havoc, to let it all out.

But how could you?

Since their deaths, you'd have nightmares of the time your parents left for their mission, in which they never came back. It was worst with insomnia wrought by your quirk, in fact, the grief made it worse. You were barely sleeping at all!

Izuku noticed just how tired and depressed you were, was the first to reach out to you. It was what you loved about him - he was selfless and full of compassion. Even as he suddenly went on a strange body regiment – that seemed to tax him physically and mentally, he was always there to keep you afloat. As opposed to Bakugou, who went out to call out on you two.

Still, after punching him in the face and the death of your parents on the same day, he was less menacing towards you, Izuku even.

It didn’t change the fact that the blond was dead to you, deader than your parents.

However, you did notice cans of coffee on your desk during lunchtime, or after a period where you slept in. Sometimes, there’d be an apple before the first period. One time, you could have sworn to hear explosions followed by angered shushing as you dozed off at the clinic.

There was a time, when you two crossed paths, both of you were silent, staring at each other. Carmine eyes stared into your dull (e/c) ones, his filled with worry and concern. But neither of you said a word, you just walked past him, dismissing him entirely.

Eventually, you found yourself applying for a part-time job, trained harder with your grandfather, all these to distract you, at least. And it worked, for a time.

You just weren’t sure about the other void.

masterlist • five

[aimasup]

Ok so from this first part I've decided to finally throw in my headcanon version of Roman and Remus when Thomas was a kid.

(Next here and next here)

@miraculousglitter

But first here's a fic as my headcanon on how they split (Tw gore and angst) :

The Seperation (oneshot)

Fun sniffled. "So... so you're saying... I need to be better...?"

Heart stared. No! No, no, no no! What was happening? Fun never cried. He never let the most piercing of insults get to him. He was always the bounciest of the Sides, bold and daring, without a care in the world. The log to lean on.

And now tears were pouring down his face.

"Fun, please, I never said that! That's not what I meant!" Heart placed his hands on Fun's shoulders, feeling like he was going to tear up himself. Somehow, he had made the unstoppable force that was the royal King Fun cry. He mentally kicked himself.

"I would never think any less of you for anything you do. Everyone else thinks so too. We all love you for who you are!" he said.

"It's just... the things you say and do sometimes. We don't hate you for doing them, what we hate is the things that get Thomas in trouble. That's what we don't want."Heart pulled Fun into a tight hug.

"It's nothing to do with you. Please don't cry." Heart choked. "You're perfect."

Fun gulped down tears. "So.. so.. so it's a - a problem? That we can f - fix?"

Heart had never thought of it that way, but as always, Fun was a brilliant Side. "Y - yeah! You're right! Maybe we can fix this! L - like a cold, or - or a bad knee owie...."

They dissolved into silence. Fun sat on his knees, tear marks still left on his tanned face. Heart had joined him on the bedroom floor and let go of him, but still kept a gentle hold on his hands.

Fun knew what Heart said was true. But the overwhelming aura of his room was pressing in on him from all directions. What no one realized was that Heart was one of Thomas' strongest sides. His room was especially influential. It would constantly shift and change to any emotion, subconscious or not.

Heart was scared.

Not of him, clearly, but Fun knew what else he was scared of. It was true. He had bad things and bad thoughts in him, and they needed to go. Then, everything would be better and everyone would love him again.

Fun hiccuped. "S - so, should we.. get Learning?" He was the one who named everyone. In his chest he knew these names weren't very 'clever' but given Thomas' limited vocabulary they were his best efforts.

Heart considered this. He shook his head.

"I dunno. I'm not sure how he can help. But I do know we're supposed to... uh...separate the problem. Separate...we could just separate the bad stuff! Right!" he said excitedly.

Fun furrowed his brow in deep thought, which was rare for the Side. "Se...perate? How?"

Heart's face dropped. He plopped back onto the floor, where he had previously stood up in a 'eureka' moment.

"... I dunno."

They sat there, pondering some more.

Fun glanced over unsurely at Heart. He noticed the unnaturally tired look on his features. Heart was clearly trying so hard to come up with a solution, which was a problem because that wasn't his job. He wasn't supposed to solve objective issues, which would surely tire him out further than Fun already had.

Fun looked at the ground. He stood up, catching Heart's attention.

"Fun?"

Everything was wrong. Was he wrong? No, it had to be the bad things, but wouldn't that make it him as well technically? Was he bad? Were the thoughts bad?

He took deep breaths, that quickened the more he thought about everything that happened in the past few years. All his friends' thoughts, all his doubts, all of the troubles because of him.

He had to banish the bad thoughts. Banish the bad thoughts. Get rid of them. Get rid of the things ruining everyone's lives.

Get rid of the things that tarnished his otherwise perfect image. Get rid of the ideas he wasn't supposed to enjoy because they were gross and wrong. Get rid of the scary stuff that would make his friends sad.

Fun choked. Rip it out. Kick it out of his body. He was supposed to extract it like a spider nest in his rib cage - no! Gross, bad, scary! You're scary, you're not me!

But why didn't it feel like it was coming out? Something was tearing away, but it wasn't a something else, it was... him.

Heart stared in horror as Fun stumbled and caught on his own feet. He was clutching at his hair and silently choking. Unholy gargled whimpers escaped his throat as golden bile bubbled out of his throat, under bloodshot, teary eyes.

Get rid of the bad things! They're awful, they're not you! They're not me!

I'm not you?

You're not me! You're you!

But I'm you! I'm me!

No! I'm me! Shut up! I'm tearing! It hurts!

No, I'm tearing, you're tearing!

Leave me! I'm leaving!

Leave me! I'm leaving!

Fine!

Fine!

Fine!

"I don't need you!" Fun screamed in a horrific layered voice, raw and primal. "You're going away!"

Heart was crying. He didn't know what to do, his friend was in a bad shape, nothing was done about it.

"I'm leaving! Fine, I'm leaving! Gone, I'm leaving! We're leaving!" Like a madman, Fun clawed at the carpet rapidly, oozing gold and black down his center. Thin red lines crept into view with bone cracking noises, the liquids stained the floor and his beautiful grey outfit, his pupils changed color, his layered voice grew more and more divided by the minute until he tore.

Right down the middle.

Heart screamed.

What fell onto the carpets were two different shapes. One hit the floor with a soft thud, with more grace and beauty Heart had ever seen. The other hit the carpet with a greasy splat, smelling as it looked.

Heart was still unsure of the situation. With heaving breaths, he scrambled over to help up the one who looked the most like his friend. He still didn't know what to do at the moment, but he just wanted to hold Fun in his arms and comfort him.

"Fun? Fun! Please, answer me, please! I'm sorry, please, wake up..." Heart shook him. "Please, please, please, please," he chanted, then broke out a little sob. "Please?"

The Fun in his arms stirred. Bleary eyes blinked and then shot wide open. "Heart!" he gasped.

Heart also gasped, staring at the face that sort of looked like Fun. Somehow he had completely different features, and his eyes were pure ruby red, but his hair and his clothes were so similar. It was definitely his rustic, bold Fun, but every move looked like a gentle dance instead of a determined lead. His voice was more airy and full of song, more than usual.

The two Sides stared at each other, still in each other's arms. A wet splat alerted them. Their heads whipped around to the noise.

To their horror, a...figure emerged from the black oily heap on the carpet. The figure shone ebony and dripped all over the thing. Somehow it was a mockery of Fun's image, but Heart couldn't help but be drawn to recognize him too.

They stared, and as it advanced slowly, the red one screamed in fright. "No! What is that?!"

Heart and his room were pounding. The answer spilled out before he could stop it, but he didn't care. "That's the bad stuff! It must have worked!"

He took up Fun's hands, now absolutely sure that it was him. "The stuff is gone! Please, don't look so doubtful, we're a family, we've always been!" Pulling him into a hug, Heart laughed in relief. Completely unaware of how his 'Fun' was feeling through all this.

The oily figure reared its head, revealing a terrifying smile and two glowing green eyes. It stumbled over itself and fell, a high, ugly voice tearing out of its orifices. "Heart!"

Heart let go of Fun and they hurried to their feet and backed off, realizing the sludge figure was still in their room. They stared at it with bated breath, like it was a cockroach ready to take flight after them. Their expressions were contorted by fear.

From the ground, it tried and failed to reach out to them. "Heart! I'm here, I've gotten rid of the bad stuff! Heart! Please, Heart!"

But they were already bolting out the room, Fun in Heart's tow. With a yelp, they had fled, calling for Learning and Careful.

The demonic creature sat in silence. Then it started laughing, cackling, a noise that was the stuff of nightmares. Tears streamed down its cheeks, smile permanently etched on its face, its shoulders shaking.

A small, crouched monster with yellow snake eyes silently watched the broken thing crumble from the doorway.

[luminescencefics]

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***

The Backstory

September 2006

In Nora Priestley’s fourteen years of life, she’s never lived this far away from the ocean before. It’s always been just right outside her window, a quick ten-minute trek from Thames Street until she reached the rolling dunes of Rejects Beach. Smelling the salt in her hair and feeling her skin grow sticky from the feeling of the ocean air was practically second-nature to her, but ever since she moved to the middle of nowhere Connecticut for boarding school, she’s never felt more disconnected from normality in her life.

Nora’s never really been a big fan of embracing change. She’d like to blame that on the fact that she’s never really had any monumental shifts to her tectonic plates so far in her short life, and she’s not quite sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.

It’s always been just her and her mom. A dynamic duo. A tag team of epic proportions. 

Growing up in Newport, Rhode Island could be worse, Nora thinks. She was lucky enough to grow up in a small coastal town where everybody accepted her in one way or another. Even though she was much different than the other kids her age, considering she spent most of her time alone while her mother worked, she never felt unhappy. Life was simple. Life was easy.

Nora and her mother, Shannon, lived in a small apartment in a renovated old colonial townhouse at the bottom of Thames Street. It was a third-floor walk-up, and in the heat of the summer when the humidity made the wallpaper begin to curl at the edges of her tiny paisley-coated bedroom, Nora had to sleep with her creaky window open with nothing but a thin sheet to cover her sweat-soaked body, the soft sounds of the rolling waves crashing against the shore lulling her to sleep.

Shannon Priestley was the ultimate leading lady in Nora’s life. She referred to Nora as her perfect mistake, because having a baby the summer she turned eighteen with a boy she thought would be her forever was the very definition of that phrase. But she handled it like she did everything else in her life—with grace and dignity, and nothing but a big gleaming grin on her face that always made Nora and everyone else lucky enough to be around her sunbeam feel that everything would be okay. 

With a one-year-old baby on her hip and a bright and shiny high school diploma under her belt, Shannon found a job listing to be a nanny for the Clemonte’s. Without a second’s deliberation, she packed up her things and moved to the tip of the state to Newport. 

The Clemonte’s were one of the wealthiest families in Newport, hailing from an impressive lineage of old money with an expansive estate of fourteen acres overlooking Ochre Point and the Atlantic Ocean. They were one of those families that named their properties, and when Shannon Priestley first stepped foot inside The Breakers mansion, she knew right then and there that her new bosses had very high expectations for her.

Shannon became the singular nanny to Warren and Jane Clemonte’s baby son, William. He was born three months after Nora, and even though Shannon felt slighted that she had to spend most of her days with another family’s child while her own was being watched by their downstairs neighbor, she promised to split her time evenly. And even though twenty-four hours in a day was never enough for Shannon, she made sure to spend most of it with Nora.

And Nora was always grateful for that. 

The second Nora was old enough to take care of herself, she started going to The Breakers after school so that her mom could walk her home. It was at that very moment when she had her first taste of ostentatious luxury, and from then on it never failed to amaze her. The other half certainly did live differently than Nora and her mother, and stepping foot inside the Clemonte’s mansion made that realization startlingly clear. 

This was when she first met William Clemonte. Nora always knew he existed, considering her mother would sprinkle in small anecdotes about him while doing other mundane tasks. “Willy was very quiet today,” Shannon would tell Nora on their walk home from Ochre Point to Lower Thames. “Mr. and Mrs. Clemonte want Willy to take piano lessons and learn Latin. How on earth is a seven-year-old supposed to handle that?”

To Nora, Willy was somewhat of a fictional character living behind the towering walls of The Breakers. She imagined him being a smaller boy, blonde with blue eyes and wearing some sort of matching ensemble sitting inside the thick walls of his mansion, overlooking the deep cobalt ocean through a grand wall of windows. But when she meets him one afternoon after her first day of second grade, she could not be any more wrong.

Sure, Willy Clemonte was a small boy, but he was by no means shy or scared of her. He took her on a tour through the grand halls of The Breakers, showed her all of the secret passageways built inside the walls from when the mansion was first erected back in the early twentieth century, and shared his brand new toys with her. 

But most importantly, he listened to her. He asked her a million questions about public school, about the world outside of his tall fortress, about the television shows Shannon let Nora watch after dinner, and the different kinds of popular music other kids their age were listening to.

“Wait, so *NSYNC isn’t just Justin Timberlake?” Willy would ask whenever Nora would show him what was inside her portable CD player (which was almost exclusively No Strings Attached until she reached the fourth grade). 

“Oh my god, Willy! *NSYNC is a boyband! Justin is just the best one,” Nora would scold right back, shoving the plastic headphones over his blonde head of hair so that the felt cushions would press against his ear, the vibrating thumps of “Bye Bye Bye” playing through the electronic equipment.

Whenever he would ask her about school, Willy was always shocked to hear how different her experience was from his own. Nora would tell him about the yellow school buses that picked up and dropped off her friends, she would show up to his house afterward wearing jeans and a pink Gap sweatshirt and he was always surprised to learn that kids could wear whatever they wanted during the day, and when she would come over on Fridays and tell him that her mother gave her a dollar for pizza day at lunchtime, Willy wished more and more that he could go to public school with her, too.

While Willy was nothing but sunshine and kindness, Warren Clemonte was the complete opposite. A cold and distant man, stern and grumpy with a perpetual frown on his face, he sent a terrifying chill all the way down to Nora’s bones until they rattled together like a hollow instrument. And one Thursday afternoon when Shannon was busy packing Willy’s bags for the Clemonte’s annual Christmas trip to Aspen, Warren caught his son running around the main hall searching through every nook and cranny for Nora’s impressive hiding spot. It was only once she heard the bellowing yells when she emerged from behind an old armoire in the library, peeking her head around the corner to watch Warren yell at Willy in the echoing hallway.

“What do you think you’re doing, running around when you’ve left your Latin workbook unfinished?” Warren demanded, his low voice bouncing off the thick walls.

“I’m sorry, dad. I was just—”

“—Just what? Playing around and avoiding your responsibilities? How are you supposed to learn anything if you spend all of your time dilly-dallying with that girl, William?”

Willy began to cry then, and before Nora could interfere, her mother was already ten steps ahead of her, entering the main hall and apologizing profusely while her daughter stayed hidden behind the old armoire, watching everything with regretful eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Clemonte. I was just packing for Willy, I didn’t realize he had run off. I’ll make sure it never happens again, sir,” Shannon said, placing a comforting arm around Willy’s shaking shoulders while his father stood barely five feet away, watching his wailing son with lifeless eyes. 

“Please do, Miss Priestley. William does not need any more distractions.” His voice held a clipped finality to it, and when he walked away and Nora appeared from behind the wall to approach Willy who was clutching her mother for dear life, she never understood how his father could just leave his son to fall apart in front of him like that.

That was the last afternoon Nora ever spent at The Breakers. 

Up until four months ago, Nora was almost certain that the entire Clemonte family had forgotten that she existed, and that treacherous afternoon with Willy nearly seven years ago was just a sad memory that could be tarnished for the rest of eternity. But when her mother comes home with a thick black and red folder, the words Townbridge Academy in capital letters splayed against the front page above a golden crest, Nora’s never been more confused in her life.

When she asked her mother what she was doing with a boarding school acceptance letter in her hand that Nora had never heard of before, the answer she received was definitely not what she had expected. Apparently, Mrs. Clemonte found out that Nora was planning on attending the public high school on Broadway Street, and apparently, she believed that she could offer Shannon a lending hand. Nora would like to blame it all on Jane Clemonte’s philanthropic tendencies, but a few phone calls and a faxed copy of Nora’s stellar transcripts later, Nora was appointed a lofty scholarship to attend Townbridge Academy in the fall. 

All things considered, Nora did not want to go. She liked her middle school friends, she liked being her own person, she liked knowing that her mom was only a twenty-minute walk away, and most importantly, she liked not having to be associated with a family like the Clemonte’s. She didn’t want to be seen as a charity case, and accepting the scholarship on Mrs. Clemonte’s behalf to attend a prestigious boarding school like Townbridge Academy was exactly that.

But when her mother sat her down and told her how amazing this opportunity was, and how much Nora could accomplish with a diploma from one of the best schools in the country, Nora couldn’t bring herself to say no. Especially when her mother held her close and whispered in her ear, “God, Nora, you can do all of the things I never could have done,” Nora knew that there was no way she could break her mother’s heart.

Because now, standing in her new dorm room with deep oak walls, a creaky polished hardwood floor, a red ornamental rug that smelled a bit like Warren Clemonte’s cologne, and a small twin bed nestled in the corner underneath a window overlooking the bleak green hills of Connecticut—Nora Priestley wishes she had told her mother no.

Before she can even wallow in her own self-imposed misery, the front door opens revealing an older man carrying a trolley holding a matching six-piece set of luggage. Nora looks down to the singular old leather suitcase she purchased at a surplus store on Spruce Street resting on the floor, comparing it to the monogrammed navy blue set with the gold letters ARW spanning across each piece.

The man begins placing each suitcase onto the floor without uttering a word to a very confused Nora, and suddenly the door opens wider, a pretty girl with strawberry blonde hair floating into the room. She’s wearing a white tennis skirt that rests a few inches above her kneecap, with a powder blue collared shirt cuffed at the wrists. For a brief moment, Nora wonders if her mother purchased the wrong uniform set for her, but when the girl lifts her eyes from her Blackberry and looks over at Nora, she notices a sailor’s crest embroidered on the right side above her chest with more initials, and she begins to breathe a little. 

“Hi! You must be my roommate, I’m Nor—”

“—Where are the rest of your bags?” the girl interrupts, eyeing the old leather suitcase disdainfully. Nora’s fingers immediately fly up to her scalp and begin raking through her blonde hair, a nervous habit she’s tried her hardest to get rid of.

“I have a duffle on the desk chair, too,” Nora explains quietly, removing her hand from her hair so that she can point towards the old wooden desk that holds her mother’s duffle bag.

Nora watches as the girl’s piercing gaze shifts from her two flimsy bags to her outfit. And when Nora watches beady hazel eyes take in her old white tank top, her mom’s grey knit cardigan, thrifted bootcut jeans, and sandals from two summers ago, Nora’s never wanted to disappear more in her life. 

Before she can find the words to speak, Nora hears a shrill “Alyssa!” echo through the hallway, until a matching set of girls wearing nautical-inspired clothing and thick headbands are hugging the strawberry blonde-haired girl who just so obviously judged Nora a few moments ago.

“Who’s this?” one of the girls asks Alyssa, breaking away from their hug and looking over at Nora with interest.

Just as Nora reaches a hand out to introduce herself, Alyssa says, “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go, girls,” and the three girls spin around without even uttering a goodbye. 

Nora watches as they walk down the hallway, giggling the entire way as if they hadn’t singlehandedly just ruined her first official day away from home.

***

October 2006

The first month at boarding school is just a series of Nora playing catch up. While she thought going to public school and hanging out with normal people would be enough to prepare her for high school, three weeks in she’s never felt more lost in her entire life.

She’s one of the only students who doesn’t own a cellphone, she wears second-hand Sperry’s instead of fancy loafers with gold links on the front, her backpack is a maroon Jansport while most students opted for leather messenger bags, and when people ask her how she spent her summer, she’s gotten used to the wide-eyed look they give her when she explains that she scooped ice cream near the beach for tips.

Nora’s not naive. She knows that she’s referred to as The Scholarship Girl behind her back, she knows that Alyssa complains to her elitist friends about how dreadful it is to be forced to room with a girl who wears hand-me-down clothing, and she knows that adjusting to life at Townbridge was going to be the very definition of arduous. 

But she remembers what her mother told her—how Nora’s skin is thicker than she thinks, and no matter how different she is to everybody else, she’s still just as deserving of a top-notch education. 

Even though Nora was at the top of her class for most of her life, she still felt far behind the rest of her classmates at Townbridge. She spends the first few weeks getting very acquainted with the walls of the library, making the nearly twenty-minute trek from her dorm in Emerson Hall to Millikan Library across campus. Classes have only just begun, but Nora can’t afford to fall any more behind than she already has. So instead of making friends and signing up for various clubs and sports teams, Nora’s allowed her backside to practically mold into the stiff wooden chairs inside the empty library.

Nora would have completely forgotten about the First Year Mixer being held that evening if not for Alyssa and her friends getting ready in her dorm room. When she walks in still wearing her uniform well after classes have ended for the day, the three girls look at her as if she were crazy.

“Did you forget about the mixer tonight, Nora?” Grace, one of the twins, asks with a shocked expression decorating her pretty face. All three girls are wearing colorful Lilly Pulitzer dresses, passing along mascara and eyeshadow amongst themselves in preparation for tonight.

“Uh, no I was just—”

“—Making friends with the books again?” Alyssa sneers, earning a giggle from the girls.

Nora chooses not to respond. It’s just easier that way.

Walking over to her wardrobe, Nora sorts through her limited selection of clothing to find something appropriate to wear for tonight. She didn’t even want to be in attendance, but she’s figured that she’s probably spent enough time on her own, and that maybe, in the off chance that Townbridge has some normal students, she can make a friend or two.

The only two dresses she brought with her were a simple long-sleeved cream sweater dress that fell just above her knees, and a thin summer dress her mother bought her two years ago that was tighter and fell around mid-thigh. She goes with the sweater dress, deeming it the best outfit she has to just simply blend in. Once it’s over her head, she reaches for her thigh-high socks and brown boots she got as a graduation gift, slipping them on quickly. October has left a brisk chill in the nighttime air, and considering her jackets consisted of a worn-in winter parka and an oversized flannel she scored at Goodwill, Nora thinks this combination will be more than fine.

She reaches for the comb on her desk and begins to rake it through her knotted hair, smoothing out the kinks and leaving the strands to fall in their messy, wavy natural state. Just as she’s digging through her backpack to try and find her lip balm and mascara, she can’t help but overhear Alyssa gossiping to Grace and Erin loudly from across the room.

“Harry’s plane landed a few hours ago,” Alyssa gushes, plucking the blush from Grace’s hands and beginning to apply it to the apples of her cheeks.

“Oh my God, no way! You must be so excited, Lyss!” Erin squeaks, reaching for the lipgloss that Alyssa just used. Before she can even remove the lid, Alyssa swats at her wrists and tells her to pick another color.

“Have you been texting all summer?” Grace asks from behind the vanity.

Alyssa nods, readjusting her freshly curled hair. “Ever since he left the Hamptons in July, yeah. We’ve been messaging back and forth. He told me he can’t wait to see me tonight.”

“That’s so romantic, Lyss!” Erin says, and Nora tries her hardest not to roll her eyes. “I can’t believe they let him miss the first three weeks of school.”

“He’s Harry Styles, Erin,” Grace chides, turning to face her sister with slanted eyes. “He can do whatever he wants.”

Nora twists the mascara wand back into the tube before backing away from her desk, double-checking her outfit to make sure that it was suitable enough. Just as she gives her hair one last fluff, she hears Alyssa ask, “Are you really not going to do anything with your hair?”

Nora turns towards her with a sheepish look, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t own any styling tools so…” she lets the words fall from her mouth, watching the three girls in front of her look at her as if she had a second head growing out of her neck.

“You’ve never straightened your hair?! I’m sure Alyssa will let you borrow—”

“—Erin! Enough. Let’s go, we’re going to be late,” Alyssa scolds, ending the conversation abruptly. Before Nora can even shoot a smile in Erin’s direction, the three girls are already out the door, leaving Nora to walk to the Great Hall by herself. 

The problem with spending all of her time walking from her dorm to the lecture halls on East Campus to Millikan Library is that she seemingly forgot where every other building was. Trying to locate the Great Hall in daylight was already difficult for Nora, but now with the sun practically set behind the horizon and her sense of direction completely shit, she starts panicking when she’s walked by the dining hall for the third time.

An upperclassman saves Nora before she can have a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the quad, and with two minutes to spare, Nora finds a row with a few empty seats towards the back of the room. 

Nobody seems to have noticed her, save for the girls in the row in front of her who turn around when Nora’s boots jostle their chairs. She offers them a muffled apology, and just as quickly as they turned around to look at her, they swivel their necks to face the front again.

Nora sighs to herself, before lifting her head to hear the Headmaster begin his speech. After listening to him drawl about the mission statement and his expectations for the first-year students, Nora immediately wishes she never left her dorm room. She can feel her eyes begin to droop, and before her body can slump further down into her chair, the sound of a heavy oak door closing echoes throughout the Great Hall, and Nora feels her body springing upwards.

Headmaster Clayton pauses in his monotonous ramblings, and before the entire collection of students in front of Nora can turn around to see what the interruption was, a long body falls into the chair next to hers, and the Headmaster resumes his speech as if nothing ever happened. 

“Did I miss anything?” an impossibly British voice whispers in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit surprised by the low timbre of it. She looks over at him and finds herself staring into green pools with a golden shimmer surrounding his irises. Nora’s never been captivated by a boy before—but the one sitting next to her with fluffy chocolate curls falling over his forehead, surrounding his ears, and ending at the nape of his neck might possibly be the first. His hands are shoved inside the pockets of an expensive-looking black trench coat, and his upper body is leaning towards hers as he awaits her response. When Nora notices his pink lips forming into a small smirk, she’s almost positive that she’s been caught staring at this boy for far too long.

“Uh, no. Not really,” she whispers back, scrutinizing the way her voice squeaked at the beginning of her sentence.

His smirk shifts into a full-blown grin, and Nora can feel her cheeks begin to burn. “Hm, sounds like somebody wasn’t paying attention in the first place.”

Before Nora can retort, the boy near her chuckles softly at her nervous expression. “Can’t say I blame you, love. Clayton’s a fucking fossil.”

Nora giggles, causing the girls in front of her to turn around again with a murderous expression on their faces. She stops abruptly, and after they’ve snapped their heads forward for the second time, she looks over to the boy on her left and finds him trying his hardest to stifle another chuckle.

He shifts his body so he’s no longer leaning in Nora’s direction, and she’s a bit saddened by the sudden distance between them both. 

Nora replays the interaction in her inexperienced, fourteen-year-old mind, wondering if the boy near her was just flirting with her. There’s no denying that she thinks he’s cute, considering she finds herself sneaking looks at him every few minutes during the duration of Headmaster Clayton’s speech just to get another glimpse of his soft hair and sunken dimples. And on more than one occasion, he catches her in his periphery, shooting her that charming smirk that never fails to make her cheeks blush. 

The moment Headmaster Clayton wraps up his speech and the rest of the students begin to stand, Nora turns towards the boy and finds that he’s already looking at her. Now that they’ve exited their row, Nora notices how tall he is, taking in his long legs clad in black denim, his even longer torso in a similar black shirt. The all-dark ensemble somehow makes him look older. Makes him look mysterious. Makes him look even more handsome—and suddenly Nora’s grown a bit nervous.

“I’m Nora, by the way,” she says, sticking her hand out for him to shake. He hesitates, looking between her face and her outstretched hand with a smile on his face, finding it incredibly cute that a girl his age would greet him so formally. 

Just before his hand can fall into hers, another hand claps him on the shoulder and he’s forced to look at the intrusion, his own arm falling back to his side. “Harry, my man! How was the flight?”

When Nora looks over his shoulder, she notices two boys greeting him warmly. She hasn’t really met anybody at Townbridge aside from Alyssa, Grace, and Erin, so she’s not surprised when she doesn’t recognize the two other boys infiltrating their small bubble.

But upon further inspection, Nora realizes that she does, in fact, recognize one of them.

Standing directly in her line of vision is none other than Willy Clemonte. Although it’s been seven years since Nora last saw him, there’s no denying that the sandy-haired, blue-eyed teenager in front of her is him. He’s practically almost the same height as his father now, towering over Nora in his khaki pants and a white cable-knit sweater. His hair still tangles in his eyelashes and his cheeks are still dusted with freckles, and Nora’s stunned at the sudden rush of memories that flood her insides.

He seems to have made the same startling realization as Nora did, because his eyes begin to widen almost comically, and a strained expression falls over his features. Before they can give away that they’ve been staring at each other, the boy from before, now known to Nora as Harry, spins around on his heels and gives her a small smile.

“Nora, right?” he asks, and she nods hesitantly. “Where are you from?”

“Uh, Newport,” Nora answers.

“Oh, wicked! So you must know Will, then?” Harry asks, seemingly oblivious to the awkward tension radiating from the two of them. 

Before she can respond, Will clears his throat and takes a step forward. With one last panicked look at Nora, he tells Harry, “Yeah, man. Her mom was one of our maids.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, confusion written all over his face. Nora’s surprised that she can hear it over the sound of her breath leaving her lungs from Willy’s comment. Sure, she knew that the last time they saw each other he was crying into her mother’s arms over a remark his father said, and sure, she didn’t expect them to resume their friendship as if nothing had happened.

But to blatantly lie about Nora’s mother, a woman who took care of him for years? Nora never thought that he would grow up to be so cruel. 

To twist the knife lodged into her chest even further, Alyssa and the twins approach the group with annoyed looks, all aimed in Nora’s direction. They seem to have overheard Willy’s previous comment, and before Nora can even defend herself, Alyssa reaches out and wraps her hand around Harry’s forearm as if she were claiming him in front of everybody.

“Yeah, apparently Townbridge is letting just about anybody in this year. Just ignore her, Harry, we all have been,” she says, her tone nothing but dismissive. 

Nora watches as Harry shifts his gaze from Alyssa to her. His green eyes fall down her body, and for the first time, he notices the loose thread at the hemline of her dress from overwear, the tear in her socks behind the knee, her brown boots that lack the distinction of a designer label. With one last look at her, he takes a step back, and Nora knows right then and there that she’s been condemned as an outsider. 

“C’mon Harry, tell us all about the rest of your summer in France! I want to hear all about it,” Alyssa enthuses, and without a second look, the group turns around and leaves Nora staring after them.

No matter how attractive she finds Harry, there’s no denying that his personality is undeniably ugly. And as she watches him wrap an arm around Alyssa’s shoulder, Nora thinks it’s quite fitting that they’ve both found each other.  

***

November 2007

Summer has always been Nora’s favorite season (living permanently near the ocean sort of makes that inevitable), but that summer after her first year, Nora’s never been more excited to be home. She missed her mom, she missed the beach, and she missed her normal friends who didn’t care that she wore sandals that were falling apart and shorts that were fraying at the edges.

When Nora came back from school, she begged her mother not to send her back to Townbridge for her second year. She told her how she couldn’t make friends, how everybody made her feel like a social pariah, and how she was absolutely miserable being so far away from her. 

“Oh, Nora baby,” her mother said, holding her close. “You know exactly who you are. You’re strong, you’re beautiful, you’re intelligent—and you’re so much better than those kids who make you feel like you aren’t.”

“You don’t understand, mom,” Nora said through hiccups, wet tears soaking her cheeks, “They hate me. All of them. They never even gave me a chance.”

“Everybody?” her mother asked. And when Nora just stared at her with her lower lip trembling, Shannon combed her fingers through Nora’s blonde hair comfortingly. “I’m sure there are people at Townbridge who are just like you. I just don’t think you’ve tried to find them yet.”

Even though she didn’t want to admit it, Nora knew that her mother was right. So after another summer filled with scooping ice cream for tips and spending every second of her days off at the beach reading romance novel after romance novel, Nora packed up her things for the second time—this time with another suitcase—and set off for Connecticut with higher hopes for her second year.

Things seemed to be turning around for her when she discovered that her roommate was no longer Alyssa Whalen. Instead, it was a girl named Lydia who lived a few towns over in Madison by the beach, just like Nora. They bonded instantly over their shared love of having sea-knotted hair and the feeling of having sand squished between your toes and letting your fingers wrinkle from wading through the briny water for too long. And when Lydia encourages Nora to sign up for the swim team with her, Nora’s grateful that she’s finally found a friend in this hellhole. 

Her second year is leagues better than her first, considering in the first three months, she barely had to cross paths with Alyssa and Harry. On the rare instances that they do run into each other, they simply ignore the other’s existence, and Nora doesn’t mind it one bit. It’s just easier that way, she supposes.

Halfway through Nora’s swim season, she turns sixteen and discovers that everybody around her is getting their license. Lydia’s parents bought her a used 2005 Honda Civic when she passed her driver’s test, and when she told Nora that she could use it whenever she needed, Nora felt bad lying to her new friend. Because once again she was playing catch up, getting her learner’s permit over the summer when everybody was already scheduling their exam, and with the way things were going, Nora wouldn’t be able to get her license until she was home again for summer break.

She also didn’t want to admit to Lydia that she couldn’t afford a car, and that her mother would never allow Nora to take her 1997 Toyota Corolla to campus. 

After swim practice one November afternoon, Nora leaves the Athletic Center with wet hair to head back to her dorm in Donahue Hall completely across campus. Normally, Nora walks with Lydia, but since it’s Friday and students who live in-state with a license are allowed to leave campus for the weekend, Nora’s forced to make the twenty-minute journey alone. 

With her gym bag slung over her shoulder, Nora begins to walk through the parking lot to head towards the footpath that will bring her through campus. The sky is awfully dark for four in the afternoon, and when she looks up and notices the menacing grey clouds, she kicks herself for not packing her umbrella before she left her room this morning.

Just as she’s almost in the clear, she hears a familiar giggle that makes her skin crawl. Living with Alyssa for one excruciating year has allowed Nora to recognize that sound almost immediately, and sheepishly she tucks her chin deeper into the neckline of her jacket, praying that her face is hidden as she walks past the group. 

When Nora reaches inside her half-zipped gym bag for her water bottle, she swears to herself when the strap detaches from the siding and the nylon bag falls to the cement. Making sure everything is strapped appropriately, she heaves the bag over her shoulder once it’s zipped up. As she swings her elbow to place the bag comfortably around her body, she doesn’t take into account her proximity to a particularly shiny black SUV—and just before she can escape the parking lot undetected, her bag smashes against the hood of the car, causing the headlights to flicker on and off and the alarm to blare piercingly through the space. 

“Hey!” Nora hears from behind her. When she turns she sees Harry jogging towards her, his brown hair dripping from the shower he just took. He’s wearing joggers and a Townbridge Academy Soccer sweatshirt, and when he reaches inside his pocket and reveals a shiny key fob, Nora swears for the second time knowing that the fancy car she just accidentally hit belonged to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” His voice is booming through the parking lot and it’s enough to make Nora feel incredibly small. When he finally presses the alarm button on his key and the blaring stops, she can hear his exasperated breaths in its place, and she’s not quite sure what’s worse.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“—I saw the whole thing, Harry!” Alyssa calls over from her spot across the cement, walking towards the pair of them with an accusatory finger extended in Nora’s direction. “She slammed her gym bag against your car.”

“It was an accident!” Nora screeches, feeling her face turning red. “My bag strap fell off and when I went to put it back on my shoulder, I bumped your car. Not, er, intentionally.”

Harry looks between the two girls with an annoyed expression on his face. “Just be more careful, yeah? It’s brand new.”

When Nora looks at the behemoth of a vehicle to her left, observing the shiny black exterior with the words Range Rover written across the front in chrome lettering, she can only imagine the outrageous price tag it has. Which is why she nods, apologizing one last time.

“Won’t happen again.” Nora begins to turn around on her heel, just as the air begins to get cooler and the slightest smell of rain can be detected in the distance.

“You’re walking all the way to Donahue in the rain?” Harry asks suddenly, and Nora begins to wonder how he even knows she lives in that building. She pauses, thinking if he or Alyssa or any one of their stupid friends lives in Donahue, and when she comes up with nothing, she turns around with a confused expression on her face.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t have a car.” Before she can feel the first drop of rain hit her skin, laughter erupts from the small group surrounding Harry and his car. Nora hides her face, wishing the ground would swallow her up. 

With one last gulp, Nora turns around and begins walking towards the footpath, shoving the hood of her flimsy rain jacket over her head. 

“Well, at least your hair is already wet!” Nora hears Alyssa call out from behind her, with more laughter following until Nora’s a safe distance away from where she can no longer be scrutinized by Harry and his rude friends.

As Nora reaches Donahue Hall with her tracksuit bottoms sticking to her legs like a second skin and her jacket completely drenched, all she can think about is how she’d rather walk another ten miles before ever having another conversation with Alyssa Whalen and Harry Styles if her life fucking depended on it.

***

A/N: Here’s chapter two! We’ve finally met Harry and Alyssa (yikes), so feel free to share with me your thoughts and predictions for the next part! High school is a funny time period to write about, and I’m excited to share the next part with you all. Look out for it on Friday, February 19th, which will be the normal update schedule. Until then, stay safe! x

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[jumbojamba47]

I Love You

Pt. 2 of Guest Room

A/N: Thank you for loving my little ball of garbage enough to warrant a second part. I’m feeling warm and fuzzy. Also... I kinda.. sorta.. really got carried away with this. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. Shout out to my irl friends who had to deal with my gleefully rubbing my grubby little paws together all day. 

A/N PT. 2: TUMBLR QUIT BEING A BITCH AND JUST LET ME UPLOAD MY STORY IN PEACE PLEASE I’M BEGGING YOU. The last try uploaded to my main and my stomach dropped out of my ass lmao. Fifth and hopefully final time. (I’m so sorry for the notifications spam for everyone I tagged)

PAIRINGS: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Stucky 

Warnings: 18+, Angst (like so much I’m sorry), Smut, Swearing, Mentions of Alcohol Consumption

Word Count: 5702

Hollow. It’s the only way she can describe the feeling of deep-seated emptiness that settles in her as she watches the quinjet disappear in the distance. What’s that noise? She casts her eyes around her surroundings when she suddenly feels a dampness on her collarbone. Reaching up a hand, she feels moisture on her face.

Oh.

The sounds were coming from her. At the realization of her sobs, pain wracked her frame with nowhere to go.

What was she thinking?

She wasn’t.

When she left Clint in a hurry, she hadn’t even paused to consider what she would say to you if she caught you. What did she feel for you? What could she have told you? Her life conditioned her to believe love was for children. She wasn’t one.

And yet…

She couldn’t deny that there was something about you that always drew her in to you. Every hidden interaction with you pulled onto all five of her senses demanding her full attention until there was only you in front of her; drawn straight into your orbit like a moon of Saturn. Each and every private encounter made it more difficult for the hardened assassin to pull herself away from you only to act unaffected by your presence in public.

Was that love?

It doesn’t matter.

You were sunlight. You were the warm embrace of home calling out to every damaged member of this family seeking acceptance for their past sins and a place to belong.

And she?

Well, she was damaged beyond repair.

She refused to be the one to tarnish your light. And she knew, if she gave in to her weaknesses, you could never really shine. You meant too much to the team. To her. A part of her could also admit to fear. Fear of what would happen if she hurt you.

If you hurt her.

She could live with never knowing what it felt like to call you hers. To hear you whisper her name in the early morning light your sweet features the first things she lays eyes on in your shared haven.

But she knew. She’d never recover if she could have you and lose you. If she were to tear her walls down, only for you to look inside and decide it wasn’t worth it.

That she wasn’t worth it.

With a steely resolve in her eyes, Natasha turned on her heels and began to make her way back towards the gym. She had a few weeks to get her head screwed on straight. She’ll lock away and bury anything she might have felt for you if given the chance. When you’re back, she’ll apologize for the hurt she’s caused you and maybe, just maybe, you’ll let her stay a part of your life.

If, along the way, she refuses to let her mind wander to thoughts of you with someone else, well, that’s her prerogative.

xxxx

You sit in heavy silence on the quinjet. Thoughts of last night’s interactions with the red-headed assassin plaguing your mind. You still feel a pang of pain when you remember her rejection. With a mental shake of your head, you resolve to table your emotions for now to focus on the mission at hand.

You’ve been tasked with leading a team to infiltrate an underground drug trafficking ring disguised as a bi-monthly art auction. Once you arrive at your destination, you’ll be allotted two months of integration and data retrieval before another team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents will be sent in to assist in the take down. You’re leading the team with Scarlet Witch and Falcon following your lead. Agent Hill was chosen to tag along strictly for backup and onsite supervision should the worst come to pass.

Sam and Maria sit up front; you can hear the sounds of quiet banter trickling back towards you while they try to respect your privacy, believing you to be mentally preparing yourself for the road up ahead. Wanda sits opposite you. Your emotions scream at her from across the jet, but she has the decency not to read your actual thoughts.

Still, she can’t help the concerned glances she sends your way.

Noticing her attention on you, you shift your body to turn towards her.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I could ask you the same. Where did you disappear to last night? I tried to find you after you were pulled away by Natasha, but I couldn’t find you.”

You let out a soft sigh.

“I’m sorry. My heads been a mess lately. I didn’t mean to leave you on the dance floor like that. It was a rough night.”

A hand rises to nervously play with the hair on the back of your neck. You look to the floor.

“I also owe you a bit of an apology for how carried away I got last night. You’re amazing Wan, and I don’t want to lead you on in any way.”

She lets out a light laugh.

“Don’t worry about it, draga mea. We were just two friends who had a little too much to drink, having a little fun. No hard feelings whatsoever.”

You wince and she instantly knows that was the wrong thing to say.

“You know, I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener. Pietro used to say it’s because I had big ears when we were children.”

She reaches out a hand across the aisle to let it rest on your knee. After an internal debate, you decide to divulge everything to her. From your first interactions with the assassin and your instant connection to the fallout from last night.

Listening patiently, Wanda’s eyes widen slightly when you mention what the events that occurred in the ex-soviet’s room.

By the end, Wanda is livid with righteous indignation on your behalf.

“Well, she’s a fool for letting you go.” She squeezes your leg.

“I can’t claim to understand what’s going through her head, but you have to know her feelings aren’t a reflection on your worth. You are the glue that holds this team together and we all love you. Natasha, she…” she pauses, “she’s been through much. More than any of us will ever know. Her experiences have closed her off. But you’re both strong. Maybe you’re not meant to be, but I know you can bounce back from this. We have a few weeks before we’re due back and, in that time, I guarantee you we can get your spirit back up and bouncing like usual.”

“Damn right, we can!” You hear Sam interrupt from the front of the plane.

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and let out a light laugh.

Yeah, things weren’t okay.

But maybe they will be.

xxxx

The mission goes off without a hitch and it does wonders for your confidence. As soon as you landed at the safehouse, you and your team had set to work securing the perimeter and preparing for your upcoming roles in the undercover mission. Sam moved first, infiltrating the ranks of the dealers as he uncovered the hierarchy of the operation and fed maria intel to pass on to headquarters. You and Wanda were posed as a wealthy young couple from new money, tasked with getting close to the heads of the drug ring in order to gain access to the final auction where you ultimately took down the entire operation with the aid of several agents.

Despite the smooth execution, you all still found yourselves with extra downtime between stakeouts and it led to the four of you growing closer. One of your favorite pastimes became group binge-watches of The Fairly Odd Parents and Wanda had taken to calling you Cosmo, the husband of her cartoon namesake.

           “ETA: 5 minutes,” called out Hill.

From your seat, you could see the compound looming over the horizon. You take in a nervous breath and release.

Next to you, Wanda can feel your apprehensive tension and takes a moment to give your hand a firm squeeze.

“You’re okay, Cosmo. Remember our talks. You have strength. You know your worth. You’ll be fine.”

You send her a grateful smile and a nod. Your fingers squeeze her back briefly before you move to stand by the doors of the ramp as you hear the jet begin to touch down.

She’s right. During your time away, you came to terms with the fact that it’s not Natasha’s fault that she doesn’t feel the same way as you do. You know you have no control over other people’s feelings, and you owed it to the both of you to face this head on, maturely.

As soon as the jet’s ramp meets the floor of the hangar, you’re met with a wall of pure muscle that really should come with a warning label. Your feet are lifted off the ground and suddenly you’re swinging in circles. You laugh as Bucky’s long hair tickles your nose.

Wait a second.

Is that?

“James Buchanan Barnes. Put me down this instant.”

He stiffens. That’s his name. That’s who he is. He is James Buchanan Barnes. Former sergeant and integral member of the Howling Commandos. The Winter Soldier. Melted down and reforged by Hydra. He was a legend. He was a nightmare. He was feared. He was… terrified.

Christ. Hearing his full name falling out of your mouth in that tone never failed to instill the fear of God into him. Not even his ma, bless her soul, could quite measure up to the intimidating aura you exuded when he knew you were ready to tan his hide.

You stood before him, hands on your hips, feet shoulder width apart, stance strong, eyebrow peaked… and deadly.

“Did you break into my room and steal my hair mask… again?”

The others stand back, watching in amusement while he starts to sweat.

“D-doll, of course not! You explicitly told m-me your room was off limits while you were go-”

You cut him off as you step closer.

“Don’t you lie to me, Barnes,” your eyes narrow and he gulps when you push your face closer to his.

“I can smell the macadamia oil, you heathen.”

Just as you’re about to launch into a lecture about respecting other people’s belongings, you’re interrupted by the sound of Steve’s voice.

“You gotta admit, at least it’s better than smelling the greasy mop he always ends up with after training.”

Your entire demeanor lightens up as you whip around to take a running leap at your favorite Man with a Plan.

“STEVIE!”

He catches you in his arms. “Good to have you back, sugar. We missed you around here.”

You hear a soft exhale of relief come from behind you.

Tilting your head back from where you’re perched in Steve’s arms, you narrow your eyes at Bucky and make a silent gesture to indicate you’re watching him. This is far from over.

He gulps.

“Well, c’mon then, we’re all dying to hear how the mission went. The others are waiting for you in the lounge.”

You stay wrapped around your friend’s dorito shaped torso but make the effort to wriggle your way around him so you’re clinging to his back like an infant koala. He rolls his eyes but does nothing to deter you, choosing to move his arms in support of your legs instead.

“Onward, my trusty steed!” you giggle.

As one, you all make your way towards the main common area, taking the time to drop off your luggage in your respective rooms as you go. Eventually, you make your way to the lounge and as you’re carried in, F.R.I.D.A.Y. blasts the loud trumpets of a herald through her speakers.

Huh, Tony must’ve upgraded her sense of humor.

Greeting the others, you use your hands in Steve’s hair like an oversized rat with a penchant for cooking to guide him towards your favorite lounge chair. Sam and Wanda move towards the kitchen to look for the good snacks they couldn’t have undercover while everyone else gathers around the remaining lounges.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Natasha hovering off to the side near Clint but you can’t quite get yourself to make eye contact yet. You wait for everyone to settle in. Wanda approaches you with two mugs of tea in her hands offering you one with a “just the way you like it, Cosmo”. It’s punctuated with a wink and she perches herself on the arm of your seat, bringing her own around to rest across the back. Her hand finds its way to your hair playing with a few strands to keep you grounded while you purposefully train your eyes away from a certain side of the room.

Wanda really did become your rock in the weeks away. While you never repeated anything from the night of your party, you fell into an easy companionship with the young mutant that led to you each being comfortable around the other. She knew how hard your return would be for you and made it her next mission to make sure you knew you had a solid support system in place.

Seeing the close interaction between the two of you, Bucky and Steve both shoot you cheeky grins and eyebrow wiggles that have you holding up a throw pillow just under Wanda’s current line of sight. She glances down, smirks and hurls the pillow at the two men using her powers, ensuring she adds a boomerang effect to ricochet off the face of one in order to hit the other stunning both of them.

“Nice!” You give her an enthusiastic high five as she wiggles her fingers at the recovering men.

“I just learned that one on the job. I have to keep practicing for muscle memory.” She states in a faux haughty tone while you snicker at the indignation on your Brooklyn Boys’ faces.

Across the room, Natasha watches you. She knew she missed you while you were away, but nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught of emotions that crashed into her when she finally laid eyes on you after weeks apart. You still had the same mischievous spark in your eyes. Your nose still crinkled just the slightest bit when you laughed. Your smile could still light up an entire room like the Fourth of July.

God, she missed you.

She watches your raucous banter with the resident super-soldiers with a fond smile teasing the corners of her lips. She takes note of the casual arm slung across your shoulders, the hand tangled in your hair, and something inside of her burns. Her jaw clenches.

She’s not yours to have.

Clint nudges her shoulder with a pointed look. She realizes she’s been emitting a soft growl. Focus Romanoff! Where is your training? She strains but ultimately fixes her posture until she’s the posterchild for casual aloofness. Her best friend snickers but chooses not to comment on the slight rigidity he can see in her shoulders.

Tony claps his hands to gain everyone’s attention.

“Alright alright, Hermione’s new parlor tricks aside, we all know why we’re really here.”

In his best imitation of Fury’s gruff voice, he growls out, “Hill. Debrief report. Judgement on (y/hero/n)’s execution?”

Rolling her eyes but playing along, “All objectives executed to perfection. Leadership skills exemplary, sir!” she tosses in a mock salute.

It’s quiet before everyone breaks into cheers and congratulate you and your team on a successful job well done. You’re beaming when you hear Sam chime in with, “You better watch out Cap. (Y/l/n) could give you a run for your money as team captain. We might be shipping you to a retirement home sooner than we thought.

Your best friend grins at you with pride and mirth shining in his eyes and you feel warm inside.

“I think we could come to a truce and work together. Co-captain sound good to you doll?”

“I don’t think so Steve. I’ll leave the captaincy to you. I don’t think I could handle dragging the metal chicken wing over there back in line every day,” you respond with a laugh, sticking your tongue out at Sam. You draw out a squawk of offense and everyone bursts into laughter.

You turn your head slightly and find yourself making direct eye contact with the very same pair of vivid green eyes that still visit you in your dreams. You swallow down the rising emotions and offer her a small smile. She looks startled at first but relaxes slightly and gives you one of her own in return.

Maybe you could do this.

You spend a few more minutes catching up with the rest of the team, learning about what everyone has been up to while you were away. Checking the time, you slowly pull away from Wanda, who still has her weight resting on you, and announce that you’re going to head to your room to wash off and settle in before you have to fill out your mission reports.

Everyone bids you goodnight and you exit the room, walking the familiar pathway towards your own residence. Your ears pick up quiet footsteps behind you causing you to turn your head slightly.

A small sharp inhale escapes your lips. Your eyes betray you with a quick scan of her nervous form standing in front of you. Her hair is a little longer and the circles under her eyes are just the slightest shade darker. She still looks just as breathtaking as the day you walked out of her room. Her presence instantly brings you peace and you curse yourself under your breath.

Mentally slapping yourself, you plaster on a casual smile.

“Hey Nat. Been a while.”

You cringe.

Really? Been a while? Really?

She steps towards you, “Hi (y/n/n),” she responds softly.

“Listen I-”

“Can we-”

You both let out a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry. Go ahead, you first,” she says.

“Listen, Nat. I owe you an apology.”

She stills. What could you possibly have to apologize for? You’re not the one who broke the heart of the love of your life just because you had commitment issues.

Stop that. She’s not your love of anything.

She opens her mouth to interrupt but you press on.

“It wasn’t fair of me to try to push you into something you clearly weren’t comfortable with. You made it clear that you didn’t love me the way I loved you. I never wanted to make you feel like I would demand anything of you. You’re more than entitled to your own feelings and it wasn’t okay for me to project what I felt onto you.”

Frozen in place, her mind could only focus on two words.

Loved? Felt?

And didn’t that sting?

She can feel her throat start to constrict but she goes along with it.

Maybe it’s for the best.

“It’s okay (y/n/n). I understand where you came from and I’m partially to blame for letting things go on for as long as they did without taking your feelings into consideration.

“Friends?”

A small, okay large, part of her brain screamed in agony that this was wrong.

Instead, she smiles and nods opening her arms.

You gingerly step into her embrace, one arm comes up holding her shoulder while the other gently cups the back of her head in a familiar hold.

Her arms come up to wrap themselves around your middle, squeezing slightly.

If either of you noticed the other inhale just a little deeper, neither of you chose to comment.

xxxx

Several weeks go by and you’ve settled back into a familiar routine. Wanda has officially been adopted into you and your boys’ infamous trio and the brunette witch could often be seen joining in on your foolish antics around the compound. At first, the three made a pact to ensure you would never be exposed to prolonged periods of alone time with the woman who damaged your tender heart. Often times, you’d catch yourself alone with the assassin only for one of the others to immediately swoop in to whisk you away and drag you into some activity before you could draw each other into a prolonged conversation

It took you a few days to catch on to what your friends were doing. While the sentiment was greatly appreciated, you couldn’t miss the slight look of hurt that crossed Natasha’s face whenever you were pulled away from her. Eventually, you had to put your foot down, taking them aside one day. You told them that you loved them and appreciated their concern. But you’re an adult and you can handle your affairs well enough on your own.

They backed off but still continued to keep a wary lookout. They couldn’t help it. You were their favorite.

Your interactions with the devastatingly gorgeous avenger were still a little stunted and you both miss the longing stares you direct towards each other on occasion. Still, you’re getting better.

It still hurts sometimes but you’re okay as long as you still have her in your life. In any capacity.

You think you’re getting better. It stills hurts but you’re okay as long as you still have her in your life.

xxxx

You’re in the gym talking to Sam one afternoon as he spots you in the weights section while Natasha and Clint are sparring on the mats.

“The team’s decided to make an appearance at a new nightclub Aluminum Alloy Man bought out on a dare tonight. You in, sugar?”

You laugh at the latest nickname he’s given Stark but shake your head no.

“Sorry Sam but I’ve got a date.”

You hear a particularly loud grunt come from Clint and turn your head slightly to see Natasha apologizing while he’s doubled over catching his breath.

“Oh? Anyone we know?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You roll your eyes.

“With myself, you dork. I’ve been dying to watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail and I finally have the downtime to sit through it. There’s a bottle of wine and a couch calling my name and I intend to capitalize.”

He laughs but nods understandingly.

“That’s fair. You good here? I better head out to get ready.”

“Yeah, yeah, you go ahead. Have fun tonight!” You wave him off wiping the sweat off the back of your neck with a damp towel.

“(Y/L/N)!” You hear your name called out from across the gym.

“Care to spar? Clint’s tapping out. He’s a wuss.”

You start to hesitate but choose to nod instead, stepping into the ring, setting your towel on the rope to dry.

You begin to circle one another assessing each other’s weaknesses. She makes the first move lashing out with a swift kick to your ankle, aiming to leave you off balance. You dodge out of the way and retaliate with a series of jabs towards her torso. This goes on for several minutes each of you landing several hits when Natasha launches herself off your bent knee, intending to use her signature thigh grip of death to bring you down.

Not today, Satan.

You bring your arms up, wedging them between your neck and her legs before she can get a grip. You latch onto her legs tightly before you swing her around your body, tackling her to the floor. You move your hand to cradle the back of her head to ensure it doesn’t smack into the ground, bringing yourself much closer to her body in the process.

You’re both panting heavily, stuck, mesmerized by the intense look in each other’s eyes. You have one leg between her thighs, knee pressed to her core, puffs of air intermingling between you.

Is she? Leaning towards you?

Oh, you definitely felt that wiggle of her hips against your knee.

You wet towel drops to the floor with a wet smack and just like that, the spell is broken.

You both scramble apart and you move to pick up the offending object.

Behind you, Natasha clears her throat sheepishly.

“So, I couldn’t help but overhear your big plans for tonight while you were talking to Wilson. Is there room for one more? I was actually planning to do the same, but I hear Monty Python is much funnier with good company.”

Everything inside of you screams that this is a terrible idea. But here’s the thing, you thrived off of terrible ideas.

“Sure, why not? We can start when everyone else heads out?”

Sure you would have declined, she brightens considerably and throws you a grin.

She starts walking backwards towards the door.

“Great! It’s a date! I mean- not a date-”

She smacks herself right into the door.

You let out a small laugh.

“I know what you meant.”

“Right. Yes. I’ll see you tonight!” She scurries out the door.

You stay standing there in the ring watching the space she just occupied.

On the other side of the door, Natasha leans heavily against the metal.

What have I gotten myself into?

xxxx

You bid goodbye to your friends and make sure to tell them to call you should they need anything. Once everyone is out the door, you turn around, inhale deeply, and set to work.

Despite everything, and your unfailing determination to not fall down the same rabbit hole, you can’t help but want to take care of Natasha in any capacity you can.

So, you take extra care to grab her favorite snacks, her go-to brand of wine, a couple glasses, and an oversized hoodie you always kept in the back of the closet, on hand just for her. She had a tendency to relax in thinner loungewear, but you knew once she settled in, she stubbornly refused to get up for anything no matter how cold she got.

As you set everything down on the coffee table in front of the oversized, plush couch in the center of the movie room, the beauty in question makes her way towards you in, surprise surprise, a thin tank top and shorts.

You roll your eyes but toss her your sweatshirt and she grins at you before hastily throwing it on, snuggling into the warmth. You both settle onto opposite sides of the couch, the wine and snacks split between you. The movie plays and you find yourselves relaxing. Like magnets, you eventually gravitate towards each other, sharing jokes and snacks, yelling at the large screen in front of you as the Black Knight stubbornly refuses to die.

Without realizing each other’s movements, she winds up leaning against you while your arm is wrapped around alternating between playing with her hair and rubbing soothing patterns across her shoulder and biceps.

You feel a shudder come from the deadly ball of fluff in your arms and only then do you realize your positions. You can’t bring yourself to move.

“Cold?”

“Yeah,” she nods. Attempting to burrow herself further into your clothes.

You pull her closer to you until her legs are resting over yours, head tucked under your chin, puffs of air tickling your sensitive neck.

Bad move (y/l/n).

You forget how to breathe. Natasha turns to look at you when she feels you still beneath her.

Oh. Oh god.

She didn’t realize how close she was to you and from this distance, she can see every detail of your ethereal beauty in the dim light of the movie lighting.

You turn your head to take a quick peak at her but suddenly you’re drowning in a sea of green. Your breath hitches when green is replaced by red and suddenly plump lips are crushing your own.

You moan and your hands scramble for purchase as the angel in your lap twists to straddle you. Fists tighten in your hair while she nips at your lower lip, close to drawing blood. She tugs at your shirt and you get the message. You desperately rip away your top while she follows suit before she pushes you onto your back spreading out on top of you.

A loud groan escapes your lips as the vixen in your arms finds the sensitive space right below your ear. Unwilling to be out done, you wrap your legs around her hips and gracefully flip yourselves over, trailing kisses down the crevice of her breasts, mapping your way down her body. Like Copernicus charting the stars. Reaching your destination, you pull apart the draw strings of her shorts with nothing but your teeth, earning a moan of approval from the writhing redhead. You smoothly slide back up her body, meeting her desperate lips in a searing kiss while your hand finds her center, already feeling the slick wetness ready for you. Natasha’s limbs fly to wrap around you as you set a steady pace pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Knowing she needs the extra push, your other hand moves to pull aside her bra before you deliver a harsh nip and a firm curl of your fingers.

She sees stars.

No.

She sees galaxies.

You continue to move, determined to prolong her pleasure for as long as possible.

You’re rewarded with the crack of her voice as she hurdles into the abyss.

“God, I fucking love you.”

It slips out of your mouth completely unbidden.

But it’s too late.

The damage can’t be undone.

Just like that, she snaps back to reality.

She hastily sits up. Your hand falls back into your lap as she quickly stands picking up her shirt.

“We can’t do this.”

“Natasha, I-”

“No.”

“Natasha, would you jus-”

“I said no!”

You feel like you’ve been here before.

She turns to make a hasty retreat, but you catch her hand in a tight grip before she can get too far.

“Why do you keep running from me? Am I so repulsive that the thought of being with me has you running for the hills?”

“Not everything is about you, (y/l/n),” she bites out.

Neither of you hear the team returning but all of them can hear the yelling coming from your direction and they run towards you.

“No. You always do this! Every time I think we’ve gotten to a good place; you freeze me out.”

“That’s the thing! We were in a good place! We were having fun. We had each other when we needed it and nothing more! We were so good like that. We can still be like that!”

Tears fill your eyes.

“It’s not enough.”

“Why can’t this be enough?!” she cries.

“This has to be enough,” she whispers looking at anything but you.

A hand moves to grip hers gently. The other rises to cup her chin to guide her eyes to yours.

“This could be so much more. Let me love you the way you deserve.”

Staring into your eyes, she can see you dying a little more inside the longer she stays silent.

She pulls away from you.

Okay.

You thought you could be fine with just floating in her orbit. Maybe you underestimated how long it would take for you to heal enough to allow it. Or maybe you couldn’t do this at all.

Your head tilts towards the floor. Your lips break into the softest, most heart-breaking smile she’s ever seen.

“I’m always going to love you Natasha Romanoff. But I owe it to the both of us to know this won’t be enough for me. This can’t be enough for me.”

A whimper is caught in her throat but she can’t bring herself to move when you step back away from her.

“I love you. I don’t want to,” you breathe out.

Natasha swears she hears something inside her shatter.

“I’m sorry I don’t give you the strength you need to pursue your own happiness. I really hope you find someone who does. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

You make me happy.

Just say it!

Her body screams in protest with every fiber of her being.

“Bye Tasha.”

You turn and only then do you realize that the two of you aren’t alone.

Wanda steps forward. She wraps her arms around your shoulders as she leads you away throwing a glare at the assassin.

Natasha takes a step in your direction.

“(Y/n) wait-”

She stopped by a metal arm blocking her way.

“Haven’t you done enough?” Bucky growls.

“And what do you know about what I’ve done?” She shoves him away.

“I know you hurt them! AGAIN!” he snarls, “You need to get your shit together before I’ll even THINK about letting you come anywhere NEAR (y/n) again, Romanoff.”

Her blood boils. She scoffs, “Big surprise, their guard dog immediately snaps to attention at the first sign of trouble. Tell me Barnes, does your master feed you well?”

She regrets her outburst immediately, but she’s too angry, too frustrated, too exhauseted to take it back.

“Don’t forget who trained you, Natalia,” comes out in a menacing hiss.

Frantically, Clint’s eyes snap from her to the ex-soldier advancing on her. He immediately steps between the two, placing a hand on her arm and turning towards the larger assassin.

“Whoa now, you know she didn’t mean that. Emotions are just running high right now. Let’s all take a step back. I could use a hand, Cap.”

Despite his own roiling emotions, he needs to maintain his professionalism as team captain, releasing a heavy puff of air, he moves to place a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder, pulling him to his side.

“Clint’s right. We can’t do anything to fix this right now. Everyone, disperse. We’ll regroup in the morning.” He sends a piercing glare at the redhead.

Hearing another growl, Clint whips his head back around, “As entertaining as it would be to make a compound wide betting pool with Tony on a wwe rumble between you and two tag-teaming super soldiers, maybe we should take a second to cool off outside, yeah” he hisses at her.

Gritting her teeth, she nods, allowing Clint to pull her down the hall and out the door.

As she catches a glimpse of the hall leading to your room, all she can think is one thing.

She let you slip through her fingers… again.

Tagging some incredible people who expressed an interest in pt. 2:

guys im so fucking sorry this keeps showing up in your mentions.

@natasha-danvers , @thelastavenger-3000 , @ohfuckno , @imnotasuperhero

[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen (pt 13)

(gif by me! I use the iphone app momento)

tw: language, angst, mentions of drug use (relapse), mentions of miscarriage

word count: 7.3k (im sorry)

masterlist

series masterlist

Spencer got up from the cold tile floor, fuzzy unicorn in hand, and faced the window above the kitchen sink. He stared out of it, admiring the snow that was still falling lightly, wondering if it was raining in Seattle. His memory flashed to the last time he stood in the rain with you, but he tried to shake the images away. Instead he watched the snowflakes hit his windowpanes and melt. He hoped that maybe you were somewhere staring out of a window, admiring the dreary weather, and thinking of him too. 

He found his place against the dishwasher again, sliding down as his mismatched socks gave way so he could stretch his long legs out fully. He pulled the nearly empty box onto his lap and appreciated the light weight of it, as he continued with his twelfth letter and thirteenth item. Thirteen, a number whose history of unluckiness stems all the way back to the thirteen attendees of the Last Supper, and tracks through the number of steps leading up to the gallows, all the way to the number of letters in the names of some of the most infamous criminals. 

Thirteen was a haunted number, which rightly accompanied a haunting letter. 

“This one’s long. It’s a month of tarnished memories packed into a few pieces of paper. So far I’ve gone through half of a college-ruled one subject notebook and I’ve had to change pens twice. It’s nearing 2:30, and the wine is finally hitting my empty stomach. Sorry in advance for the way my handwriting will be. I’ll try to make this make as much sense as I can. 

If you look at your thirteenth item it is the notepad I stole from that resort in Florida. There isn’t much around to signify this letter. You don’t keep mementos from one of the saddest days of your life, but for some reason I took this useless paper and shoved it in my purse on my way out. Good thing I did, or you’d have no item to attach to these memories. Though I suppose that might be better. 

The resort was where we were going to be at for our ‘babymoon,’ whatever that is. What a dumb idea, I’m still mad at myself for letting Garcia talk us into one. She just made it sound so appealing. 

Once everyone knew I was pregnant, Hotch pretty much sat me in Quantico with Penelope. There were a few local cases where I was lucky enough to go visit the ME’s office, but usually I kicked my feet up in her lair while you were out in the field. 

“A what?” I said one day as she ran DNA through CODIS. The two of us were drinking herbal tea, and I was barely 16 weeks. I just looked like I had a big lunch in my stomach, not a baby the size of an avocado. 

“A babymoon. It’s like a honeymoon, but you go when you’re pregnant. It’s one last trip for mommy and daddy to go on and spend quality time together. How many trips have you and Dad-Wonder even been on?”

I shrugged. We didn’t travel much for pleasure. We traveled for work, so on our rare days off we liked to be at home. 

“I mean we’ve gone to Vegas and Connecticut a few times.”

She rolled her eyes, “Visiting family, my dear, is not a vacation! I was thinking you two would go to the beach. You guys relax and wade in the ocean and Spencer can build sandcastles that defy every law of physics!”

I laughed at that. You and the beach? It just didn’t feel natural to me. Probably because you aren’t capable of actually relaxing.  

“That does sound fun,” I said and I spoke to my barely there stomach, “And it would make daddy take a few days off.”

Penelope squealed and started clicking at her computer, “I’ll find a resort online right now! Okay so how about Marco Island? It’s gorgeous and in Florida, so it’ll be like eighty and sunny, even in the beginning of December.”

“I’ll have to talk to Spence about it. I mean I know it would be fun and all but we really should be saving money for a crib, and car seat, and bassinet, and high chair, and a rocking chair, and a baby swing, and a—“

Garcia stopped me from spiraling out of control, “That is why you throw a huge baby shower! People buy those things for you.”

I rubbed my tummy again, “Oh no, Daddy is very particular about what things are bought.”

“That’s why you have a registry, Momma Bear. Now, no more excuses.”

Before I could even call you, she had put in both of our requests for days off and we had a week long reservation at this fancy resort that you see listed at the top of this notepad, the “Crystal Cove”.  

I was only slightly mortified that she did all this without me asking you. Mostly, I was happy. I was afraid you wouldn’t say yes, but if PG already booked it, you kind of had to agree. And to my surprise, you did. 

When you got back from that case we were at home, you eating something I had poorly made from a random cookbook on a shelf. I had decided to start cooking more, so I could make homemade meals. I wanted to be that mom who cuts sandwiches into flower shapes and always has fresh baked bread and cookies laying around. I wanted us to be those parents; the ones who are so sickeningly in love that their kids roll their eyes every time they kiss. We were those parents, kind of, if we could even be considered ‘parents.’ At that point, I don’t think we were. But we were definitely in tooth-rotting, sickeningly sweet love. 

“So, I have a surprise for you,” I said, coming up behind you and rustling your hair. 

“Hm?” You said, stuffing your face like you hadn’t eaten in days. You probably hadn’t. You’re the king of forgetting to eat. Maybe that’s how you stay so skinny. 

“I booked a trip, well I guess technically Garcia did.”

“A trip?” You raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, a trip, to the beach. Penelope called it a ‘babymoon.’”

You laughed, “A babymoon? I’m not familiar."

I smiled and sat across from you, “It’s like a honeymoon, except it's just me and you relaxing and spending quality time together before this lil dude makes his appearance.”

You smiled, “I’m telling you, it’s a girl.”

I rolled my eyes, “It’s definitely a boy, but stop ignoring my offer.”

“Well, it’s not really an offer so much as it is you telling me that we’re doing this.”

“Okay, yes Garcia helped me book it already, and yes she put in our requests for days off, but you can say no.”

You did your little nose twitch scrunch thing, “I’d never say no to quality time with you, Love.”

You leaned over and kissed me, and I squealed, “I’m so excited! I have to buy maternity bathing suits now! Oh and a sunhat!””

Spencer smiled fondly, recounting that day. He was thrilled to go, minus the part where he’d have to wear shorts, and flip flops. Something about the piece that goes between your toes makes him squeamish. He was looking for the right opportunity to use something special he had bought for you, and you had just given him it. A week on a beautiful beach with the love of his life? That would be the perfect time to ask you what he had been waiting to ask you since JJ’s wedding. He was going to take Hotch’s advice; stop waiting, start doing, and get down on one knee with a blue velvet box. 

He never got the chance to. The trip was supposed to be in the beginning of December, around your week twenty-four. You never got that far. 

He got up from the ground, immediately digging around in a drawer full of pencils and compasses and rulers, finding the blue box in a corner. It was covered in pencil shavings and dust. He hadn’t looked at it in months. He held it delicately in his hands before opening it. 

It was plain, but he remembered you said that was what you wanted. 

“Oval, of course and silver,” You had explained to Penelope and JJ at a night out years ago. Derek and Spencer sat on the opposite side of the table, but his ears perked up at the mention of rings. 

“I like just the band,” JJ said, admiring her own ring, “And I have Henry’s birthstone, the citrine, so I didn’t need another one.”

“What kind of stone Y/N? I’d love a pink diamond! Or a ruby! Imagine!” Penelope gushed. 

You shook your head, “I’d take cubic zirconia, if it was coming from the right guy.”

Both Penelope and JJ stuck their tongues out, “Nuh-uh!” Garcia said, grabbing her phone to scroll through more pinterest photos. 

“Spence will be getting you a diamond.”

You rolled your eyes and whispered, “Don’t jinx it JJ! And I don’t want a diamond.”

Her mouth dropped, “No diamond? Really.”

“Diamonds aren’t ethically sourced.”

“Lab grown! Get lab grown!” PG piped it, showing you a picture of a ring, just an oval in a plain silver setting. 

“That! That’s the one!” You said and Garcia giggled, going on a rant about her dream wedding. 

Spencer had gotten that exact ring. Lab grown, oval, classic, beautiful. It was what you wanted, and you deserved everything you ever wanted. 

Spencer looked at the notepad. He could tell you had a hard time picking an item for this letter. He knows this letter is the end, the other two are the epilogue of  a story he wishes you kept writing. Crystal Cove is the place where he had planned on asking you to marry him, but it ended up being the place where your love story ended. He tossed the notebook to the side and decided that the souvenir for this letter was now going to be this ring. This ring that sparkled and shined, even in the dull incandescent lights of his kitchen. This ring that belonged on your finger, and not in the back of a drawer. This ring that you didn’t even know existed, but if you had, maybe you’d still be together. 

“I did buy three maternity bathing suits, and you bought shorts. Spencer Reid in shorts. It was going to be the best trip ever. We were going to snorkel and look at sea turtles and sunbathe and drink virgin piña coladas by the ocean. We were going to get couples massages and spend every moment loving and appreciating each other.

The actual trip? Much different than the one we had planned on paper, but let’s first discuss that time between the hospital and the trip. 

It was four weeks. Four weeks of me sitting at home while you were off at work. Four weeks of the door opening and Derek walking through, not you. And on the odd chance that it was you opening the door, you’d be appearing at odd hours of the night to grab a new suit or a file or a snack and then getting back in your shitty car and going to your apartment. Each time I heard that comforting sound of your satchel hitting the floor, I’d crawl out of the cave of blankets I was in to find you, and you’d act like I wasn’t even there. 

For the first few days, you asked me how I was and if I was feeling better, then you’d check your phone and wave goodbye. After that, I was lucky if you’d say hello, then I was lucky if I even got a glimpse of you. You never held me. You never kissed me. You never told me you loved me.

I got all my information about you from Derek. Every day I texted you, “Have a good day at work! Talk soon?” And everyday you didn’t answer, so I’d ask Derek if you were okay. He’d always tell me what you were doing. Usually you would take a stack of files of cases to a dark room and make preliminary profiles to send back to the departments, alone. I’d tell him thank you, and the next day would be the same nonsense. 

Those four weeks dragged. It was like every minute was an hour and everyday was a year. I was healing, even without you, everyday I felt better and better. But that’s relative to the day before. I haven’t felt ‘good’ yet. I haven’t felt ‘happiness’ yet. But I will. And I’m counting on that. 

My mandatory leave was four weeks, and at the end of that Hotch called me in for a ‘mandatory psychological evaluation.’ I didn’t tell you about it because you weren’t speaking to me, and even when you did you were angry and snappy and rude.  

I didn’t pass the evaluation. Even though the BAU wrote those damn questions, I still didn’t pass. When my four weeks were up, you were expecting me at work, and I never showed. You didn’t notice how not okay I was because you were too busy handling your own feelings, which I understand. You have to take care of yourself first, deal with your own trauma before touching anyone else’s. So, your trauma was none of my business, a concept you should've applied to my healing process. 

I was supposed to come back on a Monday and when I didn’t show you came to the house. You opened the door and yelled my name. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in weeks, and it felt good. I thought you had finally come home. I thought you were finally ready to heal with me, but you weren’t. You were there to judge me.

I think I ran to where you were, a smile on my face that I didn’t think I was capable of making, “Hey!”

You looked so put together in a neatly pressed suit, but your eyes exposed you. They were bloodshot and the bags were so large they almost reached the end of your nose. I had on one of your shirts; it was comforting at the time. Not so much anymore.  

You looked me up and down, a small scowl forming on your face, “Where were you today?”

I took a deep breath, and I lied, because lying to you felt easier than telling you the truth. The truth that I was not deemed stable enough to come back, even though I wanted to. I needed to be distracted. I was ashamed, scared, confused. 

“I-I didn’t go.”

“Didn’t go? You’ll get fired Y/N.”

I sighed, “No, my leave got extended.”

I could feel the way your eyes bore into my skull as I dodged eye contact. 

“Extended?! It’s been four weeks.”

“I’m not ready!” I desperately wanted you to see through it. I thought I was ready, but the papers disagreed.

“Hotch let you do that?” Your voice was increasing and I found myself inching away from you.

“He encouraged it!” Another lie. He didn’t ‘encourage’ it. He forced me.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag and opening the door again.

“You’re leaving? Spencer c’mon I-”

You cut me off by slamming that door in my face. 

That’s when I started closing myself off. I started dreading the sound of your feet against the floor at three am. I started to put my own walls up, but they would dull in comparison to the Great Wall of Spencer you built around yourself to keep me out.”

Spencer was always good at putting walls up. In fact, you were the only person to ever get him to take (almost) all of them down. There’s a side of him he doesn’t show anyone, a side of him that he reserves for himself, and when something happens, that’s where he goes. He goes to the corner of his brain where he feels safe, and the walls come up to protect him.

And in those last four weeks, he did just that. He put the walls up, shut you out, and decided that was better. Except it wasn’t better, it just was easier. It was easier for him to bypass you and find a new outfit for work tomorrow. It was easier for him to disappear in the office until the odd hours of the morning. It was easier for him to hide away from you, because when he’s exposed he always gets hurt. It was easier to act like everything was fine, even though everything was the opposite of fine. 

He never needed to go to the house, part of him was drawn there like a moth to a lantern. He was drawn to you. As much as he didn’t want to see those four walls, he still needed to check on you. He just did it in his own damaged way. He’d get a glimpse of you in old sweats and a shirt with a hole in it, hair a mess and mascara from two weeks ago adding to your eye bags and he’d be reminded that he couldn’t be there for you. He would never be enough, and he’d retreat into the comfort of solitude. 

He was so preoccupied with being hurt, that he didn’t realize just how much he hurt you too. 

“I had forgotten about the stupid trip, and so had you. You were too preoccupied with work and not speaking to me and I was preoccupied with crying and trying to speak to you. I only remembered the trip when I got an email from the airline about the flight, they had to move our seats or something stupid. I decided that was a reason for you to actually need to speak to me like I was a person, so I took advantage of it. 

I intercepted you at home one day. I had been sitting in the kitchen waiting for you. You came home at two am. 

“Hey,” I said, immediately as you walked through the door. You looked surprised that I was up. 

“Hi, I’m just gonna—“

“Spencer, stop. We have to talk.”

You crossed your arms, not leaving the threshold of the door, “No. I told you a million times Y/N, I don’t want to talk.”

“Not about...” I couldn’t find the words and you started up the stairs. 

“Are we going on this damn trip or not?” I said, my voice cracking from lack of use. 

You stopped, looking over the banister at me, “You didn’t cancel it?”

“I didn’t think of it until now. We’re supposed to leave in two days.”

You groaned, “Why didn’t you cancel it?”

I threw my hands up. As if all of this was my responsibility? 

 “I was preoccupied! Did you cancel your days off?”

You shook your head, rubbing your face, “No, God. Can we still get a refund?”

I was hurt that you didn’t want to go, but not surprised. As I stared at the front door from my spot at the kitchen table I decided that I was going to go no matter what. It was going to be refreshing to look at the ocean instead of an empty nursery. That would be my distraction.

 “I-I’m going. I’ll pay for your half, but I’m going. I’m losing my mind here, Spence.”

You looked at me again, still contemplating your options. 

“I get it, okay? You can’t be in this house, but neither can I. Maybe we can talk and stuff on neutral ground. I-I just want you there with me, the way it was supposed to be.”

Then you took me by surprise, you nodded, “Yeah, yeah we’ll go.”

I’m sure I lit up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas, “Really?”

You rubbed your eyes, “Yeah, we can go Y/N.”

I was feeling lucky, so I pushed it, too hard, “Are you staying tonight?”

Your voice went from sleepy to sour, “No.”

And you vanished up the stairs, taking all my hope in us with you. 

I knew deep down it wouldn’t end well. I knew it was going to be fighting and yelling and arguing, but any time with you was good time with you at that point. And I favored the little bit of serotonin and dopamine you flood my brain with as opposed to staring at the gray walls of the kitchen alone.”

Spencer only agreed to go because he thought he was getting there. Everyday he felt a little better when he’d walk through the door, but he still wasn’t ready. He thought a week of no work and no one to talk to except you would bring the walls down. This would finally be the catalyst in a reaction that was taking far too long to complete. He also couldn’t stand the thought of you flying and spending a week alone. He felt better about you being alone here because you weren’t really alone. You had Derek visiting, Garcia dropping off baskets, phone calls from Emily, the odd visit from Rossi, and apparently phone calls to Hotch, but on that island you’d really be alone, and he was worried about how you’d handle it. 

“So two days later we got on a three hour flight to Miami, and I drove our rental car to this resort. We didn’t talk much the whole time, besides some small talk about the flight and other odd comments. It was painfully awkward, and I regretted even coming. 

We didn’t speak until I used the keycard to open the door, and we stared at the one king sized bed in the room.

“Oh,” was all you said when you realized you’d have to share with me.

“What?”

“There’s only one bed.”

I rolled my eyes, “Spencer, we’ve shared a bed for three years.”

You just stood at the door with your hands fidgeting on the handle of the suitcase, “I’ll call down and ask for a cot to be brought up.”

“A cot? Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe you, “Why come if you wouldn’t even share a bed with me? I said I’d be fine alone.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but changed your mind. 

“Great communication skills Spence. Really, I’m impressed.” You rolled your eyes and finally started to unpack your bag, “I came because I was worried about what you’d do here all alone.”

Part of me was happy you were worried, but a bigger part was annoyed, “I’ve been handling being alone fine, thanks.”

You scoffed, “Yeah. That’s why you need Derek to bring you food everyday, because you’re doing so well.”

I bit my tongue and tried to speak calmly, “Well at least someone checks on me everyday.”

That shut you right up.

The three days you were there went as follows: we slept as far apart from each other as we could, despite how badly I wanted to cuddle into your arms. We’d get up in silence, eat breakfast in silence, walk to the beach and read in silence, eat lunch and dinner in silence, and each night we’d yell at each other until we fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

Remember what I said to trigger the fight on December third, your last day there? How could you forget? It’s the fight that broke us up. 

“So, I was thinking of going to a counselor,” I said, staring at the waves lap the sand from the balcony of our room. The air felt cold for eighty degrees. But maybe that was just because the air between me and you had been cold for weeks. 

You were sitting next to me, but I could tell you were worlds away. 

“Spence,” I nudged, trying to snap you out of your daydream. 

“Hm? What?”

“I said I’m going to go to a counselor.”

You twisted your face, “A counselor? What for?”

I shrugged, “I-I think it’d be good for me. It’s a grief counselor.”

You turned to look at me, your brow covered in sweat and your eyes watery. You were incessantly bouncing your left leg, rubbing at your nose, and you seemed disinterested in every single thing I was saying or doing. In fact, you’d been acting that way since the first day you disappeared to your apartment. 

“Counselor? Yeah,” You were fidgeting, barely making eye contact. 

A feeling I can only describe as pure dread formed in my stomach. I thought I might puke, but I swallowed the feeling and kept talking, “I got a recommendation from Hotch. He said he went to Dr. Stevens after Haley died. He said it really helped.”

You were still not listening. 

“I think it’d be good if we went together.”

That finally got your undivided attention. “Together?” You snapped, “No.”

“Why not?” I said it with an air of exhaustion and despair. I was tired of this. So fucking tired of it. 

“I’m not going to a damn therapist, Y/N,” You seethed, your metal deck chair scraping against the concrete as you stood in front of me. 

The sky looked stormy, palm trees whipping in the wind as you came before me. The bags under your eyes looked like bruises, and you had on sleeves. It was eighty and you had on sleeves.

“Okay, I’ll go alone then. I think he could really help us though.”

I was giving up on fighting. I didn’t understand how when I was at my absolute low you could just keep kicking me while I was down. All I wanted was for you to go to someone and talk about it. That’s it. You were acting like I’d asked you to move a mountain for me, which, might I add, at one point you would have done. 

“He? You really think a male therapist is going to help? You lost a baby, Y/N—“

“WE,” I clarified, for what felt like the fiftieth time, “We lost a baby.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored me, “You lost a baby. How does a male therapist help you through that?”

I was angry now. It was bubbling up to the top and I thought I might explode. 

“He’s a grief counselor! He’ll help me through my GRIEF! And I think you should go because clearly you have a lot going on. You always have! You should’ve been seeing someone for years.”

“Oh, I have a lot going on?” You sneered, “Of course I have a lot going on! I go to work everyday to bring you home a paycheck so you can sit around all day and do nothing.”

I stood up, got close to your face, “I’m on leave.”

“Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that.”

You bypassed me and went inside, and my hot anger turned into wet anger and fat tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“Do you know how traumatic this was on my body? Do you? Everything hurts and you were supposed to be there! You were supposed to take four weeks off too! You were supposed to be there for me!”

“Yeah and who’s there for me!” You yelled, louder than I think you ever had; at me at least. You had thrown your suitcase on the bed, haphazardly grabbing your clothes from the drawers and shoving them in. 

“I would’ve been,” I said softly, coming up behind you to grab your arm lightly, “If you had let me.”

You pulled back, “Don’t touch me!”

I reached up to wipe my eyes and crossed my arms in front of myself defensively, “I want to be there for you, Spencer. I do. Why won’t you let me?”

You didn’t answer, because even you didn’t know why. You just stood over the suitcase, one arm on either side of it, hair matted to your sweaty face, panting and panting. 

The facts I had chosen to ignore were staring me in the face again. Or maybe I was just that oblivious. 

“I’ve never seen you like this. This isn’t you, Love,” I tried to say in my most soothing voice. The dread had clawed its way back up to the back of my throat. 

“Or maybe this is me,” you said softly, and I swear you were crying. Or maybe I hoped you were, that way we were both sobbing. That’s as close to togetherness as we could get. 

“Maybe this is who I am now, or who I’ve been all along.”

I reached out for you again, but stopped myself, “No, Spencer. The real you isn’t this angry, and bitter, and mean.”

You slammed your hands against the bed, “Yes it is!”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?” I said sadly, shaky breaths between words, “Is that what you’ve been going to your apartment and doing?”

You turned around, skin sweaty and eyes red, “What? What are you talking about now? God, do you ever stop talking?”

I snapped, ignoring your last jab there, “Are you using?”

Your face contorted into a sour expression, “Am I using?”

“Yeah, Spencer! Are you? Because I can’t see any other reason for why you’re so irritable and sweaty and out of it! So I’ll ask you again, are you going through withdrawal?”

You looked like I had literally punched you in the gut, and I kind of had. It was a low blow, I’ll admit it, but I was seriously worried about you. If an event would trigger you, this would’ve been it. 

“What? No!”

I wasn’t sure whether or not I should believe you, but I knew I had to support you either way. I love you, even when you’re angry at me, I still love you. Even when you throw clothes and seethe at me through gritted teeth, I still love you. That’s my fatal flaw. No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, lower lip pinched between his teeth. Was he really that terrible? He didn’t remember being so spiteful. Reading it back, he understood why you thought he was high, and he had thought about it more than he cared to admit. But he hadn’t touched the stuff in seven years, and he wasn’t about to start again now.

‘No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.’ 

That line made him want to cry, hands clenching the ring box as if it were a stress ball. That line simultaneously felt like a stab in the gut and a breath of fresh air. He had given you so many reasons to walk away, and the one reason to stay was there in his palm, unused.

““It’s okay if you are. I understand this is a... hard time. I’ll support you through this,” I put my hands out to touch your chest. 

“I’m not high and haven’t been in years!” You swatted my hands down. 

“Then what the hell is going on!?” 

“I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m heartbroken!” You yelled, going back out onto the balcony to stand in the rain that had started pouring down in sheets. 

“Spencer! Stop!” I followed you out, tears mixing with rain to the point that I didn’t know which was which. 

“I’m just confused! It’s hard to see the point in all this anymore. Maybe it’s just not worth it,” You said, yelling at the ocean not at me. Rain soaked our clothes instantly. Part of me was hoping this scene would end like the ‘notebook’ we’d kiss and you’d spin me around. I guess this is kind of like the notebook, it’s a story to help you remember us. Except you don’t have Alzheimer’s and I wrote 15 letters, not 365. 

“Maybe what’s not worth it?” I was yelling too, just so you could hear me over the sound of the wind and the rain. 

“This!” You gestured between us. I felt like you knocked the air out of me, my whole body stinging. 

“But I love you!”

“All of this has made me realize that love isn’t everything! I love you too but we need more than that!”

That was the first time I’d heard you say ‘I love you’ in a month, but it was a double edged sword. I bit my lip so hard I think I started bleeding, “Love isn’t enough? Are you kidding me, Spencer?”

You swallowed thickly, “No! I’m not kidding. I’ve never been more serious!”

“So what? That’s it?” I said it quietly, but I wanted to scream at you. I wanted to scream that you were being an idiot. You were being ridiculous. You were being unnecessarily cruel. But I didn’t. I was tired and water logged. I had finally given up.

You ran your hands through your hair, “No–it’s–we we aren’t over Y/N. I’m just saying that it’s gonna take more than love to fix us.”

“Well maybe if you were ever home, we could actually try. But you aren’t. You’re always gone! So explain to me how we’re going to fix this. What’s it gonna take Spencer? What do you want from me?”

You took a deep breath, uttering words I was so sick of hearing, “We need space and time.”

“Space? Time? It’s been a month Spencer! I let you go to work. I let you spend every day at your damn apartment. I stopped calling. I stopped checking in. How much more space and time do you want?”

“Thirty-four days,” you mumbled, just so I could barely hear. The thunder rolled, mostly drowning it out. 

“What was that?” 

“It’s been THIRTY-FOUR days, Y/N. Thirty-four. I don’t know how you expect me to be okay after only thirty-four days.”

“I don’t expect you to be fine! I expect you to speak to me! To look at me! I want to go to bed crying and have you there next to me. I want to be there for you when you’re crying. The only way we get better is if we do this TOGETHER!”

The anger looked like it melted off of you, and I took that as my opportunity to approach. I threw my arms around your soaked body as you shook with sobs into my shoulder. I held you like my life depended on it, because in a way it did. You wrapped your arms around me too, and everything felt okay. We were standing in the pouring rain, holding each other as we cried, and somehow I felt more okay than I had in the thirty-four days prior. It felt like maybe you were coming back to me. 

You weren’t. 

We stood like that for what felt like hours, and eventually I pulled you inside. I wish I didn’t. I wish we stayed there, holding each other in the rain until the sun came up and dried us off. I foolishly thought the rain washed our sins away. 

“It’s going to be okay,” I said, my head on your shoulder as we wrapped ourselves in towels, “I promise.”

You shrugged me off of you, going back to packing your bag. 

“Spencer, stop packing, please,” I begged, grabbing the items you were putting in and taking them back out. 

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you said plainly, taking a shirt and putting it back in. 

“I-I thought—“

“Thought what, Y/N? That because I cried to you and told you I loved you that we were magically okay?” 

I stammered, “No. No! But I thought it meant we were in this together now.” 

“You just accused me of relapsing an hour ago.”

“And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but that’s not a reason you should go,” I pleaded, reaching for you again. I thought if you walked away I’d never see you again.

“You don’t trust me,” your voice cracked. 

“No, Love, I—“

“Don’t call me that.”

The pain in my chest bloomed, sending a wave of heartache through my entire body. A heartache I still haven’t been able to shake. It’s still there. Some days it's a thunder crack and sometimes it's a low grumble, but it’s always there. The rain hasn't stopped.  

I hadn’t even realized that you were completely packed until you zipped the suitcase shut. 

“You’re really leaving?” 

You stopped at the door, hand on the handle, to turn and face me. I didn’t need to use my profiling skills to see how much pain you were in, and my pain doubled at the sight. I’ve always been an empath when it comes to you, feeling what you feel like it’s my own. 

“I am.”

I crossed the room and threw my arms around you, sobbing into your chest. To my surprise, you wrapped your arms around me lightly. 

“I understand,” I said, looking into your eyes, “We can’t be there for each other the way we need to.”

You nodded into my shoulder, “Stay. When you get home from this we’ll talk. I just need a few more days.”

I shook my head, finally coming to the realization that we didn’t work anymore. We weren’t healthy anymore. 

“Don’t bother. The writing’s on the wall, Spence,” my voice wavered, and I regretted every word as they left my mouth, “I’ve been waiting for that person from the hospital to come home to me. I’ve been waiting for the Spencer who lends me his shirts and fact dumps and eats IHOP and ice cream with me to come home.”

I felt your breath stop under my arms, “But that Spencer, the Spencer I love, isn’t here anymore. We need to be alone.”

I felt you shake with tears under me, and that triggered mine, “We have to break up.”

I wish I never said it. I wish I gave you those few days, but we both know those few days would’ve turned into weeks and months and we would’ve ended up here anyway. I wish you didn’t let me say them. I wish you kissed me to shut me up and told me I was being stupid. I wish I didn’t watch you go down that elevator, tears on your cheeks. I wish I didn’t spend the other four days in an empty king sized bed, crying for you. 

I realize now that you changed. I did too. Instead of wishing for the old you, I should’ve learned to love the new you. I think I would’ve, if I had given it a chance. Actually, I know I would’ve. I think I’d fall in love with every version of you that could ever exist or has ever existed. You and I, we’re meant to be together. 

I know you probably don’t believe in it, but I like to think that we’re twin flames; we’re two halves of one soul that somehow ended up in two bodies and constantly pull to find each other again. I’ve read a lot about them recently. Twin flames don’t necessarily end up together. They can even just be two people with an intense friendship. They’re people who help each other grow, even if that means they’re only in your life for a short time. I like to think that we are that case, and that in some parallel universe I’m with you and we have our daughter and we’re happy. I just wish that I was in that universe now. 

I know it’s for the best that we went to the damn Crystal Cove and broke up. I’m sure someday in the future I’ll be pleased with that decision, but for now, I still regret it.”

Spencer stared at the notepad, eyes flicking between that in his left hand and the ring box in his right. He took the ring out and admired it in the light. It glinted and glimmered, delicately refracting light onto the cabinets. He slid it halfway down his ring finger because that’s as far as it would go. He imagined it was on your slender, perfectly manicured hand instead of his, but an ache formed where his heart was when he realized it’d never end up here. 

Spencer grabbed the notebook. It was unlined and the paper felt flimsy and thin. He got up from the floor to find a pencil in the drawer the ring had been hidden in, and took it out to scrawl his own letter to go with his own memento. A sixteenth letter for a sixteenth item you had no idea even existed. 

“Y/N,

I’d like to consider this letter sixteen, to go with the engagement ring that’s in my palm. I bought this ring the day after we ate dinner at Rossi’s and showed everyone tiny FBI onesies. I have your perfect ring here in my hand, a plain silver band with a lab-grown diamond in a four-prong setting in the center, just like you told Garcia you wanted. I should’ve given it to you the day I bought it, but I waited until the perfect opportunity presented itself. 

What you didn’t know about the trip to the Crystal Cove was that I was going to propose to you there. I was going to get down on one knee in the sand at sunset after dinner. I even had a whole speech planned. I was going to tell you that I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you, or that anyone would ever love me the way that you do. I was going to say that it amazes me how everyday, I wake up and love you more than I did the night before. And everyday I think it’s be impossible to love you and our daughter more than I do right now. I wanted to tell you that I want to wake up every morning and feel that for the rest of my life. I want the good, the bad, the ugly, I want it all. I want Korean film festivals and IHOP breakfasts and to talk to the moon. I want tubs of ice cream and overly sentimental flowers hanging from the wall. Most of all I wanted to say that I want to spend every day of my life making you happy. 

That speech still applies today. I still love you enough to ask you, but I don’t think you love me enough to say yes. 

It’s okay. It really is. I haven’t decided what to do yet, but if you do read this, just know that it’s okay. I promise you, it’s okay. I’m not the bitter, angry man I was at the Crystal Cove anymore. I changed again, and I hope you’re right. I hope we are twin flames and your soul will come looking for mine, and I hope it happens in this universe, not the infinite parallels that may or may not exist. I miss you and I want nothing more than for you to come back. Come home, Love, please come home.

-SR”

He stared at the notebook page, before tearing it off and folding it in half, placing it in his pocket for safekeeping. He went on his computer and bought the cheapest one-way ticket to Seattle that he could find. He needed to see you. He needed you to see this letter, see this ring. He needed to make this right.

The flight was a red eye, leaving at midnight, so he’d get to the Seattle field office by eight. He looked at the leather watch and saw that it was nearly nine. He decided had to finish, and he had to finish now, as he grabbed letter #14. 

PART 14

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Taglist!

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[youbloodymadgenius]

Things We Say (Modern!Ivar x reader)

All Those Things Part 3 - catch up here

A/N: Sorry, it took me forever to update this, but better later than never, right?

@inforapound​ 💖🌻💖 You’re the best!

Summary: Things are moving (too?) slowly between Ivar and the reader. But some - painful - things need to be said. 

Warnings: Swearings; Ivar’s and reader’s insecurities. It’s probably boring.

Words: 2833

Failing to repress a yawn, you give Ivar a sheepish look before sinking into the couch next to him.

 His hand lightly squeezes your shoulder and he frowns, scrutinizing you. "Are you okay?" His concern is obvious and you know your light make up doesn't hide your undereye bags very well. Or at all. 

 Sitting up straight, you try hard to sound more energetic than you are. "Yeah, don't worry. Just a little tired, I guess." 

 The truth is, you're thoroughly exhausted. Two weeks ago, two of your coworkers quit without warning and since then you've had to work several double shifts. 

 As if it wasn't bad enough, there had been this medical congress last week, with neurologists from all over the world. The cream of the crop speaking of clientele. Madame Claude had asked for your services more often than not, arguing that your fluency in several languages was a big added bonus as well as a satisfaction guarantee. 

 "You should quit." Ivar's voice is so soft that you wouldn't have heard him if he wasn't sitting right next to you.

 You sigh and rub your eyes. The words are coming out of your mouth before you've had a chance to think. "Believe me… I wish I could." 

A wave of unease strikes you. 

 Fuck.

 Your mind had been playing with this thought for several weeks now but speaking it out loud sounds wrong. You put a lot of thought into this lately and are painfully aware that there's nothing else you can do. You have no degree, no qualifications. Nothing. No one's willing to hire a whore anyway. Grimacing, you lower your head, ashamed and close to tears. 

 Scooting closer, Ivar wraps an arm around your shoulders. Leaning forward, he fails to catch your gaze as you stubbornly keep your eyes averted. 

 "Y/N… Look at me. Please." His hand takes your fidgeting fingers, caressing and relaxing them one by one. Eventually you give him a shy look, thankful for what he's doing, and for his mere presence. 

 "You do know that my family has a lot of money, don't you?" He speaks firmly, confidently. "I have a lot of money." 

 Of course you know that. His father has ruled all of Scandinavia for more than thirty years, economically speaking. And now, Ivar and his brothers have taken the helm.

 "And?" You furrow your brows, puzzled as much by his words as by his broad smile. " What's that got to do with it?" 

 "C'mon Y/N, it's quite obvious, isn't it?" Intertwining his fingers with yours, he looks at you like you're a child needing an explanation. As you stay quiet, he carries on. "I could help you. I could give you mon—"

 "No!!!" Cutting him off, you jump off the couch, renewed energy flowing through your body. 

 Eyes and mouth wide open, Ivar stares at you, shaking his head, questions written all over his face. "What… Why?" His unsure tone makes you flinch and you suddenly realize how harsh you have been.

 Fuck.

 "Sorry." You blink several times, biting your lower lip. "Listen, Ivar… Thank you. Thank you for offering. But what difference would it make? Whether several men pay for me or just one, I'll always be a whore…" You know you sound hopeless. 

 Owerwhelmed by your own dispair, you don't notice the way he clenches his fists, upset upon hearing your last words. "Stop calling yourself a whore, Y/N!" 

 Startled by his outburst, you flinch, shaking your head. "That's what I am, and that's what people will think if you give me money."

 Inhaling, Ivar scrutinizes you. "You can't… you can't be serious?" Palms facing upwards, Ivar, who seems at a loss for words, looks at you dumbfoundedly for a long time, eventually mumbling. "We… we don't even have sex."

 "People don't know that, Ivar." You reason, speaking softly now. "Sigurd doesn't know that." Sitting once more next to him, your hand strokes his cheek. Staying quiet, he just glares at you as you go on. "Ivar, you cannot be my sugar daddy. It won't do you or me any good, trust me."

 Ivar cringes. "Okay, I get it and you're probably right." He frowns and you can see he's thinking hard. As he remains silent, he nervously scratches the back of his neck. A sudden spark in his eyes tells you he's struck with a new idea. "But you could work for me, couldn't you? My personal assistant. It would be a regular job. From eight to five. No more men. No more blowjobs. Nothing sex related anymore. What do you say about that?" 

 His huge blue eyes show you how simultaneously annoyed and hopeful he is. You knew he cared about you, but you weren't sure to what extent. Now you can see. Your heart flutters. Still, you have to turn him down. You can't accept. 

 Sighing, you intertwine your fingers with his. "No Ivar, I can't." Squeezing his hand, you explain. "This would be the same. I may work for you, but people will think you hired me because of my sexual skills. It would tarnish your reputation. Besides, I'm good for nothing. What could I do? Typing or bookkeeping are unknown to me. And I wouldn't know how to set up a meeting or prepare a presentation." Letting go of his hand, you sigh again. "I'm useless, Ivar."

 His hand cups your face and his eyes lock on yours. "No, you're not,” he says softly, giving you a gentle smile, nodding reassuringly. "Let me think about this, Y/N. Let me help you."

 "I don't want to be a burden, Ivar. You don't have to." Feeling small and defeated, you swallow, blinking back tears. 

 "Hey…" His thumb barely touching your cheekbone, Ivar shakes his head, his eyes showing his obvious disapproval. "I know I don't, but I want to. And you're not a burden, you hear me? Please, Y/N, trust me, I'll figure something out, okay?"

  A puzzled look on your face, you raise your eyebrows. "I don't understand, Ivar… Why do you care so much?"

 With a straight face, Ivar replies without the slightest hesitation, never taking his eyes off you. "Because you're immensely important to me."

 The sincerity in his voice blows all the air out of your lungs. You didn't think you could ever matter that much to anyone again, let alone to Ivar, this handsome, smart and stubborn man you're falling for. Gods… 

 Fuck.

 You're melting and your heart is pounding in your chest as you reach out, your hand running through his hair. You scoot closer, seized with emotion, as Ivar tilts his head. You close your eyes, your lips meeting his plump ones, the simple touch sending a shiver through your body. When his tongue find yours, Ivar moans, low and hoarse, and you can't think anymore, overwhelmed and lightheaded. Swinging a leg over his lap, you carefully straddle him, your knees framing his hips. 

 "Ivar…", you whisper before kissing him once more. As you deepen the kiss, your left hand still in his hair, the right one boldly pulls his shirt up, grazing his defined abs. 

 With Ivar, you've never done more than share innocent kisses, but right now you feel like you're out of control, intoxicated from his scent as you find yourself drawn to his skin. You want to touch him, you need to feel him, taste him. You're spiraling and you don't want to stop. For the first time in years, you want that. You want closeness, you crave intimacy. Your hands frantically roam his upper body, you can hear his ragged breathing. It drives you crazy, turning your whole world upside down. You need him, more than you've ever needed anyone. 

 Suddenly though, two hands wrap around your wrists, squeezing them incredibly tight and waking you from your trance. "STOP!!" Ivar shouts, pushing you away. He gives you a hard look, but there's something else. He's like a wounded animal, vulnerable, frightened. Helpless. 

 Fuck. What's that? 

 "Ivar?" You ask tentatively, but lowering his eyes, Ivar doesn't say a word. Keeping his hands around your forearms, he loosens his grip.

 "I'm sorry." You sputter with a shaky voice. "I.. I shouldn't have done that." 

 Fuck fuck fuck. You fucked up, Y/N. 

 Panic pulses through you and a knot of fear sits in your stomach as the sound of Ivar's breathing fills the room. "I got carried away, Ivar. I'm so sorry."  It was predictable, wasn't it? Ivar may like you, but he and you are from different worlds. You realize how silly you have been… At the end of the day, he's who he is – an extremely wealthy businessman, with a famous name and a social status to maintain – and you, you're still you. A whore… Your heart shattered by this thought, you suck in a shallow breath as a single tear rolls down your face.

 "Listen Ivar, I don't know what I was thinking." Your voice wobbles as a lump rises in your throat. "Surely I… I wasn't thinking…", you babble, "… I thought that's what… what you wanted, but I was wrong, obviously I was wrong."

 Ivar slowly releases your wrists and you take a seat next to him as he mutters under his breath something you fail to catch. "Ivar, what did you say?" You whisper, afraid of what you might hear. 

 "You don't get it, Y/N." Looking down, Ivar rubs his hands on the top of his legs. "It's not about what I want, it's…" His breath hitches, his voice comes out strangled. "It's about what I can, or more like, what…", he hiccups, "I cannot." Uncomfortably glancing around the room, he never makes eye contact with you. 

 Fuck. He cannot. Once again.

 Willing to soothe him, you lean in, wrapping his hands in yours. "Yes, you cannot, that's what you keep telling me. But what are you talking about, Ivar? Just tell me." You stop, inhaling deeply before resuming with a shaky voice. "It's because of me, right? You cannot because of what I am, that's it? I won't feel offended if it is, you know? I know I'm digusting, Ivar."

 Ivar suddenly raises his head, looking directly at you with wide, pleading eyes. "No, don't, please. Stop belittling yourself, Y/N. Don't denigrate yourself anymore. I swear to you, you're perfect the way you are. You're beautiful, and clever and so fucking desirable. So please, stop. You're not disgusting. Never have been, never will be. Please, trust me. You're the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me."

 Your heart swells with bliss, making you feel warm inside. Yet, the pleasant feeling is short-lived, vanishing as you remember Ivar's rejection and words. 

 He fucking cannot.

 "Then you have to talk to me, Ivar." You speak softly but firmly, with newfound confidence, while your hand cups his chin, preventing him from lowering his head. You don't keep asking him as you can see many different emotions running across his face, allowing him time to gather his thoughts. You won't back off though, and you're sure he knows it.

 After a long silence, Ivar eventually whispers, his eyes tight shut. "It's so fucking embarrassing." Fists clenched and color draining from his face, he's so tense you feel like he might shatter, his chest rising and falling too fast. 

 Breathing out a low chuckle, you grasp his hand, your thumb stroking his knuckles. "Believe me, I know a thing or two about embarrassment." As a bashful half-smile curls Ivar's lips, you give him a gentle peck on the cheek before murmuring in his ear, "I won't judge you, ever. You know I won't."

 Ivar looks at you for a long time, bewildered, and then bites his bottom lip and nods, turning his head away as if to...

 Fuck. As if to hide how ashamed he is. It's far more than embarrassment. 

 The realization twists your heart and you reach out, your hand squeezing his shoulder soothingly. "Ivar, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere, no matter what you tell me. Don't be afraid." Reassuring him seems the right thing to do and you spontaneously pull him toward you in an embrace. 

 Ivar tenses and for a brief, horrible moment, you think you might be pushed away. He eventually straightens up, his hands gripping the edge of the couch, fingernails white from the strain he puts into it and you let go of him slightly, giving him space. 

 The atmosphere is heavy as you rest your hand on his thigh, barely squeezing it, careful not to hurt him. "And if you don't tell me anything, that's okay, too." 

 Gritting, he shudders. "Guess I cannot go on like this." Staring down at his shoes, he whispers softly.

As he inhales deeply, you know this is it. He's about to tell you. Finally. 

 Fuck.

 "There was this girl, her name was Margrethe." Ivar begins, never looking at you, "She was a waitress at a bar my brothers and I used to go to a lot. Long story short, they were all sleeping with her. I was sixteen and for once I wanted to be…" Ivar has to stop, words catch in his throat. There's no doubt that sharing this with you is very painful for him. You keep quiet, though, allowing him to take all the time he needs.

 Eventually, Ivar swallows loudly. "For once I wanted to be like them. I wanted to…" He can barely get the words out, "… be normal."

 You can't stop yourself. "Ivar, you're–" You want to tell him he's normal, and perfect the way he is and that everything is fine, but he doesn't give you a chance, shushing you, a finger over your lips. 

 "Don't, please. Let me just finish or… It's so difficult, if I stop now I'm not sure I'll ever tell you." His voice is soft, but the tensing in his jaw obvious.

 You nod, silently encouraging him to keep talking, your fingers slowly wrapping around the hand you can reach. 

 "Okay…" Ivar gives you a quick glance, a sad, halfhearted smile on his lips. "So, I wanted to fuck her. I'm not proud of it but fuck, I was a teen… I… I wasn't thinking… It should have been easy. Margrethe was obsessed with social climbing and I am a Ragnarsson. And in fact, getting her into bed with me was easy. But then… Then everything went to shit."

 Letting out a ragged breath, Ivar runs a shaky hand through his hair and darts his tongue out at the corner of his mouth before biting his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed. He then squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body shivering.

 "I… I couldn't… Oh fuck, this is so hard… I couldn't get it up, you know? I couldn't get it up and I couldn't please her. It was a failure. I was a failure. Margrethe told Sigurd, who told everyone else." His words rush out as tears suddenly spill free from his eyes. 

 Fucking Sigurd! With a brother like this, who needs enemies?

 A wave of sadness washes over you. Your throat closes up and your heart starts pounding in your chest as you process what Ivar just told you. "Oh, Ivar…", you mutter, fingers brushing against his side, "I'm going to hug you."

 And just like that, you take him in your embrace, resting a hand on his lower back and the other on his neck. Ivar's tears soaking your shirt, you cradle him, humming absentmindedly. 

 When he eventually calms down, you frame his face with your hands, kissing his tears away. "Ivar, tell me," you gently ask, "Have you ever tried again after that one time?"

 The answer bursts forth, Ivar's tone is bitter. "Believe me, that was humiliating enough to never do it again." 

 He snorts, leaning down to grab his crutch, but you stop him with one hand on his arm, lightly shaking your head. "Listen to me, Ivar. I understand, I really do. But believe me, once is not enough to say you cannot. A thousand reasons could explain what happened. Your lack of experience or your nervousness for instance. And even so, there are many, many ways to please a woman, using your mouth or your strong fingers. I could teach you. Trust me, please, you know this is my area of expertise. Let me help you, Ivar. Please."

 Staring wide-eyed at you, speechless, Ivar eventually arches an eyebrow. "Why…" His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat. "Why would you do that? You'd really be willing to help me? Why?" Disbelief written all over his face, he ducks his head but you tilt it up immediately, your hand cupping his chin. 

 Blushing, you let out a short, nervous chuckle.  "Isn't it obvious?" Your eyes locked with his and you take a deep breath before opening up your heart. "Because I like you. I care about you, Ivar. Very, very much."

🛡⚔️🛡

 @honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @readsalot73​ @hecohansen31​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @shannygoatgruff​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @gearhead66​ @milkkygirls​ @zuxiezendler​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​

[the-evil-authoress]

GX Month Day 6: “Heartfelt Appeal”

You find two characters that click so well, look them up...and there’s no content! ‘Why?? Someone please make content!’ The pleas go unheard. You’ll just have to make it yourself. Show some love for your rare pairs today!

MORE FANTASYSHIPPING! 8D

Year 2’s Duel Monster Spirit Day! Friendly reminder that ‘Mana’ is the name Dark Magician Girl gave when she introduced herself to Syrus last year.

Colorful banners and streamers hang from the entrance hall once more, market tents set up in the main yard with flashy signs and flags announcing their wares or food or other activities. Syrus stares at it all with the same wonder as last year, and peers through the throng of students hopefully. His other friends have already gone off to find the activities they like best, be it duels or carnival games or the kissing booth, so Syrus is free to wander at his leisure and search.

It’s stupid, it’s silly, and Syrus still wonders if last year was a fever dream regardless of the way Christina keeps teasing him and the ghost of arms he sometimes feels around his shoulders. But still, he hopes and maybe this year he can confirm it for sure.

“Syrus!” a voice calls out that tickles his memory and Syrus swings to face-

“Mana!” Heat floods his cheeks. Dear Ra, did she get prettier or is he just hopelessly, stupidly crushing? “You...you just disappeared last time,” he squeaks out the first thing that comes to mind that isn’t a jumbled mess of pretty hug magic like, and wants to kick himself when Mana’s expression falls.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she says, looking so sad it physically hurts. “I didn’t want it to end that way. I lost track of the time and I wasted too much of it showing off.” Her voice turns a bit bitter before she shrugs it off and smiles again. “But not this time. This time you have my full attention.”

“No, no!” Syrus frantically waves his hands in front of him. “I didn’t mean- I what?”

Mana giggles and leans down. “Just for today, you have me all to yourself!” Winking, she taps his nose and Syrus wheezes as his heart makes a valiant attempt at pounding straight out of his chest. Leaning back, Mana clasps her hands behind her back. “So what do you want to do?”

“Ah, well, um, we, we could, we could check out the carnival games,” Syrus finally stammers out a full sentence. Gods he hasn’t been this bad about it since the beginning of the year!

Mana only giggles again as she takes his hand and heads off toward the game booths. “Don’t go hiding in a trashcan on me now.”

Syrus’ brain freezes for a full second. “YOU SAW THAT?”

“I see everything Chinatsu sees! Well, almost.”

Who the hell is Chinatsu?!

*

It takes a solid 30 minutes and two botched carnival games to finally work himself out of that last anxiety attack, but finally his heartrate feels normal and he doesn’t want to die of mortification. If he dies he won’t get to see Mana smile or hear her squeal over the stuffed Happy Lover she won from the last game. Her throwing arm is ridiculously good. She’s also amazingly child-like for...however old she’s supposed to be.

“Ooo! I wanna try that! I wanna try that!” she squeals, pointing animatedly at the food stall with an assortment of pastries. “The bean fishies! Chinatsu loves these! I always wanted to try one!”

Syrus orders them a taiyaki each and ends up going back for seconds when Manna practically melts where she stands. “It’s so rich and sweet~!”

The next half hour ends up devoted purely to letting Mana sample all the food at the festival and discover her favorites. They compare tastes and Syrus offers recommendations. Mana ends up leaning more towards milder flavors of the sweet and savory variety; too much flavor and she’ll gag on it even if she likes the taste. Syrus prefers saltier foods with just a tiny extra kick. Mana’s reaction to hot spices had been concerning but strangely fun.

“Hey, um, if it’s not rude to ask...” Syrus starts as they sit on a bench nibbling on dango. Mana tilts her head to show she’s listening and Syrus ploughs ahead before he can talk himself out of it. “Are you really the Dark Magician Girl?”

Manna chews slowly before swallowing. “What do you think, silly?”

He thinks she is, and he’d call it crazy if not for, well, everything else crazy about the last two years of his life. After literally sentient murder crazy light, he might be ready to believe anything. But then- “Why me?”

“Because you wanted to get to know me,” Manna says without missing a beat. “You didn’t just see a pretty face or a powerful mage; you wanted to know the real me beneath all of that.”

“Oh...” Syrus remembers that conversation. Christina asked him why he had a card crush on the Dark Magician Girl. Did she ask because...

“And because I want to get to know you too,” Mana continues and Syrus sputters as his poor heart makes itself known again. “I’ve gotten to watch you a lot but that’s not the same as interacting. I want you to show me who you are. And I want to show you who I am.”

“Me? But I’m...I’m not...” His eyes fall to the ground as he thinks of that embarrassing episode of hiding in a trash can, of his brother who he couldn’t even stand up to in the end, of the Society of Light that he did absolutely nothing to help stop and even got himself kidnapped by a digital woman and her duel monster lackeys.

“Syrus.” A hand on his cheek brings him back to face Mana’s deep green eyes. “You can do anything and be anyone you want to be. I mean, just look at you already.” She plucks at the yellow blazer and Syrus’ chest fills with pride at the reminder. That’s right. He did do that. All on his own. “You look so good in yellow!” Mana cheers and Syrus’ ducks his face away again. He doesn’t know how to handle all these compliments! “Believe in yourself, and when that’s hard to do, believe me when I say I believe you can do anything.”

Those words might mean more to him than any other praise or pep talk he’s gotten before, simply because they sound so genuine. He’ll hold those words close to his heart for the rest of his life, because someone as strong and powerful as the freaking Dark Magician Girl believes in him. Swallowing, he nods and clears his throat to find his voice. “So, um, what do you wanna know?”

Smiling, Mana stands and pulls him straight back to the carnival games. Oh, so they’re not talking more? Syrus has to admit to being disappointed.

“Favorite color?” Mana asks as they try to catch tiny goldfish and distracts Syrus from the extra shiny one he almost caught.

“Actually...it’s orange,” he amidst sheepishly. “But I look horrid in it.”

“Aw, I think you’d look cute in orange! Like a little pumpkin.”

“A pumpkin?!”

“Oh? I’m sorry, was that an insult?” Mana asks with such genuine concern and confusion that Syrus can’t even be mad.

Shaking his head, Sryus flips the question around on her. “What about you?”

Mana stares at the water in the plastic pool. “It used to be purple...but I think I like grey a little better now.” She looks up and smiles and Syrus can’t help but feel like he’s missed something significant in that response.

“Favorite animal?” Mana asks once they’ve moved on to a ring toss game.

“Dogs,” Syrus says immediately, then feels self conscious about it. “I mean, they’re loyal and fluffy and I’ve always wanted one, they look fun to play with-”

Mana laughs. “Dogs are man’s best friend, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Mine are birds.” Mana looks up to the sky. “Because they can fly. I always wanted that freedom.”

“But you can fly too, can’t you?”

“In spirit form. But I can’t go too far from my card. Like this I can only float a bit.” With a snap of her fingers, her feet lift a couple centimeters off the ground in demonstration.

“That’s so cool.” Syrus stares in awe as Mana sets her feet back on the ground.

“The silliest thing you’ve ever done?”

A deep breath as a laundry list of his most mortifying experiences assault him. Breath out. He digs deeper for an older memory less tarnished by years of ridicule and insecurity. “I wore a sand bucket on my head and called myself a king.”

Mana laughs, loud and sudden, and Syrus takes pride in his four year old self for managing to entertain two people. He doubts he’d share that memory with anyone else; it’s one of the few he has of Zane smiling.

“I used to hide in giant vases then jump out and scare the crap out of my best friend,” Mana says with a wide grin, and Syrus snorts because he can picture it clearly. “Master always scolded me, but his reactions were too fun.”

Her master? Dark Magician then? Syrus wonders what kind of person would get to hang out with both of them. Probably another powerful spellcaster. “What is he like? Your master? Or...is he here today too?”

“Mahad? No, his situation is different from mine so it’s harder for him to cross the border,” Mana says, scanning the festival for their next game. “He’s pretty strict, and doesn’t know how to take a joke. But he’s kind and selfless.” Her voice grows soft and wistful, then she shakes herself and scratches her cheek. “Honestly, we’re kinda opposites, but that’s what makes it fun.”

She points to a shooting game booth before eagerly charging toward it; Syrus shows her how to use the toy gun and manages to beat her at this game. He still lets her pick out the prize, giggling when she picks out a lucky cat keychain.

“Dream career?” The key chain sways as it dangles from her finger.

Syrus fidgets. “It may seem kinda obvious, but I wanna be a pro duelist. A really famous one,” he mumbles, eyes turning to the ground.

“I bet you’ll be more famous that Yugi!” Mana cheers and Syrus quickly waves his hand in front of him.

“No! No, I doubt that!”

“Do you wanna have kids?” she asks while they fish for balloons with little hooks on strings.

Syrus chokes and drops his string straight into the water. “I mean, uh, maybe?? I guess I’d like- like to settle down and- and have a family- eventually...”

Mana smiles, but it looks a bit sad. “Yeah. I definitely want that too.”

“Best childhood memory?” Nimble fingers rifle through the Senbonbiki strings before giving one a tug.

Syrus answers without hesitation. “Zane teaching me how to duel.”

The string is a dud without a prize attached; Mana turns from pouting to look at Syrus with curious eyes. “Oh?”

“Yeah... we...” Syrus looks away, tries to keep the melancholy out of his voice. “We had a good relationship back then.”

Mana hums, reaching out to take his hand and wander back through the festival. “I think...mine is meeting Atem for the first time.”

Atem. That’s Christina’s ace card. Syrus shouldn’t be surprised he’s a duel spirit too. “Are all monster cards duel spirits?”

“Not every card has a spirit attached, but I have noticed almost every design mirrors a creature or person that actually exists.”

“Weird.” Honestly, Syrus never thought about it before, but it’s really weird that a game on Earth could accurately depict creatures from another dimension. Sure, Pegasus based the original cards off carvings he found in Egypt, but those were 3000 years old! Some of the new archetypes look distinctly futuristic, and Jaden designed the Neo Spacians so explain that! Just thinking about it gives Syrus a headache.

“Have you ever lost a fight?” he ventures to ask as they nibble on chocolate bananas.

“Lots of times,” Mana laughs at herself. “Especially during training. And no matter how good you are there’s always someone stronger, so tactical retreat is necessary!”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Syrus nods. The sky’s getting darker. Will Mana still be here for the fireworks? “What’s it like being a spirit?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. “It’s...lonely sometimes,” she admits, voice soft, almost forlorn. “Not many people can see us. We entertain ourselves by watching the world and taking bets on what kind of trouble Jaden will get into next.” Mana shrugs and smiles, an obvious attempt to make light of the situation, but Syrus can see straight through it.

“Oh,” he says, wishing he could put his emotions into words that wouldn’t hollow.

Mana glances out at the darkening sky, voice soft as she asks, “One thing you really wanna do before you die?”

“Huh?” The question startles Syrus as much as the oddly wistful tone. “I guess...” He hesitates. One thing? The thing he wants to do most? That he’d regret never doing? “I wanna be happy. With someone I mean!” he quickly amends and the word babble spills out from there. “I wanna get married and buy a house and share my life with someone. I know it probably doesn’t sounds that ambitious but-”

“No, that’s a great ambition.”

Syrus can’t really name the emotion on Mana’s face. Nodding, he looks down at his feet and fiddles with his hands. “Maybe...if we get to know each other better...you could be that person?” He squeezes his eyes shut, not daring to look up.

An intake of breath. “Syrus...”

The boom rattles through his bones and Syrus screams, flinging himself towards the nearest source of comfort and shelter, straight into Mana’s arms. Oh. Oh, the fireworks! Prying his eyes open reveals bursts of color lighting up the sky as another boom shakes the air. He laughs awkwardly and rights himself, murmuring an apology.

“I don’t have much time left,” Mana says, colored light illuminating her mournful expression, and the dread seizes Syrus by the throat.

“Ki-kiss me properly this time!” Oh gods his voice cracked and got really screechy, but he said it! His hands fist against his legs, trembling as her heart goes off on another marathon, and what if she rejects him? What if he read this all wrong? What if-

“Okay.”

Her kiss lingers on his lips long after the fireworks fade and she disappears back to being a spirit. He can still feel her hand against his own, and this time he knows it’s real.

[beyond-the-mirror]

The Blue Eyed King’s Gift

Finally! As promised Part 3 is now ready.

So as you have seen in the previous chapter, this fanfic was partly inspired by Thumbelina (or Thumbeline, depending on the country you’re from). In this part, however, there are a few hints for the main inspiration of this fanfic, can you guess which fairytale is it?

Be ready though, this chapter is a long one. More under the cut.

Special thanks to @cheesysquid​ for beta-reading and putting up with my amateur writing. Thank you so much for everything, o master of writing.

Pairings: Vergil x Fem Reader

Warnings: None. Pure fluff and wholesomeness in this one.

Tags: @v-vic​. If you want to be tagged let me know!

Part One - Part Two - Part Four

……………………..

Part Three

“Nooo! You pesky knights have defeated me!”

“Take that you evil dragon! You have been slain by the great knights Nero and V!”

Both twins giggled victoriously after tackling their uncle to the ground, causing the man in question to let out a hearty laugh at their adorable antics.

They were still in the middle of playing when the door opened. The boys beamed at the familiar, stoic figure that walked inside, clad in an elegant blue attire and a tired expression evident on his face.

“Papa!” The monarch welcomed the twins into his arms, their innocent smiles already soothing the stress out of his mind and body.

“My apologies for working until late little ones, there were some important matters Papa had to attend to.”

“But, you are still going to play with us tomorrow like you promised, right?” Nero gave his father a worried look, his lips forming a cute little pout that the king would never resist.

The last couple of weeks had been busier than usual for the Blue Eyed King, leaving him little to no time for his beloved children. However, all pending work had finally been solved just in time for the weekend, a perfect opportunity to take a well deserved break from his royal duties for a few days and instead spend them with his lovely sons.

“Don’t you worry, tomorrow I’ll have the entire day free so we can do whatever you two want.” The twins bounced at their father’s words, already excited for the next day to arrive. “But for now it is time for you both to go to bed.”

The twins wanted to protest in hopes of getting at least another few minutes of playtime, pouting and huffing in a displeased manner. But their attempts were thwarted by their uncle, who had a mischievous grin on his face.

“Your papa is right kiddos, it’s already late and all the good little boys must go to sleep. Unless you wish to fall victims to the monster that eats naughty children!” Letting out a playful roar, their uncle picked up Vitale, acting as if trying to munch on the boy’s little arm.

“Eww! Uncle Dante that is gross!” V giggled as he pushed his uncle’s face away from him, failing to make him stop his antics. Finally giving in, Dante lowered him on his respective bed before making his way to the door, letting his older brother tuck his nephews in.

“Now what do we say, my dears?” The monarch asked, giving his sons an expectant look while a warm smile blooms on his face.

“Good night uncle Dante!”

“G’night kiddos. See you tomorrow Verge.” The young prince smiled back at them, and with a salute, he retired to his own chambers for the night.

As Vergil tucked his sons under the soft covers however, his keen eye could notice Nero fidgeting a bit in his bed.

“Is something troubling you, Nero?”

The boy jumped at the abrupt question, hesitating for a few seconds before answering.

“Uhm, earlier you said that tomorrow we could do anything we wanted, so...” Looking down to avoid his father’s intense stare, the young boy took a deep breath before continuing. “Remember our friend (Y/N)?”

Vergil raised an eyebrow in confusion. These last weeks his children would mention her quite often, even though he knew about her existence before they even mentioned the name to him. He indeed recognized and appreciated all the good things this woman had done for the brothers, and it would be a blatant lie to say he wasn’t grateful for her kindness and hospitality. However, he couldn’t help but feel concerned after hearing Nero bringing up her name.

“I do recall her. Something you wish to tell me about it?”

The older brother glanced at Vitale at the bed next to his. He seemed unsure as to what to say, until a silent nod from V gave him the push he needed to speak out.

“Well, V and I were wondering if… we could invite her for dinner tomorrow?”

………………….

Another day, and yet the same routine.

Waking up, getting ready, cooking breakfast for your father and preparing all the goods to be sold at the market before departing.

That’s how it has been for some years now, and yet something felt different.

Lately you’ve been smiling more. Everytime you cooked, you would hum a cheery song to yourself. Your plants and crops would receive more kind words from you than usual, which resulted in better harvests, and therefore, better sales.

There was no doubt as to why there was more light in your life. Two reasons actually: two adorable little brothers that would often grace you abode with their beaming presence.

It was no surprise to receive a sudden visit from Nero and Vitale, always accompanied by their two animal friends Griffon and Shadow. Those afternoons became your favorites, when you welcomed the twins into your garden so they could play as much as their hearts wanted to. On days when you weren’t particularly busy tending to your father, you would join them in their adorable antics and games.

While your father’s attitude had sabotaged your childhood, one that you hoped could have been happier, there was no denying the bond you formed with the twins. Eventually you found yourself going through all your belongings from your childhood that you had locked away inside an aged trunk in your room. And much to your luck, you found some of your old toys still in pristine condition. An idea then hatched in your head, why not share them with Nero and Vitale next time they visited?

As you tended to your garden, you spotted a couple of familiar silhouettes approaching your family’s chateau, which brought a bright smile to your face. It seemed today they decided to drop by earlier than usual, nevertheless you still welcomed the brothers into your yard.

“(Y/N)!” They exclaimed simultaneously as they ran to you, wrapping you into a warm hug as soon as you kneeled down to their height.

“Is the bad man at home?” V whispered into your ear.

“The bad man is sleeping. Don’t worry about him.” You winked at both brothers before ushering them in and towards the garden, glancing around to make sure your father wasn’t around.

Every time you would always make sure to keep the brothers hidden from your father. It was for the best, as you figured it must not be healthy to expose such innocent children to a volatile and constantly inebriated man like him.

“So what do I owe this unexpected visit? You arrived quite earlier than usual today.”

“Actually, we came here to invite you to our house.” Nero announced in a cheerful tone.

V nodded before completing his brother’s words “We asked our father and he said he wanted to meet you. So he wishes for you to come and have dinner with us.”

“Oh…” Needless to say, the request took you by surprise. “Well I do appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure if I could really go. I don’t want to be a bother there, and I still have some chores to do here.”

A frown crossed the twin’s faces “Please (Y/N). We promise you will not be a bother, we really want you to go.” V pleaded, immediately followed by Nero.

“Yes, and we could play and have so much fun! Plus, we can show you our home and you can meet all our family and friends.”

“But…”

“Pretty pleeeease?”

‘Oh, be still my heart.’ you internally struggled as you witnessed the cutest and loveliest pair of puppy eyes you had ever seen in your life.

“Alright then” you sighed in defeat. There was no way you could resist the charm of those two. “Let me just change my clothes and we’ll be ready to go.”

“Yay! Thank you (Y/N)!” They jumped up and down in glee, a rather adorable sight for you.

And so you made your way towards your bedroom, leaving the twins in the safety of your garden for them to play while you got ready.

You rummaged through your wardrobe in search of a nice enough dress, if you were about to meet the twins’ family then it was best to dress appropriately and cause a good first impression. You opted for a light blue gown, not too elegant but not too casual, perfect for an afternoon meeting. Searching through your jewelry box, you opted for a pair of pearl earrings, a blue hair ribbon to tie up your hair, and last but not least, a beautiful choker necklace that used to belong to your mother.

The sight of it brought a nostalgic smile to your face. Your fingers lightly traced the small blue rose at the center, the single sapphire drop beneath it reflecting light ever so pretty.

Sitting on your vanity you began working on your hair, combing and styling your locks into a simple but classy updo. However, as you sat there getting ready, you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of family did the brothers have. By the clean outfits they would always wear you figured they must have a wealthy enough family. The thought made you feel nervous, would they approve of you? The daughter of a bankrupt, alcoholic noble with a terrible reputation? A once respected family name now tarnished by the actions of your father, you lamented how things came to be.

With a deep sigh, you tried to shake those feelings off. Your little guests were waiting for you, and you wouldn’t dare let those negative thoughts crush their earlier happiness. It was the least you could do for them, the little lights of your life.

………………….

“You are going to love our home (Y/N)! It’s so pretty and everyone is so nice and kind. Also, Papa has an enormous library! Right V?”

“Yes! It’s my favorite place ever. I can’t wait to show you all the pretty books!”

Nero and V bounced all the way as they pulled at your hands, guiding you to their house.

And yet you couldn’t help but wonder about where the boys lived. Your father’s chateau was quite remote, and not once did you spot another house during your trips to the village. But you shrugged the thoughts away, choosing to instead follow Nero and V while enjoying their company.

That was until you noticed they were leading you towards the dense woods.

“Shouldn’t we take the road instead? The woods could be dangerous and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

But the boys simply shook their heads. “They’re very safe, besides we always take this route.”

“Don’t be scared (Y/N). We promise you it’s going to be okay, you can trust us.” Both twins reassured you,  soothing your doubtful mind. Should it be true they have been crossing the woods to visit you, then danger was nowhere near.

“Alright then. Let’s keep going.”

………………….

A soothing peace lingered on the woodlands. Birds chirped away despite it already being past noon, flowers of all kinds painted the ground in all kinds of patterns and colors, warm rays of sunlight shone through the many tree branches and bathed the earth in a mystical aura.

Never once had you paid attention to the forest near your father’s chateau. Whether it was out of fear of the beasts that could possibly lurk there, or the scary thoughts of getting lost there and never finding your way back home; entering there barely crossed your mind.

And apparently you weren’t the only one who thought so. As vast as it seemed to be, the place appeared as unmarked in every map of the region. Just a big, nameless spot too unimportant to be considered as a landmark by locals and travelers.

So it made sense to ask yourself, as Nero and Vitale brought you along into the unknown, just what kind of family would take interest in living in a place like this?

Staring at Griffon’s figure flying just ahead, you wondered how far you were from home, and just how long you had been here in the heart of nature. It felt like an eternity, and at the same time it felt like only a couple minutes. Now that you thought about it, why did it look like the same scenery repeated over and over? The same trees, the same flowers, the same chirping birds.

What is this place?

“Here we are.” The sound of V’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. It took a few moments to register where you were, and after blinking a couple times, you took in your surroundings.

Never had you seen something so otherworldly.

A small clearing, barely illuminated by a few rays of sunlight, laid right in front of you. The irregular terrain of the woods had now turned into a layer of soft green grass. But what truly caught your eye was what stood right in the center of the clearing: A lone stone arch was there, tall and covered in moss, looking as if it had witnessed many ancient eras that were now long forgotten.

A dead silence veiled the land, yet the mere presence of the arch weighed so heavy in the air. It almost felt as if it were alive, an ancient being filled with sorrow over being the only surviving structure of a lost kingdom. You found yourself staring at it for a bit too long, not expecting to see something so out of place in this forest.

“C’mon (Y/N)! Our home is right there!” Nero tugged at your hand, taking you towards the stone arch in a hurry.

You were about to ask what he meant, but the words never left your lips as the twins pulled you to the other side.

………………….

There was a fairytale you were fond of when you were a child, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland if you recalled correctly. There was a particular scene you remembered, one where Alice stumbled into a rabbit hole, falling deep down until she found herself in another world.

At this moment in your life, you felt like Alice. Except instead of following a white rabbit into a rabbit hole, you followed two brothers across a stone arch.

You gaped in awe at the scenery before you.

The thick forest you were once in had vanished completely, now replaced by a vibrant city full of life. Everything looked so much different from the little village you knew, from the buildings to the shops and even the clothes people were wearing. You were especially taken back by the strange carriages that ran along the streets, impressed by the fact they moved around by themselves without horses or any other animal pulling them.

Not only did it feel like a different place, but also like a different time.

“Griffon, Shadow, could you please go to our father and inform him of our return?” As V finished his request, what happened almost made you stumble back in shock.

Shadow’s body began transforming into what seemed to be ink, heavy and shapeless, before morphing into a majestic panther with crimson markings glowing all over its body. Meanwhile, Griffon enveloped itself in blue sparks, growing into a demonic avian with three beaks and three golden pupils.

Both creatures, however, meant no harm at all as they bowed before the boys before departing in order to carry V’s order.

You were still staring at their figures disappearing into the crowd when a sudden gruff voice broke you out of your trance.

“I see you have returned safely, Your Highnesses”.

“Hello again mister Morrison. This is our friend (Y/N)!” Vitale greeted back. The man, Morrison, was a dark-skinned gentleman who looked to be in his fifties, impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit.

You weren’t sure if he was a noble or a commoner, if anything the exquisite clothes he dorned seemed to indicate the former. Wanting to be on your best behavior, you curtsied appropriately and introduced yourself to the gentleman before you.

“The famous miss (Y/N) herself. A pleasure meeting the lady that his highnesses have been mentioning about lately.”

‘His highnesses?’

“Uhm, if it is not too inappropriate of me to ask mister Morrison... exactly where am I?”

The man chuckled warmly at your questions. “My apologies milady. We are not exactly used to visitors from outside, I should have been more considerate though.” Morrison took a pause before continuing.

“Welcome to the Great Kingdom of Fortuna, Lady (Y/N).”

………………….

‘Well, talk about unexpected news.’ Said the voice in your mind, still processing what you just learned so far.

You learned that you were in Fortuna, a kingdom that exists in its own dimension, hidden behind a magical barrier. Nero and Vitale were also nobles, the beloved sons of a powerful demon king that reigned over this uncharted land. How mystifying it was to be in a land whose name eluded even the most thorough history lessons you were given since birth.

And now here you were, in one of those horseless carriages you had seen on the streets just minutes ago, on the way to meet the Demon King himself. Both twins kept giving you apologetic looks, their poor souls not expecting your reaction to be so flabbergasted.

Still, you kept reassuring them that it was nothing to worry about. There was no way their innocent minds would have taken that into account.

But now you found your mind drifting to what could be waiting for you at the castle. Judging by the recent events you had gone through on the same day, there was no way this day could become any more unusual.

………………….

His fingers ran through his hair for what had to be the hundredth time that day, despite it already being as pristine as always. Vergil sighed in frustration as a few bangs fell out of place and over his forehead, his bad habit of slicking back his hair already making matters worse.

“Hey now, cut yourself some slack bro.” Dante tried to cheer his brother up, brushing back his bangs into their proper place.

“Shall I remind you how this was basically your idea, brother?” He gave a deadly glare towards Dante once he stepped back.

When his sons had suggested inviting that woman to the palace, he was taken completely by surprise. Ever since the day Vergil had decided to isolate Fortuna from the rest of the world, the idea of welcoming an outsider has been completely out of discussion.

As much as he trusted (Y/N) with his children, and as much as Nero and Vitale insisted and sobbed, his decision was absolute.

‘But papa, she lives with a bad man. Her father is evil and cruel to her.’

‘But father, we love playing with her. We want to protect her from the bad man.’

He could see it, the true meaning carried within the tears that cascaded down his sons’ faces. They only wished to make her happy, get her away from the sad reality that was dealing with a drunken parent all the time, even if just for a day.

Of course Vergil understood, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t moved by their sweet intentions. However, he just couldn’t risk not only his family’s safety, but also his kingdom’s.

And then his annoying little brother intervened.

How did he manage to convince him? Nobody would ever know, least not Vergil himself.

“I’m just trying to help here. Besides, this (Y/N) girl doesn’t seem that bad so what’s the problem of letting one outsider in?”

Vergil grunted, becoming more unamused by Dante’s words by the second. He was about to retort when his brother rudely interrupted him.

“Or maybe the reason you are nervous is because you always look at her image like a love-struck puppy.”

At his words the king became paler than a ghost. “I’m not sure what you are talking about.” He cleared his throat in an attempt to hide his own insecurity.

“Don’t think for a second I haven’t seen you watching over her and the little ones with your magic.” Dante winked in an amused manner.

Feelings for that woman? Ridiculous. Sure she may look identical to his late queen, and her mannerisms may be almost the same, but his beloved was long gone. And yet Vergil couldn’t help the way (Y/N)’s image tugged at his heart.

No. There must not be any feelings whatsoever. (Y/N) was just an outsider and that was it. Even if his brother kept bothering him about it.

………………….

As you stepped into the majestic palace, you were rendered speechless by its luxurious interior.

Immaculate walls decorated with elegant and almost endless columns, their architecture like no other you had ever imagined. Not a single stain or speck of dust could be seen on the white and dark blue marble floor, and all the furniture pieces looked to be designed and handmade by master craftsmen.

Your gaze fell on the grand staircase at the center of the entry hall when you heard a door opening, the sound making all the servants bow at the figure that had entered the room.

The Blue Eyed King himself had entered. A gentleman dressed in an elegant navy blue suit, perfectly tailored and made with the richest fabric money could afford. His chiseled face was strong and defined, like a greek marble statue come to life. His luscious white hair was slicked back, not a single hair out of place. To complete his outfit, a matching tailcoat dorned his frame, decorated in a regal silver brocade that resembled wild briars enveloping his figure in exquisite patterns.

Everything about the king’s appearance exuded perfection and beauty, but what really caught your attention were his eyes. They were an icy blue, sharp and piercing like a deadly sword. Those were not the eyes of a human but of a demon, one with the power to make entire legions kneel and submit with a single glare.

Needless to say, the king’s mere presence intimidated you. And when his eyes connected with yours for an instant, you swore your heart stopped. Whether it was out of fear or wonder, you weren’t sure.

That was until the children at your sides started giggling.

“Papa!” The brothers ran towards their father with their little arms open.

And just like that, the demon in his eyes vanished. Kneeling down, the monarch welcomed his sons into his arms, a gentle smile breaking the cold stoicism that once rested on his face. Gone was the sharp look he had just seconds ago, now replaced with a warm light at the sight of his beloved children.

You couldn’t help but smile at them. However, when the king stood back up with the twins in hand, you were quick to regain your posture.

“Lady (Y/N), I present you King Vergil Sparda, ruler of the Great Kingdom of Fortuna.” In the most refined and formal manner, Morrison introduced his lord, before gesturing at the brothers. “His sons, Prince Nero Sparda and Prince Vitale Sparda.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty.” You curtsied, now regretting your choice of attire. A more formal dress would have been more appropriate for the occasion, but then again, you definitely didn’t expect to meet a King on this particular day. A sigh almost escaped your lips, and you dared to hope no one took notice of the gesture.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady (Y/N). I am glad you have accepted our invitation, Nero and Vitale have told me a lot about you recently.”

The children nodded in agreement. “Father, can we go play with (Y/N) now? Please?” Vitale gave a timid pull at his father’s sleeve.

“We want to show (Y/N) the castle!” Nero added with an adorable bounce.

“No little ones. Dinner is almost served and we don’t want to be late.” Vergil responded in a most gentle manner, yet firm enough to get his point across.

Both twins looked like they were about to protest when their poor stomachs rumbled in hunger, prompting you to let out a soft laugh.

Kneeling down to their level, you patted their heads lovingly. “Now my children, we’ll have all the time to play whatever you want after eating. For now let’s get you something to eat, hm?”

“And then we get to play together?” Again, the boys try to sway you with those irresistible puppy eyes of them.

“As much as you two want.”

The children would have taken off on a race to the dining hall if it weren’t for Morrison who stopped them in their tracks. The twins’ antics coaxed a laugh out of you, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught the king himself letting out a low chuckle. But the moment he acknowledged your staring, he couldn’t help but blush a bit.

“Please excuse my sons’ behavior.” He cleared his throat. “Recently they have begun their training in etiquette protocols, but i’m afraid they continue to ignore them each time I’m present.”

You shook your head to reassure him “Do not apologize, Your Majesty. Such an attitude must mean they see you as a loving father rather than a ruler, a person far greater than any royal in the eyes of a child, don’t you think?”

“An interesting point indeed.” Vergil hummed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. For a second he looked like his mind was in conflict despite the cordial smile on his face, but he was quick to shrug it off. “Please allow me to lead you to the dining hall. You must be feeling hungry after your trip from home.”

The King proceeded to offer you a gloved hand. His eyes remained fixated on you, looking as if they were piercing into your very soul.

A bit hesitant, you accepted his offer, your soft palm soon enveloped by his warm fingers. On your way to the dining hall, the pink tint decorating your cheeks never once left.

………………….

All kinds of delicacies lined the grand table in front of you, trays filled with the most delicious looking food you had ever seen.

It took you by surprise when the monarch gestured to the seat at the right of his.

“I thank you for the invitation, your Majesty. However, I do not consider myself worthy of sitting at your right side.”

“Quite the contrary, Lady (Y/N). Nero and Vitale have told me of what you have done for them, and they requested for me to invite you to our palace. This feast was prepared as a show of my gratitude for the kindness you have given my children.”

The twins smiled at you. Knowing this was their idea warmed your heart to no end.

“I.. I don’t know what to say, your Majesty, except... Thank you for your generosity.”

Vergil offered you a smile before taking his seat at the head of the table, while his beloved sons were seated at his left side.

You sat at the king’s right, feeling nervous to take such an important place at a royal’s table. However, you were even further surprised to see that the rest of the servitude, including mister Morrison, occupied the seats too. In the countless times your family was invited to a noble’s house, never were the servants allowed to sit at the same table as the patrons.

Nero took notice of your expression and immediately understood your confusion. “Years ago, we told Papa we didn’t like the table to be so empty every time we ate, so we requested him to let all our friends sit with us too.” He explained, whispering loud enough for you to hear him.

Vergil smiled with fondness at the memory before adding “It has become a tradition since then.”

It seems not only were they a light in your life, but to everyone that met them.

“By the way,” Vitale looked around as if searching for something “Where is uncle Dante?”

‘Uncle Dante?’

“Hello family! Sorry for being late!” A boisterous yell resounded across the dining hall.

Turning around, you noticed a man who looked identical to King Vergil, and yet the energy he radiated couldn’t be more opposite to that of the monarch. His hair looked tousled, a contrast to the king’s slicked back hair. He sported a bit of a stubble, and the suit he wore as well as his tailcoat were a striking red.

The man you assumed to be Dante was about to take his seat at the table when his eyes noticed you.

“Oh! you must be Lady (Y/N), sorry for my rude entry.” As Dante approached, you stood back up to offer a polite curtsy. “I am Dante Sparda. It is an honour to finally make your acquaintance, milady.”

The noble offered you a wide smile, taking your hand in a gentle hold before planting a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

“The honour is mine, Prince Dante.” Your response was a bit bashful to the mannerisms of the noble before you, so you opted for a polite smile before sitting back down.

“So what are we eating on this fine day?” Walking around the table, Dante sat himself beside the twins, who immediately jumped to his arms.

Turning to the monarch, however, his reaction was far from the joyous one the boys had. In any case, he looked more like the demon you had seen the moment you first saw him.

“Please excuse my younger brother, Lady (Y/N). Unlike my sons, Dante never had a problem with ignoring the proper etiquette.”

Trying your best to ignore the deadly look Vergil was giving his brother, you proceeded to eat the meal in front of you with a low giggle, just like Nero and V in front of you.

………………….

“Aww can’t you stay for a little longer (Y/N)?” Nero gave a sad frown.

As much as you would have loved to stay with them, the sun was already setting down in the horizon. You still needed to care for your father back home and prepare everything for tomorrow’s sale at the market.

“I’m afraid I can’t, little ones. But you are free to drop by my father’s chateau whenever you want.” You pulled the boys into a tight hug.

Footsteps reached your ears, and rising your head, you noticed that the Blue Eyed King was approaching you.

“Are you sure you wish to leave Lady (Y/N)? You are welcome to stay in Fortuna and at my palace as long as you need too.”

You offered the king a polite shake of your head. “You are very generous, your Majesty. However, I do not want to cause any more inconveniences to your family and your staff. Besides, it’s getting late and I have a few matters to attend at home.”

As you gave a warm smile, the monarch’s mind was once again transported to past memories long thought to be overcome.

‘There must not be any feelings whatsoever.’ He reminded himself, before banishing those memories from his mind.

“In that case, please follow me.”

As you were being led through the many halls of the castle, you eventually reached the royal garden. Flowers and exotic plants decorated the place, all of them aligned in impeccable designs and nurtured as best as possible. At the center of it all, was a structure that was already familiar to you. A stone arch, this one surrounded by a bed of breath-taking blue roses.

“This portal can take you back to your home.” Vergil began explaining. “Picture in your mind the place you wish to go to, and once you step inside you shall be taken there. Afterwards, the portal will close behind you, and you will notice that time will not have changed since your arrival at Fortuna. You are welcome to visit the castle as many times as you wish.”

You turned to the monarch a bit incredulous. Have you heard correctly? The King himself had just invited you to return anytime you wanted. You would be lying if you said the warm treatment you received that day wasn’t unwelcomed, after having to support yourself and your father on your own all your life this was a rather pleasant change.

“Your Majesty, I-I can’t describe how grateful I am for your hospitality. However, I’m still not sure how I’ll be able to find the way back to this place again.”

At your doubts, Vergil kindly answered “As long as your heart wishes to, the way shall always reveal itself to you. And as long as you have something from your own timeline with you,” he then gestured at the choker that decorated your neck. “You shall always find your way back home.”

You were about to say something when the King reached for your hand, holding it gently and raising it to his lips before placing a soft kiss on the knuckles. Each and every word died before leaving your lips, the feeling of Vergil’s pillowing lips on your hand taking your breath away.

His eyes fluttered open, his gorgeous eyes now fixated on yours as his lips parted from the back of your hand. All you could do was avert your eyes, a rosy blush tainting your cheeks. Never in your life had you felt so bashful, and as much as you wanted to hide your sudden shyness nothing seemed to work. So instead you turned to the children, getting down on one knee before them.

“I promise you we’ll get to play another time, alright?”

After one last hug from them, you stood back up and crossed the portal, departing back home.

………………….

Everything was exactly the way it was when you left, even your father who still remained inside his chambers in a deep slumber as usual.

WIthout any further ado, you continued with your daily activities. Tomorrow will be another day, and yet the same routine awaited you as any other day before.

Waking up, getting ready, cooking breakfast for your father and preparing all the goods to be sold at the market before departing.

That’s how it has been for some years now, but now something was definitely different.

Your thoughts drifted to Nero and Vitale, and then to King Vergil.

‘Maybe I should drop by again in a few days…’

[sxfterhearts]

wounded

24. [7:25 pm]

➳ pairing: yugyeom x reader

➳ genre/warnings: slow burn, fluff, slight bad boy!yugyeom, triggers; mentions of violence, injuries, physical abuse

➳ word count: 2,504 words

➳ summary: 24. “Just because,”

➳ author's note: this will probably turn into a two-shot, inspired by new era yugs. all creds for the gif below to @jinyoungot7​, thank you so much 💖 i’ve been sitting on this idea for a bit too long + rewrote it 3 times (bc my dumb self forgot to hit save) so i really struggled to form the right words. i hope you’ll forgive me for this! any form of feedback will be very much appreciated 💕 (also: imo = aunty)

wounded // scarred // healed

A rush of stiflingly hot summer air pummeled through the double doors of your family’s restaurant, disrupting the once cool atmosphere created by the air-cons. Being reminded of this season’s unforgiving behaviours urged you to lift the straw of your cool drink to your lips.

The sip of iced Americano, however, got stuck in your throat when you laid eyes upon the restaurant’s newest patron.

Yugyeom. Kim Yugyeom, with his untucked shirt and loosened tie, took confident strides across the dining area in the direction of the kitchen window where chefs would place finished dishes, ready to be served. Your brain short-circuited for several moments as you did nothing but watch him from your position behind the cashier. His actions were that of a regular’s as he arrived at the window and stuck his head through the opening in the wall, his hand coming up in a small wave to catch the chefs’ attention.

It was then that you registered, quite belatedly, the bruises and splotches of crimson littered across the back of his raised hand, tarnishing the fair skin.

You distinctly remembered that you saw plasters wrapped around his fingers earlier today when you sat beside him in class. His current wounds made the older ones seem like insignificant paper cuts. It wasn’t unusual for Yugyeom to turn up covered in fresh cuts and purple bruises, though. In fact, you had grown so accustomed to this that you started stocking up on assorted Rilakkuma plasters. Since the start of the semester when you were assigned the furthest desk from the whiteboard, you learned how to disinfect open wounds with saline solution and cover it properly with pastel-coloured dressings, all courtesy of Kim Yugyeom.

“Imo, can I please order takeaway? One bibim naengmyeon and one mul naengmyeon, double serving of pickled radishes, two eggs and extra-”

“Yugyeom-ah!” Your mother’s unmistakeable voice pierced through as her head peeked out of the little window, coming face to face with your desk partner. She addressed him with such a warm and motherly tone, which left you surprised and confused. “Oh, oh dear… It’s best if you take a seat, you can have your dinner here. I’ll pack Mark’s in a takeaway container, don’t you worry.”

“But Imo, I need to get back, Mark-”

“No buts, Yugyeom. I already memorised your orders. Sit down, your food will be ready in a second.”

“Imo, I can’t-” Yugyeom protested weakly, waving his hands in refusal, but you knew it was all for nought. Attempting to deny your mother’s orders were an impossible feat.

A short silence ensued. You guessed this was caused by your mother’s signature death stare. Having been on the receiving end countless times during your lifetime, you were well aware that it could make anyone’s skin rise with goose bumps or a chill to run down their spines.

“Okay, Imo…” Came Yugyeom’s resigned voice as his lanky legs dragged himself over to the vacant seat closest to the kitchen.

You took this as your cue to question your mother in detail about how she became so familiar with your class’ bad boy. Unfortunately, you were met with a curt reminder of the first-aid kit in the cupboard under the counter as she busied herself with blanching the buckwheat noodles. When she was in her element, there was no way to deviate her attention from the task at hand.

Rummaging through the cupboard, you fished out the white box with a red cross stuck on the top of the lid. Taking a few moments to steel your quickening heart rate, you were struck by the realisation that this would be the first time seeing Yugyeom outside of school in the entire five years you spent as classmates. He was a quiet boy, never uttering a single word in school, even when the teachers were asking him questions, landing him a semi-permanent spot in detention. Most days, he would plug one earphone into his ear and rest his head on folded arms, taking frequent naps as the class learned about organic compounds or Punnett squares. He was also handed multiple demerits for breaking the school rules, which ranged from getting into fist fights with seniors who bullied students for their lunch money, or wearing one too many piercings (especially the shiny ones), to refusing to get a haircut when his fringe began to grow past his eyebrows, obscuring his eyes.

The most intimidating aspect about sitting next to Kim Yugyeom, however, was that nearly every week you were forced to come face to face with angry gashes and wounds that he seemingly gained overnight. He always turned a blind eye when you succumbed to your curiosity and inspected his injuries from your seat, mere inches away. Wordlessly, you would clean the damaged skin with practiced hands, then patch it up with a plaster. Rilakkuma, you decided, suited him best. The plasters matched his yellow Rilakkuma earphones. You even caught him occasionally staring at the plasters when you stayed in class during lunch, the only period in which he remained awake.

“Y/N,” Yugyeom called as you drew the seat next to him. He stared at the table, refusing to meet your eyes.

Your ears perked up the moment your name left his lips; you were not used to this. It was a rare occurrence for the two of you to speak. Usually you went about your everyday tasks silently, with little words being exchanged. It was a silence that grew comfortable over the semester, and you found yourself appreciating the peace it brought during stressful times.

Conversations between the two of you had only started up recently. This was largely attributed to your father, who worked front of the house, being ridiculed by your classmate’s parents when they visited the restaurant. They complained about your father’s complete lack of competence when they had to wait forty-five minutes for their food to arrive, only to receive the wrong dishes in the end. Furious, they shoved the plate of food off the table and stormed out of the restaurant, not even bothering to settle the bill. Your father was left to clean up the scraps in front of all the other customers, severely damaging the restaurant’s reputation.

The classmate, a snobby, pampered girl, confronted you in school the next day by rudely pushing your books and stationery onto the floor, just like her parents did. You held back angry, frustrated tears as she ridiculed you and your family in front of all your other classmates, tearing you down to shreds. Yugyeom, rousing from his nap, caught the girl’s wrist before she had the chance to slap you across the face with a notebook.

Everyone grew quiet then. The boy had never done anything to gain attention, always preferring to remain behind the shadows in perfect silence. “Keep it down, you’re ruining my sleep.” Yugyeom hissed threateningly. She cowered in fear and backed off, never to provoke you again.

“Look up, Yugyeom.” You instructed, returning to the task at hand. With a concerned gaze, you conducted a thorough examination of his injuries. The cuts on his hands and the bruises on his knuckles were fairly standard – a quick clean and plaster should do the trick. You got to work, pulling out the alcohol-free cleansing wipes and dabbing over the torn skin with gentle fingers. The boy flinched slightly upon the first contact but behaved rather well as you continued to tend to his hands. Your gaze flitted over the two spherical scars on the underside of his left forearm as he reached forward, closing the distance between the two of you. They were cigarette burns, you figured. You could feel Yugyeom’s fingers brushing against your temples as he pushed strands of your short hair back to rest behind your ears, the tips of which glowered pink at his actions.

“What happened this time?” You asked, somewhat rhetorically. You knew full well that Yugyeom would never divulge the events that led up to his injuries, no matter how persistent you were.

He hummed in response, as though that were an appropriate answer, and scrunched up his face slightly to express his reluctance in answering your question.

The wound smack bang in the middle of his nose presented itself as a bit more of a challenge. While Yugyeom was no stranger to facial injuries, often sporting shallow cuts close to his brow or near his chin, this was much deeper; much larger. It drew unwanted attention and tarnished his otherwise handsome features.

A dull thud sounded as a bowl of cold noodles landed on the table. Your mother stood over the two of you, shaking her head as she handed you a warm towel. You accepted it, still utterly clueless about how your mother was so well acquainted with Yugyeom and his injuries. “Y/N-ah, use this to clean the wound. If it’s still bleeding a lot, apply some pressure to it.” She then turned to the boy, tutting in disapproval. “Yugyeom, I’ve always respected your privacy when you show up in my restaurant covered in cuts and bruises, but this is where I draw the line. Your injuries are getting more serious. You and I are going to have a serious talk once you finish your dinner, young man. It’s been two years and I can’t watch from the sidelines any longer, are we clear?”

You watched as Yugyeom nearly heaved out a sigh, but decided against it in the last minute. “Yes, Imo. Thank you, Imo.”

Your mother, with her hands perched atop her waist, nodded gravely before strutting over to the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone once more. A million questions swarmed in your head as Yugyeom took the towel from your hands, pressing it onto his wound as he began to devour the bowl of cold noodles. This has been going on for two years? You wondered to yourself. Two long years, and yet I’ve never even ran into him in the restaurant. There’s no way, he must’ve been here when I worked over the summer. Maybe he was just sitting in a corner, eating in silence… As usual.

“You’ve been coming her for two years?” You asked before you could stop yourself, your curiosity getting the better of you. “But why?” Why didn’t you tell me? You thought silently, the rest of the sentence unable to leave your mouth.

Yugyeom shrugged as he picked out two halved egg yolks from the boiled eggs with his chopsticks. “Just because,”

Because you pitied me? Because you were ashamed of me? Because you couldn’t face me in school without thinking about that incident caused by the girl’s parents?

“It’s not like that.” The boy said flatly, his eyes meeting yours with a resolute gaze when he noticed you withdrawing, getting lost in your thoughts. “This is the only place that sells naengmyeon all year.”

“What?” You muttered in disbelief.

“I have naengmyeon every Friday, even in winter. The food is good and I only live five minutes away.”

You nodded at his explanation. Perhaps you were overthinking the situation.

“I was also trying to hide most of my injuries from you.” He admitted in a low voice, barely audible above the white noise of the restaurant. Yugyeom took another mouthful of noodles into his mouth, chewing appreciatively as the refreshing flavours soothed his senses. “Fridays…” He paused, eyes wandering vacantly around the vicinity of the restaurant. “Fridays are gambling days for my uncle. He’ll gamble, lose, drink and come home for dinner. You know my older brother, Mark?”

“Yeah, I know Mark.” It was hard not to know about Mark. Before he graduated four years ago, rumours about him spread like wildfire throughout the entire school. The one rumour you distinctly remembered as a first-year student was that he maintained good grades by doing, for a lack of better word, favours, for his female teachers.

“Mark would rush me out of the house before our uncle got home. He acted as my uncle’s babysitter by cooking him dinner, and then as his punching bag when he had to take out his frustration. I was home once when it happened, some time last year. After that I made Mark agree for us to take turns.”

Your head started to spin as your brain worked to process this new information. “Wait so, the cuts, the bruises, the burns, all of that…?”

Yugyeom nodded, still staring beyond the double doors. The sun was beginning to set. In the back of his mind, he registered that his uncle would be home soon. “Honestly, Mark had it worse, especially in the first few months after.”

He meant after his parents passed away two years ago. A car accident. They were coming home from their anniversary dinner. It was raining. There was a truck going around the corner at insane speeds, towards their car. It swerved. Their car plummeted off a cliff. They died instantly, the aunties gossiped as they filtered in and out of the restaurant. Poor kids, they would remark, casting pitied looks at the brothers.

“Your mother, she’s really something else.” He said with a small smile while picking up a few pieces of cucumber and radish. “The first time I came in, the restaurant was about to close. She took one look at me and forced me to press a piece of frozen beef on my bruise. She talked to me the entire time she was dressing my wound, I swear my ears nearly fell off.”

That sounded exactly like your mother. She loved to nag, but it always came from a place of genuine concern. “Imagine being her daughter.” You joked, grateful for the slight comedic relief from the heavy nature of the words you shared. It was one of the few proper conversations you had with your desk partner.

“Sometimes I have to remind myself that she isn’t my mother.” Yugyeom said, his tone so broken and devastated that you felt your heart ache within your chest.

You placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, trying your best to provide him with some form, any form of comfort. “I’m sure she cares for you like her own son. Especially since she’s been making you dinner every Friday for the past two years.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“She even nurses your injuries.”

“But you do that too.” He pointed out without missing a beat, a teasing glint in his eyes as he finally turned to look at you.

“I…”

“Nevermind, forget I said anything.” Yugyeom replied with a knowing grin, returning back to his dinner.

I care about you too, a lot. You confessed silently, resting your heavy head on your palms as you watched him eat. The golden shine of the sun casted upon his pointed features. Despite the old scars and the new wounds, he glowed.

A part of you realised that after so many months, you had finally broken-down Kim Yugyeom’s iron walls. School would be very different from now on.