#and there would be STORIES across the thousands of notes. sometimes you’d see different ones reblogged by different mutuals

[badolmen]

I have zero authority on this I’m just making a personal observation but like. It’s really sad going through the notes of a writing/art prompt post and seeing nothing but jokes/‘witty’ one liners/sarcastic responses. A prompt is someone putting an idea out into the world and expecting it to inspire others, not to be a setup for someone else’s punchline. Stop trying to perform for an audience and start trying to connect with art.

[witch-hazels-musings]

zhongli, albedo, diluc and xiao with an s.o who is clingy, but also is closed off and has a hard time showing affection and just their emotions in general, and also isn’t generally well liked by their peers?

our affection is different

Warning -> SFW 

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

Includes: Zhongli, Albedo, Diluc

Zhongli

For someone so reserved and universally liked, people find the contrast between his demeanor and your own clashing - while he is pleasant, greeting others with a steady bow, a kind expression, you look uncomfortable to even be there. You avoid all eye contact unless it comes from Zhongli, you turn your head, fiddle with your thumbs if they aren’t already holding onto the fabric of his jacket, and practice short, quick conversations 

Most try not to talk to you for very long - which you don’t mind; small talk isn’t really your thing and it’s hard to connect with others when they are displaying the emotions that you find hard to grasp 

You find comfort in the repetitious actions of your day. The few things that always come up and need attending to, there is no stress there and so you can get it done quickly. Luckily, your profession doesn’t give you many opportunities to communicate with others. You show up, do what you need to, and leave. It’s proficient, the work that you can accomplish so no one complains, other than to suggest you be a bit warmer (a comment which sets your bones on fire). 

The benefit of your personality means that if anyone needs to hear the truth, you are the best person for the job. You state what needs to be said and move on, resolute like the mountain you tell people what you see. It's the way you’ve always been, and the way you always will be. 

There is one person who perpetually seemed to appreciate your honesty, telling you stories and listening to your earnest reaction to them: Zhongli. His patience and interest in you was a shock to everyone, including yourself, and as he started to share his feelings for you - it took you a while to reciprocate them. Though, when you did he felt the happiest man in all of Teyvat. 

It was hard for you to tell him how you felt, to ease his mind that you held feelings for him - so you found yourself getting closer to him. Standing at his side, holding onto his clothes, or resting your hand in his. Placing a hand against his arm - lingering longer than you would with anyone else and at times forgetting that you were doing it in the first place 

He thought it was endearing, the way you hung around him. If he went on a walk, you were sure to be there, if he read a book, you were following close behind, if he was anywhere he knew you’d be there too - at this point, you were a fixture in his life - a fixture he would treasure for all eternity 

Zhongli wandered through the streets of Liyue, a checklist in hand and yours in the other. You had found him earlier in the day and decided to tag along; even though you weren’t sure how much you could help other than carrying a few items for him. He had several things to collect for a funeral ceremony: incense, flowers, tapestries, and the like. It kept his whole afternoon busy, and, even though he was told to keep the expenses to a minimum, he was choosing rather costly options which he explained, “best suited the life which was to be celebrated.” 

When he made it back to the parlor and settled all the items down in their proper place. He assists you with the ones in your hand.

“Your assistance today was invaluable.” He commented, reaching for the items and placing them on the table in front of him. When he finished, he leaned in and placed a kiss against your cheek and admired the way you reacted. Confused, unsure, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. 

“It was nothing …” You mumble, for a person who already had a hard time finding the right words, he had a knack for making that skill fall to the bottom of the ocean. 

It didn’t matter what others thought about you, Zhongli’s opinion was always the most important and he loved you, every day, every night, through all lifetime: he loved you 

Albedo

There isn’t a day that goes by when you aren’t around, whatever is happening in the Knights of Favonius, out in the field, you’re there - ready to go 

Even though most find it hard to talk with you, considering your natural facial expression is off-putting: the way your mouth turns into a frown when it’s at rest, the disinterested eyes and generally bored features as you go about your day - you still seem to offer support in whatever way you can, so they do their best to let you be 

Shifting through the papers in front of you, your jaw moving as you focus gives the impression that you are upset to even be here. Still, you diligently organize the papers where they need to go, jot down notes and requests which still need to be fulfilled. You’ll probably hand those requests to Sucrose when you’re done, she seems to always be okay with your disposition and doesn’t get the wrong impression. 

It’s warm, the summer sun is beating down onto the building and making the rooms get a bit toastier than normal. So, you run your hands over your neck and fan yourself to cool down which gives you a moment to look around. Though there is only one thing that catches your attention, and that’s the Chief Alchemist who is busy with his work in the corner. It’s the only spot he will gravitate back to, and if you could, you’d invade it every chance you could get. 

Instead, to keep yourself together, you sigh and return to the work in front of you. 

You loved Albedo, you had for so long that to be on the receiving end of his attention was stronger than the heat from the sun, more overwhelming than standing in a crowded room, and as rejuvenating as much needed sleep

It was the last thing that you imagined - him falling for you - because most people have a hard time conversing with you, so the fact that he was able to get to know you, the real you, was a miracle 

Albedo never once looked at you with eyes other than compassion and kindness and he seems to know that your intense affections - when they do slip from your grasp - are stronger than the words that seem to come across as unclear 

The day was coming to a close and even though most everyone had left, you stayed in the room. It was some of the only times you could have a moment alone with the alchemist, and since he was bound to continue working late into the evenings, it was the perfect opportunity. 

Setting your items down onto the counter, you moved toward him. His hands moved quickly over the blackboard as he jotted down notes and drew small diagrams. Watching him as he drew was an activity you rather enjoyed, he was unbelievably talented in more ways than one. 

Slowly, you slid your arms around his waist and rested your head on his back. He's short, but you don’t mind, he’s the perfect size to hold for you. You feel his hand move your own, his thumb slipping to rest against the inner side of your wrist. The only sound that fills the room is his scribbles as the chalk scrapes across the board in a steady rhythm. 

He has never once pushed you away. This physical contact that you sometimes drown him in is always welcome, plus it’s gotten better and if it means he can continue to work while you get what you need, he’s onboard. 

You hear him whisper to himself, mouthing out the words he’s just written and thinking out loud what the next steps will be. There is a lull in the movements of his writing, his arm hovers in front of the board and you shift to rest your head on his shoulder to watch what he is doing. When he finally figures out the answer, your head rocks as he continues his notation. 

Diluc

The level of intimidation that seeped from the two of you as you walked through the streets was incredible - people already felt the disinterested and irritated eyes of the bachelor of Mondstadt was enough, but to add yours to the mix - archons … 

Since both of you were naturally closed off, stunted in your ability to show affection, emotion, it was a wonder how you were able to come to terms with your feelings

Diluc started to notice how you were around more than before, how you would offer to help around the winery or the bar, and if it were possible, how you stood right at his side --- you started to notice how his touch lingered, when he thanked you with a pat on the shoulder but kept his hand there, or when he stepped behind you, resting his hand against your back to let you know that he was there and taking his time removing it when he was done

The two of you had it bad, even if you couldn’t see it - the rest of the town did 

You were lost in thought, as you normally were. It had rained recently and the smell still lingered on the stones which passed under your feet. That subtle musky smell mixing with the flowers that climbed the building walls made you feel at home. Mondstadt became your home years ago, even if it took a while for others to accept you and the guards to leave you alone. Especially that Cavalry Captain, he seemed to be the most curious to your arrival but after seeing that your disposition had nothing to do with potential devious actions, he left you be. 

Though, he still seemed to be around since most nights you found him at the bar of Angel’s Share. He explained how entertaining it was to have two unhappy-looking bartenders tend to his whims. His goal was to make you smile, to make you crack, and to see just what type of expression you could make. He’d have to wait a long time because the only person who could flip the corners of your mouth was the red-headed pyro user whose expression was a mirror of your own. 

Citizens spread rumors about the moment under the streetlights where Diluc and Y/N smiled. They make jokes about how the action was so powerful it birthed a thousand stars in the sky. You sigh every time you hear these stories and continue as if it’s not happening. 

Diluc was a private person, and so were you - so it was fortunate that the two of you shared your interest in one another by just being in the same space 

Tied at the hip they would say, tethered by fate

You hated being away from him for longer than a few hours and he couldn’t stand the thought of not being at your side - so, for the most part, that’s where you two always were

It was a busy day, the patrons were more hectic than normal and it was likely due to the new drink Diluc developed a few days earlier. He didn’t expect it to be so popular, especially since it was a non-alcoholic beverage, but the sales spoke for themselves. 

You made your way down the stairs and he tracked you. Placing a cup back on its wrung before turning his attention back to you. The way you dried your hands with your apron as you - with almost an irritated expression, though he knew you better than that - walked up to check on the rowdy party near the back. Luckily, their inebriated states distracted them from the movement of your hand to press the bridge of your nose. You’d been working for hours now and he was sure you were starting to get tired. 

When you made your way behind the bar, you got to work on the drinks and he watched how diligently you worked. Setting the glasses on the counter, pouring the alcohol and mixers, the way the liquid made its way through the ice cubes and changed colors as they combined. You’d picked up this skill so quickly, he found it hard to believe that you had never done this before. 

You dropped the drinks off at the table and returned, jotting down notes on the order sheet before closing it and slipping it inside your apron. Stopping on the other side of him, you leaned against the bar, your hand gripping onto the edge and eyes trailing up to the second floor. 

Words didn’t need to be shared between the two of you. He knew ...you knew, it was the way you communicated and through your glances, your body language, your closeness, nothing was ever left unsaid. He took a few steps toward you and placed his hand over yours. The heat that spread over your skin eased the ache in your legs, relieved the weight on your eyes, and made your chest warm. You closed your eyes, sighed, and smiled slightly. 

As the sounds from the patrons filled the bar, Diluc’s hand covered your own and for as long as time allowed, the two of you took a breath in each other's company. 

--- 

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[seita]

the contract girlfriend | semi eita (m.)

˒ pairing: semi eita/reader ˒ genre: angst, fluff, smut ˒ wordcount: 𝟺𝟹𝟹𝟷 ˒ tags: friends2lovers, fake dating, musician!eita ˒ cw: dirty talk, loss of virginity, virgin kink if u squint: sweet talking, pet names, mean girl ex, mutual pining, unrequited love(?), angst with a happy ending, UNEDITED

+ note: this is a collab along with the other writers for the kkc! i would also like to thank @bokutobabie​ 𝖿for her help with this plot bc it was kickin’ my ass.

˖˖ summary: when he was an unknown musician, his girlfriend left him. now that he’s made it, he wants to make her jealous at a fancy party so he can get her back.unfortunately, he asks you to be his fake date. the downside? you have a very real crush on him.

⇦ back to navigation.

collab masterlist!

© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.

“I have a proposition,” is never a sentence you want to hear when you sit down to lunch with your best friend. Especially when that friend is Semi Eita. 

“What..?” you ask apprehensively, taking the cup of coffee he’d obviously gotten to bribe you. You took it regardless, not willing to pass up the offer of free coffee.

“Nana is gonna be at the party this weekend,” he muttered, swirling his fingertips around the rim of his cup. You felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach at his words, “I want you to come and pretend to be my date.”

Just as you’d expected. Not something you wanted to hear.

Nana was Eita’s first love, his first serious relationship, really. They got together when he was fresh out of highschool, the two of them spending almost all of their time together. 

It was when his career as a musician was just beginning, he was playing small gigs and there was nothing really successful. But he was happy. And he thought she was too.

Until she dumped him in favor of a much more famous man. He was a big movie producer and offered her a leading role in an upcoming film. Of course, she took the offer. 

She would much rather be mingling with the rich and famous than be hanging out with “a nobody like him”, as she put it. You remembered the hurt Eita felt, the tears and heartbreak it took almost 3 years for him to get over. 

“Why?” you finally asked with a sigh, “What will that accomplish?”

“Well if she gets jealous, she might want to get back with me,” he grinned impishly, shrugging his shoulders like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You recognized the look in his eyes, one of determination. So you sighed, nodding your head, “Alright, I’ll be your date.”

He beamed, uttering out endless thanks to you as you went on with your lunch until he decided to go back to the studio. He slipped his hat on low, making sure his mask was in place before hugging your goodbye and leaving you sitting alone at the table. 

You sighed, downing the last of your coffee. Your spirits were low; you had no idea what to expect from this party. 

Would she fall for it and run back into his arms now that he had had his big breakthrough and became mainstream? She surely must have known by now; his band was already breaking records, wracking up fans by the thousands, his songs were being played on the radio. 

Maybe now that he was famous enough, she’d actually want to be with him. Not that she deserved him. And he didn’t deserve someone like that, either. He was too good for her, too good to be treated like that. 

You let out another sigh and stood up, grabbing your purse from the back of the chair.

This was going to be painful. You weren’t sure how you would cope with pretending to be his girlfriend all for the sake of him getting back with her. 

Surely your heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

Because as much as you tried to hide it, you were irrevocably in love with your best friend.

The entire getup was supplied to you by Eita; from the jewelry to the dress itself. You felt like a different person. Despite the fact he was your best friend, you hadn’t attended one of the big parties since his band’s breakout single. 

This particular party wasn’t in celebration of his band, but he was invited regardless so naturally he went. He was still enjoying the high life and was getting used to tasting fame. You were glad it hadn’t actually affected his personality. 

“You look nice today,” Tendou complimented with a breezy smile. He was nursing a glass of champagne, which was uncharacteristic to say the least. He had always been more of a whiskey kind of guy.

“Thanks,” you shrugged, “I’m not really a fan of this kind of thing.”

“I know,” he grinned, “You look terribly uncomfortable, that’s why I came over to be such a good pal and keep you company while your darling boyfriend is off galavanting with the people!”

You rolled your eyes, “He’s not my boyfriend, Satori.”

He giggled, taking glee in your embarrassment, “But you wish he was.”

“Are you already drunk?” you raise a brow, making him snicker.

Someone called his name from the crowd and he flashed you a knowing grin, “Eita may be too dim to see it, but the rest of us aren’t!”

You pout and find yourself alone once again. Looking around, you search for your ‘boyfriend’. Suddenly, a heavy arm falls across your shoulders and the familiar scent of his cologne reaches your nose. 

“Hey, babygirl,” he coos, making your heart skip a beat at the pet name. He sounds so fond and you feel yourself smiling before he busts out laughing, shaking his head before letting his arm fall from your shoulders, “That’s just so weird. I dunno if I’ll be able to get through this tonight,” Ouch. “Anyway, Nana just arrived so…” he takes your hand but you can’t bring yourself to smile as you feel the ache in your heart at his words.

If he takes note of your deflated behavior, he doesn’t say anything, merely leading you over to the balcony. You breathe in the fresh air and feel the ache in your chest dull.

“Eita? Is that you?” a perky voice makes you cringe. 

“Nana,” Eita breathes, tugging you against his side as she breaks through the crowd to stand in front of the two of you.

Her smile promptly disappears at the sight of you crowded in Eita’s arms.

“Eita...who’s this?” she asks, a smile returning but you can tell it’s plastic. 

You remembered everything you had gone over with him before the party; the two of you had sat down for a few hours to sort out your story and rules. It had felt like you were making a binding contract with him when you told him no kissing on the lips. It was your only stipulation and you swore you saw a brief downward tug of his lips when you told him before he beamed and readily agreed. 

Maybe you were imagining that disappointment in his eyes too. 

“This is my girlfriend, _____,” Eita introduced, giving your arm an affectionate squeeze.

“Oh,” she gave you a strained smile and held out her hand for you to shake. When you slipped your hand into hers, she gave it a tense squeeze that made you flinch, “I’m Nana, Eita’s ex.”

“I’ve uh…” you cleared your throat and pulled your hand away, “I’ve heard stories about you.”

“All good I’m sure,” she replied flippantly before setting her sights on him once more, “We should totally catch up, you know? Reminisce about the good old times~”

The sultry, flirtatious undertone made your skin crawl. Even if you weren’t really dating, she thought you were and for her to not respect that made you angry. But still, Eita pulled away and placed a kiss against your temple that set your heart ablaze.

“Sure, why not?” he grinned and gave your hand a squeeze, “You go have some fun, sweetheart. I’ll catch up with you later.”

You gave him a hollow wave as he quickly vanished into the crowd without a second glance your way. You knew this was the end goal but still, to see him walking away hurt. A sense of rejection was seeded within you and you felt your spirits slowly being crushed. 

It took all your power to continue on with the party until it felt acceptable to leave. Throughout the party, you kept getting glances of the two of them. 

Eita wore a serene smile, his eyes sparkling as he looked at her. Whenever she looked at him with a flirtatious smile and a subtle caress, you felt jealousy pool in the core of your stomach. You wanted to march over there and scream “he’s mine!”. But you couldn’t, because he wasn’t really yours. 

He was only pretending to be yours so he could have her. 

Your phone vibrated as you downed your final glass of wine, making you look at the screen with a frown.

“I’m heading to Nana’s apartment for the night! See if Satori can give you a ride home, thanks for the help!!”

Your jaw ached from how hard you were forcing yourself to keep from crying. When you tried to find the elusive redhead, you found he was drunk and dancing with two girls so you decided to leave him be and simply call an Uber. 

For just a short time, you had simply been a contract girlfriend for him to use. Though you knew it was fake, it still felt so nice to be called his. 

So you went home, removing your expensive clothing like Cinderella after the ball and decided to relax on the couch. It was only a little past midnight when you got out of the shower, turning on the TV to watch whatever late night nonsense was playing. 

Eita thought that being with Nana again would be everything he wanted. But as he laid beside her, her head resting on his naked chest, strangely all he could think of was you. 

When he asked you to pretend to be his date, he hadn’t thought of the possibility of how it would really feel. Sure, he had touched you before, naturally. Sometimes he hugged you and held your hand. But that night, when he placed the kiss against your head, the way your eyes lit up in response had his heart stuttering when he thought back to it. 

Truth be told, when you told him he couldn’t kiss you he felt so...disappointed. He had thought of assigning the same rule but decided against it at the last moment, secretly thinking about how nice it may feel to kiss you. 

He had quickly dashed that though because of how wrong it was to think of you like that. 

Yet there he was, thinking of you with his ex girlfriend back in his arms again.

“Eita?” Nana asked, lifting her head to look drowsily at him, “Are you okay?”

“Um...yeah,” he clears his throat, “I should probably get going.”

“Why?” she whines, “Don’t worry about her.”

“Huh? Who?” he asks, confused.

She giggles and clings to his arm, “Your girlfriend! She doesn’t have to know!”

His heart ached at those words -- true, you weren’t really dating but he felt like he had done something wrong. And for some reason Nana’s blatant disregard that he had cheated with her made him nauseous.

“I...I just want to see if she made it home safely,” he gave her a tight lipped smile and picked up his phone. 

She rested against the pillow, head propped up on her hand as she watched him dial you. When you didn’t answer, he gave a frustrated sigh and dialed Satori instead. 

It rang a few times before the slurred voice of his best friend answered, “H-Hey man, what’s up?”

“Satori, did you drop _____ off okay?” Eita asked.

The redhead made a confused sound over the line, “What’re you talkin’ about? She never asked me to take her anywhere.”

“What?” Eita frowned, “Did you see her leave the party?”

“Gotta tell ya, man, I wasn’t watchin’ her,” Tendou replied, a feminine giggle in the background making Eita frown, “Wasn’t that supposed to be your job?”

Eita sighed, shaking his head, “Alright, dude, just...let me know if you hear from her.”

“Hah? Why would she call me?” Satori chuckled, “Why don’t you just check on her? Better safe than sorry...I mean, she’s a cute girl, you never know what kinda scoundrels were eyeing her in that pretty little dress tonight. If i was a less honorable friend, she would be the one in my bed right now!”

Eita scoffed and hung up as his friend started cackling gleefully over the line. Eita stood up, shaking off Nana’s grabby hands as he slipped his jeans back on.

“You’re not going back to her, are you?” she pouted.

Eita sighed, “I gotta check on her. No one knows where she went off to.”

“She’s a big girl, c’mon Eita~” she purred, letting the sheet fall from her bare body as she crawled towards him.

He shook his head and threw his shirt on, grabbing his keys off of her dresser before moving to the door, “I gotta see her.”

He ignored her obnoxious whining as he bolted out the door. Any sleepiness that was in his system had evaporated at the worry he felt over you. 

The drive to your apartment was quick enough, it went by in a blur. He took two steps at a time up to your place on the 3r floor, not patient enough to wait for the elevator. 

The knock on your door made you jump. Throwing the pillow you held in your lap aside, you checked through the peephole to see a familiar head of sandy blonde hair. 

Pulling the door opened, you looked at him with wide eyes, “Eita? Aren’t you supposed to be with--”

“I couldn’t get a hold of you,” he breathed, stepping past you to enter your living room.

“And?” you laughed, shrugging your shoulders.

“I got worried! Why didn’t you go home with Satori?” he sighed, sitting on your couch with a huff.

You chuckled again, though it was humorless, “He looked like he was having fun, I didn’t want to impose.”

He sighs and relaxes against the couch. As you sit next to him, for a second things feel normal. 

You almost feel okay, as if you could forget about everything happening. It’s so easy to forget your crush on your best friend and the fact he wanted to be with another woman. 

It was easy to forget it all until it came rushing back into your face in the form of Nana. 

You and Eita were having a lunch date, as was normal for the two of you. Unfortunately, amid his retelling of a story you had heard a million times over, she showed up with an obnoxious screech of his name.

“Eita!” she squealed and rushed over to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. 

You let out a soft sigh, your eyes falling to your half-finished plate.

“Nana…” he greeted, eyes wide in shock, “H-How did you find me? What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you, silly!” she chirped, taking a seat in his lap in a way that was far too comfortable. Suddenly, her gaze shifted to you and the smile vanished off of her face, “Oh, you’re here.”

“Nana…” Eita sighed but didn’t make any move to get off of him.

“What? I thought you were going to break up with her?” she whined loudly, making your cheeks burn as people looked over at the two of you, “You said you were going to dump her!”

“I--” Eita started.

“You should go,” Nana grinned at you, shrugging her shoulders as she hugged Eita closer to her, “Seriously, he’s mine now. He was fucking me at that party instead of you.”

Although nothing about your relationship that night was real, the humiliation you felt at that very moment was. She was smug that she had gotten your boyfriend to cheat on you and was making a spectacle of her victory. 

Biting your lip, you reached behind you to grab your purse, “I-I’ll see you later, Eita.”

“______ wait!” he called but you were already rushing towards the entrance. 

You had no idea that he was hot on your heels until you reached your apartment. You went to close it only for the foot to intercept it. Looking over your shoulder, you found Eita panting before he was pushing the door open completely.

“_____ I--” he paused, “Why are you crying?”

“I am?” you wiped under your eyes and frowned when you felt the moisture there, promptly wiping it away, “Sh-She completely made a fool of me, Eita. I don’t know what you ever saw in her and I don’t know why I helped you get back with her.”

“I know, look…” he ran a hand through his already messed up hair, “I feel the same, alright? I’m sorry I pulled you into all this, _____, I really am. Alright, I told her to get lost.”

You sighed and took a seat on your couch, “She only wanted you back because you’re famous now. You know that right?”

He chuckled and sat down, nodding his head, “I guess I was just...hoping for something I guess.”

“What?” you asked.

He shrugged, “I don’t really remember anymore,” he confessed. 

“Well,” you didn’t quite know what to say, simply leaning back on the couch to appear relaxed, “I always wondered why you didn’t date after her anyway.”

He shrugged once more. How was he meant to say that he didn’t want anyone impeding on his time with you? 

“I guess...no one really came along, you know?”

You nodded, “I guess it’s the same for me.”

He snorted, “You’ve never even dated anyone before.”

“You don’t have to bring that up!” you whined, playfully shoving his shoulder.

He laughed, melodic and pretty, “I think it’s cute. What’s your story then?”

“Eita, we’ve been friends since high school, you know everything about me,” you smiled, feeling your cheeks warm at the soft look he was giving you.

“Yeah but…” he bit his lip, fingers inching closer towards you, “You’re...pretty and sweet. There’s plenty of good looking guys around me that have tried flirting with you before. Hell, Satori even said he was into you.”

You smiled and shook your head, “No, none of them are right…”

“Who is right then?” he asked, unable to hide the hopefulness in his voice.

“Eita…” the smile falls from your lips, your heart hammering in your chest as he moved closer towards you, “I…”

“Hm?” he hummed, his nose brushing against yours, breath fanning over your lips.

“I...I won’t regret this, will I?” you asked. 

His breathing stuttered against your skin and he shook his head, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, “You won’t.”

After those words left his mouth, he brought your lips to his in a sweet kiss that was perfect for a first. You could tell he was experienced, knowing exactly how to move. 

There was something sweet lingering on his tongue that you found utterly addictive. 

You wish you could find it strange or even scary to wind up in bed with your best friend. The fact your entire relationship was going to be changing should have concerned you but all you felt was anticipation. 

He hovered over your body, the two of you stripping your clothes with unhurried ease. His body was firm from working out, a habit he never let go of from his time as a volleyball player. 

His hands were calloused and warm as they touched your body, caressing your breasts in a way no one ever had. The feeling of him thumbing over your nipples had your back arching in arousal, your panties becoming soaked embarrassingly fast. 

He was hard and throbbing in his jeans, the constricting material almost painful but all he really cared about in that moment was seeing all of you. 

Hooking his thumbs into the band of your panties, he pulled the material down. He cursed under his breath at the strings of slick that attached to the fabric. 

“You’re so wet,” he breathed, licking his lips as he tossed your panties over his shoulder to be lost somewhere in your room. 

“Sh-Shut up, don’t tease me…” you mumble, feeling embarrassed by your body’s own reaction to him.

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss against your knee, “I’m not, baby. It’s sweet...I love knowing you react so honestly to me.”

“Eita…” you whined, reaching up to cover your face as he spread your legs.

“Hmm?” he bites his lip, sliding two fingers between your folds to spread them apart. 

Your hole clenched around nothing, drooling more slick for him to gather on his fingertips. He used it to rub smooth circles around your clit, the sweet moan that fell from your lips at the pleasure he so easily gave you. 

“I’ll get you nice and prepped, baby,” he cooed, the nickname making your heart soar. 

You were so wet, making it easy for him to slide two thick fingers into your pretty cunt. You clamped down tight around the digits, making his cock throb at the mere thought of what that would feel like around his hard cock. 

Twisting his wrist, he crooked his fingers up to hit your sweet spot, his thumb coming up to circle around your clit. The inexperience of your body made it so easy for him to bring you to the edge. 

You had never felt this, no one had ever touched you so intimately so your body was more reactive than ever. 

Reaching down, you wrapped your hand around his wrist, meeting his gaze with wide eyes. He smiled, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You cumming?” he asked, though he could very easily feel your walls spasming around him. 

Still, you nodded, mouth falling open but no sound escaping, “E-Eita…”

“C’mon, baby,” he groaned, fasting his pace to fuck your dripping cunt. The sounds were wet, lewd and if you were with anyone else you would have been completely ashamed. But it was Eita, the person you trusted the most in the world. He groaned as your body began to quake, “Let it go, pretty girl. Cum for me, that’s it.”

At his encouragement, you released with a shrill whine of his name. He eagerly fucked your gushing cunt through the high, only slowing when your back met the bed again. 

Pulling his fingers from your hole, he was mindful of your sensitivity. He still couldn’t resist placing a fleeting kiss against your throbbing clit before sitting up to meet you for another heated kiss. 

Your body was still trembling as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your thighs spread open around his waist. His clothed cock hovered above your sensitive core and he made sure the rough material of his jeans didn’t make contact.

“Please, Eita, c-can we…?” you asked, biting your lip, too embarrassed to utter the words.

He smiled and nodded, brushing some hair behind your ear before sitting up to discard the remaining clothing on his person. His skin was pretty, tanned and built. His cock reached his navel, dripping precum down the length which he used to easily slick his cock up with his fist. 

The sight of your best friend jerking himself off over your naked, trembling body felt beyond taboo. But it only made you more eager to have him. 

“Please, Eita...I want you,” you breathed. 

He flashed you a smile and sat up on his knees, sliding the dripping tip between your folds. Brushing past your clit, you whined at the sensitivity. 

“It might hurt a bit, pretty baby,” he whispered, positioning himself at your entrance. 

You had already guessed it. He was big just by looking at him. But nothing compared to when he began to sink into you -- that’s when his size really became apparent. 

“Ah, Eita!” you whined, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He hissed but didn’t stop you, eyes falling to where his cock was steadily stretching you open. When he got halfway in, he pulled back until the head remained within your clasping walls. With an experienced roll of his hips, he pushed his cock back in, this time easily bottoming out. 

“Fuck!” you squealed, back arching. 

He could feel you gushing, dripping down his balls. There wasn’t a single sign of pain in your features so he quickly began to move, the both of you riled up and eager to have each other completely. 

Everything felt so right, so sweet. Having him in your arms made you feel so happy. 

“You’re mine now, baby,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck, “All mine. N-No more, fuck, of this friend shit...I love you.”

“Eita,” you whined, tears pricking your eyes as you hugged him tightly against you, “I love you too. P-Please make me cum.”

“Fuck, I’ll get you there, baby,” he promised, reaching between your bodies to find your clit. Your walls immediately clamped tight around him as he played with your little bud, “C’mon. Cum for me. I wanna feel you cream, pretty baby. Can you do that for me? Show me how good this cock makes you cum.”

His filthy words, whispered in his sweet, deep voice were enough to throw you over the edge. As you squeezed around him, trembling and gushing through the amazing orgasm, he spilled within you. A soft whimper of your name fell from his lips as his balls throbbed, cock spitting out load after load until you were so filled, it dripped from your cunt. 

Finally, the both of you stilled. He leaned back to look in your eyes, tucking some damp hair behind your ear before pecking your lips. 

“I meant it, you really are mine now,” he said.

You nodded, “You’re all mine too.”

“Well,” he gave you a teasing grin, “You have to share me with my millions of adoring fans.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” you giggled, biting your lip as he pulled out, “You have thousands at most.”

“Oh, way to bruise a guy’s ego,” he laughed.

You were grateful to have him, everything with him was so easy. Everything between you was fine, perfect even. And you didn’t have to worry about ever losing him to another girl again.

[vicious-vixxxen]

Drabble Interest Check #1

So just a quick recap, refer to my previous post for a more in depth explanation- I wanna start sharing some drabbles I write more off of a whim, when idea’s hit me really suddenly, and I just start writing them down, and they never turn into much afterwards.  But, I thought if I shared them with you guy’s, maybe they’d prompt some inspo to request more, to turn them into full fics, with a full story- as most of my drabbles spawn from me thinking of one specific scenario, and building off of it a bit until I get to a drabble length- or more, as this one is nearly 2K lol don’t ask me how, I was super into it as I was writing.  Or urge me to try and and add a real start and finish to them, so put out as full fic’s myself. I also think these drabbles will give you a guys a better idea of what I like to write, what I'm willing to write, and what I'm open to writing. As my drabbles usually hit more angst and nsfw/kink notes. ‘Problematic’ or otherwise. I’ll add some notes to the end of the fic to give an idea of what I had in mind with this drabble, and go more in depth on that. But here it is, I'm actually very proud of this one, and hope to figure out how to finish it at some point.  Established Enji Todoroki X Male!Reader Additionally: Natsuo Todoroki x Male!Reader angst, unrequited love (or is it? ;3))

Shuffling into the kitchen, you grimaced as the carpet turned to cold, hard tile below your feet- wrapping your arms around yourself as you did your best to stay quiet, rummaging around the Todoroki kitchen for some snacks. You’d woken up restless, your stomach growling, and after prying yourself from underneath Enji’s death grip, you’d worked up quite the appetite. The soft sizzle of pork on the stove could be heard soon enough. Not too loud, but that, alongside the soft beeping of the rice cooker, and the delicious scent of your cooking wafting across the lower levels of the house, are what woke Natsuo from a fitful sleep. Rubbing both of his eyes with his fists, Natsuo yawned. Brow lifted in question as he sniffed the air, and checked the clock. Who the hell was cooking at two in the morning?

 Legs swinging off the bed, he stuffed his feet in his house shoes, and set off towards the kitchen. Yawning as he went, lifting up his shirt briefly to rub at his stomach, as he came to a stop in the kitchen doorway. The scents pouring out of it pulling a soft moan from his lips, his stomach twisting with want.

Though not just for food anymore. Not when he saw you moving swiftly around the kitchen, like you’d cooked there your whole life. Trying to be silent, but humming under your breath quietly. Clad in nothing but a pair of sleep shorts...and one of Natsuo’s fathers much larger shirts. The younger Todoroki resisted the urge to roll his eyes, ignoring the steering jealousy that raged within him, in favor of whistling lowly, catching your eye, and offering you a shake of his head, and a soft smile as he moved around the island, towards you. You had enough sense to at least look apologetic, though Natsuo quickly shrugged it off, coming around to inspect your cooking briefly, before allowing himself to be dragged into a hug by you. Something he could vaguely recall being off put by, the first time his father had introduced you to them all. Your affection. Your ability to be so close in so little time. Trusting, caring, sweet, kind. Intimate touch of any kind was something Natsuo had rejected all his life- well, when he could start rejecting it- as his own advances for comfort and touch as a child had been snuffed out quickly. Point being, it had taken him a while for him to come around to you being so...hands on, with him. Seeing you be so hands on with his siblings. It settled something, deep within himself, he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge even existed, but it helped. It helped a lot. Though now, Natsuo rationed quietly in his own mind...now maybe he took things too far. His hands slung around your waist, your arms around Natsuo’s neck- hands in his soft, white hair, face in the boy's neck, where it would usually be pressed to Enji’s chest. You and Natsuo were almost the same height, though Natsuo had you beat on mass- taking after his father already, broad shouldered: muscular. Handsome. He was going to be a fine young man some day...he already was, really. An uncomfortable flip of your stomach followed as Natsuo nuzzled into your neck- and you were quick to pull back slowly after, patting the boys chest with a smile, looking up at him through your lashes briefly, before turning to the stove to flip the cuts of pork in the pan. “Are you hungry?” You whispered, almost conspiratorially, grinning as Natsuo blushed, laughing under his breath, before nodding. “Good. Grab two bowls, it’s almost finished.” You both ate in relative silence, only your contented sighs, and Natsuo’s soft affirmations of how good the food was. As always. You even had Fuyumi beat when it came to certain dishes. Though he’d never tell his sister that. When the food was gone, and all that were left were empty plates, you lead Natsuo back to the large family room, adjacent to the kitchen, both of you taking seats on either side of the love seat/ feet tangled together under a blanket you threw over you both, before dissolving into random, half asleep conversation. Stomachs full, bodies warm, and pliable. Your eyes closed as you recalled something from your childhood- natsuo suddenly wide awake, as his eyes drifted down over your neck, counting your freckles, and blushing as His fathers shirt rode down far enough to see some of your chest hair, and the definition between your pecs. God you were handsome, Natsuo thought, consumed with the need to lean over and press his face info your chest. Rip his fathers shirt off of you, and swaddle you in one of his collegiate sweatshirts instead. It would keep you warm so much better. Plus, Natsuo thought suddenly, heatedly: you’d just look good in something of his. The icy blue of Natsuo’s color palette reflected in your eyes. God... “Natsuo?” You called across to him, snapping the younger man out of his daydreaming- a deep crimson flushing down over his pale cheeks, as the younger Todoroki averted his gaze, and rubbed at his neck. “Sorry, I just...I got...I was somewhere else, for a moment. I apologize.” Natsuo finally stuttered out gruffly, staring off at the corner of the wall, trying to calm his thoughts. But they were swarming now, insistent, /fiery/, burning up his chest, and his mind. “It’s alright, I-“ “why-“ Natsuo caught himself, biting his tongue as he cut you off, feeling embarrassed. You paused, smiling and shaking your head as you motioned for the man to continue. 

“....why are you with my father?” Natsuo finally asked. Voice soft, hesitant. But firm enough that it was clear he was demanding an answer this time. Because he’d asked this very same question just weeks after first meeting you. When you’d fixed the young man with a knowing gaze, rested a hand on his chest, and simply said “because I like him”. Natsuo couldn’t fathom anyone so much as tolerating his father, let alone liking him. So it was a bit jarring, to say the least. “Do we really have to go over this again?” Ah, Natsuo thought. So you remembered that too. “My father could live a thousand lives atoning for what he’s done, and it would never be enough to deserve someone like you,” Natsuo said, voice heavier now, a little louder, breaking the quiet space you’d created there on the sofa together. Gaze directly on you now. Your eyes. Your gorgeous eyes that looked at his father with such admiration, that it made Natsuo ill sometimes to bear witness to it. “You are not the sole keeper of your fathers misgivings, Natsuo. He hasn’t just hurt you. Whether you choose to see and actively acknowledge the man he’s trying to become, is on you, and I won’t force your hand or try and tell you how you should feel. But don’t question my love for your father, because it’s just that: mine.” You matched the young man's tone, voice even, and soft, yet affirmative- leaving no room for argument. Though Natsuo seemed to want to test that. “So you love the old man then, huh? You really love him?” Natsuo urged, sitting up suddenly, much closer now as you stared. “Not that it is any of your business, but yes, Natsuo, yes. I’m in love with your father, and I see myself living a long and happy life with him. Getting married, settling down, having-“ “having what? Kids?!” Natsuo questioned, eyes wide as he stared at you. You paused, wondering if this was a conversation you should be having with Enji at your side. Natsuo was sweet, and soft spoken- when it was with anyone who wasn’t his father, that is, since that usually resulted in a shouting match between the two. Now though, he was feeling combative apparently- questioning your decisions, which you didn’t appreciate in the slightest. “Please tell me you’re not stupid enough to want to have /children/ with that man?” Natsuo urged, half desperate, half pleading, as he sat up on his knees, nearly towering over you now as you looked down on you. “Watch. Your. Tone.” You warned him, sitting up so you were on even level again, noses nearly brushing as you did so. “Your father may put up with your snippy, accusatory remarks because he thinks allowing you to walk over him will somehow bring you two closer together, but I sure as fuck won’t.” Your cursing nearly made Natsuo flinch out of pure guilt, but he stood his ground. “You’re fooling yourself if you think he’d be any different with your kids. Look at how we turned out! Is that what you want for your own children? A childhood of solicitude and abuse, to feel unwanted, and uncared for? To wonder every night when they go to bed why their father doesn’t love them?! Is that what you want!” Natsuo was shouting now, panic rising in his throat, and you suddenly felt wholly unprepared for this conversation. “I’ll be damned if I allow that sorry excuse of a man and a father, to think about bringing up new children. Robbing you of your chance to have a real partner by your side. Someone to help you care for, and love your children. You...you deserve so much better than him, I don’t understand.” Natsuo was holding back tears now, chest heaving as he breathed, and you couldn’t take it. Gathering him up in your arms, you brought the man in for a tight hug. Cradling him in, and rubbing his back as he began to cry, mumbling nonsense into your neck as you just held him, and closed your eyes, willing back your own tears as you bared witness to something for the first time: the result of Enji’s fathering. Or, your brain offered up weakly: the lack thereof. Even more so...his abuse. Here you were, experiencing the aftermath first hand, and it made your heart hurt so deeply, and your mind race. You wanted to beat the shit out of Enji for doing this to Natsuo, but what could be done about it now? Enji was trying, he was trying so hard every day. But Natsuo was clinging to his hate, and his anger, and his fears, and who were you to tell him he should let them go? At least this way, you rationalized, you could be there for him when they became too much. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Im sorry,” you whispered into his hair, raking your fingers through it as Natsuo shuddered through another sob, and shook his head in your chest. “I'm so sorry, Natsuo. I’m so, so sorry.” He mumbled something then, body tense, refusing to be pulled back to see your face, even as you tried. “What?” You asked quietly, tilting your head to hear him better. “Do you love /us/?” ‘Me’. Do you love me he’d asked first, you realized, and your heart beat sped up as you did your best to squeeze Natsuo impossibly tighter- head in his hair as you nodded. “I love you all so much. Fuyumi, Shoto. I have love for your mother, and for Toya. And I love you, Natsuo, I love you so much. I’m honored to be able to call you my family now. I do love you,” you reassured him, shushing him quietly through a new set of sobs, before tensing when Natsuo suddenly sat up, hot breath and humid, tear stains cheeks ghosting across your face as icy grey eyes met yours. He was nearly panting with the effort to stop his crying, clearly looking for something as he stared at you, before he was leaning forward and smashing your lips together in a heated, desperate kiss.

thus concludes the drabble, now on to the end notes lol

So yeah, that’s it lol, lemme know what you guys think? The plan for this originally was to have some sort of double todoroki x male!reader endgame, where he’d end up with both Enji and Natsuo, by some means. Though not without a fair bit more angst thrown in. Arguments, fighting, etc etc. But I did wanna have them all three be endgame someway or another.  Which, yes, would include incest. Whether direct or indirect, cuz one could make the argument they’re sort of just dating the same person, which is also fine- cuz it’s adorable to me, but they’d all be fucking at some point, even if most of the attention is solely on the male reader, it would happen. That’s part of the big reason I wanna do this drabble interest checks, because they give you a glimpse into my problematic mind, and you can decide for yourselves if you wanna stick around and be a part of it, or leave.  Not to say poly relationships are problematic in the slightest, of course- I adore poly ships, and hope to write some in the future- but incest? Boy howdy.  But I love it sksksk >;3  So lemme know what you guy’s think of this fic! If you want to see it continued, if so, how so?  Feel free to ask me anon or otherwise about kink and dynamics, sfw or nsfw, if you’d like too. I’m gonna make an updated kink list with kinks I will be writing about eventually, so you can decide to stick around and see them, or show yourself out so they don’t bother you. My space is mine, so I will not be responding to, or entertaining people who want to be upset about them, or disagree with my tastes. It’ll get you nowhere, telling you right now.  But yeah. Lemme know guys. <3 Vixen

[tartagilicious]

sun and moon > xiao

happy (late-ish) valentine’s day yall! thank you, mihoyo, for once again reminding me that i’m easily attached to emotionally unavailable pretty boys. the "I hate everyone but you" trope is real here, I wanna be his friend and gain his trust like this is a mf otome game. to anyone still pulling for him, good luck~ don’t worry, you have a little bit more time and more free rewards are also on the way!! have some soft xiao for good luck >:D // w.c 1.9k // not a request 

also a big ty to @seerie​ for being my beta reader, bc I don’t know what I’m doing 🥴

summer sky by asking for a friend

You hiss softly as Xiao runs a damp cloth over the gash adorning the length of your cheekbone, face scrunching as his eyes narrow in concentration. It feels somehow wrong to have him taking care of you, much less sitting in front of you and dressing your wounds himself.

A majority of the bleeding had stopped not long ago, but there's still another fear that plagues you more -- your agreement with the yaksha adeptus, or rather contract, specifically trying to combat injuries on your behalf.

You aren’t sure if chickening out on calling him in the midst of the situation you were hurt is grounds for breaking the contract somehow, though either way, Xiao has always seemed to be quite serious regarding his promises. You remember his first and only instructions to you weeks ago being clear and concise,

“If you awake to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door, call out my name; adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call.”

Surely a small wound like this wasn’t serious enough?

Xiao pulls the fabric away from your face and silently notes what must be the mess of blood covering it, lips turning up in a grimace. His standards of emergency are usually as one would expect, though lately for whatever reason, even the smallest of your wounds tend to put him in a bad mood.

From such a standoffish person, it’s a bit hard to get used to or understand -- but a part of you is only happy to know that there’s a chance he might care more than he lets on.

“...The abyss mages, they just came out of nowhere,” You try to explain but the silence is deafening. Eyes downcast to the stool beneath your legs, you mumble, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Xiao doesn’t give any more of a reaction than an arched brow and a slight gesture with the gruesomely dyed cloth. You half expect him to be irritated; to give you a lecture on keeping an eye on your surroundings or to take better care of yourself, but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks away and shakes his head, spiking your nerves with a low sigh.

He looks back at you as he rests his elbow on his knee and thrusts out the cloth again, almost in exasperation. “Why didn’t you call my name?”

You feel the blood drain from your face as the words leave his mouth, and suddenly, you’re terrified to answer honestly. As already long-established, Xiao is someone who despite thousands of years of trauma, remains as hard as the rock of the nation he watches over. Compared to his lifespan, you’re relatively immature, so the last thing you want is to give an embarrassing reason to make him think that you suddenly don’t trust him enough to help.

“I-I don’t know,” You stutter and curse pitifully inside your head as you return his eye contact. “But I can’t just call you every time I’m in trouble, especially when I think I can deal with it myself, right?”

He scoffs as if you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing.

“This shouldn’t have to be a discussion. Your capabilities don’t lack anything, but your hesitation may very well be the death of you.”

“I never hesitated,” Though your voice is more steadfast, any illusion of confidence is shattered by the way you fidget with your hands. “I only misjudged. I make mistakes sometimes, but I think you forget that I’ll heal even after the worst of these injuries.”

Xiao sighs and crumples the bloodstained cloth in the palm of his hand, caging himself in his arms before speaking again -- just as he always does.

“Don’t be outrageous, I haven’t forgotten anything.” He averts his gaze and for a moment, you swear that you notice the tips of his ears flush. “It’s only ignorant to assume that I want to see you injured.”

Your brows knit as a similar knot slides down your throat. “I just, I just don’t get why you’re so worried about it.”

He stares at you, once again, as if you’ve just said something completely outlandish -- as if it wasn’t as hard to tell what he was thinking beneath such a guarded personality as you made it out to be.

“What?” You ask, slightly exasperated as you sit up straighter. You had still been sitting as if he were cleaning your wounds. “Is that not a valid question? It seems like you want nothing to do with anyone, but then turn around and worry when I’m hurt?”

“How could you do that and still not know why I hesitate to call for you?” Exasperated, you exhale and shut your eyes for a moment, deliberately avoid seeing his reaction to these words.

“...All I mean, is that sometimes it’s hard to tell what you’re thinking -- I feel like I’m bothering you, even if it might be in a situation where I really do need you.”

For a moment, Xiao is blatantly surprised by your reason for not upholding the contract you’d made. It almost gives you the impression that in your spiel, you’ve said something completely idiotic. A gradual flush of embarrassment flares up beneath your skin, but thankfully, you contain yourself before you have the chance to blurt out anything you’d regret.

His lips twist ever so slightly, as if he’s combing through things to respond with in his head. Obviously a bit flustered to hear your reasoning, it’s odd to see him in such a way, albeit while somehow remaining so uniquely him

“You… really are incomprehensible.”

Turning his head to shield his expression, he discards the cloth by tossing it in a nearby basket and stands. Your eyes follow him up until his own turn back towards you, golden irises glinting with a sort of hesitant concentration. You blink.

“If you trust me enough to enter a contract where i very well might decide between your life and death, do well and also trust me as someone who doesn’t break their promises.” Xiao’s brows fold delicately, as if mulling over the words coming out of hisin real time. “___, I don’t want to see you hurt like this.”

Your heartbeat briefly stutters, lips opening and closing as if to say something even when no thoughts are formed. Eyes trailing back down to your hands, you let out a small sigh. Before you can say anything, though, a gloved hand takes your chin and gently guides your eyes back upwards.

“So don’t hesitate.” His touch is soft as he maintains comfortable eye contact with you despite the straight-forward words. “I won’t allow you to die because of me.”

Blood pumps wildly through your ears as you suck in a breath of apprehension. As hard as you try to break away your gaze, something in his face keeps you anchored even when your chest begins to seize; a face that has been hardened over a millenia of suffering stares back at you with the improper care of a hopeful innocent, as if you are something that is worthwhile in the purest sense.

You swallow, Xiao’s hand’s position above your throat making it painfully obvious to him how caught off guard you are. Though naturally, if this action of yours makes him falter at all, he does so unnoticeably.

“I won’t,” It’s said slowly, as if you can’t comprehend what exactly you’re saying just yet. “You said I don’t lack anything, but in the moments I do--”

Your lips rest parted as anxiety cuts off the last part of your sentence, but Xiao’s patient expression pushes you forward.

“...I trust you to help me.”

Those words echo in his mind for a moment, ricocheting and hitting even the most unfamiliar parts of himself that he’d long buried. Feelings and memories that have since collected cobwebs begin to resurface and remind him of a more simple time he treasures dearly.

Trust.

Xiao’s thumb ghosts over your jaw, slowly wiping across the skin as he’s propelled deeply into thought -- fortunately too much so to notice the rising pigment on your cheeks.

He himself places his trust in people far and few. You might be different, well acquainted to human customs and the world around you, yet those words from you somehow feel just as special as if the roles are reversed. Your honesty and courage to accompany him has always dug at the cavity in his chest, but to hear you voice the metaphorical fruit of your labour so clearly is an entirely different sense.

All this time he’d blindly protected you, warned you about monsters lurking in the darkness, he’d fallen too far to even realise that you were beginning to change him. He no longer ate alone, nor did he adventure or sleep as he once did -- you had stuck onto him like a stubborn thorn despite, in your words, tending to feel as if you were bothering him. Regardless, he had somehow still earned your valuable companionship, and with it, commendable words that he could accept from you alone.

But there were times where he despised feeling such a way. He battled over the reasons he felt so inflicted when it was you who was injured, or you who chose to stick by him even after he tried so desperately to push you away. It was frustrating, dealing with a gentle care so foreign. Once he was used to your considerate nature, though, it became a different story.

Seeing you hurt began to shift from an expectable casualty to a blow to his own chest.

“...Xiao,” Your voice is hesitantly quiet, and suddenly, his eyes come back into focus. You’re staring at him with hesitant concern, setting his heart abuzz. “Are you okay?”

It’s when you reach up to wrap your hand around his that his mind finally completes his thought.

I love her.

As an Adeptus, he’s lived thousands of lives and outlived many more, and has taken the role of slaughterer before protector throughout many of them. In a way, the latter ways of his previous life have been ingrained him, regardless of those he manages to save in the more current centuries.

He imagines the figures of the spirits of those he’d wronged watching him in this moment, screaming a sound of contempt that he would never hear. They’re right to do so. They have no reason to pray for his happiness, much like he has little reason to pray for forgiveness.

Yet looking down at you, for the first time in a long time, none of that seems to matter.

With little thought, he grips your hand a bit tighter before letting go, his own hand travelling the length of your jaw to bring himself down to you. You remain completely still as he places a gentle kiss above your brow bone, breath hitching.

“I’m okay.” He reassures you quietly, resting there for a moment and sighing a small gust of air onto your skin. You mumble his name softly, hand reaching out to grab a hold of his shirt. The thin layer between your skin and his sends a sudden shiver down his spine, but regardless, he hums in response.

Your voice comes out in a whisper. “Are you sure?”

He nods, for the first time completely certain.

[sirowsky]

The Stories We Tell Ourselves (One-Shot)

Author's Note: So, this was an ask sent to me by my darling wife, @lucrezia-thoughts a while back, that I for some reason never actually added to my collection of works. Which seemed like a shame, since I'm kinda proud of it (it was my very first ask), so I thought I'd re-post it and give it a proper spotlight. Description: Mando's injured and Grogu's bored, so fem!reader tells him a bedtime story.

Rating: Everyone (all fluff all the way on this one, though blood is mentioned) Word Count: 1872

It had been one of those days when one thing had just bled into another, and everything had gone wrong. It was a miracle all three of you had survived, but the Mandalorian had been injured, trying to protect you from a very unpleasant trader, who had knives concealed everywhere in his clothing. Mando had been cut along his side, and while the injury would heal on its own, it had bled a lot before you’d been able to get back to the Crest and properly dress it. He’d insisted on getting the ship off the planets surface before he’d allowed you to help him, and as a result, there was blood everywhere. He hadn’t actually hired you, he had just sort of… realised that the kid liked you and decided that if you were brave enough to stick with them despite the danger of their situation, without even asking for payment, then he wouldn’t stop you.

You weren’t sure if he actually liked you. It was hard to tell with him, even after months of being couped up with the man. You could quite easily read him around others, as you’d become familiar with his body language and mannerisms, so you knew how he should behave if he liked you. But for some reason, he behaved differently with you. His body language was always much more still and maybe even careful, around you, as though he was afraid you’d break if he accidentally bumped into you. It was more than a little annoying, sometimes, since it made it difficult to define what your relationship actually was. But it was mostly just annoying because you wanted him to bump into you. He was a mystery, but that wasn’t what drew you to him. He was kind and respectful, quiet but strong, in both body and conviction. He wasn’t too proud or too self-assured, but he was loyal and protective and gentle. It was quite amazing to you that he was so proficient at using those hands for violence, when he was also so tender with the baby. It had brought tears to your eyes on more than one occasion.

When you’d finally cleaned the last remnants of blood from the controls in the cock-pit, you headed back down to check on Mando. But your eyes fell on the empty pram sitting on the floor of the cargo-bay.

“Oh, no. Kid… where’d you go?”

You searched quietly, not wanting to wake Mando after you’d finally gotten him to lay down in his bunk to rest, before going to scrub the blood away. But then you heard a muffled giggle, and of course it came from the damned bunk. You’d left the door open so that you could easily hear it if he stirred or seemed to worsen in any way.

“No, no, no… Come on, get out of there, let the man rest.”

You reached in and snatched the kid off of Mando’s chest and then stood there for a minute, rocking him quietly against your hip, while you listened for any sign that your… companion… had woken up. You eventually sighed and sat down on a crate, directly behind the bunk, cradling the kid in your arms.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, you know.”

He just cooed and looked at you with bright eyes.

“Okay. How about a bedtime story?”

He just blinked and angled his head a bit more towards you.

“Hm, let’s see. When I was young, my mother would tell me stories about love to get me to sleep. She said that a child that feels loved, will always have the comfort to sleep soundly. So, this story begins with a King. A good, and kind man who rules his land with open arms and a warm heart, but also protects it with ferocity and conviction. Because that land holds everything that he loves, and without it – he’d be broken. One day, when the King is travelling, he finds an orphan outside of his dominion, and being the good man that he is, he brings the child home, to raise as his own. He has no idea how to do that, and it’s chaotic most of the time, especially since his duties can’t be put on hold while he cares for a baby. He still has to rule the land. But he loves that baby so much, that no matter how hard it gets, he endures. He doesn’t care that he hasn’t slept in days, or that he’s always terrified that something’s gonna happen to his boy. None of it matters, as long as the child is safe.”

Mando woke up the moment the kid climbed onto his chest. It was reflexive at this point. Even though he knew that you were there, and would care for the boy without his asking, he was already conditioned to react to whatever the little one needed. But he was wounded and tired, and he heard you coming down from the cock-pit, probably having cleaned up his mess – yet again, so he ignored the kid, and made no effort to let you know that he was awake, when you came to pick the child up. He was in some pain, the wound throbbing a little with each beat of his pulse, which made falling back asleep a little harder, even though he was exhausted. And it was surprisingly nice, just listening to you talk quietly to the kid, not knowing he could hear you. It wasn’t surprising that he found it nice; he found everything about you nice. It was surprising that he enjoyed the eavesdropping aspect so much. That he liked the intimacy of listening to you when your guard was down, and you were just being a woman caring for a child. He listened closely to your story, not missing the clear similarities to your actual life and the way you two had met.

“So, when the King has to travel again, he decides to bring his son along, and they go on a long and adventurous journey together. But on their way back, they come across a woman, wounded and in need of help. And because the King is a good man, he brings the woman to his castle, and helps her heal. And while she heals, she repays the King his kindness, by looking after his son while he cares for his kingdom. And as the woman watches her rescuer, and sees the true warmth of his heart as he cares for his land as closely, and tenderly, as he cares for his son, she falls in love with him.”

He nearly stopped breathing as he heard the words. Could you really mean him? The rest of the story was more or less exactly your story, so you had to be talking about him. He had never allowed himself to consider it. To think that you could ever want to be with a man like him, no matter how much he might want you to. He knew that his efforts to restrain himself around you made him seem stiff and perhaps a bit cold, and it always hurt him to see you try so hard to read him, to understand why he was different towards you than his friends. But if you wanted him too… that changed everything.

“But this wonderful man is a King, and she’s just a woman he found on the side of the road. She has no claim to him, and she’s afraid to tell him how she feels, because if he doesn’t feel the same, it’ll break her heart. So, she cares for the child as best she can, and hopes that he won’t make her leave the castle once she’s healed. And he doesn’t. He let’s her stay, and over time, she finds the courage to tell him the truth, and he reveals that he loves her too. And together they raise the child with love and happiness and adventures, and that’s how this little story ends, my sweet.”

The kid was asleep by the time you finished the tale, and you rocked him gently in your arms after you fell silent, to make sure he wouldn’t stir once you got up to put him back in his pram. You tucked him in snugly, and then closed the little egg up, to keep him warm and safe. Once you were done, you raised your hand up to your neck, rubbing idly at the knots and strained muscles, after such a long day of hardships and stress, and you couldn’t stop the exhausted sigh that escaped you. The movement to your side didn’t register in your brain until Mando was already sitting up at the edge of the bunk, and it startled you. You flinched and then your brain woke up again, and you approached him.

“Hey, what’s the matter, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Oh, stars above… the number of ways that he could answer that last question.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“No, no, you’re the one that’s wounded, which means I’m the only one that gets to ask that.”

He considered that for a moment.

“I heard your story, mesh’la.”

You froze, and suddenly your heart was frantic in your chest. He heard… all of that? You’d been so certain he was completely passed out! You hadn’t meant to pour so much truth into the story, but it had happened anyway, and now he knew how you felt. He knew. He saw you begin to panic and reached a gloved hand out to you, which you couldn’t bring yourself to take, but before you could back away from him, he reached for your waist instead, and pulled you in closer, until you were standing between his slightly bent knees as he rested against the bunk. You were flustered and shocked to suddenly be so close to him, and you found yourself having trouble figuring out where to put your hands in the small space between you. He’d never given any indication that he liked it whenever you’d touched him, so you settled for resting your palms on the flat and cool beskar on his chest, with your eyes firmly planted on the diamond shaped indentation at the centre of it.

“It was a very good story. I really liked it.”

Your eyes snapped up to stare at his visor, and you wanted to say a thousand things. But nothing came out. You felt him draw in a shaky breath, before his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer. Then he bent his head forwards, leaning his helmet against your forehead, and your arms found their way around his waist, suddenly needing to hold him to you, now that he’d finally given you his silent permission.

“Would you tell me another story?”

His voice was trembling just a bit. Just enough that you could tell through the modulator.

“Okay. What would you like to hear?”

“Tell me how the story continues, after the King declares his love for the woman? Tell me how they live happily ever after… and I promise I’ll try to make the story come true for you.”

THE END

[shepard-ram]

Antidote for the Lovesick [Antarctic Empire!Wilbur x Reader]

(Fluff, Not a request: Another one inspired by light anons asks- anyways I'm planning on working on my requests again after this. School will be out for the year soon so I will be writing more in a few weeks!)

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While the Royal family was well known by default, (and fairly well liked as far as monarchies go) none were as popular as the prince second in line for the throne. It seemed he made for the public eye, able to talk himself out of any situation. With the handful of poems and songs that made it to the people rumors and half-jokes that he must be part siren stired around him. There's no doubt that even without his crown he would have made himself an adored public figure.

It doesn't take much thought to see why prince Wilbur was a star in the empire's negotiations. The Emperor himself was a close second but he was often more fussed about internal affairs. The crown prince was intimidating and a genius when it came to battle, but all that confidence melted when it came to social interactions. Meanwhile the youngest prince... let's just say he hadn't developed the filter needed for the job.

So the poet prince sat at the table and charmed his way into countless treaties and alliances. Needless to say he got very friendly with many rulers and ambassadors alike. The more connections the better after all, but it was only a matter of time before the wrong person got a little too attached.

It was a simple meeting with some local nobles, and one enchantress. It could be It's own story. One starting with the prince's usual banter and a crush forming in its wake, but ending in a turned down confession and alot of shouting. By the time he retired to his bed a soon to be revealed curse was taking its hold.

That morning was filled with emotions and panic. At first he wanted to believe it was nothing more than a sore throat. However the more he tried to make any sound the more he was forced to accept what had happened. His voice was turned to a screech akin to a horse being stabbed. He desperately attempted to sing, only producing a sound that sounded as painful was it was to make. He wasn't just silenced, his voice was replaced with the one of dying demons.

His younger brother was the first he ran into. At first the youngest laughed, after all it was one hell of a noise, but he soon realized just how shaken the poet was. From there it was very quick, how the news spread to the rest of the family. The youngest still didn't stop trying to make fun of his brothers situation. But soon the royal doctors where at his bed chambers with whatever potions and medicines that they thought could ease the affliction.

As soon as they came they left without the barest hint of success. As much as the winged Emperor would've preferred to keep this a private matter it was clear they needed as much talent as possible. They needed more ideas and the skills to make a cure to the curse. So an invention spread to every city and almost every town. It was a simple one, explaining the princes condition and offering a hefty reward to anyone who could put an end to it.

This little piece of paper changed your life.

You were a rather young alchemist, specializing in all remedies natural and magical. The money stood out to you more than most. You weren't starving by any means, but no one in your little rural home town was exactly rolling in cash. Before you knew it you were packing up your things and getting the final "good bye"s and "good luck"s from your family and friends as you set off to the capital.

You weren't the first one to try, not at all. In fact you were one of last with the confidence to try. The thing is, you didn't have the herbs you planned to use.

"Why wouldn't you have them ready?!" You understood why the crown prince was on edge, things were looking more and more hopeless with each attempt. You stayed calm and explained it The best you could.

"The plants I need can be very precise with the conditions they need to grow in, and are often conned on the market. I trust my own abilities more than a salesman looking to make a quick buck." You knew your words reached the trio listening to the pitch, so you made your request. "All I need is the space to grow them and time, they'll take about two months at most. Maybe the royal garden?"

They shared a glance, but it seemed they already had the answer decided.

"How much space do you need?"

You quickly got to work, preparing the soil for the medicine and writing down some notes about the exact qualities of the future remedy. By sunset you were tidying up the servants quarters they had provided so you can stay close the growing ingredients.

On one of your first evenings you were tending to the young plants. That was until you heard a heavenly sound drifting from the other side of the garden. At first you just enjoyed the background music while finishing up your current occupation. As soon as you could you put your watering can down you stood up, very eager to track down the source of the wordless lullaby.

It was a painting, the clouds of bushes more than tall enough to hide the silent signer sitting in the middle of them. The grass while not gone completely was worn out, a clear sign the prince sat in the almost enclosed ring often. You stood in the opening of a leafy doorway. Watching in awe as he played a guitar, eye's closed with so much ease you'd believe it was creating the music by itself.

Eventually the music faded, and in a kick of humor you clapped. Startled he jumped to his feet, calming down a little when he saw that you didn't look at all hostile.

"Sorry for the surprise, my prince." You marked with a small bow. You didn't miss the little uncomfortable look that flashed across his face. "But I couldn't help but notice your song, it's absolutely amazing." You offered with a light voice. "I- I get the rumors now." You could tell you caught his interest with that. "Can you play some more for me, these plants grow faster and better with the company of music."

Rather or not that's just a myth you weren't entirely sure, but with a small smile he honored the request. He followed you out of his little hedge room and closer the area you were tending to. Sitting on a nearby bench watching you work on the newest attempt to reclaim his unnatural voice.

"How about I get to know my patient a little?" The music hiccuped in its players curiosity, silently prompting you to continue. "I ask you some questions, yes or no ones. It might be helpful when it comes to fine-tuning this" you gestured to the dirt that would soon be covered with fully grown medicinal plants. In return he gave his first answer, a nod.

Over the days you grew fond of the routine you fell into. Sometimes you would be asking questions, looking up from the garden to catch his answer. Sometimes you would be telling him stories from your home, about the many people who have come to you for remedies. Sometimes there would be no words, just the gorgeous calming sounds of his music. You could both feel how comfortable this was.

"Would you prefer if I called you only Wilbur?"

A happy nod.

Only Wilbur was very different from prince Wilbur. You've always thought of the prince as this fox, prideful and cunning and charming in untrustworthy ways. But only Wilbur wasn't on this higher devine level, he was a person. A person with passions and vulnerabilities. Only Wilbur melted ideas about himself you didn't even realize you harbored. You liked only Wilbur, that was certain.

You made a promise to both yourself and to him that day. You would lift the curse, you had to.

It had been 43 days, the herbs were ready. "Maybe music did make them grow faster" you entertained. It was the only day you were with the plants without Wilbur. He was in his bed chambers so you could focus on brewing.

You looked over your notes thousands of time over. When you took this job you knew it was going to be one of your most important ever, but now you weren't just curing a prince- you were curing a friend. You paused in setting up your equipment. The term friend felt, incorrect with how exactly you felt about Wilbur. You shoved down the thoughts and continued, now was not the time.

Was it hours, or was it a few minutes? You couldn't tell and you didn't care. In a glass bottle you held the product of your labor. Corked and wrapped in many clothes before being nestled in your bag just to be safe. You took a deep breath and set off for Wilburs room.

He hesitated taking the bottle from you, like he had grown attached to his own silence. When he did take the potion it was all still slow and methodical. As if taking the cork off wrong could ruin everything. It felt like your entire body was on stand-by, paused as he downed the entire container. With a small drink of water he waited for a minute.

Then with a little nod from you, he hummed. The simple notes never sounded so rich and deep, filled with over a month of built up thoughts and emotions. Two faces lit up hearing it.

"You- you really did it." Wilbur was so quiet. As if speaking too loudly could break the newly repaired sound.

Then laughter, and the rambling of words that didn't need to make sense. Because you could hear them.

Then a hug, one of so much more than gratitude. One accompanied with an over abundance of "Thank you"s.

"How could I ever make this up to you" He only now slowed down, only enough to take your input.

Looking over at a familiar instrument you gave that input to him, "Can you play some more for me, my prince." He chuckled, a sound that you already loved as he sat back down on the bed with his guitar.

You recognized the song. It backdroped your first siting of him. Only now did you finally hear it in its entirety. It was a love song. Lyrics sweet and sincere and raw all rolled up by the accompanying strumming. When the last cord drifted off he looked at you, eagerly awaiting your response.

"If I understood the rumors then, now I just might be a believer." How much of that was exaggeration, you honestly couldn't say.

"I'm assuming that's good."

"Trust me, it's more than good." Watching as put the instrument back. "You should probably go tell the others the good news. Especially so I can get my money" you added jokingly. With that you got one last hug and thank you before you both left the room.

As you were walking back to your room something hit you. The realization that this was over. You were going to your temporary room and packing up so you could leave. You never expected to bond with the prince this much, and in the moment you regretted it. If only a little. You swallowed the sudden mood shift and started packing.

"Hey where are you going!?" An already familiar excited voice rang out, running towards you.

"I'm getting ready to leave." You said, bluntly.

"Wait, really?" As if he didn't know you weren't moving in permanently. Without thinking he grabbed your arm like you trying to run away. "We're having a big feast tonight, to celebrate your achievement. You should probably be there."

"That sounds great." You could feel the wave of sadness fade off.

"I thought I always sound great." You chuckled.

"I really wish I could deny that."

"No you don't."

"Only because I wouldn't get my money if I could."

"Come on, that's not the only reason."

"Like it's any secret I care about you."

That put an end to his humor, "Here, let's get ready."

[galactic-magick]

As Long As I’m With You: Agnes/Agatha Harkness x Reader

Request: Hi, can you please do where Agnes (a villain) saves fem reader's life because she has feelings for her? In the end they end up together // also took some ideas from this request

Summary: You’re accused of witchcraft in your village, and a mysterious beautiful witch comes to your aid.

Words: 2200+

Warnings: fem reader, Agatha is low key evil so she hurts some people, a swear word, reader has an angsty past

Author’s Notes: This can be read as either a standalone fic or as a prequel to my other fic “Spell Practice.” I took quite a lot of creative liberty with this, hopefully that’s alright. Also disclaimer I am in no way a history expert so even though this is set in like the 1500s-1600s it’s probably very inaccurate, but it’s fanfic so anything goes right?

Taglist: @nyx-aira​ @midnight-lestrange​ @thestrangeundoing​ @thegayances @sleep-deprived-athlete @dr-robotnik-said-hella​ @fallingfor-fics @p-nymph​ @thelanawinterrs @sunproud​ (if your tag didn’t work it might be bc your blog isn’t searchable so make sure that’s on so you’re notified of future fics!)

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You had no idea how much your life would change when you left your house that day.

It started out with a simple run to the market and the garden to get what you needed for supper that night, a job that almost always falls to you. You don’t necessarily mind getting away from your family and talking to some people in town, but it’s clear that your family doesn’t want you in the house as much as possible either.

It’s gotten to the point where they’re just looking for a reason to get rid of you. You’re a disappointment, after all. You refuse to marry in order to help your family’s status, even though you’ve gotten a couple offers. You counter your parent’s rules and ideas every chance you get, no matter how much they tell you you’re crazy. They belittle you constantly, saying your dreams are worth nothing and you’ll have to be dependent on them forever if you never submit to the role in society you’re supposed to.

Obviously bullying you out of their lives wasn’t working, so they’ve moved on to spreading rumors about you and setting you up for crimes. None have worked yet, of course, but every day you fear they’ll get too close.

Until you get burned at the stake, though, they’ve given you basically every responsibility of the house. You do all the shopping, cooking, and farming, as well as taking care of your younger siblings. You wonder what they’d do without you, despite how much they seem to want you gone.

As you’re buying a few crops and eggs from your neighbors, you swear you see something move. You turn around and see a little boy floating in the air, screaming.

You drop everything in your arms and reach up to him, trying to grab him and help him down, but he keeps flailing, and his screams start to feel directed at you.

“Hey! It’s okay! Let me help you!” you hold your hand up, speaking as calmly as you can. “I’m not going to hurt you,”

“WITCH!” a man yells as he sees you. “SHE’S A WITCH!”

Everyone around turns and watches you.

“No! No! I’m not the one doing this! I’m trying to help!”

“Let him down and maybe we’ll wait to kill you til tomorrow!” someone else demands.

A couple people march towards you to grab you, and all you can think to do is start running.

You race out of the center of town into the trees, and about five men chase after you. You keep going until it feels like your legs are going to give out and you can barely breathe, but they keep coming.

“Please! Please stop! It wasn’t me I swear!” you cry. “I don’t know what was happening!”

“Shut up, girl,” one grunts. “Your father always said there was something wrong with you, makes sense that you’re a witch!”

“What’s so wrong about witches?” a female voice calls.

You and the men spin around, trying to figure out where it came from.

Before you can blink there’s purple smoke surrounding you, and the men are thrown against the trees. They’re knocked unconscious instantly, but you remain standing and untouched.

“Who are you?” you ask, your voice quivering.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear,” the smoke starts to fade and you can make out her silhouette, then eventually her face. “I’m here to help you,”

She’s beautiful. You’ve never seen someone that immediately feels so friendly, so different in all the best ways.

“It’s alright to stare, I know I’m quite a sight,” she laughs. “I’m Agatha,”

“I’m Y/N,”

“Ah, yes, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of you,” she smiles. “Everyone in the village can barely stand you,”

“Thanks…?” you’re not sure how to respond, especially after all that just happened. “Wait, if you live in my village, why have I never seen you? And how come you’ve never gotten caught using magic?”

“Memory spells, of course,” she shrugs. “Now, let’s get you somewhere safe, alright?”

You nod, and she wraps an arm around you. She takes you deep into the forest until you reach a small house, the glimmer of the fire peering through the windows.

You settle down on a chair while she makes some tea and food. She offers you a blanket and hands you the cup and plate, sitting down across from you.

“So how long have you been practicing magic?” she asks.

“Oh…I…well actually I don’t know how to use any magic,”

“Really? Why were the witch hunters after you then?”

“I was set up, I think,” you say. “There was a little boy floating in the air, and since I was near him they thought it was me. But I wasn’t doing anything,”

“Well,” Agatha sips her tea. “Sometimes magic can manifest itself subconsciously. Maybe you were doing it but didn’t realize it. It’s quite common,”

“But…how would I have magical powers? I’ve never learned it from anywhere,”

“Some people are just born with the gift,” she grins.

You exhale, thinking over what she said. Could it be true? You’ve been a witch all your life without even knowing it?

 -

 That night, Agatha conjures another bed for you to sleep in. But even though she made it as comfortable as she possibly could, you can’t get a wink of sleep.

You lift off the blanket and wrap it tightly around you, getting up slowly and quietly. You walk outside and sit against a tree, looking up at the stars.

You’re sure your family has heard the news by now. Their disappointment of a daughter is finally gone, accused of witchcraft. It seems that the foreseeable future will be spent with Agatha, the only safe person you have.

You wonder just how much she already knows about you. She mentioned she’s heard people gossiping about you all the time in town, yet she still saved you after hearing all those negative things.

Why is that?

“Can’t sleep?”

You jump at her voice, and she chuckles a bit at your reaction.

“Sorry,” you sigh. “I just have a lot to think about from today, I guess,”

“No worries,” she sits down beside you. “So do I,”

“Agatha,” you say. “Why did you save me?”

“Us witches have to stick together. I saw you were in trouble, so I saved you,”

“But you knew, didn’t you? You’ve known I was a witch long before this, didn’t you?”

“I had my suspicions,” she agrees. “Whenever I heard people talk about you, I figured you weren’t like everyone else. But I didn’t know for sure until today,”

“I wish you had taken me before,” you huff, a few tears falling down your cheeks. “It’s been so bad, Agatha, feeling worthless just because you’re different, everyone hates you…”

She pulls you into her shoulder, letting you cry into it, “I know, dear, I know,”

 -

 It takes you a while to come to terms with your potential powers, but as soon as you’re ready Agatha begins to teach you how to use them. You spend your days studying her spell books and practicing simple spells, most of which you fail at.

She encourages you as much as possible, explaining to you that magic is not something you can learn overnight, sometimes not even over years. She tells you that she’s actually thousands of years old (a surprise to you due to her stunning looks) and she’s been practicing for much of that time, and there’s still some spells she hasn’t mastered.

Your impatience still gets the better of you most days, though. You can’t imagine waiting several centuries to get something to work, if you get it to work at all.

One day you’re sitting at the table, trying out a simple transfiguration spell. You wave your hand repeatedly at a potato, hoping to turn it into an apple. It doesn’t even wobble, not even a single spark, but you’ve been sitting here for hours and don’t want to give up just yet.

You nearly fall asleep from exhaustion when all of a sudden it happens. It works.

There’s an apple in front of you. Not a potato, an apple.

“Holy shit!” you scream. “Agatha! I did it!”

You run over to her and point at your small accomplishment.

“Look at you go, darling!” she smiles, hugging you. “At this rate you’ll be changing rocks into cats before you’re 200!”

You laugh, “Oh come on, this is literally just one of the beginner spells,”

“So what? That’s where everybody starts,”

You break out in giddy excitement again, jumping up and down a bit and looking back and forth just to make sure your creation is still there.

Without thinking, you kiss Agatha quickly on the lips.

She stares at you, mouth open.

Before you can apologize, she grabs your face and kisses you hard. She’s everything you’d imagined and more, soft and warm but with a spark you can’t ignore.

When you finally break apart, her hands linger, brushing across your features and in your hair, “I’ve been waiting to do that,”

 -

 Things change after that, but in only the best ways.

Agatha isn’t just your mentor anymore, the only friend who came to your aid.

She’s your everything now, a soulmate, your home.

You tell her all about your life, and she tells you all about hers. As she has significantly more stories to tell, you’ll fall asleep many nights to her whispering all the legends she lived through that no one else knows are true.

She makes you laugh every day, and makes sure you always know how much she cares about you. There’s only so much you can do in your hidden home in the woods, but with magic the possibilities are endless and she’s never short of romantic ideas.

Tonight you find yourself lying your head in her lap while she plays with your hair, close to the fire so you can watch the little shows she creates with the flames.

“What about love?” you ask.

“What about it?”

“Out of all the stories you’ve told me, you’ve never mentioned being in love before,”

“Well,” she sighs. “That’s because I haven’t been,”

“Why not?”

“It’s just never appealed to me,” she says. “Until I met you,”

“Oh,” you grin, looking up at her.

She leans down to kiss you, but you’re broken apart by a loud noise outside.

You shoot up, looking at Agatha in pure panic. Your heart races as the noise gets louder and louder, eventually leading to shouting and knocks at the door.

“WE FOUND YOU!” a booming voice yells.

“Aggie?” you whisper. Everything crumbles around you. Your perfect, happy life, now about to be stolen from you. You have no idea how they found you, if you are about to be dead, if you’ll be able to defend yourself at all.

She kisses you and stands up, “Stay here. I’ll take care of it,”

With a fling of her fingers the door flies open, and the torches the townspeople are holding are burnt out. She smirks, purple smoke covering the area as she goes through them one by one, some just throwing to the side and others suffering a painful death.

She turns their own weapons against them, their own people against them, and makes them regret everything they’ve ever done.

When she returns to you, you’re still in so much shock and panic you couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing.

“Did you…kill all of them?”

“They got what they deserved for threatening us,” she says nonchalantly. “But we’re not safe here anymore. It’s time to find somewhere new,”

“Okay,” you nod as she pulls you against her. “As long as I’m with you,”

“I’ll always protect you, even when you learn enough to protect yourself,” she kisses your forehead. “Always and forever,”

 APPROXIMATELY FOUR CENTURIES LATER

 “I’m back, darling!” Agatha calls, shutting the door behind her.

“How’d it go?” you run to her, grabbing her hands.

“Splendid, that poor Wanda already loves her new neighbor!”

“Wow,” you giggle. “You know I must say, this whole living in a sitcom thing isn’t that bad, you look gorgeous in that 50s dress,”

“Oh darling, somehow after all this time you still flatter me,” she pretends to fan herself. “I have to go back over real quick, alright? Gotta give her this spicy magazine,” she holds her hand up in the air and magically forms one in her grasp.

“Ah! Be sure to get some ideas to use on me when you get back,” she laugh.

“Oh I will honey,” she winks, kissing you before going out the door.

You settle on the couch, looking around at your home. Out of all the places you’ve moved to together, this was by far the weirdest. There’s no color, and everyone besides you and Agatha and Wanda are under some kind of mind control.

You never imagined that day all those years ago would bring you here, spending your life with a beautiful witch and being her partner in all things, even sinister ones. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, and you know this strange town will only bring you more opportunities to practice your magic and help Agatha with her plans.

[hwrryscherry]

 The one where the reader meets Harry as Jack

characters: HARRYxREADER!FEM

blurb: Harry is filming Don't Worry Darling in Palms Springs while Y/N is moving in in her new house in the neighbourhood where the movie is being filmed. Turns out the fate wanted to cross Harry and Y/N's way as a box full of books is very intriguing to Harry and Pride and Prejudice becomes Harry's new favorite.

word count: 2.7K

author's note: Heyy guys, it has been SO LONG and honestly I don’t think this is best work yet lol but anyway, I had the worst writer’s block of my life so it was so hard for me to write a single word. Honestly, I felt kinda pressured to write. I felt like I was pressuring myself for that so I had to take advantage of this block and take this idea out of my mind. I want to say something important too; I really want to say that the only story of mine that I’ll keep the face claim is HARRYxMODELY/N, just because I like to use the photos to make instagram posts sometimes. I will no longer describe types of hair as I used to say ‘’long strands of hair’’, it will be neutral for you to imagine yourself in the story. It’s all about you guys and how you can visualize the story and the character, if you want to imagine a face claim that’s cool but if you don’t want to it’s cool too. Feel free to read and visualize, it’s all about you. Thank you for the support on my account and my writing. I’m aware that I’m not the best lol, but I also think that I have so much to learn from you just as I have to teach. I’m so grateful for everyone who reads and like my stuff. Never forget that you’re unique, you’re loved, you’re so golden and treat people with kindness always.

   "Why is it so hot in here? It's fucking December!", you'd think to yourself as you drove your new car through the streets of Palm Springs. The thing is that after you moved from Columbia to reside so many years in New York while you were studying English Language and Literature in Yale, you just got so used with the usual colder weather from NY and it's just a different vibe from California. You had such a hard time to decide what you wanted to do after graduating, though. And after a few weeks and some long conversations with your family, you decided you would go to California. Palm Springs, to be more specific. You decided that because you remembered all the times you went there when you were a kid because your grandmother lived in there before she passed. You remember spending your summer vacation with her and how cool it was. It was in the early 2000′s and there was many kids on your age that lived on her street. You remember playing with them all day and then getting back into your grandma’s house and feeling that cinnamon scent that for some one only her house had. It wasn’t a usual cinnamon scent. It had something special in it. It made you feel so warm and welcomed. You remember helping her to bake the most delicious cookies, brownies and cakes in her kitchen. You remember the kitchen had a yellow counter, but the entire kitchen was white. All very pale and then the cheerful yellow in the kitchen that colored everything. You remember going to play bingo with her and how it made her happy to having you around. You both were so close and you had such a hard time when she passed, but the most important was she taught you so many things during your time together, and you’d never forget those things and her.

    As you drove, you’d remember those streets vaguely. You’d pass through the soccer court you typically used to go with the other kids and spent hours playing in there. You were vibing with the song in the stereo as you started getting closer to your new house’s street. It was Carolina by Harry Styles; you have to admit you’re not the biggest Harry Styles fan in the world, but you were definitely a One Direction fan when you were around 16, but you couldn't be considered a directioner either. You just listened to a few songs and thought it was good. But anyway, this specific song is one that you particularly like. It may have something to do with the fact that you’re from Carolina, of course. But it’s more about the vibe and the melody that by being animated it could actually cheer anyone up and the lyrics were undeniably good though, a little sexual, but good. It’s more about the vibe and the melody that by being animated it could actually cheer anyone up and the lyrics were really good though, a little sexual, but good.

    When you turned the right way into the street of your new home, you came across much more than you expected to see on your moving day. There were, as it seemed, paparazzi. Apparently they were shooting a movie right in your street, and it had also many people with many cameras and trailers that probably were dressing rooms. Naturally, you knew that thousands of films were shot in California, that’s obvious. But you didn't expect one to be shooting exactly on your moving day and specifically in your street, let alone that the street would be this crowded since the world is experiencing a global pandemic, ironic. You observed some of the people walking down the street, or should you call it a set? You don't know, but there were many people and many cars, at least they were all wearing masks. It had many classic cars, probably in the 40s or 50s style. They were colorful; vivid colors, though. Colors like yellow, blue and lilac was really present. To resume, the whole street looked like a movie from the 50s and for sure that was the intention because you could notice some extras walking around the set dressed up as 50s people used to.

    As you carefully drive through the street, you’d notice that from what seemed like a divine miracle, there was a vacant parking spot right in front of your house and you can’t help but smile when you see it. The first time you came here to see the house. You were with your family, and that was about four months ago. You just loved the house completely as it had such a different vibe from the place you used to live in New York, and honestly, just the thought of the house made your creativity activate as it had some really cool colored walls and you bought some colored mobile as well. Anyway, you stopped the car right in front of your house finishing the engine and grabbing your mask and putting it in your face as you'd use your hand to get rid of the seat belt and your other hand to open the car door and get out of the car.

    After closing the driver's seat door, you go around the car walking to the trunk where you use the car key to open it. When you open it, you are faced with two cardboard boxes. One was full of books. Books of all kinds, books of period novels, books of suspense, books of investigation and etc. Books that piqued your curiosity and made you want to finish reading it as quickly as possible. The other box was already full of clothes, those last clothes that you would finally be taking home. Your mother has done the biggest job in the moving issue; she was the one who was bringing the furniture and your things while you finished packing the rest of your things to leave New York. You try your hardest not to pay attention to the set of recordings and the people who walked back and forth, at the same time that you tried hard not to make any noise, because if you accidentally disturbed a scene, you would feel extremely embarrassed and would probably not even show up at the gate until the end of filming, but that was not the case. You removed the two boxes from the trunk just before closing it completely. You chose, perhaps, to enter the clothes box first. You bent down taking the box in your arms and walked to the door of the house where you used the key you received from the real-estate agent to unlock it before entering. You immediately noticed that some sunbeams reflected on the living room floor due to the white linen curtain that covered the glass windows. You observed the contrast of the sofa in such a light tone with the lilac wall just behind it. You walked with the box in hand by the door extension to the room where you placed the box on the small coffee table in front of the sofa. Returning out of the house, you can see the figure of a tall man dressed in a brown suit crouched in front of the box of your books. He had brown hair and properly cut. It didn't look like he was messing with your books, but he was definitely looking at them and it seemed like he was trying to read the covers of it for some reason. You slowly got closer to the man's body without making too much noise while you analyzed him, you crossed your arms upon your chest as you noticed the book cover he was looking at: Love is a mixtape by Rob Sheffield.

— This one is amazing! — You said, surprising the man that stand up fastly with the book in his hands connecting his green gaze with yours. He was tall, really tall by the way. His suit seemed perfect, just as his hair. He had a black mask on as a protection but the 16 year old teenager inside of you could never mistake those eyes. It was Harry fricking Styles. You considerated being quiet as you, yourself were pretty surprised now, but then you took your gaze to the book in his hand and then back at his face — It's like comparing love to a popular song that we usually search to define love. Just to find out that love is like oxygen, or love is a kind of drug, or a battlefield for some... — You said referring to the book with a tender smile on your face that Harry couldn't essentially see, but talking about a book that you loved caused this on you. And as you talked you didn't notice that Harry had a smile on his face as well. Maybe it was because you completely ignored the fact that he is Harry Styles and he was messing up your books as he's on the set filming a movie, or maybe it was the fact that he loved this book just as much as you did. He'd use to say this is probably one of the books that if he had to read just one book to the rest of his life, he'd chose this one and he usually had so much to talk about this book and so much to put on an argument about it but now he was completely speechless. He was just tongue tied. He was tongue tied about your reflection of one of his favorite books and how it looked so identical to his own personal reflection. He was tongue tied for the number of great books that he always wanted to read that was on that box. He was tongue tied at the owner of those books and her beauty, her intelligence of her voice and her voice as well so he just chuckled. A nervous chuckle as he leaned his head to look at the floor for a second before looking at you and holding out the book in his hands to you that calmly took it from his hands.

— I know! It's one of my favorite books! — Harry'd ultimately manage to say it as he observed you admiring the cover and running your fingers through it as a truly book lover would do — It's very interesting the interpretation you have of it.

— Don't you agree? — You'd interrupt him rising your head to examine at his face. He seemed paralyzed by some way, little did you know that Harry was mesmerized. He enjoyed the informal way you were speaking with him, and it genuinely felt like you already knew it each for years.

— That's the intriguing part. We have the same interpretation! — He'd say serenely, and then running his hand through his hair as he frown a little because of the sun that just hit on his glowing eyes.

— Well...Maybe you're just trying to imitate me to impress me! — You'd joke, with a mocking expression on your face making Harry giggle at your words and your face. It was the sense of humor to him.

— Oh really? And what makes you think I'm trying to impress you? — Harry'd say back with the same mocking tone that you formerly used. He'd observe your face go from playful to thoughtful in just as you to come up with a response.

— I mean...you were the one looking through my stuff, mister! — You say raising your eyebrows as you utilized one of your hands to take some strands of hair out of your face.

— Right... — Harry said with a defeated voice before as he compressed his lips together and moved his suit away from his shirt a little as he places his hands on his waist — I'm sorry about it, though. There was this box hanging here and I guess I was just intrigued! — He said shyly making you start walking towards the box walking closely to him causing him to feel a hot warm from your body as you passed. You'd bend over to grab the box but was stopped by Harry taking the heavy box from your hands — Let me help you with this! — Harry said as he held the box on his arms.

— There's no need for that. It'll ruin your splendid suit! — You'd say gently to him as he was standing up in front of you carefully holding the loaded box. Legitimately, he looked hot. He properly looked like a 50s husband helping with the moving with this outfit — And if you piss off your costume designer because of me I'll die! — You'd complement receiving a loud laugh from Harry's lips that shook his head while looking at you.

— She’ll be fine! — Harry'd argue back, then get a sigh from you before nodding at him as a statement.

— My house is right there! — You'd say using your right hand to point at your house, watching Harry turn his back to you and start walking towards it. You followed him through the door that was already open. Harry looked at the house immediately. It had a good vibe, and he wouldn't deny it. The choice of colors was exceptional, but he also noticed it was not very tidy, which would probably indicate that you were moving today.

— Where do I leave it? — Harry asked, referring to the box as he went farther into the living room.

— You can just leave it on the floor — You serenely said crossing your arms together and watching as he left the box on the floor and turned around to face you, but then deflecting his gaze to the ceiling before staring at your face again.

— It's a beautiful house! — Harry said as he moved his gaze through the room. He observed everything. He likes to observe. He likes to notice things that maybe other people didn't — Just like the owner, if I might say — Harry said cheekily and charming hearing your giggle invade his ears as you started walking towards the box of books that he previously set on the floor.

— The owner says thank you — You said bending down and starting to take the books out of the box and place it on the coffee table beside you as Harry watched your movements. You shyly looked at him thinking for a second and them smiling under your mask — For both compliments! — You said getting your attention back to the books. It's not that you don't want to give him your attention. It's that you genuinely think that he's just being nice, and he's probably not even interested in anything that you say.

— So... I have to go back to the film now but maybe you can give me your number so we can talk about your interpretation of my favorite book — Harry said shyly. His words took you by surprise actually but you couldn't hold back the smirk you had under your mask as you stand up again turning to face his green eyes. You noticed that he had his phone on his hand, hoping and waiting that you'd give him your number even though both of you knew that the book excuse was nothing more than an excuse as he was truly interested in knowing you.

— Well, it depends... — you said slowly as you took a deep breath before actually saying anything — If you agree to read my favorite books too, I'll give you my number!

— I'd be honored! — Harry chuckled after letting a sigh out feeling relief that you asked for something so simple that he'd love to do if that would make you happy — What's your name? — Harry said as he unblocked his phone screen and started to save your phone number.

— Save it as Elizabeth Bennet in there! — You said fastly with a proud smile on your face as Harry giggled and did as you ask and then looked at your face as he put his phone back on his pocket.

— Only if you save my name as Mr. Darcy when I call you! — Harry said knowing that after this, Pride and Prejudice would definitely become one of his favorite books ever.

[supernovafics]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

pairing: tom holland x fem!reader

summary: in which tom is your ex-boyfriend and a night in vegas for your mutual friend’s birthday leads to a surprising drunk confession

warnings: explicit language, drunkenness, so much angst, (italicized means flashback)

word count: 2.9k

author’s note: first time ever posting any kind of writing on here but i’m actually very proud of this so i hope you all enjoy! things gets berry berry angsty and sad in this so i’m sorry in advance </3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Against your many drunken protests, the night was coming to an end. You did not want to leave the club you were in along with Zendaya and the friends she invited, so you pouted at the girl, knowing that since this whole Vegas trip had been for her birthday, she would be able to make everyone stay.

“Come on, Z. We should all have a couple more drinks,” You told her, words coming out slightly slurred, showing how inebriated you were.

“No way, Y/N. I think you’ve had enough drinks for the night,” Zendaya responded, and instead of verbally responding to her, you simply pouted again.

You felt upset that you had to leave, but the tiniest part of you that was sober knew you would thank her in the morning for making you do so.

Zendaya turned her attention to Tom, who was sitting at the table that the group of friends had been occupying for most of the night. “Tom, since you and Y/N are staying at the same hotel, can you make sure she gets back to her room okay?”

Tom turned his gaze away from his phone and nodded at Zendaya’s request. He looked at where you were now standing by the bar, animatedly talking and laughing with Jacob and Harrison. Seeing how happy you looked with them reminded Tom of the situation the two of you were in.

For the past two days of this Vegas trip, you both had barely spoken any words to each other. This avoidance wasn’t necessarily purposeful, it was just something that happened, and it honestly made sense. With the way things ended between you two, there was bound to be some lingering awkward tension, especially since this was the first time you guys had been in the same vicinity of each other since the breakup, which happened a little over six months ago.

Neither of you hated the other, but you definitely weren’t going to initiate anything more than some simple small talk.

However, tonight was much different than the past two days in Vegas had been. You were drunk, and anytime you were in this intoxicated state, you became overly friendly and a little too honest, a mixture that almost always led to some type of disaster.

• • •

The beginning of the elevator ride up to your floor was fairly quiet until you started drunkenly rambling to Tom, acting as if there wasn’t any awkward tension between the two of you. It was mainly because the drunk version of you gave zero fucks about the awkwardness that had been lingering for so long.

“We should’ve stayed for just one more drink. It would have been really fun,” You said to him, grinning widely as you leaned back against the wall of the elevator. Tom was standing right next to you. He had been like this the entire way to the hotel just in case you tripped or anything else; he had seen you drunk enough times before to know some of your usual mannerisms.

“You’re already pretty drunk, though,” Tom responded, chuckling lightly.

Even though his words were true, you still gasped, offended. “No, I’m not!”

Once again, Tom laughed, and the sound made your heart simultaneously flutter and ache.

His laugh was your favorite thing about him, not only the soft and happy sound of it but the way his mouth turned up in a wide smile as he did so too. And hearing that oh-so-familiar laugh right then made you realize that this was the first time you’ve heard it in a while, and it also made you desperately want to listen to it again.

“I still love your laugh so much,” You told him, knowing you would not have said that if you were any hint of sober.

As the words spilled from your lips, you noticed the corner of Tom’s mouth perk up the tiniest bit in a smile. “And this honesty is how I know you’re very drunk right now.”

You rolled your eyes, and a full smile took over your features. “I didn’t see you drink at all tonight.”

Tom simply shrugged. “Wasn’t really in the mood.”

The grey elevator doors then opened up to the nineteenth floor before you could say anything in response to Tom’s statement. Both you and he exited the elevator, and you began walking in the direction of your hotel room. That was until you noticed that none of the numbers was the one for your room, and instead of the room numbers on the doors decreasing to the one that was yours, they were actually increasing.

“Wait, fuck. We’re going the wrong way.” You quickly turned around and started walking in the opposite direction. The abrupt action caused you to trip over absolutely nothing but your own feet. Tom attempted to reach for you, but you hit the ground before he could even get the chance to grab your arm.

“Shit, you okay, Y/N?” Tom asked as he knelt down next to you.

You nodded at his question as you laughed a bit and sat up on the carpeted floor, crossing your legs under you. “I’m okay. Can we actually sit here for a sec? The floor is pretty comfortable.”

Tom smiled amusingly at your drunken actions and proceeded to sit down across from you on the carpeted floor of the hallway.

It was quiet for a few moments, and things mainly consisted of you silently admiring his face and him attempting to decipher what you were thinking.

“How are you and Lily?” You asked him. The question randomly came to mind, and before you could stop it from coming out of your mouth, it was blurted.

To say Tom was confused about your words would be an understatement. He hadn’t posted anything about his new relationship yet since it was still slightly recently, and he was nowhere near ready to do so. When you two were together, it took over ten months until you both decided to “go public” with your relationship.

“We’re good,” He answered after his brief moment of confusion. “I didn’t even know that you know about Lily and me.”

Your shoulders lifted in a simple shrug. “I was talking to Harrison about a month ago, and he accidentally mentioned it.”

That conversation was something you remembered all too well. Specifically, the bittersweetness you felt when Harrison told you that Tom was with someone new. You knew that it was a good thing, and overall you were happy for him, but you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest twinge of sadness, knowing that Tom being in a new relationship meant that things were truly over for the two of you.

The thought made you feel a thousand times more upset than you knew you would’ve felt if you were sober. And it also made you feel like an idiot because you were the one who ended things all those months ago, so you shouldn’t be feeling sad at all. But if you considered the circumstances which made you end things, your emotions entirely made sense.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tom was quick to notice how upset you looked, and his voice was full of concern.

God, now you absolutely hated the fact that you were drunk. It made the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes feel uncontrollable.

You ultimately swallowed back the tears and sad thoughts, letting your drunken mind roam to a place that was much less depressing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just— Nevermind. Hey, do you remember that time we went to Disney and became completely obsessed with the churros? I swear we both had like five that day.”

You had no idea how your mind brought you to thinking about and bringing up that story, especially because it was something you hadn’t thought about in forever. But the memory always made you laugh, just as you were doing right then.

Tom laughed too as he nodded his head. “That feels like it happened so long ago, but yeah, I remember that. Honestly, I’d go back to Disneyland just for the churros.”

The more you thought about that memory, the more you missed those times with Tom. It made you wonder if he missed that as well. Does he miss me too?

Even though you were drunk, your brain was smart enough not to ask that question. However, it was sadly not smart enough to stop you from saying the next thing you said.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Once again, a confused expression took over Tom’s features. He had no idea where you were going with your question, but he still nodded his head, quite curious about what you were going to tell him. “Sure,” He said along with the nod.

You leaned a tad bit closer toward Tom and dropped your voice to a whisper. “Sometimes I wish that I didn’t lie to you at the airport by saying I wouldn’t do the same for you, which was basically me saying that I didn't love you. Because I really did love you.”

Your softly spoken words lingered in the air between you and Tom for many moments after they fell from your lips.

If you somehow remembered what you just told him in the morning, the smallest part of you that was sober knew that you would completely regret the confession you made.

However, you were unsure if you’d regret the confession more than the actual lie you had told Tom all those months ago; because that was something that the deepest part of you regretted every day.

• • •

The next time you two would see each other was very uncertain. Tom was getting on a plane to London, which was what led you to drive him to LAX, and it was a flight that you would’ve taken with him if there weren’t some things you needed to handle in Los Angeles for the next week.

You were both pretty good at making set plans on when you would see each other next, especially considering how busy your schedules could always be. But, this time was much different. A photography job was going to be taking you to New Zealand for the next six months, and Tom was going to start filming a new movie in Canada in a couple of weeks. It felt like your lives were moving in two completely different directions.

You had known that fact for a long time, but you loved him so much that you always pushed away all of those doubts and worries that would flood your mind.

The past week was when you finally decided to stop. You couldn’t halt the thoughts that took over your brain, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to. Mainly because of how much sense they made. Both of your respective careers were exponentially growing, with your nature photography becoming more recognized and Tom receiving more acting jobs. And those facts were something that you knew would only continuously draw the two of you farther and farther apart.

“So, I’ll see you soon?” Tom’s questioning words pulled you out of your thoughts, and you turned to look at him as he began gathering his things from your car, knowing that the drop-off point you had to park in front of didn’t allow for too long goodbyes.

You were quiet for a few moments, having absolutely no idea how you wanted to word your next statement. Tom looked over at you with curious and hopeful eyes, and that expression made what you knew you had to say feel a million times harder.

“I don’t know,” You finally said, the words coming out soft and almost too quiet, but Tom was still able to hear them.

His eyebrows furrowed in immediate confusion, and he stopped his actions of attempting to make sure everything was in his carry-on backpack. “What do you mean?”

“Next week I’m going to New Zealand for six months, and you’re going to film in Canada. And then after that, there are probably just gonna be more jobs that will push us further away from each other. Our lives are moving in two completely different directions, Tom.” Your words came out rushed, but that didn’t change how true they were.

“We know how to make things work, though. We just had to do a long period of long-distance a few months ago when I had to be in France for a month, and you were here, and we made it through that,” Tom told you, and there was that hopeful look again, making your heart lurch the longer you looked at him.

You pulled your eyes away from him and turned your attention downward for a brief moment. “Yes, we did, but it was still so hard, and we both knew it. And even then, we at least had a set date when we knew we would see each other again. Right now, we have absolutely no clue, and it’s just going to continue to get harder.”

Tom wanted to rebuttal your statement, but he didn’t know the exact thing to say right then, so instead, he opted for the dreaded question, “So what does that mean for us?”

A beat of silence went by before you answered him with, “I think we both know what that means.”

“Just say it, Y/N,” Tom said, and you could already see the hurt that was brimming behind his features. It made you hate the fact that you'd become able to read him so well. You turned your gaze away from him and instead focused your eyes on the Nevada license plate of the car that was in front of you.

This was it. There was nothing more you could do to tread around the words that had to be said.

“I think it would be best if we broke up.”

Silence prevailed in the small space of your car for what felt like hours but was actually just barely a minute. A car honking from behind you put an end to the quiet, and you finally turned to look at Tom.

“You should go. You’re gonna miss your flight.” The fact that you were still processing the last words that you just said to Tom made your voice sound distant and quiet.

Tom was quick to shake his head. “I don’t care about the flight right now. You can not expect me to give up on us so easily, Y/N.”

You didn’t know what to respond to him with, so instead, you just gave him the smallest shrug.

“I love you. We can figure everything out and make it all work,” Tom told you. “If there are times where I need to give up an acting job to make sure that we’re not away from each other for months at a time, then I’ll do it. I really don’t need to take on every role that is offered to me, and I won’t if that means I don’t have to lose you.”

You knew exactly how true those words were, and that was what scared you. In a heartbeat, Tom would give up any acting job if that meant he would get to spend more time with you, and you would do the exact same for him. However, you knew that that was not a good thing. You had always been someone that thought about things long-term, and you knew that regret would eventually spur from both ends if the two of you continuously did that, and that regret would lead to resentment. That was exactly what you did not want to happen.

Once again, you were quiet, not responding to his words with anything, so Tom took that as his cue to continue on, saying something that almost mimicked your previous thoughts. “I know you’d do the same for me too, Y/N. We love each other so much.”

You did love Tom so much, sometimes maybe even too much. And you also knew that he loved you the same amount too; it was a fact that was easily confirmed from the current pleading look in his eyes. However, as much as it hurt, you knew exactly what you needed to do.

“No,” You said with the slightest shake of your head. You took a shallow breath and disconnected your eyes from Tom’s before you finished off your sentence. “I wouldn’t do the same for you.”

There was no need to look at Tom to gather his reaction to your words because you had a strong feeling what it was. Hurt and heartbreak. And that was something that you really did not want to see.

The sound of a car honking again behind you broke the growing silence again, and Tom took that as his cue to finally exit your car. He said nothing to you as he slung his bookbag over his shoulder, grabbed his suitcase from the backseat, and then headed into the airport.

You had just told him something that was a complete and utter lie, and as much as you wanted to chase after him and tell him that your statement had been just that, you didn’t. As you watched his figure become smaller and smaller as he continued inside the expansive airport, you noticed that he did not turn to look back at you once. That was what let you know that the damage was done.

Your heart hurt like hell right then, a completely self-inflicted wound, but you knew that in the long run, your actions would prove to be the right thing. The pain from it all would ease up eventually.

• • •

Tom had absolutely no idea what to say in response to your confession. He was beyond confused and had no idea if you were even telling the truth; he honestly hoped that you weren’t.

That day at the airport was fucking heartbreaking for him, and if it actually had all been just a lie, he wouldn’t know how to feel.

Before he could utter any type of response to your previous words, your drunken mind moved to a completely different place, disregarding everything that had come out of your mouth less than a minute ago.

“I’m really tired,” You said and stood up from the cross-legged position you were in on the floor so that you could start heading to your hotel room.

Tom wordlessly followed suit, and less than a minute later, the two of you were standing in front of your door. You pulled your key card from your pocket and managed to unlock the door after receiving some help from Tom. Using the card was something that had already been slightly difficult to do sober, so adding your drunkenness to the table did not make it any easier.

When the door was opened, you began to step inside the room, but you stopped when you decided to pull Tom in for a hug. He felt completely awkward and tense at the action, but that was something that you didn’t at all notice due to your inebriated state.

“Goodnight, Tommy,” You said to him once you pulled back from the embrace. The nickname you used to always call him, slipping out way too easily.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom responded, forcing out a small smile. His mind was still completely stuck on your drunk confession, and he knew that he would be thinking about it all night.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know your thoughts! <33

[insomniasymphony]

Obsessive Killua Zoldyck x Female Reader [No way out]

Constellation: Obsessive Killua Zoldyck x Female Reader Words I got: → Storm → Danger → Cave Sentence I got: You still couldn't believe what you had seen a few hours before. Rating: Teenage and up Audience/ Mature (a little bit) Warning: Little Description of Violence

                   ►► Running away has many different meanings.                                    For some, it's like playing tag.                                    For others, it's sheer escape.                  And for a few, it is nothing more than mere suicide. ◄◄

Your breath comes in gasps over your lips as the storm lashes the rain against your face, tugging at your hair and chilling your skin. Goosebumps have spread across your numb skin, but it can't compete with the inner heat that has been germinating inside you since you started running. You have to get away. From him. From this family that could hardly be more sickening and finds nothing reprehensible in their behaviour. If you stayed, there would be no chance of survival, even if part of you wants to believe that Killua would protect you. But he is only a thirteen-year-old boy who knows little of the world itself, as you like to believe. He doesn't understand what's so scary about assassins, and he doesn't understand that you don't want to be part of a world full of torture and fear.

Branches whip around your legs, getting partially tangled in your clothes, which cling wetly to you as if they were a second skin. Your lungs burn and a glance back reveals that the Zoldyck estate has disappeared. Instead, you are surrounded by endless trees and bushes that offer you light shelter, but no one can tell you when the butlers will find you – or Killua.

For a moment you dare to stop, take a breath and recover your strength, even though the uncertainty is at your back and won't let you escape. All this you had imagined differently.

Killua, after Gon and he had parted ways at the end, had decided to take a short breather at home. And he had invited you. You'd already spent a lot of time with the two of them, starting in Greed Island and beyond, during which your love for Killua had risen and his affections had wavered in your direction as well. Once, when Gon hadn't been looking, there had been a kiss, brief and shy, but meaningful, as if you had a chance together. After that, Killua had changed.

He became more attentive. Always got in front of you. He constantly knew where you were and he demanded that you stay close to him. All that had been kind of sweet. The thought of someone caring for you so intensely had warmed your heart. But you had missed the signs of his obsession.

When he had brought you home with him, there had been his parents. A father who eyed everything quietly and a mother who had almost melted with delight. Then Killua had shown you the torture rooms because there had been interest.

And the next moment you were busy running away.

With difficulty you try to put one foot in front of the other. You must not stop until the estate is completely behind you. But the forest seems endless and your heart is pounding wildly, because the calm doesn't want to come and the fear is deep in your bones. And it is precisely this fear that gets you moving again.

Over roots, in the pouring rain that gets colder and colder, it drives you forward. Always past the same images. There is nothing here but this forest and more forest beyond, endlessly, ceaselessly, until your legs are almost numb and you get caught on something that pulls you down.

A suppressed scream sticks in your throat before you hit the muddy ground and for a moment you can't breathe. You lie still, inhaling and exhaling, before you quickly pick yourself up and slip away again.

Cursing, you slam both fists to the ground, a little distressed, a little breathless, until a little further in the distance a narrow hole comes into view and promises rescue. You crawl towards it on all fours and with every metre you get closer you realise that it is more of a crack that seems to lead into a cave.

As you reach the passage, you barely wait a moment before you stand up on both legs and push your way through the opening. It is wide enough for you, somehow, leading straight into the inner arena, which widens after the first two metres and lets you into an almost open antechamber. The bare stone walls are dimly lit by flickering torches and the first thing that really occurs to you is that it might be a way out. At the end of the room is a staircase leading down, presumably to underground passages that you can follow to get out in another city. That would simplify a lot. So you follow the ideal of an idea and hurry down the steps.

The light lasts every inch of the way. Almost as if the torches are changed regularly so that this place will never be surrounded by darkness. You take the steps double, jumping down like a rabbit in its own burrow until you reach the bottom.

The air down here is stuffy, humid and musty, joining only a metallic note you can't place. In front of you is a narrow corridor that leads straight into another room. There are no junctions here, nor does escape seem possible. Nevertheless, you follow the corridor, hoping for a way out at the end, and almost start to run until the knob of the wooden door on the other side is in your hand.

It is frighteningly warm.

You turn it, open the barrier and it opens barely a crack before the pungent smell of blood and urine hits your nostrils. It is sharp, stinging in your eyes, gathering tears in your lower lids as you let the door swing open with a push and briefly take in the image before you.

All of a sudden, Killua's stories come to you visually, awakening wild thoughts that jump up and down. He told you about all kinds of things. Moments when someone was nailed to the wall by the arms and legs, howling because the rusty nails burned in the wounds. People squirming under electric shocks so that they would reveal information before the electricity made the blood boil and the flesh stew.

Across from you, heavy chains lie on the floor while thousands of whips and knives, nails and needles adorn the walls. Blood has drawn dried patterns across the floor, hangs fresh on some blades that have been neatly placed on a metal plate.

The sudden sigh behind you sends a shiver down your spine, cold and biting. “This is one of the newer torture chambers, because my mother complained about the noise that sometimes resounds through the house when she's trying to sleep.”

Quick as a flash, you turn and try to gain distance, but you don't get far before the click reaches your ears and you can feel the resistance against your neck. A collar of iron, just for you.

“Killua...I...” you begin, but can't find the right words. There is fear, uncertainty and panic about what he plans to do with you. The only thing that is certain is that you are in danger and you will never forget the images you saw almost visually in front of you just a few hours before, because Killua knows how to describe something vividly. Partially, you still can't believe it.

“What's wrong?” Uncertainly, Killua tilts his head. His gaze is normal, his pose casual. One hand he keeps hidden in the pocket of his shorts, while with the other he firmly holds the chain to your collar. The long-sleeved shirt on his body is dry, as if it had never come into contact with the storm out there.

“I'm sorry if I scared you,” he mumbles a moment later, and for a second hope sprouts.

“Let me go then,” you beg him, but there is nothing more than bewilderment reflected on his features.

“Then you would run away again.” He pronounces it as if it were natural to bind people you love to you with a chain. “That's just for your safety.”

Probably he's talking about the butlers and the beast in the front garden, all of whom tend to kill anyone who moves freely without permission. They would see you as prey no less than Killua does, except that he cares about you. At least that's what he claims.

“Killua...” you begin again, indecisive yet pleading. “I-I won't run away. Really, I won't. But you scare me.”

His eyes widen before he presses his lips tightly together and pulls harshly on your chain, causing you to stumble towards him. It's impossible to stop before you bump into him and the warmth of his body seems to warm a part of you. He doesn't put an arm around you, but you can hear his heart beating faster and feel him slowly lean down towards you.

“I won't let anything happen to you. You are mine and no one will take you away. Not the people on our journeys, nor my family.” The chain rattles as he eases up and places his other hand gently on your cheek, making you look at him in the very next blink. His gaze is full of care, but his words seem like poison in your blood. Because you know he won't let you go. Not until you are dead.

[picture is from a collecting card game] [Want to give me some Kudos? Visit HERE!] [You have a wish for my collection? Check up HERE!]

[sassycassie-s-writing]

My Favorite Smile

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC/BatFam - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Rating: PG-11/T- (this one has a couple ✨swear words✨ in it lol. I don’t usually write them out, but sometimes you just gotta say what you mean)

Original Idea: X (Obsessed with this channel right now)

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) 2,182 words... it’s a longer one again. I casually wrote this in, like, two hours. @welovegroot @jason-redhood @jason-todd-squad

^^^^^

Holding his coffee and croissant, Jason looked around the crowded café for a place to sit. Every table was occupied by at least one person, and the rules of personal space in public said the couches were full, with one person sitting on either end.

His eyes fell on a table with a single occupant.

His heart stuttered to a stop. Wait… is that her? Damn, she looks good this time. He scoffed at himself. Who am I kidding? She looks good every time. Should I talk to her? Should I tell her? She didn’t believe me last time… and I don’t know if I can stand another lifetime without her… but last life we didn’t meet till I was almost fifty. I really wasn’t expecting to find her this early.

He straightened up and strode over to her table. “Excuse me, is it alright if I sit here? The café’s pretty crowded and the other tables are full.”

She looked up and Jason’s brain stopped working as she met his eyes. She was just as incredible as she always was. Thousands upon thousands of years, and he still never got over how beautiful she was. “Sure, go ahead,” she said with a smile before going back to her phone.

—

“I’m Jason, by the way,” the man said, sitting down.

I glanced back up and gave him my name in return.

He smiled. He had a handsome smile. Just looking at him… something tugged in the back of my mind. “That’s a pretty name,” he said.

My ears warmed and I looked away. “Thanks,” I muttered. I looked back at him. “Sorry if this sounds… weird—but have we met before?” I cringed but smiled. If we had…oh it’d be so embarrassing if I’d forgotten him. And a man as handsome as him—how could I have forgotten?

But a look of delight crossed his face, before being replaced by one of neutrality. “Not in this lifetime,” he replied.

“Kind of an odd way to word it,” I remarked before I could overthink whether that sounded really rude or not.

Jason’s ears turned red. “Well… yeah I guess so. Sorry.” He looked down at his coffee cup and croissant and chose to take a sip of his drink. After swallowing, he looked back up at me. “This is probably gonna sound really creepy, but please just hear me out for a few minutes. Do you believe in soulmates?”

I reached up and scratched an itch just behind my ear. “I mean… kind of? I think maybe they exist for some people, and other people could be matched equally well with multiple potential partners,” I said.

His shoulders slouched with a sigh of what might have been relief. “Thank goodness,” he said. He met my eyes. “Because… we’re soulmates. You and I. Sometimes—very rarely—two people are so destined to be together, that they’re reborn over and over to stay together throughout thousands of years’ worth of lifetimes. Sometimes we both remember, sometimes only one of us does. I don’t think there’s ever been a lifetime where neither of us remember. Besides the first, I guess. Back when we didn’t know we’d be reborn. We never look the same twice—different bodies, different backgrounds. But we always have the same soul.”

A reasonable person would have thought he was making up a really long, bad pickup line. But I stared at him with rapt attention. Like some missing puzzle piece I’d been looking for my entire life fell into place. It just sounded… right.

“How do we find each other, if we look different every time?”

He took a deep breath. “Well… when one or both of us remember, we can… kind of sense it? Kind of see it? Like, right now, I see you, but I also see every face of yours that I’ve seen across every lifetime.” He cleared his throat. “Sometimes we don’t. Find each other, I mean. The distance between where we’re born or the timing of our rebirths keep us apart. But there’s only been… three of those, if I remember right.” He laughed. “So glad you believed me this time. It would have sucked if you got a restraining order—because those are a thing now—and I had to spend this life without you.”

I leaned forward, shoving my phone in my pocket. “Tell me more,” I said.

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Um… I don’t know. The beginning? Our first life?”

He nodded. “Ancient Greece,” he said. “Like, really early in Ancient Greece’s history. The gods blessed us. Bound our souls for eternity. Your hair is actually the same color now as it was back then. Kind of a… nostalgic favorite of mine. You’re absolutely stunning every time I see you, but I have some favorites. You do too.”

I snickered. “Oh really? Like what?”

“Well… I always think you’re adorable with dimples or freckles. Green eyes are a favorite of mine too. And your current hair color is my favorite. There were also a few times where you were a little taller than me. Those were nice. You’re most comfortable to hug that way. But, without fail, every single lifetime I see your smile and I think, ‘That one. That one’s my new favorite.’” He chuckled. “As for you, you’ve told me that you like me best with brown eyes—even though you don’t like brown eyes normally. Um… you also like it when my hair is curly.” He gestured to his black hair, slightly curled, with two white curls arcing down the center of his forehead. “You told me… seven lifetimes ago? That you like me best with piercings and tattoos, but when I brought it up last lifetime you said even when I have them I still look like, and I quote, a ‘giant nerd.’”

We both laughed. Jason sighed and shook his head.

“Then again, you said that was your favorite during our pirate lifetime. And I can also say hot damn you looked good with tattoos and a big hat.”

I gasped out a laugh. “We were pirates?”

He laughed too. “Yeah. Well, you were. To start with, anyway. You and your crew were visiting my town and you, absolutely drunk, stumbled into my house. I was a carpenter that time. Thank the gods we both remembered that lifetime or I probably would have shot you. You spent half the night drunkenly blathering about how much you hated my hair when it was long the way it was and that you’d cut it off if I didn’t. The next morning, when you’d sobered up, you apologized. And I’d said it was fine. And… you asked me to come with you. I’ve spent dozens of lifetimes endlessly in love with you. So, like the lovesick fool I am and was, I said yes.

“It… was not a long lifetime. Pirates rarely made it to old age. We were both killed when a Royal Navy ship attacked us. I went down first. You told me in our next lifetime that you single-handedly killed half of that crew’s sailors in revenge even though you knew you’d see me again—because you’d been having so much fun that life and they ruined it. Eventually their captain killed you himself.” He took a bite of his croissant.

It was certainly a lot to take in. But everything he said was so vivid… I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination coming up with the images or… memories that had merely been locked away somewhere deep inside. The sea. The deck of a ship. An octopus tattoo on my left forearm, tentacles reaching to the back of my hand, a similar one on his tanned, scarred neck. Curly auburn hair, a scruffy beard. Brown leather coat and blood under his nails. Pierced ear and eyebrow. A tattoo of a mermaid with a face and wild hair that I knew must have been mine on his right thigh as we found alone time together in my cabin—a pile of leather clothes in a heap on the floor, topped by a big hat with a big feather.

I met his eyes again. “Tell me about another one.”

He smiled. “Well… there was another time I was a soldier. You remembered. I didn’t. I passed through your town on my way to report for duty, and the weather got bad. Your family owned a tavern that doubled as an inn. So, that was where I stayed. You didn’t tell me. I fell in love with you anyway. You would tell me stories and sing for me and make me food in private. When the weather improved, I went off to war and, miraculously, I survived. Even though I spent most of my time that fight thinking about you. I came back to your inn and asked you to marry me. You said yes. We were married soon after. I had to leave a lot. Fighting battles I didn’t care about. Eventually, I came home injured and dying. You held my hand and promised you’d see me soon. I thought you meant heaven or just said it to comfort me. You never told me we were endlessly-reborn soulmates.

“When I was about fifteen my next lifetime, all my memories came back. We both remembered that time, actually. When we ran into each other again we got into such a big argument about you not telling me. Literally picked up right where we left off. Two twenty-year-olds bickering like the old married couple we were. The life after I don’t remember is always a bit of a wild ride as all my memories come back. I imagine it’s similar for you. It’ll be similar for you.”

He reached across the table and took my hand. I squeezed his fingers. Our hands fit together perfectly. I wondered why I’d told him I liked him best with brown eyes when his blue eyes were absolutely gorgeous. “So… what now?” I asked.

He made a face. “Beginnings are always hard when one of us doesn’t remember. Because I have thousands of years of love for you, and you don’t even know me.” His fingers tightened around mine. “I’d like to take you out on a date, if you’ll let me.”

“Does it count as a first date?”

He smiled. It was a sad smile. “It can. It does for this life.”

“Have we… ever had children? Together?”

Jason regarded me thoughtfully. “We have,” he said. “But our bloodlines never last long. Usually we’re lucky to get great-grandchildren. We’re blessed to be together forever, but our families die off quickly. You speculated once that it’s the blessing’s attempt to make sure we’re not reborn into our own bloodline.”

“So we have no living descendants.”

“No. It’d be a little weird if we did. Like ‘Hey, kiddo, you’re our great-great-great-grandson! I know we’re younger than you but trust us!’” Jason laughed.

I could get drunk on that laugh. “I’d… I’d like to go on that date.”

He looked elated—and relieved. “Me too. I’d like to get to know you again.” He glanced around the crowded café. “What do you say we get out of here and go somewhere quiet and I can tell you more stories about our lives? You’ve always been the far superior storyteller, but I learned from the best.”

I smiled. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here. I want to hear everything.”

He helped me to my feet. I gathered my jacket, cup, and phone. “Great. I can’t wait to tell you about the time I was a magician.”

I giggled. “My place or yours?”

“Mine. I have a memento from our most recent past life that I tracked down. I’d like you to have it.”

“What is it?”

Jason didn’t answer immediately. Just held my hand as we left the café. Gotham’s overcast autumn sky was chilly. “I… I want it to be a surprise but I’m also too excited to tell you.” He bit his lower lip, staring at me. “Gah. Fine. It’s your wedding ring. I found it at an antique shop not far from where our oldest niece lived. We didn’t have any kids, last life. We didn’t meet till I was forty-nine and you were forty-three. We both decided it was too late for kids. But I had a few nieces and nephews. Our oldest niece was in charge of our estate. We died in the eighties. But I found your ring. You can use it again, eventually, if you want. Or we can get you a new one.” His face reddened. “I don’t mean to presume. But I don’t know if I can live without you this lifetime after having you for such a short time last life.”

I squeezed his hand. “Let’s try that first date first. I feel this pull toward you I can’t explain, but we’ll build up to the soulmate thing. Okay?” I smiled at him.

—

Jason couldn’t help but stare at her. Those eyes, that stunning face. This one, he thought. This smile is my favorite.

[dilfbane]

Your Weeping(Your Need For His Touch)

Summary: When things go south on a mission, you have to confront more than just the sketchy town, cartoon villains, and one-bed hotel room you’re forced to share with Loki. You have to come to terms with not only the consequences of being captured, but also the God of Mischief’s feelings for you - Because for all that he might be an asshole, sometimes, he really does have a heart. Written for the Picture Is Worth A 1,000 Words 6k Follower Writing Challenge by @startrekkingaroundasgard 

Pairing: Loki/(Female)Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and medical treatment, as well as discussions of the inevitable mindset around sacrificing oneself for the mission that I feel like being part of the Avengers would entail. Also swearing, because at its core, this story started out as a bit of a crack! fic. 

Word Count: 7.8k. 

A/N: So apparently when I have mental breakdowns they result in me writing crack-fic that takes a 180 veer into angst and fluff for absolutely no reason. For the sake of the crack-fic, in this timeline Loki was forced to help the Avengers take down bad guys directly after the end of the first Avengers movie, so… Is that a confusing plot hole I didn’t know how to account for except by making this AU? Maybe. Did I do it anyway?…. Yeah. This really was meant to be a crack-fic about Loki and the reader confessing their feelings set in the bizarre world of meme culture, I didn’t realize there were going to be feels in it until it was three in the morning and all of a sudden this happened. That being said, your girl went there, so enjoy! 

“Oh, shit,” You say, as you take in the grimy hotel room. The walls all smeared in what looks like dried blood, the putrid smell of rotten eggs, a crack-screened television with a fine dusting of some suspiciously white powder. And, of course, “There’s one bed.” 

“Hmm?” Asks Loki, turning towards you, briefly, from unpacking. He had dumped his suitcase(Magically plucked out of a chaotic liminal space) unceremoniously on the bed’s scratching, pilling coverlet without so much as a second glance at the rest of the room. And why do you need a suitcase, anyways?? You wonder. It isn’t like we’re planning to be here that long. In fact, you hoped with every fiber of your being that you’d be here for as little time as possible, because this town might actually be the sketchiest place you’ve ever seen in your life; no small feat, for a bona-fide member of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

You’ve kicked alien ass on a mutated purple Mongolian death-worm three thousand feet over New York City. You’ve run reconnaissance to rescue debatably-magical items sequestered away in an ancient cave labyrinth plastered in paintings and untranslatable runes, gunfire and what could only be described as the baying of hellhounds in the near distance. You’ve fist-fought a gigantic hive-mind robot in a field of artificially sentient feral steel suits - You’ve even survived Tony’s parties. 

Yet none of those scenarios hold a candle to this fucking town. 

And Loki, the asshat, seems utterly, competently - no, maniacally - unfazed. 

“There’s one bed,” You repeat, into the air. 

“Ah,” Says Loki, straightening. 

“You don’t see that problem with that?!” 

“Should I?” He asks you, walking across the room in long, graceful strides to stand in front of you. He wears the same expression he always wears, amused and indifferent, but this time with the addition of a single, elegantly-arched eyebrow. You drop your head, refusing to meet his somewhat-curious gaze. It physically hurts, how attractive Loki is. Not for the first time, you curse whatever god decided that you and him would once again be mission partners - in this case, you belatedly realize, and choke back a thick laugh, said god is, unsurprisingly, Thor. 

If you survive this, you make a note to beat his head in with Mjolnir. As it is, you are here in this room with Loki, with perhaps twenty IPP agents and a reckless poisoner dogging your every move, and there’s a high chance that you won’t live long enough to navigate whatever the hell sleeping with your crush-who-has-murdered-men. Ok, so ‘murdered men’ isn’t entirely accurate. More like ‘caused the murder of men inadvertently through his schemes’. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, right now. 

And what about Loki? He is still staring you down, like you’re some wind up toy moments away from going off. Funny, that, you think. If ever there were a time to not have a mental breakdown, it would be here, with him. You’ve crossed a lot of moral lines in your life, but you will be damned if you let Loki Laufeysson see you cry. Loki is graceful. Composed. Sarcastic. Lithe. Rolls his eyes at almost every statement that comes out of somebody’s mouth. But he is, also, beautiful. Shockingly comforting, in his own nihilistic way. You don’t know what it says about you that you find comfort in statements like, Try not to die, you know that I hate funerals. Part of you - most of you - doesn’t want to. But it gives you strength, somehow, to shrug off the day and ground your flailing mind in evading Loki’s calculated manipulation. I won’t show you my weakness, you think to yourself. It’s not enough, but it’s a start. 

“No,” You tell him - too quickly, he’ll pick up on that - “You’re right, you shouldn’t. It’s fine. We have - a lot to deal with, is all.” 

Loki nods, seemingly accepting your answer, but his eyes are still narrowed, watching you like he’s calling your bluff. You talk right past that look - have to, to keep yourself sane, to not think about the one bed that looms large over this entire conversation. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable bed. 

“We have two days,” You say, to stop yourself thinking of it. And, also, to talk your way through your disarmingly disjointed thoughts. Loki nods. It would really help if you said something, you think. Swallow the thought, hot and thick, down your throat. What’s the point of a mission partner if you can’t even soundboard off them? “The Pink Cobra could strike anyone, anytime. The IPP is planning something in New York - “ 

“Isn’t everyone, these days, planning something in New York?” 

He sounds regretful, and for half a second you want to offer him the reassurance that his very presence offers you. But you are sure he doesn’t know what he does to you - with his words, with the sidelong glances that you’ve felt linger on your form far too long in the heat of a fight. If you didn’t know any better, you would say Loki worries about you. 

“We have to shut him down,” You say. Focus on the Pink Cobra, because honestly, that’s easier. “Find out where he manufactures. Not get poisoned,” You add, at the end. 

“Yes,” Loki says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “We should certainly try not to get ourselves killed. Failing that, I suppose, we can at least request that no one in H.Y.D.R.A gets autopsy access.” 

“Loki?” You ask. Rhetorically. “You’re not helping.” 

He smirks at you, then. He knows. 

“What do you propose that we do then?” He asks, taking a step towards you, getting so close that you can feel his hot breath. “About the Pink Cobra?” 

“Find him.” You say, fumbling, blush rising high on your cheeks. 

Tonight? 

One bed? 

You are screwed. 

                                                             ***

When you were a kid - think really little, Capri Sun pouches and still believing that true love wasn’t complicated - your father told you that every story needed a good supervillain. You aren’t sure if the Pink Cobra counts as a good supervillain, but he’s the least confusing one that you have to deal with - and, as far as villains go, a fine enough challenge to face. He’s like a madman out of some high fantasy novel, with dark eyes and a sable-sewn cloak and a penchant for poisoning. He is adept in all the arts of the woman’s murder; he has a keen grasp on the side-effects of arsenic and camphor and tansy and cyanide and strychnine. He’s been found to have dropped crystal phials filled with belladonna and ricin while fleeing a scene. If all else fails, he’s more than practiced with daggers. 

In other words, he’s the kind of villain that none of you, with your flying suits and telekinesis and super-strength, are anywhere near prepared to waylay. 

The plan, as far as team Avengers is concerned, is easy: 

You and Loki. This town, where the webs of his manufacturing production and the few glimpses of information that Thor has totally legally excavated out of his captured minions has led to. Two days until some undefined grand attack bears down on the city you live in. Two days to find the Pink Cobra and kill him. The more time passes with no headway, the more you think that this is an impossible task, but you know what Tony would say. We have our best minds on it. 

The thing is, you aren’t sure that that’s true. The minds that have been set to this task are you and the God of Lies. It’s hardly the best they could have come up with, considering your track records. Actually, you take that back - Loki was a good choice for this mission, because, not three hours after arriving in this hellhole of a city, he seems to have somehow developed the ability to read minds. More specifically, yours. And that could prove stunningly useful. 

The scene, as it stands: Loki, sprawled across the lumpy bed, three pairs of crisp white shirts, a plaid scarf, and a full set of Asgardian battle armor neatly hung in the mothball-infested closet, flicking through channels on the grain, cracked television with an apathetic expression and one arm thrown haphazardly over bent leg. Propped up in such a way that he could jump or spin or parry at a moment’s notice, yet perfectly, devastatingly languid, leafing through Nick Fury’s dossier on the Pink Cobra. He looks at you like a god, you think, and then remember. He is one. 

You, on the floor, because on top of all the other things this hotel doesn’t have, like two beds, there isn’t anything even resembling a desk, shifting through a glowing, holographed file archive from headquarters that barely runs on your severely outdated laptop. It’s a point of pride to you, keeping the laptop - not because it’s good, but because it’s survived five years of being an Avenger, which is something not even all the Avengers can claim to have done. You’re also fairly certain that Tony’s attempts to update the firmware had infested it with some sort of renegade virus. Elevated above your screen, the files are split into two groups, the sum total of everything that you know about both of the groups that are avidly trying to kill you. 

There’s the wealth of information containing the Pink Cobra’s poisoning sprees, but those aren’t the files that interest you, and you know that Loki’s not much interested in them either. That honor falls to the fanatics at the IPP, the Imminently Predictable Psyops organization, which you know even less about than you do about the Pink Cobra, chief among which the fact that they need a new name. Imminently Predictable Psyops?, Tony had said, when you’d finally apprehended one of their proxies. What do they think this is? Some type of ARG? 

What you’ve gleaned, from months worth of studying the network, is that they operate as a sort of cringe-oriented death cult intent on ‘reshaping the universe through meme agents’. They’d been on S.H.I.E.L.D’s radar for a long time - upwards of a year - before anyone at team base learned they existed - which, you can almost hear Loki saying, was a failure in the extreme. Currently, it was your job to obsessively worry over whether they were going to send ‘meme agents’ to bust through the door of your seedy hotel room and off you both. You hated - truly loathed - how casually Loki was taking it all. 

He’s acting like nothing was wrong with this situation, when, in fact, you’re ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that this night will end up with one or both of you dead. It is, to say the least, disconcerting. 

Kill switch, the holograph files read. Cross-referential Neil Cicierega acoustic weaponry. Your mind sees the words, but doesn’t comprehend them, and you run a hand up to rub at your bleary eyes with annoyance. You risk a glance upwards; on the bed, Loki scans page after page after page with disinterested nonchalance, punctuating the flipping over of each document with a noncommittal hum; as if to say, I understand you. As it to say, This could be worse. You try to slip into that mindset. Certainly, things could be worse. 

Actually, though? Not really. 

Because, for all the world, the holo-file in front of you just said ‘Pepe The Frog Chaos Banking Laser Initiative’. 

“What the fuck does that even mean?!” 

“Sorry?” 

You whip your head around. Loki, raising an eyebrow. Damn that - perfect - eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” You echo back at him, rubbing your eyes again, perversely glad for the break, even if it is this awkward. “I … said that out loud, didn’t I?” 

“Marginally,” He tells you. “Yes.” 

“Sorry,” You - well, it’s not a whine, not exactly. You’re tired, and there’s no way you’re going to sleep tonight, so you feel like your tone’s justified. “I didn’t mean to do that. I think I’m just - this is. Completely nonsensical.” 

“Show me?” He asks, and you snort. He could totally just look up, but - 

“Do you have a P.h.d in memes?” You ask him, and, before he can answer, “Because unless you have a P.h.d in memes, I don’t think you’ll be able to help.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Loki says. Vaults over the bed with the speed and grace of a panther, filling the air with a cringing wheeze as the rusty springs bend underneath him, and landing in front of the holo-file, pushing you aside slightly to get a better view. When his fingers brush against your side, cool and firm, you flinch. 

“Tired,” You offer, when he shoots you a momentarily concerned look. “Just. Need to sleep, later, I think.” 

But Loki is already scanning the file, and when he looks up, not five seconds later, you want to hit somebody. Preferably, you think, him. 

“I would assume,” Loki says, “That they’re using time travel in order to obtain and store monetary value by way of a Pepe-the-frog inspired laser array.” 

“Oh,” You say. You blink once. Blink twice. Still have no idea what that means. “Right.” 

“Do you not know your memes, love?” He asks you, smirking. And oh, if you don’t feel things. 

“I don’t go on the internet, much,” You tell him. “Too busy, you know, trying not to get killed.”

 Loki shrugs. Sidles away from the file. The groan and squeak of those springs tells you he’s back on the bed, giving you some well-needed space, but you can’t bring yourself to look. 

“You can sleep,” He says, “If you want.” 

“Ha!” You yelp/choke/embarrassingly bleat out into the room’s stale silence. Underneath the rotten eggs, you catch a whiff of bong-water. “No.” 

“There’s a bed,” Loki says, cocking his head pointedly and patting the lumpy covers. 

“Yeah, that’s - kind of the problem.” 

“Why?” He asks you. 

“You - really?” 

“I was only asking,” Says Loki, re-focusing his attention on whichever Pink Cobra document’s next in the folder. “If you aren’t comfortable telling me - I merely thought, seeing as you were tired, you might take this opportunity to rest.” 

“Yeah,” You  tell him, “Of course, that’s - nice of you.” 

It comes out stilted. Patently off. If he notices, he doesn’t say. 

“Are you going to - um. Do you need help, with the rest? The ones I have seem kind of hopeless. I mean,” You say, when he doesn’t look up, “I don’t think that we have to worry about getting demolished by trans-dimensional Agarthian wormholes.” 

“Of course not,”” Loki says, scoffing and incredulous, gaze, you are sure, on his page. “If they wanted to kill us, they’d send someone with a gun.” 

In reality, it’s several someones. 

                                                             ***

“You jinxed it,” Is the first thing you tell him, when the men leave you. They’ve thrown you into a one-room warehouse, rickety shelves stacked with cartoonish tubs of green goop and mildewing boxes filled with grenades and machine guns and what appears, at second-glance, to be twelve-fingered latex gloves. You’re tied wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle, and your throat feels uncharacteristically parched. Fear, you tell yourself. Apprehension. “Can’t you just - use your seidr to magic us out of this?” 

If you could see him - which you can’t, because you’ve been tied back to back - you’d swear that Loki was glaring. 

“Do you - do you have a plan?” You ask, after a moment. 

“I’m working on it,” He says. 

“That’s all?” You say. “We were dragged out of our drug-dealer’s hotel room by a bunch of robed men with guns and the only thing you have to say is ‘I’m working on it?’” 

“I’d get it done faster,” Says Loki, “If you wouldn’t interrupt me.” 

“Ok,” You tell him, “No interrupting you. Got it. That’s - Alright.” 

Unfortunately, not interrupting him is easier said than done, because without the sound of your voice, you are left to your thoughts. 

The men had broken in nearly immediately after Loki’s glib, sardonic retort to your worries, shooting the glass out of the room’s already half-smashed-in window and kicking the door in simultaneously. A bit much, isn’t it?, Loki’d asked, and you had wanted to smack yourself on the forehead. Really not the time, you had hissed, but Loki hadn’t seemed to hear you. Do you do this with everyone they send you to assassinate?, he had asked, instead. The men had been dressed in long, billowing cloaks of bright red, embroidered with orange snakes framing a picture of Beaker from the muppets with early 2000’s emo hair. Chaotic meme agents, you had thought to yourself. So that’s what they’re supposed to look like. 

You hadn’t picked up, until now, on the snakes. 

“They’re working together,” You say, when you can’t stand the playback of Loki being disarmed after spinning and tossing his silver daggers at the men, of the men kneeing him in the balls and twisting your arms behind your back, holding a gun to your head to stop you from trying to fight. Waking up in the back of a van that smelled like microwaved fish. Being tossed like garbage onto the floor of the warehouse, painted in bruises and cuts from the small pieces of glass that had dug their way into your skin. “The IPP and the Pink Cobra.” 

“Obviously,” Loki says. Sharply. 

“Did Tony not -“ 

“Stark,” Loki practically growls, and, ok, you’re not losing it but that did make you jump in your skin, “Is an idiot. He wouldn’t know how to connect the dots if they were presented to him in a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode.” 

“That’s - You had that on Asgard?” You ask him, momentarily distracted. You wish that you could see Loki’s face, and are very glad that you can’t. 

“That isn’t the point,” Loki says. 

“I know,” You tell him. You’re scared that your voice is trembling. Scared that he can tell, even though he’s not facing you, how badly your fingers are shaking. Scared that he knows your worst, biggest secret - 

That, despite being an Avenger, you are anxious. That, despite him being Loki, despite him being here, and wonderfully, infuriatingly himself, he cannot help you, this time. 

You are going to die, covered in cuts and abrasions, on the floor of a meme network’s headquarters, at three a.m in the morning. They are going to come in with umbrellas that shoot poison darts or the ex-presidents Point Break masks and mow you down, and Loki has no fucking plan. You feel the ropes tighten where they’re knotted, itchy and fierce, and you have to fight to keep yourself from whining in terror and nerves. Whining isn’t what Loki needs right now. Whining’s not going to save you. 

What is going to save you, you try and remind yourself, is Loki. If you can shut up. If you can let him decipher what needs to be done. If he can figure out some way to do it before the blowtorch-wielding robed vigilantes or some disincarnate meme god comes back and draws their electronically-sharpened fingernails across your throat hard enough to split skin and sinew, send waves of blood down the front of your shirt like a river of sweet, thick red honey and toss your corpse in a ditch by a highway and - 

“Y/N?” It is foggy, barely-heard. Posh. “Y/N!” Louder, this time. There are fingers on your wrist, bent backwards to grip you. Squeezing, insistent and there. “Breathe.” 

Fuck, you think. You’d started to hyperventilate. To shake, with a full-body tremor that forecasts a great, unstoppable wave of sobbing panic. And Loki had noticed. “I need you to trust me,” He says. “Trust me to get us out of this. Can you do that for me, darling?” 

He has never called you darling before, but God how you’ve wanted him to. You feel like you’re being stabbed in the heart - because there is no way he means it, no way that this is anything other than a desperate and cruel attempt to get you to calm down. Something that belies how obvious you are. How needy you are. How pathetic. And yet - 

And yet, he doesn’t say it meanly. He speaks like he cares about you, and in the face of your impending death, you want to think Loki cares. You’d let him say anything, do anything to you, right now. More than that, though, more than any of that - as you think back to meeting him, to your blossoming late-night friendship and twitchy banter and the quiet moments you’ve shared with him in-between battles - 

“I trust you, Loki,” You tell him, and feel your breath quiet in you. Feel yourself growing still and calm with the certainty that Loki will do as he’s said. 

That you will survive this. 

That -

“Good,” Loki says. Not relieved, but determined. Leaving you no room to argue. 

“So what do we do?” You ask him. 

“Nothing,” Says Loki, and you can hear his wide grin. 

“Nothing?” You ask him, gawking.

 “Nothing,” Says Loki. He gives your hand a tight squeeze. 

And then the Pink Cobra walks in. 

                                                             ***

This will end badly, you think. It’s about the only thing that you can think, preoccupied as you are with - 

It might be easier not to - 

Fuck. 

The thing is - and you really do try not to move, not to groan, not to scream - the thing is, you thought that when Loki said he had a plan, that said plan wouldn’t involve you being collateral damage for a LARP-er who’d most likely broken out of an asylum. I wish that we could be back in that shitty one-bed hotel room, you think to yourself, and - alright, not the best timing, but it rips a laugh out of you, spiraling and unhinged, before you feel the Pink Cobra, resplendent in coral cloak and villainous swagger, slug you one in the jaw. It hurts worse than you’d thought it would - you’ve never really gotten injured on missions, you’re usually good at talking yourself out of things, which is why the Avengers keep you around. You can speak any language, as long as you’ve heard it once, and your customary daily awkwardness can shift into persuasion like flicking a light-switch on. 

Usually, though, you had an opportunity to speak, and weren’t rendered speechless by - 

Loki, if you’re being honest. How much you want to kiss him. How much of an asshole he is. Trust me, he’d asked you. Can you do that for me? The Pink Cobra’s grip is sharp and bruising on your side; he’s slipped his fingers up your shirt and is pressing the point on your side that threatens to make your knees buckle, making bile rise up in your throat, driving you wild with the aching need to flee. He has one hand clasped over your mouth, now that you’ve quieted, and you can feel something - pain, and a pill - pressed snugly into his palm. He will force it down you, you know, if Loki so much as sighs wrong. 

You’ll never trust him again. 

You wish that you knew what the time was. If you end up dying at 4:20, you’re going to throw fists with somebody in hell. 

You wish, also, for aspirin. Avengers training has left you woefully unprepared for the reality of getting punched in the face. You can already feel your jaw starting to swell, taste an egregious amount of blood. You’re pretty sure that the force of the blow knocked a tooth out. 

What strikes fear into you, though - a fear somehow deeper than the absolutely bone-chilling, blood-curdling knowledge of what the Pink Cobra might do to you - is the look you’d seen on Loki’s face in the seconds after he’d grabbed you, before it fell into practiced, amused apathy. He’d gone white, and his eyes had blown wide. His fingers had spasmed with anger. 

He’d looked as scared as you feel. 

And you have no idea why. 

It isn’t like you’re anyone special. Not any more than the rest of the team. Less so than most of them. You aren’t a god, like Loki and Thor are. You don’t have stealth-assassin training, like Bucky, or super-strength like Steve. You can’t seamlessly pilot mechanical suits over the New York skyline like Tony, or use a crossbow like Clint, or beat thirty people in single-hand combat like Nat, or change into a nitro-fueled rage machine like Bruce. 

You can’t do anything, much. 

Except, apparently, die.

You squeeze your eyes shut, not letting yourself look at him. You won’t let Loki’s disinterested face be the last thing that you see. It makes the Pink Cobra’s words all the worse, when he speaks. His voice is dark and sick and timbered, and you feel maggots crawling over your skin as he slots you closer to his body, tightening his already painful grip on you so that you can’t move even an inch away from his tensed, coiled muscles. 

“So,” He says, “You are superheroes? How long did it take me, to apprehend you? Ah - three and a half hours? Tell your boss-man, do better next time.” 

“I’ll pass it along,” Loki says. His voice sounds different. You can’t place why. Still won’t look. 

“You won’t,” The Pink Cobra says. You can feel his shoulders rise, then fall. Feel him smirk. You love Loki’s smirk - secretly delight in drawing it from him, sometimes - but the Pink Cobra’s only fills you with yet more terror. You’ve pursed your lips tightly shut against the intrusion of his hand, but when Loki speaks he forces your bruised, bleeding jaw open and shoves the pill into your mouth. The pain of your injury tears through you like white lightning and you thrash, trying to escape. A keening sound claws its way out of you, fevered and anguished, and you feel your hands, still bound up in ropes, trying in vain to push off and away. The man behind you sighs, and then aims a swift kick at the back of your knees, which sends you down before you can so much as yelp. Your knees hit the floor, and he’s holding you by your hair now, twisting it so hard that you’re almost sure he’ll scalp you. He’s pulled something - too big to be be a knife, some kind of shortsword?! - Out from beneath his cloak, and is pressing it up against the column of your throat. You feel the weight of the capsule between your teeth heavily now, and realize what it means in the split-second before the Pink Cobra bends and whispers, Your choice; stale and rancid into the shell of your ear. 

Next, he addresses Loki. 

“You’ll be wanting to know what our plan is,” He says. Our, you think. We were right. “Hmm? I know how you people are. Always wanting to know. Tell me this, Mischief Man. What will I get, if I tell you? What price are you willing to pay?” 

You know what this is. You know it like the ache in your heart when Loki brushes you off. Like the safety you feel in his arms. You open your eyes. Take in Loki’s face - he’s trying to hide, but you know, you know how he feels. You know what he’s going to choose. 

And you know that you can’t let him choose it. 

“You’ll let her go,” Loki asks, “If we let you leave here?” 

“The thing could be managed.” 

No, you think. No, Loki, don’t! Whatever the Pink Cobra’s going to do, whatever the IPP’s planning, knowing’s worth more than your life. 

“One thing I want to know,” Loki says. He’s twirling a knife of his own, a slim silver number he keeps on him at all times, and you feel the blade on your own throat start to dig in - not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to feel it. The threat of it. The promise of it, and the coldness of the gleaming metal. “You and the IPP? How does it fit?” 

“You want information from me?” The Pink Cobra asks. Lets his blade bite you, just barely, and the strength it takes for you not to scream is more strength then you’d known you possess. 

“Yes,” Says Loki. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”

He meets your gaze. You meet his. You hope that he cannot read it. His eyes are so worried, so desperate, you nearly break down. 

“I suppose,” The Pink Cobra says, “That you’ve earned it. Getting here - getting this far - it must have been no easy task. Fine. There is no Imminently Predictable Psyops organization. They were a - what do you call it? Red herring? A scent of blood for the shark.” 

“You fabricated them,” Loki says. “Why would you fabricate them?” 

He is losing his composure, you can tell. You will never be ready for this. He will never be ready for this. You hope that he will forgive you, and you know that he never will, and you swallow the pill in your mouth. 

“Because it was fun,” The Pink Cobra says. 

And then your body knows pain. 

                                                             ***

“He didn’t think I would do it,” You say. Your mouth feels thick, clotted with blood and shock, and your body is one raw, gaping wound, but the giddy feeling of victory has begun to course through your veins. Pure, unfiltered adrenaline. You had waited for the moment of death to come, and it hadn’t. The pill is fake, your mind had screamed. But there’d been one thing left, that might work. You had breathed as slowly as you possibly could, forced every muscle of your scared, writhing body into single-minded limpness, rolled your eyes backwards into your head,  drew one last breath in, and fallen. Twitched, for a few seconds, like a rag-doll. Then made yourself still. 

Loki had slit the Pink Cobra ear to ear, beaten him within an inch of his life as he bled out, screaming like a man deranged. He’d left him a wet, bloody mess on the floor, and the blood had run down the not-quite-steady plane of it, pooling around you and mixing with the blood from your jaw, from the evening’s earlier glass cuts, from the deep, burning stab wound the Cobra had got on your arm. 

You breathe, and your body knows pain. 

You look at Loki, and your body knows pain. 

He is shaking. Visibly shaking. His hands are clenched into fists at his side, and he looks as pale as bleached bones. His eyes are shot red - he had sobbed, when you fell, and a howl had torn through his body. You don’t know what to do, what it means, what the hell even to say to him. His cheeks are tear-stained, his breaths ragged. 

You blink, and your body feels pain. 

“We won,” You croak out. “Loki, we won.” It hurts worse than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. “I think he broke one of my ribs.” 

You don’t mean to say that last part, but you do, and you are the one crying now, because it feels like he probably has, and you can barely even stay awake through this pain. It feels like the Hulk is pulling you limb from limb. Like all of those nightmares you’ve had where Loki decided to leave you - to go back to Asgard, and never speak to you again. 

Stupid, you think. He won’t, again. Not after this. 

Loki still hasn’t spoken. He’s looking at you, and his eyes are wild. Desperately, jaggedly roaming your body. His fists twitch with every new part of your body they land on. 

“That bad, huh - Oh, fuck.” 

And just like that, the tension leaves Loki’s body. The dam that had held him firmly in place is broken, and he’s running towards you with none of his usual grace. Dropping down by your side. He hoists you, and you hiss, and the tears won’t stop coming, so you bury your face in his shirt, nose pressed at the crisply ironed collar. Don’t care that it’s bleeding, because Loki’s here now. Holding you. Keeping you real. He’s got one hand stroking your hair and his touch feels right, nothing like the Pink Cobra’s, and he’s whispering: You brave, precious, idiot, how dare you, how dare you throw your life away like that?! 

“It worked,” You exhale - it’s the most you can manage. You would laugh, if it wouldn’t shred you to pieces. Loki cradles you fiercely, hands grasping at the sweat-and-blood soaked fabric of your shirt, running over you as if he doesn’t believe you’re alive. “It - hurts,” You get out. Barely. “Loki, it - I can’t -“ 

“Don’t,” He tells you. His voice has gone brittle, choked with thorns. “Don’t talk. Don’t - Don’t ever do that again. Do you hear me? You will never do that again.” 

If I need to, I will, you think. And you wonder if that’s why you’re here. Wonder if that’s why you’re strong. You wonder, and hurt, and believe. Feel the strength of him, clutching you like you’re the only thing in the world, taking in greedy lungfuls of your weeping, your need for his touch. 

You can’t talk, anymore. It hurts too badly. But you surge, upwards, up into where he’s holding the back of your head, pressing your forehead into the dark, warm space under his jaw that smells like smoke and peppermint. Loki is taller than you are - you fit right into the curve of his neck, and his long curls curtain you in a bubble of warmth and content. 

“Promise,” You say, but it comes out unintelligible, and Loki’s hands are running, so gently, over your skin. 

“What was your plan?” You ask him, forcing it out of your body. 

“Hush,” Loki says, “Later.” 

There might not be any later, you think. Not like this. 

                                                             ***

In the hotel room, an ocean of scattered pages and ceiling mold and blessed privacy, you balance, cross-legged, on the bed. The wind blows wet and cold from an earlier rain through the busted out window. You have managed this out of sheer stubborn-ness, because it is the most that Loki allowed you to do. You’d passed out, twice, on the journey back - he had magicked you there, though it had taken a considerable amount of effort that you weren’t sure you really deserved - and had immediately propped you up on the pillows and stooped to ruffle through his suitcase, emerging not long after with binding tape, cat-gut thread, and a needle so sharp you could feel it slicing your flesh. You had opened your mouth to protest, but Loki had silenced you with a glare that could fell Director Fury. So you had gone quiet, and caved, letting him kneel over you on the distinctly lumpy mattress and begin inspecting your wounds. It had taken a few tries and a Please to convince him to let you sit on your own, and it hurt much more than the manner in which he’d arranged you. You were starting to, slightly, regret it. 

“You don’t have to do this,” You say, pulling it from bleeding lips. He shushes you with a harsh, stern tut. “You’re not my mother,” You tell him. 

“You could have died,” Loki says. There’s a snarling undercurrent to it that you can’t even start dissecting. “What were you thinking?” He asks. It is easier, though still painful, for you to answer him - he had used nearly half of his Thor-limited magic reserve to perform a basic stasis spell on your injuries, but the spell wouldn’t last forever. You’ll need stitches, he’d said, choking it out like he was the hurt one when he’d seen the number the Cobra’s blade had done to your arm. 

“I’ve had worse,” You say, grinning weakly. 

“Are you lying to me?” He asks you, with the tone of someone who’s distinctly not in the mood for joking. 

“I thought,” You say. Steel yourself. “I thought you weren’t going to do what needed to be done. So I - Did it myself.” 

“What needed to be done.” Loki says, enunciating every word. 

“We couldn’t let him walk away,” You say, meeting his eyes. Emerald, clouded with fury. You don’t let yourself flinch from that anger. You don’t let yourself run from your choice. “You know what he would have done.” 

“I don’t,” Loki says. “I know nothing. I know - I know that you think that your life means so little I wouldn’t care if you were gone. That I could - Live, without you.” 

That’s… different. 

“And I know,” Loki continues, “That I told you to trust me, and I meant it.” 

“I do,” You say. There is no hesitation. “I trust you - Loki. Of course I trust you. It’s not - it wasn’t -“ 

“Stop talking,” He snaps. Gentles, when you jerk your head away, blink back a fresh wave of tears. “You need rest,” He says. “And - This is. This is going to hurt.” 

You nod. 

“Best get it over with, then.” 

“You should keep your eyes closed,” He says. 

“No! I want - I need to look.” You bring your eyes up to your arm, which he’s settled onto bed’s chewed, scratchy quilt without you realizing, but Loki tilts your head up with a barely-there graze of his fingers, achingly gentle to avoid aggravating your swollen jaw. He holds your gaze for a long time. Doesn’t look mad, anymore. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you. Like all of this could be over with, if you wanted. 

“How bad it could it be?” You ask back. 

The injury is horrendous. You’d thought - honest-to-God, you’d thought the pain was terrible, but you weren’t ready for what your arm has become. The line of the wound runs in a craggy jigsaw from just under your shoulder to the tip of your elbow. Small wonder you can’t move it, can barely think through it at all. 

“Y/N?” Loki asks, “Are you -“ 

“Fine,” You say. Blink, and your body knows pain. Try not to let how scared you are show, when you look back up at Loki. The Pink Cobra’s dead. You shouldn’t be scared, anymore. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?” 

Loki sighs. Long and low and sad. 

“Will I have to - “ 

“Bite,” Loki says, and shoves something - the sleeve of his shirt, crusted in blood which you realize, sickeningly, is yours - into your mouth. “It’ll help.” 

It doesn’t, but he holds your hand through it, hushing you through the pain with furrowed eyebrows, thread and needle flying deftly through skin, air, skin again. His fingers move precisely, deliberate,  quick, and when, on one stitch, you audibly whimper, he pauses to lean down and press a soft, utterly unexpected kiss to your hairline. You are unable to fully express how much it means to you, so you do the next best thing and kiss him yourself, pressing him back once he’s finished the last of his stitches and breathing all the the words you can’t say into him. You press every fear and gratitude and lingering nerve into the warmth of his lips, wending your fingers through his dark hair despite the pangs of agony still thrumming through every inch of your body. Your face hurts, but the kiss is all you’ve ever needed and more, and Loki is so, so gentle with you, pulling away with creased eyebrows and a look of genuine concern. 

“I wanted to,” You tell him, mustering all of your strength. “It didn’t hurt.” 

“Stop,” He tells you, voice cracking, “Stop lying.” 

“I’m not,” You say. “I wanted to, Loki, I did.” 

“And you wanted to -“ 

“No.” You are vehement about it, for a broken-ribbed, broken-jawed, freshly-stitched person coming off the high of his teeth and his tongue. “Not that, I swear, never that.”

 “Why did you do it, then?” Loki asks. He has steepled his fingers under his chin, and his narrowed eyes pierce through you to the soul. You couldn’t lie to this man, you think, if your life depended on it. 

You know that you have to tell him, this time. Really tell him. You don’t. 

“”Why didn’t you use your magic?”

“You know why,” He says, and you do. You’d remembered it as the white pill turned to white powder in your gums, as the Pink Cobra’s knife had carved its way into your flesh. Thor had put a set limit on it, as condition of Loki’s release - Proof, he had said, We can trust you. Loki had thought to save it for later, that you wouldn’t need him right then. He had thought you’d talk them out, to safety. 

You’d failed him. 

“You didn’t,” He tells you, voice raw. He goes to grip your chin, to force you to listen to him, but with a glance and ill-concealed wince at your purpled jaw he thinks better of it. “You think that you failed me? You let yourself be - be beaten and stabbed - just so people you’ve never met in your life wouldn’t die, and you call that a failure?” He runs a hand through his hair. Bites back a snarl. Drops your arm. “I need you to listen to me,” Loki says, “Very, very carefully. You’re going to tell me why now, love. And then we’re going to fix it.” 

You raise an eyebrow. Worse than he does, you’re aware. 

“Sleep,” He amends, with a pointed look at the bed underneath you, “And then we’re going to fix it.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, “And I feel like I just got run over by a truck.” 

Loki huffs, a puff of warm air that you feel, from how close he still is. A grin twitches at the edge of his lips. It sets off sparks inside you. 

“I thought -“ You say. Shake your head, and restart. “You would have let the Pink Cobra attack. You would have let him just walk away, and I couldn’t just - let that happen.” 

“Enlightening.” 

“No,” You tell him, “I mean it. I couldn’t - I’m not - I’m not worth more than anyone else. We’re the Avengers. It’s our job to save people, Loki.” 

He’s regarding you carefully, eyes still narrowed, all vestiges of softness gone from his face. When he opens his mouth, it’s to close it. Form thoughts. Discard them. Exhale. 

“My mother once told me,” He finally says, “That I would never know what it meant to be human until I found the person who made me want to bleed the world dry. Take all of its’ suffering, all of its’ cruelty, and leech it out of the very fabric of time, just to keep that person from anguish, from harm.” 

“I don’t -“ 

He holds a hand up. You still. 

“She never said they would infuriate me,” Loki says. “She never said they would make me laugh, or smile, or question my sanity on a regular basis. She never said that they’d try and get themselves killed, and that I’d have to watch, and that I would feel like my heart was being ripped from my body and torn to a bloody pulp; that I would make the sky rain blood and fire at the sight of it alone. But she was right about one thing - Many things, but also this. She told me that it wouldn’t matter. That I would - love you - anyway.” 

“You don’t,” You say, not daring to hope. It’s an automatic retort. 

“Foolish girl,” Loki chides, and you blink back fresh, stinging tears. How long have you wanted to hear Loki say that to you? How many sneaky looks have you stolen in the heat of your missions, just to see his smart mind and tricky magic at work? How many nights have you sat up together, sequestered from your insomnia in a bubble of hard-earned banter and peppermint tea, fighting the tight, coiling urge to push aside your steaming mugs and pull him into your needing? 

He could not - he can’t - feel the same. 

“Loki,” You say, stumbling over the words, “You can’t - This is - This is me we’re talking about.” 

“Is there anyone else here,” Loki asks you, “That I could be talking about?” He seems nonchalant, now, as if this - this cruel fucking joke, when you already feel you’re on fire - is merely a fact of his life. “We’re going to leave this excuse of a town, and get you - proper care. Fix it. Because I will not, on my honor, watch you suffer in pain. But first, you’re going to sleep.” 

“There’s only one bed,” You tell him, and feel your resolve as it shatters. You cling to the statement like it’s the last remnant of the girl you were and the woman that you’ll never be, “And the shower doesn’t work. And I’m covered in blood.” 

But when you look at Loki, his eyes twinkle, mischievous. 

“Will you stay with me?,” You ask him, biting your lip. 

“You astound me,” He tells you, and rolls his eyes, and it feels - it feels normal. Good. A tender heat unfurls in your heart like orchid petals in the sun, numbing the persistent ache in your ribcage. “To even think that I would do anything else.” 

Later, you will ask him why. Why do you love me?, you will ask, and Loki will hum, low in his throat, curled around you just like this first night; your back pressed into his chest, your legs tangled up hopelessly, his fingers tracing nonsense patterns onto your spine in the dawn-light’s syrupy gold. Because, he will tell you, trailing a line of soft kisses up the scar on your arm - an ugly thing, but it functions, mostly, and only ever seems to hurt on the days when he isn’t there - I was given no choice. 

But if you’d had one?”, You will ask, and spin around, propping yourself on your elbow. 

You tempt me, He’ll tell you, baring his sharp teeth. Shouldn’t you know better than that? 

You will lie there, next to each other, not needing a single word. Because you will know. Because he will have told you, a thousand times, a thousand ways, exactly how he feels about you. 

Tonight, though, isn’t that night. It takes a moment to get settled in his hold, and the rain spits and drums against what glass remains in your window, slicking the carpet with dark, greasy splotches. It figures, you think, that even the rain in this city has the smell and the texture of oil. You feel like a bag of bones, stretched too thin. But safe, in his arms, in a way that you’ve never felt, before now. Loki is with you, you realize. Wrapped around you like a traveler’s cloak, the comforting weight of a slim, balanced blade at your side in a fight. He is cool, around your afraid. Warm, where his clever fingers whine and needle their way through your skin to your heart. 

“I hate you,” You tell him, “You know that?” 

Loki laughs, a deep, rumbling purr. 

“Go to sleep.”

[xxdragonwriterxx]

🔥Drunken Mishaps🔥

A/N: Hey guys! So as just a fun little extra to my stories, I’m going to add a music recommendation at the top of each of my fics like this! I just like to listen to music while I write and thought I might as well share some of my favs! Feel free to ignore this if you want, it’s just for fun! (Side Note: the songs may or may not have anything to do with the topic of the fics. They are just going to be random songs I like. Some of them might relate but others might not).

🐉 Song Recommendation: “One Night in Bangkok” By: Murray Head 🐉

~~~

(Y/N) grumbled to herself as she drove to the bar down the street from her apartment building, her movements stiff with frustration. She had told him several times to drive himself to the bar with his friends, knowing he would get bored halfway through and want to come back home, but Hanji and Erwin had insisted on carpooling together, bringing her grumpy flatmate Levi with them. She would’ve gone with them, but she had a big test the next day she needed to study for. Hence her frustration at being pulled from her study session to pick up her sour roommate when all of this could’ve been solved by simply having him drive alone.

(Y/N) parked and wasted no time in entering the surprisingly well kept establishment, the only bar that was clean enough for Levi’s standards, fuming as she made her way up to her friends.

“Oh hey, (Y/N)! Finally decided to join the party, huh?” Hanji asked when she saw the angry girl, making (Y/N) pause.

“Hanji…, you were the one who called me to tell me that Levi wanted a ride home because his phone was dead and he was bored. If this was all some trick to get me to come here, I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh no, no, no, nothing like that, I know how busy you are,” Hanji said, waving her hands in front of her. “I was just happy to see you, that’s all.”

(Y/N) growled something under her breath that all three of her friends ignored and stalked over to them, her eyes flashing when she caught sight of Levi leaning against the bar, slumped over in his seat.

“This is why I told you to drive yourself,” (Y/N) said by way of greeting when she finally reached them, slapping the wooden surface of the bar with her palm to emphasize her frustration.

To her surprise, the normally observant raven-haired man snapped his head up in shock with a quiet yell, almost as if he hadn’t known she was there, despite her being two feet in front of him.

“Levi? Are you okay?”

The sudden dazzling smile that broke out across his face left a very bewildered (Y/N) reeling, his eyes softening when they focused on her.

“Hey, princess! I was wondering when you’d finally meet me here. I missed you.”

(Y/N) let out a squawk of surprise when Levi suddenly latched onto her arm and pulled her into him, nuzzling his face into her neck and breathing in her scent as if he had done this a thousand times. Her blush intensified tenfold when she heard him quietly mumble, “so warm…” into her skin. Turning to Hanji and Erwin, who were struggling to hide their laughter behind their hands, (Y/N) gritted her teeth and silently wondered why she put up with them sometimes.

“You guys seriously had to get him drunk?” (Y/N) hissed.

“Well yeah!” Hanji said in between barely suppressed giggles. “He needed to relax, you know how he is, always so pent up all the time. He needed some time to really unwind so we challenged him to a drinking contest. You know how good I am at holding my liquor.”

“You better not be driving, Hanji…,” (Y/N) mumbled, still glaring at her friends.

“Oh don’t worry, I didn’t drink tonight, I just wanted to watch the chaos unfold,” Erwin said with a wink, wrapping a large arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders. “I’ll make sure we both get home safe and sound.”

Hanji beamed at her boyfriend before turning back to (Y/N), her grin widening. “Besides, he was being stubborn and wouldn’t admit his feelings for you even though it’s super obvious he loves you. So we decided to…, loosen his tongue a little.”

(Y/N) blushed but shook her head. She knew Levi had absolutely no interest in her, they had nothing in common. She was a psychology major while he was aiming to become an accountant, the two of them only meeting in their shared statistics class in the second semester of freshman year. They were only roommates because they worked well together, having done several projects together for their shared classes that ended in success, eventually leading to a surprisingly sturdy friendship between the two. He was sarcastic and grumpy while she was sassy and cheerful. He was cold and isolated while she was warm and confident. She had always found him undeniably attractive, but she knew that he would never look at her in the same way. He had even told her himself once that his attractions leaned more into the quiet, anti-social type, the kind of girls who were cold and reserved like him so he wouldn’t have to think of pretty words to say.

“Hanji, that’s stupid.”

“But true!” her friend cooed in a singsong voice, smiling even more when Levi suddenly wrapped his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, holding her tightly against him with a happy sigh.

“I’ve got to be honest (Y/N), when Hanji first brought it up, I didn’t think much of it either, but look at how he is acting now. And he’s only done that with you so far. Even drunk, when Hanji tried to give him a hug, he pushed her off of him, grumbling about how she wasn’t the one he was waiting for,” Erwin said, chuckling at the uncharacteristic behavior of the normally reserved young man.

“Guys, he’s only doing this because we share an apartment. We’ve sat together to watch movies before, he’s let me lean on him when I’ve had a long day at work or in class and needed a break, he’s sat in my bed beside me when helping me study and vice versa. He’s only latching onto me like this because I’m the only person he can remember being even remotely close to physically.”

“Sure, whatever you say (Y/N),” Erwin said, huffing a laugh at the thunderous look (Y/N) threw him.

“(Y/N), you seem so tense, are you feeling okay? I bet I can make it better, if you let me…,” Levi’s words stole (Y/N)’s attention away from Hanji and Erwin again, her eyes widening at the sight of Levi leaning in to caress her neck with his lips, even letting his tongue dart out to swirl along her soft skin, forcing a squeak from (Y/N)’s lips.

“Umm, Levi? Why don’t we continue this at home? I’ll ummm, drive us back to the apartment and then we can hang out there, okay?” (Y/N) said in hopes that he’d buy it and let her go long enough for her to bundle him into her car.

“Ooooh! Gonna continue at home, (Y/N)? Shameless.”

(Y/N) flipped Hanji off then, her blush turning her entire face red as her friends laughed at her expense. Levi groaned in frustration but peeled himself away from (Y/N), allowing her to help him to his feet and leaning on her once he was finally up. Praying that he wouldn’t vomit all over her, (Y/N) kept her movements slow as she told her friends goodbye and helped Levi to her car, stuffing him in the passenger seat before getting behind the wheel and pulling away from the bar.

Thankfully, Levi was mostly quiet on the drive home, keeping his hands to himself and merely looking out the window at the buildings that passed, only speaking to occasionally point out a pretty light he saw, or a dog being walked as their owner took advantage of the cool evening air to be outside. (Y/N) couldn’t help but giggle at his drunk antics, her traitorous heart thumping loudly in her chest when he flashed her a smile in response. She had never seen him smile so many times in one night, and it was getting harder and harder to keep her composure when those normally rare smiles were directed at her.

Although he kept mostly to himself in the car, (Y/N) was once again thrown head first into shock and embarrassment as soon as she had helped Levi into their apartment building, her roommate immediately clinging to her like a lost puppy. 

“Mmmm, (Y/N),” Levi purred, rubbing his face into the space between her shoulder and  her neck, making it hard for her to focus on getting the door unlocked. Her face was rivalling that of molten lava as he groaned, his eyelashes tickling her neck when his eyes fluttered closed. “You’re so soft…”

(Y/N) finally got the door open and shoved him inside, quickly locking the door behind them. Once she was sure the deadbolt was secure, she went to turn around only to find Levi pressed against her again, his tongue once more coming out to flick along her throat down to her collarbones, making (Y/N) freeze at the feeling.

“Gods kitten, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for you,” Levi murmured in between licks and kisses.

“Levi, you were only out of the house for a few hours, we haven’t been away from each other that long.”

“That can’t be right,” Levi said with a shake of his head. “I’ve been waiting for you for years, not hours.”

Suddenly (Y/N) understood what he meant and felt the flames immediately rekindle in her cheeks. While part of her was overjoyed that he shared her affections, the other part of her knew it was too good to be true. He was drunk, he had no idea what he was talking about, he was just spewing bullshit, saying what the alcohol was telling him to say. Hell, for all she knew, he could be imagining she was a different woman entirely. He had yet to say her name, he could be thinking that she was someone else from one of his classes, and was using her to realize his fantasy since the star of his desires couldn’t be here.

“Levi, I don’t think you have the right person, you’re drunk and obviously not in the right state of mind, why don’t you just go to sleep so you can have a clear head in the morning?” (Y/N) said, trying to guide him to the couch.

“No, I know it’s you,” Levi said with a frown, leaning to drop another kiss on the dip between her collarbones, his lips lingering after he parted from her skin. “I’ve waited too long for this, I’d never mistaken you for anyone else. You’re the one I want.”

(Y/N) felt like squealing and crying at the same time but she swallowed both impulses.

“Levi, you’re dreaming. I’m not who you think I am, so stop kissing me. I’m the wrong person, and the last thing I want is to ruin our friendship because of some stupid drunk mishap!”

“No, I know you’re (Y/N). I could never forget you. I love you, there’s no way I’d ever not recognize you.”

(Y/N) breath hitched at his words, even when she had to suppress the smile that tried to appear on her lips when he gave a cute little hiccup after his impassioned speech. So he really was fantasizing about her. She wanted to leap on him and smother him with kisses but she held herself back. She knew better. Just as she had told her friends at the bar, this was all just some drunken whim spurred on by her close friendship and living situation with the young man, the alcohol taking advantage of his hazy memories to make her seem like some kind of long lost lover to him. She smiled as she thought about all of the teasing she was going to be able to do in the morning, even while her heart simultaneously broke at the thought of his disgusted face when he heard about kissing her when he was finally sober.

“Levi, you need to go to bed now. You’re going to need all the sleep you can get for when you have to deal with your hangover in the morning,” (Y/N) said. To her surprise, he stubbornly shook his head again.

“Not a chance. I finally get to have you after all this time. I’m not letting you leave this bed until you’re screaming my name.”

Gods, he was so far gone. (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond when all of a sudden, she felt his hips press into hers, her eyes widening almost comically when she felt his arousal nudge against her. Immediately, her entire face turned red, the color even creeping down to her neck and spreading out over her collarbones where Levi was still leaving small nip marks, soothing them over with his tongue before moving back up her throat.

“L-L-Levi!” (Y/N) squeaked.

His smirk against her skin made her spine tingle. “Now you’re starting to get the right idea.”

His words were followed by another hiccup, making (Y/N) snap out of it again. He’s drunk. He had no idea what he was saying and doing. As his roommate and friend, she knew he hadn’t had a lover in ages, at least not since he was dumped in his first semester of sophomore year. This was all just the result of the whiskey in his system combined with his pent up sexual frustrations, his body instinctively looking for an outlet. She just happened to be close by.

(Y/N) had to bite on her lip to keep from moaning as Levi dug his hips into hers again, his length pulsing a little through his pants as he ground against her, his panting moan sending her stomach into a state of butterflies. But this was wrong. Quickly pulling herself together, (Y/N) shoved aside her own needs and placed her hands on his chest just as he reached for her shirt.

“Levi, stop. You need to go to sleep.”

“(Y/N)? What are you-”

“Levi, it’s time to go to bed, come on.”

“(Y/N), wait! Please don’t leave me, I’m sorry if I was being too forward, I just want to show you how much I love you. If you aren���t ready-” He was interrupted by yet another hiccup. “If you’re not ready then we don’t have to take that step yet.”

(Y/N) felt the tears spring to her eyes, anger and sadness flooding her system. She knew he had no idea what he was doing, but she was starting to get tired of him toying with her feelings, even if it wasn’t on purpose. Gritting her teeth, (Y/N) ignored his protests and slapped his hands away, pushing him into his room.

Her heart clenched at the hurt look he gave her when she pushed his hands away but she ignored that too, pulling off his shirt, pants, and shoes, leaving him in his boxers, and tucked him into his bed. To her relief, his eyes finally started to flutter closed as she made sure the sheets were wrapped securely around his body. When she was finished getting him ready for bed, (Y/N) yawned and cast one last look at him before turning to leave, knowing her late night study session was already thrown out the window for the night, more than ready to just get to sleep.

His hand quickly grasping her wrist stopped her and she turned around to see a sad, lonely look on his face, one that made her want to kiss him until her lips turned blue.

“If you’re comfortable, will you stay with me tonight? E-Even if you don’t want me, I just want to h-hold you, even if it’s just for tonight.”

(Y/N) swallowed hard. She knew he was drunk but that clearly didn’t change how he was feeling at the moment, and it was clear he needed someone to be close to right now. Besides, he would have no right to be upset with her in the morning when he woke up to find her next to him, considering he was the one who asked her to stay.

Nodding her head, (Y/N) snatched one of his shirts and quickly changed in his adjourning bathroom, leaving her in just his shirt and her panties. She knew it wasn’t the most appropriate outfit at the moment, but she didn’t have the motivation to go back to her room to change. And again, he had asked her to stay with him, if he had a problem with her wearing comfy clothes to bed, then he could fuck off.

Slipping under the covers with him, (Y/N) had to force herself not to smile when Levi immediately clung to her, his arms looping around her neck and his leg throwing itself over her hip like he owned it as he buried his face in her chest, humming contentedly.

“Goodnight, Levi. You’re going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning,” (Y/N) said, leaning down to give him a quick, self-indulgent kiss on the forehead before settling down to sleep.

________________________________

Levi groaned in pain as the light from the window shone in his eyes, his pounding head doing nothing to help his already growing irritation. What had happened last night? He couldn’t remember anything, but something must’ve happened considering he felt like shit. He had an awful taste in his mouth and he felt like he was going to be sick. Lifting a hand to his face, he was massaging the bridge of his nose when a voice beside him made him freeze.

“Morning, Levi. Sleep well?”

“(Y/N)!!!” Levi cried out in shock, shooting up and scooting back to the edge of the bed in shock. “What the fuck are you doing in my bed!?”

“What? Don’t remember last night?” (Y/N) teased, her eyes flashing mischievously as she smiled.

“No! What the fuck did I do?” Levi asked, dread creeping into his belly as he scrambled to remember what had gone down the night before.

“Hmm, well, let’s see, first you went and got shit-faced with Erwin and Hanji, apparently it was some sort of drinking competition you and Hanji did. Then when Hanji called me to come get you, you kept nuzzling me and kissing my neck and calling me pet names. Finally, when we got back to the apartment, you kissed all over my neck and told me all about how I was finally going to be yours and you were going to make me scream your name. Oh! And you may or may not have, um…,  ground against me,” (Y/N) said, her smile only growing wider at the horror on his face. She loved to tease him sometimes, and this time, it was a good distraction from her aching heart.

Levi, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to have a giant black hole swallow him up, making him disappear. Or to have a truck run him over. Or to slit his own throat. He knew going out with Eyebrows and Shitty Glasses had been a bad idea, but he had never expected it to go this downhill. He felt like throwing up, and this time it wasn’t just from what he now knew was a hangover. He was absolutely mortified. He had loved (Y/N) pretty much since the day they had met, his small little crush on her developing into full blown desire until he was head over heels for her. He had been looking for a way to tell her, his sanity starting to fray that the seams the longer he waited, but this was NOT how he had expected nor wanted her to find out. Then he suddenly remembered that she was here in bed with him in nothing but his shirt and some panties.

“I-I didn’t f-force you into anything, did I? We didn’t do anything, right?” Levi asked, cursing himself for stuttering.

(Y/N) immediately dropped her teasing manner and looked at him in shock and disbelief.

“Oh gods Levi, no! You were just drunk, that’s all. You were actually being really sweet for most of it, I’m only here because you said you didn’t want to be alone last night. That’s all, nothing happened between us. You’d never force yourself on me, and I’d never take advantage of you like that, when you were incapable of making your own decisions and retaining memory the next day.”

Levi sighed at that, relief washing over him. He didn’t think he could handle it if something like that had happened to (Y/N) and it had been his fault. Soon enough though, that  relief was replaced with embarrassment again, his head falling into his hands with a groan as he prayed for someone to just end his misery.

“(Y/N), I am so sorry, I can’t believe I did something like that. Just forget it ever happened, okay? I promise, I will have Shitty Glasses’ head on a stake for this.”

“Does that mean you really didn’t mean it?” (Y/N) asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Levi’s head snapped up to look at her.

“What?”

“Nothing! Just ignore me, please.”

“No, did you just ask if I meant it?”

(Y/N) nodded her head slowly, her teeth reaching out to bite at her bottom lip, dragging the plump flesh in her nervousness, making Levi have to suppress a moan at her cute expression.

“Does that mean…, you maybe feel something similar?” Levi asked boldly, trying to ask her before the rest of his confidence faded away, his body practically trembling with the pressure.

(Y/N) hesitated before she nodded slowly again, her eyes darting around the room as she suddenly found the plain ceiling of his bedroom to be very fascinating. Then, his words really sank in. Something similar…

“Wait a minute, you have feelings for me? None of it was an act last night?”

“I don’t lie when I’m drunk, I actually become more honest. Usually to the point where I lose what little filter I have on my tongue. I meant every word of what I said last night, at least, just so long as all of them were about how much I care about you.”

(Y/N) could hardly breathe. She was just waiting to wake up and find Levi still asleep, or in the bathroom vomiting his guts up. This had to be a dream, her brain playing tricks on her.

“What?” (Y/N) asked, her voice shaky and breathless.

“I love you, (Y/N). I’m sober now, and I can tell you with full certainty that I love you. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable last night, I wish I had gotten the chance to tell you in a more modest manner, but I guess that point is moot now. I love you, and I have for a long time.”

“Oh thank gods! I love you too,” (Y/N) sighed, launching herself at him to plaster her lips to his. Levi chuckled at her response and held her close as he deepened the kiss, groaning at the taste of her paired with the feeling of her body against his and her tongue fighting his for dominance.

Breaking away, (Y/N) gave Levi a coy smile that sent his heart pounding against his rib cage, his silver eyes staring at her intently as she ran a finger down his shirtless chest.

“You know, Levi. Now that I know we are both on the same page, and you’re sober now, do you think I could take you up on the offer you gave me last night for a certain activity you had planned?” (Y/N) asked, a different kind of teasing tone in her voice, her hues sparkling as she eyed the light dusting of pink that accented his cheeks.

Levi growled, his chest swelling with love and pride as he looked at the woman he had wanted for so long. Arousal immediately stirred in his loins at her words, but his hands were gentle as they wrapped around her hips and dragged her into his lap.

“Fuck yes, now that I’ll remember it, I’ll do anything you ask,” Levi purred, looking into her eyes for one last confirmation of permission before swooping down to devour her lips with his own.

The two were so mixed up in each other that neither of them noticed both of their phones go off on the bedside table, two messages sent to each of them from a certain four-eyed freak and tall ass tree that read: 

“You’re welcome.”

[isnt-it-loverly]

little birdie//five hargreeves

Warnings: tried a new pov and it did not go well

Summary: When Five lands in the Sparrow Academy, he must convince one of them to help him reset the timeline. 

Word count: 1540

Author note: part two is out find it here

part three, part four, part five

“This is not your home,” Your father spoke, “this is the sparrow academy.” 

You smirked ever so slightly at his words. Your entire life you had been prepared for this, the day that they would come and threaten everything that your family held dear. This was everything that you had worked for. Soon it would all be over, and you would finally have your chance at normal. 

Number five, he had called you. Much like your umbrella counterpart you were deadly. All you had to do was to look into his eyes and he would be yours to control, you’d have all the information you would need to take them down. 

You watched intently as they pleaded with Number One. How curious, you thought. 

You almost felt bad for them, how they whined like little lost children. You couldn’t help but watch their Number Five intently. He was young like you. Instinctively, you pushed up your sunglasses to make sure that they completely covered your eyes, and wondered if his power came with a price too. 

Soon your father called each of you by number. Then tension in the room was thick, and it was easy to see that it made the Umbrellas uncomfortable. They all flinched as their number was called, just as your siblings did. Maybe they weren’t so different from you after all. 

“Number Five!” Your father's voice rang through the air. 

Five took notice of you, as he had for all of his newfound “siblings”. He watched intently as you straightened your jacket, and placed your glasses in the side pocket. Bewilderment took over as he noticed your eyes.  They were such an unnatural shade of blue, deep like the ocean and endless like space. He also took into account your age as well. So young and innocent appearing, but with a number like 5- he knew your looks were deceiving. 

Reginald called you forward and asked you to demonstrate so they could see the academy’s peak potential. 

“Yes, father,” you spoke timidly. The sound was quiet and didn’t carry very far, but yet still obedient and full of determination. Your gaze soon set on him. 

Five felt a cold feeling wash over him and his knees buckle. Crumpling to the ground, he gasped, “What are you doing?”

He couldn’t look away from you no matter how hard he tried. You knelt down and placed a cool 

hand on his cheek. It was soft and gentle, the feeling matched your innocent physique. “This will be over soon, try not to fight it. It will only make it worse,” he heard your voice but no movement or sound came from your lips. That’s when it dawned on him, that you were in his head. 

“No,” he choked. There was an ache in your heart, something about this felt wrong. However, this was always the part you hated most, the fear in their eyes as you took over. 

Fire danced across the rubble of your newfound surroundings, there was nothing but destruction as far as the eye could see. The worst part about it was the fact that you were entirely alone and incredibly scared. The academy was reduced to ash, and crimson stains filled the street. The burgundy jacket you sported was now a navy blue, picking up a shard of glass you see Five’s reflection staring back at you. This is a memory? You look for any signs of life in the rubble, for anyone or anything that might still be clinging on to life. The only thing you found were the lifeless bodies of everyone you loved- no he loved, sometimes the feelings could get confusing. Yet you felt what he felt, everything from the guilt to the regret to the grief. It was the worst you had ever experienced. Taking a shaky breath, you lean against the rubble, biting your lip as hard as you can to distract from the pain this remembrance had caused. 

“Its awful isn’t it?” a voice called. Your heart dropped into your stomach, it was just supposed to be you here. You turned to see Five staring at you. Rendered absolutely speechless you quickly touch your face and realize that your features are your own. This was impossible, he shouldn’t be here. The fact that he had slipped through your grasp angered you beyond means.

“How are you doing this?” You ask through gritted teeth. Five was amused, you had much more spunk when Reginald wasn’t there to control you. 

“I’m not as dense as your average Joe, once I realized what you were doing I knew I had to divert you here before you had full control. I needed you to see this,” he explained. You looked around at your surroundings once again, there wasn’t much to look at other than death and destruction. Why was this the first thing he wanted you to see? He noticed the look of puzzlement on your face and decided that it would be best to take things slowly.  

“Do you have a name?” He asked. He searched your eyes carefully, they were full of confusion, and yet he could tell that you were intrigued. 

“Five,” you answered. “That’s your number, If you’re going to be in my head we might as well get on a first-name basis,” He retorted. 

You looked down solemnly, “That is my name. Father said names made us weak and that they would place divides in us. But when we were kids we used to pretend to have names. I would always choose (Y/n). What about you?” 

“I thought the same thing my-” he cleared his throat, “our father did when I was younger, thought I was above my siblings so I never chose one. I’m just Five, but I think it kinda suits me,” he finished with a small smile. His warm emerald eyes looked at you and your heart melted. They were so sad and you could tell that there were a million stories hiding behind them. Eyes were the windows to the soul, and suddenly all your malice towards him melted away. 

“This what we were trying to stop. The big Dooms Day of 2019, but it appears my family and I have a knack for royally screwing shit up. We apparently got ourselves unadopted,” he explained. Five made his way over to you, cautious to make sure he didn’t frighten you away. You may have not realized it yet, but you could’ve put a stop to this little rendezvous whenever you wanted. He wanted you to listen, no, he needed you to. He sat next to you and pointed to the remains of the academy.  

“That was our home too, I’m sure we had very similar childhoods. The training sessions must have been interesting with you around,” five said light-heartedly. You knew what he was doing, trying to distract you from your purpose. But you liked the company, it was nice to be able to talk to someone outside your family.

“‘My power is very hard to control. When I was a little girl, I could get stuck. I’ve lived a thousand lives, been so many people. That’s why I look so young, while I’m out of body… I don’t age, don’t hunger, never thirsty. Just still like a statue,” you explained. It was too much information, but who was he going to tell. It felt so right to sit with him, and you knew your secrets were safe with him. 

“I got trapped in this hell for forty-five years when I returned to my rightful time- I miscalculated my equations. One decimal off and now I’m going through puberty again,” he said with a sad smile. He looked at you, and suddenly his smile faded. You searched his eyes and they were full of sorrow and regret. 

“I need your help, (Y/n), this timeline is wrong. This could destroy the fabric of reality, everything could cease to exist. My family, yours, the entire world gone. This is the new apocalypse. If we don’t fix this… I’m afraid this may be our future,” Five explained solemnly. You heart welled when he called you by a name, it had been so long since someone had treated you like a person and not a tool for extracting information. You gulped as the information played over in your head again. This is exactly what your father had warned you about, they always brought the end with them. You stood quickly and backed away from the boy. 

“(Y/n) please, you have to believe me,” he pleaded. Before he could say anything else, there was a flash and the warmth rushed into him. He looked up to see you towering over him, sapphire eyes brimming with tears.

“Well Number Five,” Reginald spoke firmly, “what did you learn?”

“He knows something about the apocalypse, I think them being here causes it,” you replied meekly. All your kindness and bravery you showed Five was gone, your father had a way of doing that to people.  

Reginald stood and cleared his throat. His eerie presence loomed over the room and all fell quiet. “Sparrows, kill them,” he instructed. 

[alienheartattack]

To All Of Us, From 2000 Years Ago

I got so mad about 139 and the leaks that I banged out my own 3000+ word ending to the manga today. Please keep in mind that this is a non-shipping story. Although I’ve exclusively written Rivamika before, this is not a Rivamika story, and although there’s an Eren/Mikasa scene at the beginning. there is no relationship between them, only the implication of feelings that are not quite reciprocated. I also threw some Levi fan service in there because why the hell not?

CW: There are references to and non-detailed descriptions of rape in this story.

You can also read this on AO3!

"You know what you have to do," Eren says. Mikasa pretends not to hear him over the rush of the little creek they're sitting by so he says it again, louder.

"I know," she sighs. "Even now, knowing that you've done something so unforgivable, a part of me doesn't want to."

"You're a good person, Mikasa. You'll be even better without me."

She snorts a laugh. "I've killed people, too. Just not as many as you did."

"You always had the weirdest sense of humor." Eren puts an arm around her, presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss it." That's what finally brings him to tears, the thought of not seeing Mikasa again. Or Armin. Or Connie, or Jean, or Captain Levi, even the rest of them. He's had plenty of time to accept that he'd die at nineteen, was always going to die at nineteen, but now that the moment has arrived he wants to hold on just a bit longer.

Mikasa doesn't cry, at least not the way he expects her to. Tears stream down her face but she doesn't sniffle, doesn't sob, doesn't rage or scream the way she’s done in the past. He sees them both, Mikasa the girl and Mikasa the soldier, perfectly coexisting in the inky blackness of her eyes. She has made her decision. She made it before she even stepped into the mouth of the Titan.

"Kiss me one last time," Eren weeps. "Please."

"Okay," she nods, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in close. "See you later, Eren."

When Mikasa pulls away from his lips, the deed is already done. His severed head feels sickeningly heavy in her blood-stained hands. His eyes gaze beyond her, beyond the veil of this world, clouded with the knowledge of the void. The Titan around her begins to disintegrate in plumes of white steam. Mikasa swears she can smell wildflowers.

"Mikasa Ackerman," a girl's voice echoes. Mikasa whips her head around, looking for the source of the sound. Someone seems to materialize from the steam, swirling eddies of smoke coalescing in the form of a small girl, scraggly blond hair falling into her eyes, barefoot in a dirty white dress. Her face is blank, her eyes downcast.

"Ymir," Mikasa says, the name forming in her mouth before she can think of it.

Ymir nods, then points to Eren's head. "You loved him. Why did you kill him?"

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Because some things are more important than my love." Ymir stares blankly, seemingly confused. "The millions of people who died are more important. The world is more important. Besides, what kind of person would I be to stand beside someone who could slaughter so many people so senselessly?"

"You… don't love him?" The little girl blinks quickly, white lids snapping over black eyes. Something about it seems inhuman, wrong somehow. Mikasa cannot help but think of insects.

A tear falls from her face and lands on Eren’s, snaking a trail down his cheek as though he'd shed it himself. "I can never forget what he did and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for it, but I'll always love Eren."

"You wouldn't die for him?"

Mikasa answers without hesitation. "Never."

Ymir's gaze snaps up to Mikasa's, and she feels sick from what she sees in the girl's odd, dark eyes: a hunger, almost starvation, for the scraps of affection Karl Fritz would throw at her; a longing to be treated well, to be fussed over and doted on and adored. Ymir would close her eyes and dream of a shining, beautiful man when the king held her down and fucked her, made her recoil, made her bleed, beat her when she cried out or complained of the pain. She carved out a space in her mind for him where she sculpted him into her ideal. Sometime between that first bloody night and the day the assassin's spear pierced her chest she invented a Karl Fritz out of whole cloth, a man whose cold entreaties and brutal assaults were proof of his undying love.

Mikasa sees these things from Ymir’s eyes, feels the bruises forming on her back, the tearing and bleeding between her legs, the rotted wine breath of Karl Fritz in her mouth.

"I would never have jumped in front of that spear," she says, more confident than she’s ever felt. "I wouldn't even have considered it." Ymir frowns, cocks her head like she's trying to understand. "You thought you were doing the right thing, but you protected a man who never loved you. You laid down your life for a man who forced your daughters to consume your body. He didn't even mourn you."

A flash of anger contorts Ymir's face. Her eyes dart around wildly, turning Mikasa's words over in her mind. "But he loved me," she insists.

"Did he ever tell you he loved you? Or did he treat you like a slave?" Mikasa's voice wavers at the word slave, at the memory of Eren screaming at her across that restaurant table; the moment her wall of denial came crumbling down. No matter what his plan was, it became clear that day that he would step on any of them to achieve it. She had no idea how true that assessment would become, millions of bodies crushed into the contaminated earth beneath the feet of Eren’s Titans.

She wonders if things would have happened differently if he'd just admitted once that he loved her.

"You are free," she tells Ymir. "You choose your own destiny. I am free, and I chose mine."

Ymir says nothing, her eyes luminous with tears, and then dissipates into the smoke. Mikasa is vaguely aware of the wavering steam around her, of Levi flying on Falco's back and pulling her out of the Titan's mouth before everything turns hazy and white.

She can see the scene from two thousand years earlier as clear as though she were there, floating above it all: the crowd come to see King Fritz's speech, the hooded assassin's arm pulling back, the tip of the spear glinting in the daylight. The assassin lets the spear fly, its arc perfectly aimed at the heart of the tyrant. His wife Ymir, older and slimmer than the girl Mikasa met but still with those same sad, black insect eyes, watches in horror as the tip of the spear flies closer and closer; but she does not move, not even when it impales her husband through the chest and the light in his eyes is snuffed out.

In time-lapse, Mikasa sees it all: the accession of Queen Ymir, wise and fair, and the moderate reigns of her three daughters, and their daughters after them. The power of the Titans remains within the royal family, passed down from mother to daughter, a shameful, secret birthright. They create diplomatic ties with other countries, offering succor and counsel, avoiding the path of war so as not to reveal their ultimate power. There is no Great Titan War, no walls, no telepathic manipulation. The world moves forward in fits and starts as it always has, small skirmishes and occasional wars, but the Eldians remain steadfast and committed to peace. Satisfied with Ymir's choice, Mikasa finds herself closing her eyes, opening them for the first time again in the year 835, in her parents' house just outside Shiganshina, as a new doctor pulls her into the world. He is not Grisha Yeager, she notes, and then she forgets who Grisha Yeager is entirely.

In the year 845, there is no Wall Maria for the Colossal Titan to breach, and no Colossal Titan to breach it.

Inside one of the cities in what was once Wall Rose, a history teacher writes notes on a chalkboard before his first class arrives for the day. He draws a crown in the middle of the board and writes the subject of the day's class inside of it: QUEEN YMIR THE WISE. The teacher is startled by a noise behind him; he turns to find one of his students, a shy girl called Sarah, taking a seat at her desk.

"School hasn't started yet," he says. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," Sarah replies. "I was looking at a really interesting bug and the other girls started making fun of me."

The teacher nods. "All right, just this once. If you’d like, sometime I could teach you how to stand up to those girls."

Hundreds of miles away, the forests of Dauper ring with the whoops of an exuberant girl, triumphing at having killed her first deer with a bow and arrow she carved herself. She doesn't care that she's scaring the other game away with her commotion, or that she has no idea how she'll lug a hundred-pound carcass all the way back home.

In Trost, a young boy lingers over his breakfast; not because he wants to miss school, but because his mother's omelet is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten and probably ever will eat. His mother ruffles his hair and pinches his round cheek, then gently chides him to eat faster or he’ll be late.

A little boy in Ragako District, a few inches shorter than his friends, demands another explanation of the multiplication tables. He doesn't quite understand the concept, goes blank when his friends try to explain arrays of rows and columns, but he believes that he can pass today's test if he tries hard enough.

Across the sea in Marley, the prosperous Eldian District is strewn with streamers, celebrating the 2000th anniversary of the assassination of the cruel King Fritz. The children have the day off from school and are gathering in the streets, purchasing candy and ice cream from vendor stalls and exchanging them as gifts to celebrate the sweetness of life. A little blond girl receives an extra coin from her father, who tells her to get something special for herself.

A few blocks away, a doctor fills his medical bag and sets off to see his first patient of the day. As he walks through the crowd of happy children, many of whom he’s delivered himself, he hopes that his only son will change his mind and join the family business.

In Mitras, a shopkeeper opens his door for the first time, pausing for a moment in the early morning sunshine to admire the wooden shingle hanging by his doorway, gently swinging in the breeze. It depicts a hand wrapped around a mug of tea, wisps of steam rising into the air above it.

The door opens while he's adjusting the canisters on the shelf behind the counter, making sure their labels face perfectly forward. His heart leaps at the tinkle of the doorbell. He picked the most musical one, the one that made him happiest when he heard it, and he feels very good about his decision.

"Hello, welcome to Ackerman Tea— Mom!" His voice takes on an adolescent whine when he addresses his mother, which makes him feel like a child and impossibly old at the same time, despite his twenty-six years.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be your first customer?" she asks, beaming. "Of course I'm going to come support my sweet boy." Her gaze sweeps over the shop, its walls painted a deep forest green, the mahogany counter polished to a mirror shine. "I'm so proud of you, Levi. You've worked so hard and it shows." Her voice quavers, her eyes filling with tears.

"Moooom," he trills, softer this time, quietly moved. Her presence feels like an auspicious omen, a reminder from the universe that someone will catch him should he fall. "Is there a tea you’re interested in, or would you like me to help you choose? We have more than thirty varieties."

"You've been practicing," his mother notes with a nod.

Levi shrugs off her comment, feeling a bit bashful that she’s noticed his hard work. "I've never been great with people, and this job is nothing but people. At least until I can hire someone to cover the counter while I blend tea in the back."

"You'll get there soon," she says, pulling a few coins from her purse. "Get me something you'd think I'd like."

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration, before his face lights up and he grabs a step-stool to reach a canister of black tea flavored with strawberry and rose. "This one is sweet and floral, but it becomes so much more when you add a bit of milk. You don't even need any sugar."

"Perfect. You even thought about how I take my tea." She places a few coins on the counter, watching her son approvingly as he scoops the tea into a bag, folds it closed with surgical precision, and ties a blue ribbon around it. "You're going to be a success, my love. I know it."

"That makes one of us," he smirks, then scoops the coins into his palm and puts them in the cash register, enjoying the feel of the heavy keys under his fingers, the spring-loaded pressure of the drawer. He hopes he gets to use it many more times today.

"Will you be home for dinner?"

"I should be. I can't imagine people will want to buy tea at night."

"Good," his mother says. "Because now that you're in business, we should talk about finding you a wife."

"MOM!" he exclaims, a furious blush coloring his face.

Further south in Shiganshina, Mikasa sulks as her mother walks her into town, not wanting to leave the safety of her parents' cabin to learn and play with the other children. She is perfectly happy to do chores on the farm, to learn the simultaneously mundane and arcane secrets of coaxing a plant from seed, to throw feed to the chickens and pull weeds in the garden.

"Mikasa, you're ten years old. Your father and I can't teach you everything," her mother says.

"I can learn from books. I don't need to go to school."

"The fact that you're saying that means you need to go. There's more to the world than just our farm, my sweet. You might want to see the world someday."

The little girl huffs. "I doubt it." Her mother simply shakes her head and smiles, ruminating on her daughter’s impending teenage years, a possible hint of rebellion, but finds that hard to imagine. Mikasa is usually a calm, easygoing child, though perhaps a bit too inquisitive and stubborn for her own good.

Mikasa hugs her mother fiercely at the school gate, watching as she turns and walks back up the road that leads to their farm. She’s excited to make new friends and learn new things, but she misses her home more than she ever thought possible. She lets out a soft sigh, then turns to face the crowd of running, yelling children; her new classmates.

She trudges around the grassy schoolyard, dodging groups of kids chasing each other or playing impromptu games. Everyone seems to know each other already; even if she did feel comfortable enough to go up to someone and introduce herself, she has no idea who to approach first.

"Hey! Give that back!" someone screams behind her. Mikasa turns around to see a small blond boy jumping up and down, reaching for a book that a larger boy dangles just above his grasp. The larger boy just laughs at him, taunting him with the book, threatening to tear it from its spine.

Mikasa frowns, balling her fists at her sides, then approaches the boys. "He said to give his book back," she says to the bully. "Give it back."

The bully laughs. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I think you should give the book back if you know what's good for you," she snarls, putting her hands on her hips. The bully laughs again and shoves Mikasa out of the way with one hand, making her stumble backwards, tripping over her own feet until she lands on her behind in the dirt. She gets up, dusts herself off, and runs up to the bully, punching him square in the nose. He falls to the ground, dropping the book. Mikasa tosses it to the blond boy. The bully grabs his nose, tears welling in his eyes, and lets out a wail when he sees his hand smeared with blood.

"You leave him alone!" Mikasa threatens, looming over the bully, her dark eyes shining. He scrabbles to his feet and runs away and she lets out a relieved breath, her heart hammering in her chest.

"That was amazing!" the little boy says. When he approaches her, she finds that he's not actually that small, only a few inches shorter than her. "I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"It's my first day," she replies. "I've lived here all my life but I haven't been to school yet."

"I'm Armin," the boy says. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa."

"That’s an interesting name. Are you from Hizuru?" Armin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity. He holds up his book, a thick, leather-bound tome, A Brief History of Hizuru and the Minor East Sea Islands written in gilt lettering. "My parents told me that the whole country is built around a volcano. A big mountain filled with liquid fire! Well, technically it’s molten rock."

"My mom's family is from Hizuru, but I’ve never been there and I don't know anything about any liquid fire mountains," she says tentatively.

"It's real!" he gushes. "I'm reading about it now. I could tell you about it more at recess if you want. I like to sit under that tree over there." He points off in the distance, at a huge pine tree that shades a corner of the yard. "They're going to ring the bell soon, otherwise I'd tell you now. Volcanoes are so cool. Sometimes they explode and shoot the liquid fire into the sky like a firework."

"Wow!" Mikasa marvels with a smile. "I can’t wait to hear about them."