#before I read riddle of ages I had a moment where lost my mind thinking about if the violet was for Violet

[3584-tropical-fish]

A conversation on grief, missing someone, and leaving friends behind

[dreamingofaizawa]

Potent

Alpha! Hanta Sero x Fem! Omega! Reader

***18+ Fic***

If you are under the age of 18 please vacate the premises.

Warnings: A/B/O, smut, knotting, marking, breeding kink (sorta? idk it comes with the A/B/O territory), a hint of pregnancy kink, a bit of blood

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author's Note: Ohhhhkaayyy so this has been sitting in my google doc for AGES. I think I started this in...October of last year? It's been sitting there for months and I've lacked the motivation to finish and post it but then I sent in an anon ask to @reinawritesbnha and, being the absolute queen she is, she became the little push I needed to do it. I DID IT FOR REINA!!

Also, this is some of my earliest writing and I only skimmed and edited a little bit of it so if there's a little bit of weird pacing or a strange cutoff where the writing styles clash it's because I haven't touched this piece in months.

Anywho, enjoy~

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It had to happen when you were surrounded by alphas.

Your suppressants flaked out, again, and your scent wafted through the air on the street. Normally It’d be fine for an omega to let their scent float freely around them. But your scent is particularly...potent, even when you weren’t in heat. Not only that, but you weren’t mated yet, your scent glands still bare, and you still didn’t have a pack. To make matters worse, you’re quirkless.

You hadn’t realised what was happening until your path was blocked by an especially large male alpha. You turned around, and there were two more behind you. Fuck. This isn’t good. You took in your surroundings and searched for an exit, but you couldn’t find a way out. There's no way you’d be able to outrun the three very large male alphas.

Probably the worst part is that more alphas are turning their head toward you, taking notice of your lavender honey and rain scent that slowly began turning to a sour swamp. You dared to hope that change would ward off the three cornering you, but they’d already got a whiff of you. Several distressed chirps sounded from your chest, voicing your discomfort, and you glared pointedly at the three alphas as they edged closer to you.

You hate when this happened. Why’d you have to be cursed like this? Your growls only grew, baring your little omega fangs. There’s no way in hell you’d let some stranger scent you, let alone one of these creeps. They wouldn’t take the damn hint and just crept closer to you, calling out to the ‘pretty little omega’ to ‘come have some fun’.

You’re scared now, the involuntary chirps in your chest coming more frequently. None of the other alphas or betas on the street were big enough to face the three, making you a sitting duck and a ragdoll if they wanted you to be. Your claws are small, nowhere near ideal for this situation, but you’d use them if you needed to. With a final low defiant growl you dropped your bag against the wall behind you and readied yourself for a fight.

Suddenly a large body dropped in front of you, his back to you. His scent alone hit you like a freight train, orange zest, mint, tree bark and something earthy. It had your head spinning, nearly sending you into an early heat. He growled, low and powerful, the sound rattling in your chest and making you sink further into the wall behind you. The other three alpha’s scents together were still overpowered by the new alpha before you, and they vanished faster than they appeared.

He turned around and stepped away from you, giving you space to breathe. He kneeled down enough so he was eye level with you, his hands reaching out clearly in an attempt to comfort you, but kept from touching you.

“Are you okay?” The question barely registered, still delirious from his scent, and you’re having a hard time recovering. Large hands grip your shoulders and shake you lightly, your mind beginning to clear with the soothing pheromones he’s releasing.

“Omega.” The command snapped you to attention, your gaze fixated on his own dark irises.

“Are you okay, omega?” You blink, swallow down the lump in your throat, take a deep breath.

“Yeah...I’m okay. Thank you, alpha.” But you’re not quite okay. You need to get home. Fast. The alpha seemed to catch on, probably by your scent that still hadn’t returned to normal. He stands and slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders and wrapping you in his scent. It’s a comforting gesture.

“Let’s get you home.” With a nod you set off, the man walking next to you with a strong, warm hand on the middle of your back.

“What’s your name?” You introduce yourself, and he does the same. His name is Sero Hanta, and now that you’re calm again, you take in just how handsome he is.

Raven hair is pulled back into a small bun, showing off his undercut and strong, sharp jawline. Onyx eyes shine with kindness and playful mischief, and a beaming grin reveals pearly white teeth. He’s incredibly toned, his muscles calmly rippling under the t-shirt that stretched over his chest. You vaguely noticed the strange shape of his elbows, but disregarded it as his quirk. The omega in you is howling, begging for this alpha, his scent invading your senses. But you suppress it quickly, reminding yourself you’d only just met this man.

As you reach your apartment you exchange phone numbers, and he tells you to keep the jacket and use it when you go out to ward off any unwanted attention. You thank him again for helping you earlier, and he waves to you as he walks down the hall and enters the elevator, the doors closing in front of his handsome smiling face.

Despite meeting him only ten minutes earlier your instincts trust the alpha, and you hold the jacket close to your face, breathing in his scent. It’s wonderful, and your inner omega is in love. You find yourself wondering when you’d see him again.

The next few days are riddled with work and calls to your doctor about the strength of your suppressants. You work from home as a secretary for a small company. It’s a miracle you’d found it, too. Nobody wants an omega, let alone a potent one. It’s an alpha’s world, you guess. When this job opening popped up you were ecstatic, so you took it and have been working from home with decent pay for the last five years.

The calls to your doctor were not going as smoothly as your job, though. You leave a message every four hours until she finally calls you back. She was concerned since the suppressants she’d prescribed are the strongest out there, and if your scent was overpowering them they were either defective or your scent glands were overproducing. It wasn’t an immediate threat to your health, it only meant you’d be drawing more attention than you wanted to. Still, it’s annoying and makes life so much harder than it needs to be.

After she prescribed twice the amount, she said she’d look over your tests from the latest visit before she hung up the phone. You groaned once the call ended. You seriously needed a break from your second gender. Taking the prescribed double dose of suppressants, you got ready to go out to the corner cafe to read and drink coffee. Hopefully the new amount will keep steady. You really don’t want to deal with any more aggressive alphas this week. For good measure you pull on Sero’s jacket, allowing his scent to cover you, then grab your keys, phone, wallet and a book and begin the walk.

When you arrive at the cafe you order a hot mocha, curl into the small corner booth and crack open the book. You got lost in the ink and your mind floated along the adventure, putting yourself in the shoes of the main character and leading the mission to take down the corrupt queen who’d framed you for killing the prince of a neighboring kingdom. You were ripped from the fantasy world when a bright, enthusiastic blonde came up and tapped you on the shoulder, making you jump. His smile was as bright as his hair.

“Sorry to scare you cutie, but I couldn’t help but notice that jacket of yours smells an awful lot like my friend Sero!” You smile softly at the blonde.

“Well if we’re talking about the same Sero Hanta, then your nose would be correct. This is his jacket.” His eyes widen as he nods.

“Oh my gosh you must be the omega he keeps talk-” The blonde’s words became muffled by a large hand. A hand that belonged to the very man you were talking about. Sero smiles apologetically down at you as he shoves the blonde back to where you assume they’re sitting.

“Sorry about Kami, he’s… extroverted.” You smile back at him, mostly because you’re happy to see him again.

“It’s no problem at all. He recognized your scent on me.” He looked down and only then realized you’re wearing his jacket, and he beams at you. Then he takes a glance at the booth you’re sitting all alone at, his smile falling just a bit.

“Do you wanna come sit with us?” You take a moment to think about the offer, then agree with a nod. Your omega couldn’t pass up more time with him.

As you approach the booth you notice there are more people with Sero than you anticipated. There were four other people sitting there. Sero introduced all of them from left to right. Bakugo Katsuki, Kirishima Eijiro, Ashido Mina, and the happy blonde from earlier is Kaminari Denki. You introduce yourself and when Sero slid into the booth, you followed after him.

These five are a tight pack, and you learn they all met in high school. Bakugo’s brash personality made you wary at first, but it didn’t take long to realize he’s just like that with everyone. He makes a bit of a snippy remark, which you easily counter, and he smirks while the rest smile or snicker. It would seem they like you.

You can’t tell what their second genders are, and you mentally kick yourself for even wondering in the first place. Their genders are none of your concern, but you can’t blame yourself when you’re constantly alert because of your own stupid second gender. As it turns out, you don’t need to wait very long to find out.

This time you smell your own scent as it permeates the air around you. You swear under your breath at the stupid suppressants that obviously can’t so their job, and the others snap their gazes to you. You sigh.

“Yeah, that scent is me. My suppressants flaked again. Sorry about that.” They all nodded, seemingly understanding. Sero must have told them about the other day. Of course, it would soon repeat. It didn’t take long for an alpha to take notice of your scent. The man -- why is it always the largest males??? -- strides up to the booth with a cocksure grin and leans down to inhale your scent. You duck away from him, into Sero, and let out an albeit small warning growl that was drowned in Sero and Kirishima’s. He ignored them all the same.

“Hey there little omega, you smell real nice. You wanna come hang with me instead? We can have some fun together with my buddies, what do you say?” The others stayed quiet. They’re going to let you defend yourself before they do anything in case they end up escalating the situation. You turn your head and lift your shoulder, hiding your scent gland.

“I’m not interested, thank you. Please leave me alone.” You hoped to whatever deity watched over you that the man would leave. Before anyone could react the alpha grabbed your wrist in a vice grip, yanking you roughly from your seat. You chirp, your scent turning sour and the entire pack abruptly stands, baring their fangs at the man. It barely registered in your head that Kirishima and Bakugo are alphas, Mina is a beta, and Kaminari is an omega, their fangs giving them away.

The man tightens his grip on your wrist and you cry out, your bones creaking under the pressure. With no other options you did the one thing that would get him to let go, and sank your fangs into his wrist. You jump back into Sero, who wraps an arm around you protectively.

“You bit me, you bitch!” He raises an arm, clearly about to try and hit you, but a large hand grabs his wrist. Surprisingly enough it’s Bakugo, and his growl is laced into his words.

“Leave now, or you lose a hand.” Sero speaks up from above you.

“You might wanna listen, amigo. That’s Dynamight.” The alpha rips his arm from Bakugo’s hold and looks down at you, and you growl at him as he scoffs and walks away, apparently not ready to fight the #2 pro hero over an omega.

You all sit back down and you pull up the sleeve of the jacket to inspect the already forming bruise on your wrist. Your nose wrinkles with a half-angry half-pained snarl. Tenderly, Sero takes your wrist and lightly squeezes the sides of your forearm, against your bones, and your lack of reaction tells him nothing’s broken. Still, he growls at the offending bruise.

“I’m gonna kill him.” You shake your head and put a hand over his.

“It’s not worth it Sero. He’s probably long gone.” You turn to the rest of the pack.

“Thank you for protecting me.” Kirishima is the first to speak.

“Of course! That dude was a jerk. I just hope he doesn’t go around doing that to other omegas.” Bakugo, surprisingly, spoke next.

“Obviously we’d protect you. You’re a potent omega and quirkless, so you attract unwanted attention without even knowing or wanting to. Besides, if you’re gonna be Sero’s omega there’s no way in hell we’d let some extra handle you like that.” The implications make your face burn, and Kirishima smacks the blonde’s arm with a ‘Don’t just say that kind of thing, Katsuki.’

After an hour or two of talking, and shockingly no other aggressive alphas, they all walk you home to your apartment. Sero wanted to check on your wrist again, so you invited them all in, but they all had something else to do, so you were left alone with Sero. The fact that the one alpha you desperately wanted to be around is alone with you in your apartment is both great and terrible. Thankfully, you have self-control and his own suppressants are working perfectly fine.

He inspected the darkening bruise on your wrist, his large hands gripping your arm tenderly and turning it gently as he prods at the skin. It doesn’t hurt too bad, so you assure him you’ll be perfectly fine. Eventually he leaves with a hug and you sigh once the door is closed, relieved that you were able to keep your omega at bay and your hands to yourself.

A couple days later you get a text from him and the two of you text often, asking how each other’s day went, if anything interesting had happened. You didn’t leave your apartment unless you needed to, since your suppressants clearly weren’t working, so you made sure to cut grocery trips short and keep away from any alphas that seemed a bit aggressive. Sero invited you to hang out with the pack at their house, and you obliged.

They lived in a huge house all together. Most of the rooms were sealed so no scents or sounds could go in or out for ruts and heats, and there were several spare rooms that were empty and waiting for more pack members. It was a fun hangout, filled with video games and good conversation, and even better food which Bakugo cooked. Sero had an arm around you whenever he was close, and you definitely didn’t mind. Your suppressants flaked in the middle, again, and Sero insisted he walk you home. With him walking you home there weren’t any alphas trying to get you this time. You ended up going over to hang out with them a lot when you weren’t working, and eventually Sero began to court you.

Obviously, you accepted, and after a few months of dating and scenting, your overactive scent glands seemed to mellow out, Sero’s scent mixing with it. Your suppressants are lasting much longer now, which is a good sign. Now that you’re Sero’s omega, he often helped you with your heats and you’d help him with his ruts, and he was strong-willed enough that he hadn’t marked or knotted you in the middle of things.

About a year and a half into the relationship you realize you really love him. Sure you had arguments, but everything was settled through calmed discussions over coffee or tea, and you came to understand each other well enough that arguments became few and far between.

You’re happy with Sero, so when your heat came around early and he was there to help, you were going to let him know just how much you loved him.

You texted him once you felt it starting. He was there within half an hour, and you pounced on him once the font door closed, smothering him in hot, wet kisses, eager to feel him inside you. He carries you to the bedroom, and you two are quick in shedding all of your clothes. He lays you on your back with a hand on your throat as he growls into your ear, making a hot shudder roll down your spine.

“Are you ready for me omega?” You whine and nod, your slick already dripping down your folds. You want him so bad it hurts.

“Please alpha, I need your cock.” He growls again, satisfied with your answer, and he presses into you, bottoming out with one firm thrust. You chant his name like a mantra as he set a bruising pace, rutting into you recklessly, wet skin slapping on skin the only other sound beside your whimpers and his growls. His teeth nip at your shoulder, sharp fangs testing your skin and claws digging into the fat of your hips. His cock is so deep, hot swollen tip kissing your cervix with every full-bodied thrust and sending you into a euphoric haze. Your own claws are sinking into his back, leaving little trails of red and blood beading down the lines. It drives him wild every time.

“That’s right, little omega. Mark me up, I’m all yours. Fuck you’re so pretty underneath me like this.” His hands grip behind your knees and press them into your chest, folding you nearly in half as he plows into you further. The angle knocks the breath from your lungs and your eyes roll back. You can feel his knot beginning to swell, feel how his thrusts are getting more controlled and his grip on your thighs tighten from the sheer concentration it’s taking for him not to breed you. You have other plans. Between wheezed breaths you squeak out.

“H-hantaaa~” He slows to a near snail’s pace, grinding his slowly growing cock into your sweet spot, a smirk stretching across his face as you splutter from the sudden change. He’s enjoying making you squirm.

“What is it, sweetness? Tell your alpha what you need.” You pant, chest heaving as much as the position will allow.

“Want your mark, want your knot~ Wanna be bred Hanta! I want your pups!” He stills completely, claws digging into the fat of your thighs with enough force to have drops of blood falling to the sheets beneath you. You’d never said anything like that in the heat of the moment. He can’t have heard you correctly...right?

“Princesa, do you know what you just said?” The seriousness in his tone has you sobering, but even before you knew exactly what you were saying. You nod frantically, wiggling your hips to get him to move again.

“Yes! I know alpha! Please, give me your knot~” His growl makes your bones shake, and with no warning he drops your legs around his waist and leans down so his face is buried in your neck.

“Fuck, I’m gonna trust you with this baby girl. I’ll give you exactly what you want.” His fangs sink into your scent gland just as he picks up his brutal pace, and the euphoria makes you cum hard, your whole body locking up and mouth falling open in a silent scream. He plows into you as you regain your breath, and you bite down on his own scent gland as hard as you can, tearing into his skin with every intention of leaving a pretty scar for the world to see.

His knot swells more, and he’s pushing it into you with every ounce of power he can generate with that gorgeous body of his. With one final snap of his hips he locks his body to yours and cums hard, ropes of hot seed filling you to the brim. He collapses on top of you and laps at the wound on your neck and you do the same. After a few minutes he leans back and cups your face in his hand, gazing down at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

“Are you alright?” You nod, nuzzling into his palm.

“I’m sorry. I was gonna talk to you about it, but my heat came early.” He kisses your forehead gently, brushing the strands of hair from your face.

“It’s okay, pretty thing. I trust you know what you’re getting yourself into.” You giggle and wrap your arms around him.

“Of course I do. I love you, Hanta.”

“I love you too.” You lay there, tangled in each other’s arms until his knot goes down. You whine at the loss when his cock slips out of you, clawing at him to come back because you’re still in heat. His hand gently wraps around your neck, a low chuckle on his lips.

“Relax, we’re far from done.” His already hard erection rubs up and down your glistening folds, barely stimulating your clit, teasing you until tears prick your eyes and you’re beggin him to fuck you again.

“When I’m done you won’t be able to walk for days. I’m gonna breed you so well, You’re gonna look so pretty all big and round with my pups.” He groans at the image he’d conjured in his head and you squeal as he slams his hips into you.

You’re in for a wonderfully long night.

[minor-solemnity]

Invention and Intrigue

This might turn into a multi-part fic? I haven’t decided yet, but let me know if you want to read more of this one though!

He doesn’t look angry, or even particularly concerned is the thing. He looks like he’s considering something. Thoughtful, interested. “That was quite the performance,” He says at last and walks over to you, his shoes tap tap tapping against the stone floor. “I think I’d like an explanation.”

The dungeons are one of those places that you don’t go near unless you can absolutely help it. You’d dropped Potions the moment you’d been allowed, not because you’re not good at them - it had been one of your best subjects in actuality - but because the dungeons aren’t safe. Not for someone like you. 

This is why you’re currently cursing every bloodline that makes up your best friend’s family tree as you gingerly descend the stone steps into the depths below. Melanie Lindhurst has a date. A date with a boy who she has been pining after since fourth year. She also has a very expensive rare textbook that she needs to return to Slughorn that night but she can’t because of said date. This is why you’ve been roped into finding Slughorn and returning the book yourself. Which means you have to go into the bowls of the castle and pray you don’t run into any Slytherins whilst you’re there.

Melanie had said you were being dramatic when you’d grouched about it over dinner. She finds your reticence to go near the dungeons very amusing. But then she’s not the one who spent most of fifth year creeping around the castle waiting for a mystery monster or madman to sneak up behind you. She’s not the one who had Victor Lestrange whispering that he wished it had been you when they removed Myrtle’s body from the bathroom. So Melanie doesn’t get to laugh at your objectively sensible reluctance to step foot in the snake pit.

After ten minutes of wandering the corridors, you have to admit that you’re lost. All the tunnels look exactly the same and you don’t know where Slughorn’s office is. Maybe Melanie had a point when she said you have a flair for the dramatic, but honestly, never mind Slytherins, you’re going to die down here because of your terrible sense of direction. You take another turn and hear voices coming from behind a door. Lestrange’s unmistakable cackle carries through the air and the door slams open. You press yourself against the wall and hope that no one spots you. Tom Riddle leads Avery and Lestrange out of the door.

God. The snake pit indeed.

You’re in the middle of breathing a sigh of relief at not being noticed when Riddle stills and turns to you. “Are you lost?” He asks, and the other two boys turn to stare at you too. You school your expression into something polite and unassuming and valiantly try to ignore the nasty smile that’s stretching across Lestrange’s face. Riddle, for his part, looks faintly amused. Like he knows exactly how little you want to be here and finds it all rather funny. Still, you feel yourself stand a little straighter despite yourself. He’s the Head Boy, after all, well known in the castle for his pleasant, quiet demeanour and his strict adherence to the rules. It’s not strange that you want to make a good impression.

“Good evening. I, ahh, I have to return this book to Slughorn. My friend borrowed it and he wanted it back tonight.” You explain, feeling vaguely ridiculous as you raise the book up to show them that you aren’t lying. “I don’t suppose you know where he is?” 

Avery rolls his eyes, reaches towards you and takes the book. “I’ll bring it to him. I need to talk to him about my last potions essay, anyway.” He says. You notice that he very carefully doesn’t touch you and you bristle at the implication that the thought of touching a muggleborn is beneath him. 

“Of course. I’m sure you’re more familiar with this area of the castle than I am.” He leaves soon after. You decide to switch Melanie’s conditioner with hair dye as vengeance for her leaving you. In the snake pit. With Lestrange. The two remaining Slytherins watch you - Lestrange with haughty contempt and Riddle with a kind of detached interest. You rather get the impression that he’s waiting for you to do something idiotic. “I… Well, good night.” You say at last deciding that making a speedy escape is your best plan of action. 

You've made it to the end of the tunnel when you hear Riddle say goodbye to Lestrange and his footsteps recede into the distance. You frown and your grip on your wand tightens when you don’t hear Lestrange follow after him. “You're being paranoid,” You mutter to yourself and begin to try and retrace your steps. Five minutes later, you realise that you’re even more lost than you’d been to start with. With a rueful smile, you have to admit it’s hardly surprising. You haven’t stepped foot in the dungeons in two years, and even then it was only ever to the Potions lab. Your knowledge of this part of the castle is severely lacking.

It’s as you’re mulling over your predicament when a flash of purple light illuminates the space around you and a cry escapes you as your shoulder erupts in blistering pain. Lestrange’s laughter echoes down the hallway and before you can think it through, you’re lashing out with your own curse. “Confringo!” A stone bust next to where Lestrange is standing explodes and he yells in surprise as a chunk of marble very nearly knocks him over. He raises his wand but you’re quicker: “Crudesiko.” 

The effect of the spell is immediate. Lestrange staggers back, his eyes wide and fearful. You smirk. Serves him fucking right. His already pale complexion is turning practically ghostly and when he opens his mouth, blood burbles up the back of his throat and spills down his chin. You’re fairly sure that if you left him much longer, he’d die. Which would be bad. Very bad. You don’t want to go to prison for murder. With a flick of your wand the curse lifts and Lestrange stops coughing up blood. You stalk over to him, anger and adrenaline making you reckless, “If you ever try to touch me again, I swear I will do so much worse. Do you understand, Lestrange?” You hiss, your wand digging into the hollow of his throat. He nods, still pale, still shaken, still scared. “Don’t tell anyone about this - stupid little muggleborn like me? Compared to your fucking pedigree? No one would believe you.”

Over his shoulder, something shifts in the shadows. You take a step back from Lestrange and let out a shaky breath. He gathers himself, schools his expression into one of disdain and quickly retreats back to the safety of the Slytherin common room. Now that you’re alone, the weight of what you’ve done hits you. You’d hurt him… Hell, you could’ve killed him. You sink slowly to the floor and stare blankly in front of you, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to think about the gravity of your actions. Adrenaline bleeds out of you and you have to choke back a sob. Regardless of what you’d said to Lestrange, you know that if he so much as breathes a word of what transpired you’d be facing expulsion. Probably worse.

“Scourgify,” A smooth, calm voice interrupts your panicking and you snap your head around to stare up at Tom Riddle who is currently cleaning up the trail of blood Lestrange left in his escape. He tucks his wand away and turns to meet your gaze, one brow arched. He doesn’t look angry, or even particularly concerned is the thing. He looks like he’s considering something. Thoughtful, interested. “That was quite the performance,” He says at last and walks over to you, his shoes tap tap tapping against the stone floor. “I think I’d like an explanation.”

You don’t get up from the floor. Resignation sits uncomfortably on your shoulders, the weight of your disappearing future hanging heavily over your head. Head Boy Tom Riddle is your judge, jury, and executioner. “Do you really need one? You saw what I did.” You mutter, unable to look at him as something like shame curls up your spine.

He sighs and then, as though he’s explaining something very simple to a small child, he says, “I didn’t say I needed an explanation. I said I wanted one.” You chance a glance at him then and find yourself fixed under the weight of his scrutiny. When you still don’t say anything, he sighs again and this time you can detect a hint of impatience. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to explain this to the Head Master?”

“No!” You yelp, unable to stop the hint of hysteria from creeping into your voice. He hums approvingly and you’re not sure why, but you start to believe that maybe you’re not going to get into trouble. “I just… Lestrange started it.” You gesture to your shoulder which is still aching, the fabric of your shirt is slashed open where the curse hit you revealing a nasty burn across your shoulder and collarbone. “I’m not helpless. I’m not going to just… not defend myself because he thinks he’s better than me.” 

There’s a tense moment where neither of you speaks. Riddle’s gaze is impossibly intense, his eyes flicker from the burn to your face to your wand and you can’t look away. From your position, he towers over you and you think you should be afraid but somehow you can’t will the emotion into existence. After what feels like an age, Riddle takes his wand and murmurs something under his breath. A pleasant coolness wraps around around your shoulder and the pain recedes and the burn mark melts, leaving smooth clear skin in its place.

He offers you a hand. You’re a little surprised by how delicate his hands look. Pristine pale skin stretched over piano players fingers. He’s wearing a gold and onyx ring on his ring finger. It looks antique; strangely it suits him. As though he was born to wear that ring. You take his hand and he pulls you up in one fluid motion, a display of strength that you’re not sure why shocks you. His skin is cool and the way he holds your hand and doesn’t let go even when you’ve found your footing sends fission of something down your spine, pooling in your stomach.

 “Allow me to walk you back to your common room,” He says and begins to lead you down the hall. He still hasn’t let go of your hand. “What spell did you use?” He questions after a few moments of silence and you can practically hear the wheels turning in his mind as he considers you as though he’s truly seeing you for the first time. “I didn’t recognise it.”

Despite yourself, pride twists in your chest. “You wouldn’t have,” You say simply. “I invented it.” At this, Riddle’s eyes widen briefly before he dispels the shock from his face and regards your guarded curiosity. At his prompting, you explain what the spell does. “It’s designed to drain the blood from the victim. Ideally, they wouldn’t start coughing up blood, but I’ve never used it before so I guess there’s room for improvement.” 

To your surprise, he laughs. It’s not the polite hum of mild amusement you sometimes hear him make in front of professors, it’s surprisingly high pitched, light, melodic. “This is your main concern? That it didn’t work exactly as intended? Not the fact that you almost killed the heir to one of the most respected pureblood families in Britain?” He must sense the sudden flood of panic and worry that washes over you because he glances sideways at you, a small, oddly reassuring smile curling his lips. “Lestrange won’t breathe a word unless I tell him to. And I think this might be a secret best kept between us, don’t you?” He smiles down at you and you could maybe believe that he’s just being immeasurably kind if it weren’t for the dangerous glint in his eyes and the way his hand tightens around yours. It’s a warning, maybe. It feels like a promise.

Riddle walks you the rest of the way to your common in silence and you’re painfully aware of how close he stands when he finally comes to a halt. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the weight of his hand around yours, the light puff of an exhalation against your cheek as he leans down and murmurs in your ear, “I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other from now on.” He raises your hand between the two of you and grazes your knuckles with his thumb. It’s an oddly tender gesture. “Good night.”

You stand there, alone in the corridor, for several minutes after he leaves, wondering just what in the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

[professorrw]

All I Want, Remus Lupin Fanfiction

Chapter Four

Warnings: eventual smut, death, violence, swearing, age gap, slight angst, major spoilers for Deathly Hallows

AN: Comment if you’d like to be tagged in future parts! If you enjoyed this, please like, comment, and reblog!

You wake up from your nap feeling refreshed, for the first time in a few days you didn't have nightmares. You get up and look out the window, it's still bright out. Walking through the bedroom door, you notice that Remus isn't in the living room. There's nowhere else in the house he could be without you knowing. The cover you gave Remus is folded neatly on the couch.

Suddenly the front door opens and you instinctively draw your wand from your pocket. Standing in the door is Lupin, staring at you with wide eyes. "Y/N! I'm sorry I went to get some things from the market. I didn't want to wake you." You sigh and put your wand up. Of course that's where he was. He wouldn't abandon you.

Lupin sets several things down on the counter and begins to put them away in their designated spots. You stand in the same spot you had before, twiddling your thumbs. You couldn't help but feel awkward not knowing having anything to do. Not being in constant motion made you feel a little out of place. There weren't many calm moments at the Burrow or at Hogwarts. Being here was definitely a change of pace that you were going to have to adjust to.

"Did you sleep well?" Remus asked, turning around and putting his hands in his pockets.

"Yes I did. For the first time in a while actually. I haven't exactly gotten used to being able to sit back and worry about myself for a while," you replied.

"I know the feeling. Although it is not only me I worry about but you as well. I know you're completely capable of doing things on your own but you've just had a part of your life taken away so I want to be here for you in any way you need," Remus said, looking you straight in the eye.

Something inside you hoped that being there for you meant forever, and not just while you're coping with your parents' deaths. Ignoring that thought, you smiled at him, "You don't know how much that means to me, really."

Letting the corners of his mouth come up, Lupin walked past you and sat on the couch. Turning on the spot you watched him as he crossed one leg over the other and picked up a book. You honestly didn't know what to do. Your mind made you want to be busy, made you feel like you had to be. Keeping busy was the only thing that controlled your mind from wandering onto your parents and the hole that was trying to heal itself inside you.

At this point Remus had put his book down and was looking at you with concern, "Are you alright Y/N?" Noticing that you had been standing planted on the spot, you moved to the couch to sit on the opposite side of Lupin, "Yes. I'm fine. I'm just feeling a bit restless is all. I feel like I should be doing something right now."

"You're doing the right thing. I promise. Not only are you keeping yourself safe, you're keeping me company," Remus said with a slight smirk. Feeling the blood rush to your face, you turn away from him so he can't see the effect he has on you. Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn, although you know it can only be Remus's hand. He had inched closer while you were turned away and he looked at you with earnest.

"There is no other place you should be right now other than hear. You are safe and I am here to protect you. I don't think I would be able to sleep at night knowing you could be in danger. Besides, I'm sure Molly would have a meltdown if you were to run off as well. We all know how much it has taken a toll on her to not know the whereabouts of Ron, Harry, and Hermione," Lupin concluded.

You knew he was right. This is where you needed to be. You had to be safe for Harry, Ron, and Hermione's sake. If someone were to get hold of you it would jeopardize the mission. Even though it pained you to sit still and wait you would do it for them. And for Remus.

"You're right. You're always right," you laughed softly. Lupin shook his head and chuckled as well, "I don't know about that." Realizing his hand was still on your shoulder, Lupin moved his hand to his lap. You couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment. Deciding to be a bold Slytherin you said, "I care about you as well. I would do anything in my power to keep you safe Remus."

It wasn't what you really wanted to say but it was early in your affection for Remus. You wanted your feelings to develop for him a while longer and see what happens. You had always taken a liking to Remus but because you were a student until now you never dared think of him as anything more than a friend. Spending time with him was making you feel otherwise.

"I'm glad you feel that way Y/N," Lupin smiled. You couldn't tell what he meant by that. Was he hinting at something or were just looking into it too much? You didn't want to think it was the latter so you dropped it.

Remus sighed deeply, drawing you out of your thoughts. "The full moon approaches," he whispered. You knew this meant he would start to feel bad soon. Would he be okay? Sensing your worry Remus said, "I have plenty of Wolfsbane. I also have the things to make too. I will leave the house when it's about time so you have nothing to worry about." Although he aimed to reassure you it didn't. It wasn't you that you feared for, it was him.

"Will you be alright?" you asked, trying not to sound too urgent. "Yes. Don't fret, I will be fine," Lupin answered. His response didn't put you at ease whatsoever, but you didn't want to push it.

After a few minutes of silence from you, Lupin picked his book back up and continued to read. You picked one up as well and began to read too.

You completely lost track of time and when you looked out the window it was dark. Remus seemed to realize as well, for he placed his book back on the table and got up. He walked over to the kitchen and began to pull out a pan and a few other items. From your position on the couch you could only see Remus's back. You could hear sizzling and smell bacon.

Soon Remus returned, brandishing two plates. He handed one to you and sat down. He began to eat so you took that as your que to eat as well. You both ate in comfortable silence; the only noises that could be heard was the scrape of a fork against your plates ever so often.

Once you had both finished Remus took your plates to the sink and washed them off. He returned and looked at you, "It seems pretty late. I think I'll be heading to bed." You could tell he was tired and wanted to sleep but didn't want to be impolite and tell you to get up. You stood and told him goodnight, leaving to go to your room.

You laid in bed for a while, mind drifting everywhere. What would you do when this was over? It wasn't like you were going to return to school, you were finished. You would need to find a job. But where would you work? Where would you go? These thoughts plagued you as you went to sleep.

Contradictory to your nap earlier in the day, your sleep was riddled with nightmares. You saw scenes of your parents bodies, although you never saw them dead. You saw the face of Greyback. You suddenly awake, tears streaming from your face. There was a soft knock on the door, "Y/N can I come in?" You tried to quickly wipe your tears, replying with a weak, "Yes".

Lupin walked in and sat next to you on the bed. "You were screaming. I wanted to make sure you were okay," he said softly. You sniffled, "I had a nightmare. It was about my parents and Greyback." Lupin nodded his head and frowned slightly. He didn't like seeing you cry.

"Can I tell you something?" Remus said finally. "Of course," you murmured. "I thought you would avoid me after your parents died. I thought you'd despise what I am," he confessed. "Why would I ever do that?" you asked, suppressing your continuous tears. "Greyback is a werewolf. I'm a werewolf," he spat.

"Remus," you pleaded, "you are not just a werewolf. You are an incredible person. I could never despise you. You are wonderful in every way. You aren't Greyback. Greyback is nowhere near as caring and brave as you." You were afraid you had said too much but before you knew it Remus had wrapped his arms around you. "That means the world to me," he shuddered.

Your heart felt like it would burst out of your chest. You rubbed Lupin's back as his hand came up to stroke your hair. You sat like this for a while before you slowly drifted off.

Taglist: @bellamy1998 @sxsalvatore​ @ottjord​

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 1

Summary: Almost a year after Maeve’s death, Spencer reaches out to the recipients of Maeve’s donated organs to reconnect with his lost love. However, when the receiver of her heart, Reader, doesn’t write back, Spencer goes on a poorly-motivated mission to find her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier   (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing)

A/N: There is an OC in this story because to me, writing “(y/n)” over and over again cheapens the story and doesn’t flow well. It was a personal decision, and to anyone it sincerely bothers, I’m sure there’s a way you can insert your own name instead. This fic is also inspired by “Things We Know By Heart” by Jessi Kirby. Category: Series, Soft Angst, Eventual Smut + NSFW content* Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC Content Warning: allusions to death, mourning, loss, recovery, arrhythmia (this is an intro chapter, so it’ll get more interesting from here I promise) Word Count: 2.2k

This will be a multi-part series.

��･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

It all started that first autumn after Maeve’s death - just five weeks past a year since I parted with her. I was absentmindedly reading when, rather out of the blue, Mary Donovan called to inform me about a Mrs. Rachel Larsen. 

Although we didn’t learn her actual name until later, she was first known to us as the recipient of Maeve’s liver. Not a single one of the three of us - Maeve’s parents and me - had expected a recipient to be in contact with us. That inability to predict such an event was caused by my neglect to remember Maeve was an organ donor. It wasn’t particularly relevant in the grand scheme of things, and for that forgetfulness, I was truly ashamed, but after reading Rachel Larsen’s letter together with the Donovans, it all came back to me. 

Every single thing. 

You see, despite the anonymity of the person writing to us, it was as if I could actually feel Maeve’s soul coming alive again, as strange as that sounds. 

She was still here with me ... in some form. 

Later that night, when I would return to an empty apartment, I would wonder why I hadn’t thought of reaching out to the recipients before. Even though I’d already started writing a thank you letter back to Rachel, the thirst for more of Maeve became increasingly insatiable. 

While I did have fond memories of her to live by, I couldn’t thrive off of them in the way that I did with that letter. Our only moments together worth reliving were those spent over the phone, a time when I didn’t even know what she looked like. But that letter from Rachel Larsen ... it was somehow more wholesome and pure than any memory of the living Maeve that I could cultivate.

You could say I was doing this to ease my mourning, meaning it should’ve made me feel better, but that didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at me piece by piece as I wrote letters to the rest of the recipients. 

The Donovans had no idea I was doing this, but I reasoned to myself that they would appreciate the surprise. Though they were still undeniably riddled with grief, smiles embellished their sullen faces when they read about Rachel’s quality of life now with a new liver. So maybe, just maybe, hearing from the rest of the receivers would be good for us all. At least, that’s what I told myself.

In one of those rare moments when inspiration strikes and it courses through your veins at the speed of lightning, I found myself being more productive than I had been in nearly a year. By midnight, I’d successfully composed five letters, each dedicated to the receiver of one of Maeve’s major organs - none of which, though, included my identity.

Given the fragile process of contacting the transplant coordinators, getting consent forms, and premeeting counseling, it would be months, if not years, before I would be able to really speak with these faceless people. Nothing against Donor Family Services - I’m sure they do the best they can - but for me, their best wasn’t good enough. So instead, I enlisted the help of someone I knew could never let me down. 

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Penelope peered up at me from her seat, her pinky finger hesitantly hovering over the ‘enter’ button. 

“Yes.” 

With just one click, she discovered the addresses of each one of those faceless people. This singular operation, albeit somewhat unethical, was the final piece to my puzzle. All there was left to do now was send the letters to them, with the tenuous hope they might send one back. 

Luckily for me, not a single recipient questioned how I managed to find them or why this process wasn’t being handled by Donor Family Services, but I suppose if they did wonder those things, they didn’t feel comfortable asking me. Especially not after they learned who I was in relation to their donor. I didn’t intend to guilt-trip anyone with what I wrote in my letters nor did I want to take advantage of anyone’s empathy, but how could you possibly make a foe out of your organ donor’s grieving boyfriend? Exactly - you can’t. So you don’t. Instead, you send an inviting letter back, telling me you’d love to meet. Which is what four of them did.

Only one person didn’t reply, and while an 80% success rate was great, I simply couldn’t let this one go. Trust me, I would have ... had it been any other organ. 

For quite some time, I was the one with Maeve’s heart. 

I just needed to see where it was now.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The heart has several definitions and corresponding connotations. 

Scientifically speaking, the heart is a hollow muscular organ that pumps the blood through the circulatory system by rhythmic contraction and dilation. However, figuratively, the heart can be seen as the central or innermost part of something. The heart of a city, for example. But in literature, the heart is symbolic of love. It is often regarded as the source of all knowledge, which is where the comparison between the head and the heart comes from. The head operates logically, whereas the heart functions emotionally, but despite the rationality the head holds, the heart is what people advise you to listen to because it holds the ultimate truth. 

The heart, because it is equipped with your truest feelings, supersedes any logic and reason the head might hold. 

But you see, I only ever knew Maeve’s mind. I could understand the inner workings of it - I’d probably be able to navigate through her consciousness if I entered it given the fact that our intellect matched one another’s - and I shared nearly identical thought processes with her, but that was all that I ever knew. 

And if that was how much knowledge she held in her head alone, then, undoubtedly, her heart held so much more.

Science defines the heart as an organ. Figurative language uses the heart to establish a focal point. Literature likens the heart to love. But I compare her heart to the ocean. Like the sea, Maeve’s heart was 80% undiscovered, and exploration was simply calling my name. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, I couldn’t abandon my pursuit of it. 

That’s not to say I wasn’t ashamed of this mission, though. If anything, shame for the man I had become in the face of Maeve’s death was the only feeling I was truly capable of anymore. Any other emotions were fleeting or insincere. 

Unfortunately, that slimy, disgusting feeling was only amplified times ten when I found myself driving two hours and forty-five minutes to get to Virginia Beach. 

No sane man would drive this far on a weekday for even their most prized possession, and yet here I was, exactly 180 miles away from home, seeking out someone who hadn’t had the courtesy to even write me back, let alone agree to meet with me. Who knows if she’d even give me the time of day. 

She being Valerie. 

“Valerie Elise Bishop was born on August 5th, 1988 in Henderson, Nevada, to parents Andrew and Sara, but when Valerie turned seventeen, she was diagnosed with arrhythmia,” Garcia explained to me over the phone on the car ride here. “It’s when-”

“When the electrical impulses that coordinate your heartbeats don't work properly, causing your heart to beat too fast, too slow or irregularly,” I accidentally cut in. Realizing I interrupted Garcia, I brought her back into the conversation by asking, “I know there are more than 3 million cases per year in the U.S, but isn’t it usually common for ages 60 or older?” 

“You are most certainly correct, Boy Wonder. It is more common in ages 60 and older, however, her maternal grandmother passed away from arrhythmia, so the family history increased the likelihood.” 

At the sound of this news, I had to pull the car over and physically stop just so I could grasp the weight of what I was really doing. 

“In Henderson, Nevada ... maternal grandmother passed away ... family history increased the likelihood …” Garcia’s voice rang in my head. 

It was then that I came face to face with the gravity of reality. 

Valerie wasn’t just a faceless name or a recipient of Maeve’s heart, she was a person. And her humanity only became more apparent to me the more Penelope spoke. 

For god’s sake, she and I grew up in the same state. She and I saw the same sunsets from the same little corner of the earth. She drove down the same highways and byways - we might’ve even crossed paths at one point or another! Not to mention that she lost her grandmother to the same disease that she was suffering from, and if there was one thing consistent about arrhythmia, it was very likely she’d been living with it for decades, if not her entire lifetime. It’s a long term disease that takes years to improve but only seconds to kill. All it would take is just one irregular beat, and she’d be dead. How can you possibly live with that constant fear looming over your head? 

She is a person. I had to remind myself. Not just a means to explore more of Maeve. 

“Hey, Garcia,” I turned the car back on. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” I could just feel panic begin to rise in Garcia. 

“No, I’m not talking about life, I’m talking about this.” Though she couldn’t see, I grandly gestured to the location, the car, and the passenger seat that was cluttered with files on Valerie. “I don’t feel right invading her privacy like this. It’s just selfish.” 

I wasn’t the only one mourning something here. 

“Are you sure?” Penelope clarified. Which was ironic considering she was the one who was unsure of doing any of this, to begin with. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have dragged Garcia into this. Something as immoral as this was totally against her character, but she did it anyway because her loyalty to her friends conquers all. 

Like I said, my shame multiplied times ten. If not for Valerie, then certainly for Penelope. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m heading home.” 

“Okay,” She softly returned. “Be safe.” 

“Oh, and Garcia?” I asked before ending the call. “Thanks.” 

“Of course. Anything for you, Dr. Reid.” 

By the time I ended the call, the sun was already setting - that’s how long I’d been on the road for. The nearly-three-hour drive I would have to make for the second time today meant I wouldn’t be home in time to beat the pitch-black sky, so considering I was already in for a long night, I made a little detour for the one thing I couldn’t go home without.

A piping hot cup of coffee. 

I felt something as rewarding as caffeine was well deserved for the self-restraint I demonstrated minutes ago. And maybe it was my exhaustion, both mental and physical, that brought me to the near conclusion that I would truly let this go, but I was honestly feeling like I could accept this. An 80% acceptance rate. Not bad, right? 

Though I was basically half-asleep while waiting for my coffee, I could not miss the barista when she said, “Valerie! Your order’s ready!”

What are the chances?

A jolt of energy surged through my body and brought me back to life, causing me to whip my head around at the slightest semblance of movement. On instinct, my gaze gravitated to the woman walking towards the front counter. My pull to her was so strong that even if I hadn’t studied file upon file on her that included pictures of what she looked like, I still would’ve recognized her in a heartbeat.

I just knew. That’s her. 

I had no plan whatsoever for how I should approach this, and yet I still rose from my seat, motivated by nothing more than the single belief that I needed to.

Was this the universe telling me that I was meant to run into her after all? That I needed to meet the woman with an oceanic heart?

But when I finally got to where she was, she glided effortlessly past me, not paying any mind to my presence. Why would she though? To her, I was no one. To her, I was the faceless person. 

“Excuse me!” I bolted to the front counter after realizing I might’ve just missed my opportunity. The barista, stunned and concerned, furrowed her brows while she waited for my question. “Is that girl a regular here?”

“Valerie?” She pointed in her direction, to which I nodded rapidly. “Oh, yeah. She comes in here all the time. She works just across the street.” 

When I came to this coffee shop, it was simply by chance. It wasn’t even the closest cafe, but it was the one I chose to go to for some inexplicable reason. 

I’d like to think it was fate. I was meant to be here after all. Because right behind me stood the storefront of a building I had only briefly read about in Valerie’s file.

The Bones,  Art Gallery & Studio

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 2 HERE!

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[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - x (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: The truth finally comes out.

Warnings: brief mention of sex, mentions of death, really shitty writing tbh, dialogue driven. (NOTE: when concerning the flashbacks, he’s actually explaining to the reader what happened)

Word Count: 2.5k

Note: Feel free to send me any questions because I know this is a really crappy chapter. (of course, I’m not going to reveal the rest of the plot)

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

You could still taste the salt from the sea on your lips. The memories of what happened aboard that ship still fresh like a wound that you’d carry forever. You stared at your hands that were conjoined with your husband’s. The wedding bands glistened in the dimmed room.

“Will you believe me if I told you everything?” Steven asked. His thumb drew soothing circles on the back of your hand. His grip tight as if he were afraid you’d disappear again.

“Everyone’s lied to me.” You whispered. You looked towards Wanda’s body, still covered with the bloodstained tarp. “What would make you any different?”

“This is the truth,” he promised. “The complete truth.”

When Steven was young, his mother doted on him because he was a sickly child. He grew up to have her compassion, optimism, and idealism. He was sixteen when his father unexpectedly died, and he was hailed King of Brooken. He wanted to carry his mother’s ideals into a new age for Brooken, but he underestimated what it meant to have a crown on his head.

The sacrifices he’d have to make, the betrayals he’d have to face, the blood he’d have to spill. He’s told more lies that he could count – all in the name of protecting his reputation and his power. A cruel king is respected after all. The lies were like storm clouds that poured hard. He drowned in them and got lost in the darkness those clouds brought. The lies burdened him more than anyone would ever know.

You squeezed hand, breaking him away from his thoughts. “Steve?” Your tone was soft, coaxing him back into reality. He welcomed the calm you brought. It eased the storm inside of him. You were ready for the truth – perhaps, you’ve always been ready. “Unburden yourself, my love.”

“I don’t know where to start.” He said, honestly. It was true. There was so much to the story. He wasn’t quite sure where it began.

“Start with Margaret, perhaps?” You suggested.

“I was young,” he began. “Twenty-one years old. Five years on the throne. They told me I needed a wife.”

“They?”

“Pierce and the old council.” He answered. “Brock’s father had just died, so he took the vacant seat. At first, I thought having my cousin on the council would alleviate the tension. The lords on the council were nearly twice my age, if not more. They saw things differently than I did. They wanted different things. Sometimes I felt as if I were their puppet. I was young when I took the throne. Sixteen. I didn’t know what to expect, so I leaned on their counsel. I depended on them,” he scoffed, remembering his earlier years on the throne. “They told me I needed to continue the line succession. Thanos was beginning to make a name for himself by this time. He had lovers and spawned two daughters. His line was growing, and the Rogers’s wasn’t. So, I asked them to find me a match. Pierce brought in Lady Margaret of House Carter. I was smitten when I first laid eyes on her.”

Steven sat tall upon his throne. The room was empty. Brooken had a tradition that detailed that those in royal betrothals must meet for the first time in private. He was giddy with excitement. Lady Margaret’s portraits were presented to him a month ago. She was easily one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen. Lord Pierce made the arrangements and they were to marry within a week. “House Carter is a respected house in the Old World,” Pierce advertised.

The doors opened wide and a young woman walked through. Her hair was dark as night. Her lips painted a bright red. She smiled at him and bowed. “Your grace,” she greeted. “I am humbled to make your acquaintance and, of course, honored to be your betrothed.”

“I didn’t know her, truly. I didn’t realize how manipulative she was from the beginning. She charmed and enchanted me to do her bidding. We were married for nearly a decade. No children. She didn’t want children. I didn’t want to lose her, so I agreed.

“She had many faces. A face she’d show the people that made them love her. A face she showed me that hypnotized me. And the face she’d show my allies, which were her foes. She fought with James incessantly – even tried to make me banish him. I refused. He was my oldest friend. I promised the moment I took the throne, my riches, my blessings were his to share. She was trying to isolate me. She banished my allies from court. James warned me she was a devil. I refused to listen. I thought her a gift from the gods themselves. Until I caught her poisoning my mother.”

“What?” You gasped.

Steven nodded. The haunting memory pained him still.

He woke up alone after a long night of making love to his queen. It was early in the morning; the sun had barely risen. Orange streaks painted the sky. He searched for Margaret, wanting to jest her for allowing him to wake up alone. He found her whispering to his sick, elderly mother who was bedridden due to a broke hip.

“You won’t get away with it. My son will find out,” his mother croaked.

“Not from you,” Margaret gave her a wicked smile as she slathered arsenic-riddled paint on his mother’s toast. The thick substance looked like jam, but Steve knew better. She force-fed the queen mother the poisoned bread.

“What are you doing!” Steve boomed into the room, pushing his wife aside as his mother choked. “Guards! Get a physician!”

“She died later that evening.” Steven shook his head. It was your turn to console him. You released one of your hands from his grip and rubbed his arm. He took a shaky breath. “I stabbed Margaret in the heart in front of Rumlow, Pierce, James, and Sam’s father. I didn’t know, yet, that her betrayals were much deeper than the murdering my mother.”

“Enter Sharon?” You asked.

“I was widowed for a year. Pierce brought her in. The younger cousin of Margaret.” He continued. “Married two days after her arrival in Brooken.” He chuckled humorlessly at his naivete. “I should’ve never marry a stranger.”

“We married in two weeks.” You noted. “We were practically strangers, too.”

Steven shook his head in disagreement. He didn’t feel that way. In the two weeks he grew to know you, he learned the innerworkings of your mind, your soul. He knew he was in love with you, truly, even before he wrapped the cloak around your shoulders during the wedding ceremony.

“We weren’t strangers.” He said. “Far from it. Sharon was distant. Defiant. We never consummated our marriage, not that anyone would know. She refused to sleep in my chambers, refused to be held, or anything, really. It felt as if I had married a ghost that everyone could see. I couldn’t touch her, but she still haunted these halls.”

“You beheaded her.” You said. Steven bit his lip as he nodded. “Pierce said you beheaded her out of spite.”

Steven cocked his head to the side, brows raising, as if he entertained the idea. “Well, she was spiteful.”

“The men in the prisons… They preferred her over you and you imprisoned them, correct?”

Steven sighed. He was disappointed that you were so quick to believe rumors and lies about him, but he blamed himself for not being completely honest from the start. “Sharon plotted a coup on behalf of the Mad King.”

“How can you be certain?” You asked.

“She admitted it when she was caught.”

Steven stared down at the blonde. Her eyes wide as he finished reading her encrypted letter. “You’re not subtle. You’re not discreet.” He spat at her, crumpling the paper and throwing it at her feet. “You work for the Mad King. You’re here to topple me. Rip the crown from my head and give it to him. The game’s over, Sharon. You’ve lost. Your followers all caught and imprisoned. I will get a confession and you will die for treason.”

She recomposed herself, rolling back her shoulders with confidence. “You think you can just kill off another queen? What will people think of you, Steven.”

“I am pulling the weeds from my kingdom.” He snapped. “You Carters are all the same. Traitors. Liars.”

“Margaret was good.” Sharon complimented. “She had you wrapped around her finger for a decade. If she hadn’t been caught killing your mother, then she would’ve convinced you to ally yourself with Thanos.” She turned her head to the side and gave him a smirk. “Then, she would’ve killed you along with your mother. Such a shame, she was caught.”

“You admit. You’re a traitor.”

“Of course, I admit it. But mind you, your grace, your enemies are all over Brooken. You cut me down today, someone else will cut you down tomorrow.”

“I beheaded her for treason.”

“You didn’t tell people that your queens were committed treason. You allowed rumors to spread about your cruelty to your wives.” You frowned.

“As I told you before, a cruel king is respected.” Steven muttered. “But I never wanted you to be afraid of me.”

“Isn’t it odd?” You asked. “Both queens chosen by Pierce were traitors.”

Steven nodded. “They pushed me to get married once more, but I told them, this time I’ll choose my bride.”

“Me.”

“It’s three years after the War between the North. Tony and I were close before. I fought alongside your father when York was invaded ages ago.”

“You fought over a disagreement over land.”

“More than land. He wanted James dead. James’s father killed your grandfather. Since James’s father had died long before, your father asked for my friend’s head. I refused. So, a war erupted.”

“You traded blows with my father on the battlefield.” You recalled. You remembered your mother’s cries and pleads with the gods, asking for them to protect your father’s life. “He returned to my mother bloodied. You cut through his armor. But you looked him in the eyes and called the war off.”

“No one won.”

“No one.” You agreed. “Three years later, you ask my father for a wife.”

“I needed a wife I could trust. Although we had our differences, I trust your father with my life. I know Tony’s blood. I know how you would’ve been raised to be loyal. You took after your father and your mother.” Steven explained. “I didn’t trust Pierce to find me a wife that could slit my throat in the night.”

“You trust me?” You asked.

“The moment I stared into your eyes and saw fear… I knew you knew the rumors. I knew you thought of me as cruel – our first encounter made that clear.” He smiled at you softly. His fingers lightly traced the scars of your wrist. He brought your wrist to his lips and pressed a light kiss onto the skin. “But, truthfully, my trust in you waned when I saw you with Brock and Pierce leaving the dungeon. I began to think you were conspiring with them.”

“I – I – I wasn’t.”

“I know that now.” He said. “I realized you were afraid of disappointing me because you didn’t … you weren’t –“

“Pregnant.” Your voice wavered, immediately brought back to the painful memory of losing your baby alone on the boat. “I should’ve told you I was, though. But I was afraid. I thought you were going to kill me. You struck me.”

“I’m terribly sorry.” Steven shook his head. No amount of apologizes could ever make up to the faded scar on your cheek.

“I was afraid for my life and the child’s. They manipulated me because of my fears. They prayed upon it and convinced me to trust them. And I did. In turn, I – I lost my best friend and my baby.”

Steve pulled you to him. Your head rested in the junction between his neck and shoulder as you cried softly into him. He rubbed your arm, comfortingly.

“They tried to turn you against me.” Steven whispered. “They tried to weaken me by trying to kill you on that boat. I thank the gods that you’re safe now.”

“Thank you for telling me the truth.” You muttered.

Steven nodded and kissed the top of your head. His arm around you tightened a bit. “You should sleep. Get some rest. You need it after what you’ve endured.”

You agreed. Steven untangled himself from you before he leaned down to press a kiss to the scar on your cheek and a kiss on your lips. He began to walk away when you felt panic begin to settle. Your hand shot out and grabbed onto his arm, preventing him from taking another step.

“Please stay.” You begged. “I… I don’t want to be alone.”

He gave you a soft smile and nodded. You scooted over the cot to make room for your husband. The positioning was a bit awkward considering his massive build, but you immediately felt safer once his arms wrapped around you once again.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

You woke up alone in Steven’s bedchamber. The sun had already set, the full moon up in the sky. The pain had subsided after nearly a day of rest. The truth settling in inside your mind.

At least now you knew everything.

The doors opened suddenly to reveal your husband. He smiled at you as you sat up on the bed. “You’re awake.”

“You left me alone.”

Steven’s smile faltered. He couldn’t register if there was sadness in your voice or not as he walked over. “I – I hadn’t meant to upset you.”

You shook your head. “I understand. You’re a king. Your duty is to the people, not to me.”

“I am your husband, first.” Steve argued. “My duty will always be to you, my love.” He took your hand in his and helped you off the bed. “Come. There’s something I must show you.”

He led you to the balcony doors, opening it and allowing the air rush into the room. You breathed it in. The mixed scents from the gardens below overtook your senses, washing out the pained sea salt smell that still haunted you.

Steven guided you out onto the terrace and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in front of him. You gasped as you looked up to the sky. Along with the bright moon and the stars were lanterns that floated into the air and painted the dark sky.

“For years, I stumbled alone in the darkness. Feigned love with false queens who sought to destroy me. And here you are. The true gift the gods bestowed upon me. I truly believe you were crafted to be my soulmate, (Y/N).” He murmured in your ear. “I wish I could take away the pain you’ve endured, but I cannot. I can only tell you whatever comes next, we will face it together as husband and wife.” Tears swelled in your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks as you stared up into the bright sky. “I love you, my light, my love.”

You smiled and turned to him, cupping his bearded cheeks in your hands. “I love you, Steve.”

[pagesoflauren]

Henry Cavill Vampire Anthology: Memories Bring Back Memories...

darkish!vampire!Napoleon Solo x reader

Warnings: not-fully-fleshed-out vampire lore, vampire-typical violence, angst, pseudo-blackmailing, mentions of trauma/parental neglect

A/N: So, played around with an idea and based it on this creepypasta. I had also read a fic with this idea with Harry Styles, but I can’t find it anymore. I hope y’all enjoy this 🤞🏽 

Your eyes sting when you first open them, the sight of the bright hospital lights making your pupils constrict painfully. 

You’re connected to various machines through tubes attached to your arms. You can hear the steady rhythm on the heart rate monitor grow increasingly faster as you fail to get your bearings. 

Somewhere in your subconscious you know you shouldn’t move so violently, but you do. Your arms thrash and tug at wires, causing the wheels on the machines to roll across the tile floor. 

Cool hands press against your hot skin. Your muscles move to cringe away from the shock until you look into the face of the person.

It’s a man; a beautiful stranger with blue eyes and perfect features. 

You must be dead. 

“Relax, darling,” he soothes you, the prosody of his voice a little sing-songy compared to others you’ve spoken to. You don’t know anyone who speaks the way he does.

“Who are you?” 

He looks so pained, his eyebrows coming together and moving upwards. His eyes drift down for a moment as he appears to collect his thoughts before meeting yours again. He runs his knuckles against your cheek. His touch is so unfamiliar that you lean away from it, though he acts as if he’s done this a million times before. 

“You’ll remember soon.” 

A lie, but you don’t need to know that. 

“I’ll get the nurse.” 

He reaches over to the space next to your head. The button clicks when he presses it and a white light above it turns on. 

He takes in the wild look in your eyes as you take in your surroundings, looking at spots behind him before scanning the rest of the room. Your breathing slows, as shown by your chest slowing but also by the audible sound of your lungs shrinking as your ribs close around them. 

He finds such beauty in the way your body moves in sync, how your heartbeat also loses speed. Your body temperature goes down, some of your warmth disappearing from him. 

You’re quite perfect, aren’t you?

Though, he made you this way. 

You foolishly let your guard down while walking home and unfortunately crossed paths with him on the verge of a literal mental breakdown.

Mortals use that term to describe when they’re under excessive amounts of stress and lose all sensibility. 

His kind uses it when their minds follow their bodies: dead. When their brains lose their mental vigor, they turn to humans to fulfill their needs. 

Most people don’t survive an attack from those like him. They are drained of their very essence. Everything that made them who they are, the experiences that shaped their beliefs, the emotions that arise when they navigate the world… is all stolen away in a few moments with a bite at the back of the neck. 

Others, like you, come out in better shape. A little disoriented, more recent memories lost but still many intact ones. Enough to allow you to still function, only less effectively than before. 

You were an easy target. Napoleon was ready to empty your little head and leave you a slump on the street. But your memories intrigued him. 

Your mother. Your father. A second man he can assume is a step-father. An empty road at night illuminated by passing headlights. Dingy living in the city you’re currently in, riddled with rats and flies. Tables filled with food while your stomach grumbled, seedy customers that grabbed your retracting hands, shady characters you pass on the way back home from work. 

Napoleon knows that life. On the run in strange cities, sneaking around, avoiding an entire task force created especially for him. He knows women. He’s certain he’s met every single type of them in the long time he’s been alive and has been around long enough to have met each type twice.

There’s one type of woman he actively tries to avoid, though. The type of woman that led to his heart shattered on the floor when it was still beating: the ones who need him; the helpless kind. 

That’s exactly what you were. It was clear there were things you were ready to forget. You needed a clean slate. He could help you rebuild your mental health, give you beautiful memories to hold on to. 

You needed him. 

The nurses were saying you had a case of memory loss from when you fell and hit your head, but your boyfriend was there to take care of you. He had all the paperwork filled out because he was the one that took you to the hospital three days ago. 

You were knocked out for three days. 

It overwhelmed you, but they reassured you he was your emergency contact. 

As such, after all the tests and brain scans, you were given into his care. His embrace felt foreign, but you didn’t protest when he insisted you take his hand as you walked to his car together. 

You twiddled your thumbs as he drove through a city you swore you have never seen before. You have an overwhelming sense of deja vu, something that rings a faint bell when you see a certain street corner or the unlit neon sign of a restaurant. It sounds when you pass a dilapidated apartment building with chipping paint and a rusty fire escape. You can conjure an image of what a unit inside would look like, hear the creaks of the floor, or the failing stovetop as you try to boil water. 

His house is out of the city, on a quiet street straight out of a magazine. The inside is neat and it almost puts you off. You don’t feel at home here. 

“How are you feeling, darling? You need a rest?” 

“I think so. I-I don’t remember anything, it’s a lot to be in here.” 

A gentle hand lays on your shoulder, turning you to a corridor. “Last door on the right. I’ll make you some tea.” 

Tea? Do you like tea? You can’t remember…

You’re startled by the light tap on your bottom that makes you stumble forward. When you look back at him, he’s heading towards the kitchen. 

The bedroom is fairly simple, with blue checkered covers you could expect from a man your boyfriend’s age. 

Taking a look around, you find your makeup on a vanity by the window. There are two sets of drawers and you assume the one next to the vanity is yours. 

Sirens are going off in your head now. There are no bells of recollection. 

You go into the bathroom, sliding the glass door of the shower cubicle open. 

It was the nicest shower you had ever seen, with a dark blue backsplash and five different showerheads. On the floor, you find products that are far out of your budget. They were the luxury items you saw in the drugstore that you would only hope to afford one day. 

You pick up the bottle of shampoo. It’s heavier than you expect, brand new. 

“Darling?” his voice calls into the bedroom. You hear the teacup rattle on a saucer as his footsteps draw closer. “Ah, there you are.” 

You put the bottle down and turn to face him. His large frame fills the doorframe as he leans against it, the cup and saucer looking so delicate in his large hand. 

“Why can’t I remember anything?” It comes out as a whine, but you can’t hold in your frustration. Surely, you’d have some memory of this. 

“You fell pretty hard, darling. I was very distressed,” he explains, placing your drink on the counter next to the sink. 

“But I really don’t remember anything. This house, the bedroom, the shower...I don’t even remember you…or what I called you.” 

“Napoleon,” he supplies. “You always called me by my first name.” 

You didn’t know his name until now. All the other women he’s known called him by other names, aliases. His name is reserved for his mother.

And now you. 

“It’s so much, Napoleon.” He sees panic return to your eyes. It’s the same look you had when he grabbed you on the street. You clutched at the arm that constricted around your neck, breathing weak utterances of “please” over and over again. 

“Maybe...maybe I could go somewhere, just for a few days. And if I rest, just, outside of here, I’ll have a clear mind and can remember…”

He looks down and sighs. He pushes off the doorframe and takes short, careful steps toward you. 

“Darling, I hate to tell you this,” he begins, tucking your hair behind your ears. His palms cradle your jaw, tilting your head back so you can look up at him. “But your memories won’t come back.” 

You blink rapidly in disbelief, shaking your head as much as you can. “But...but the nurses said--”

“The nurses don’t know what they were talking about,” he says gently.

You say nothing, staring into his beautiful face, searching for answers. 

“You won’t get your memories back because I have them.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Does your neck hurt?” 

Icy fingers touch the back of your neck, a jolt of pain shooting down your spine and your knees buckle. You clutch at his shirt to keep yourself standing. 

“Ah, it does.” He smiles, prominent pointed teeth glinting in the bathroom light. “Because that’s where I bit you. And I have all your memories, darling. Apart from the few that are still bouncing around that pretty head of yours.” 

You push him away as best you can, which isn’t very much, and back away. The glass door rattles as you come in contact with it, trying to create more space between your bodies. 

“You...you can’t be--that can’t be true. That’s impossible.” 

A bite on your neck? Something you’ll never get back? 

Vampires feed on blood, not memories…

“You came to this city to escape your broken family. Your father abandoned you. Your step-father didn’t care for you. Your mother was so blinded by love to see how you were neglected.”

The bells again. Bells are better than sirens, but not this time. 

“No.” You refuse to listen. 

“I’m here to keep you safe. You need someone to keep you safe. And you need someone to rebuild that little memory of yours.” 

The gears click in your head. You have happy memories of you and your mom. No man was there. He could be lying. 

But how could you know with certainty?

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” 

“I don’t know, darling,” he says, stepping towards you again. He leans down, pressing his nose to yours in an Eskimo kiss. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.” 

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[ghostlypawn]

anyways heres all the quotes alice by heart takes from the books (bold is the abh lines/as close as they can be and ‘///’ means theyre from seperate scenes of the book merged together)

Chapter One: Down the Rabbit Hole. Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading-

So she was considering in her own mind, (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid,) whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a white rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.

There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, “Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting !” 

It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other : he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, “Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess ! Oh! won’t she be savage if I’ve kept her waiting !”

Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: “Dear, dear! How queer everything is today! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!”

“I could tell you my adventures—beginning from this morning,” said Alice a little timidly: “but it’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

“The first thing I’ve got to do,” said Alice to herself, as she wandered about in the wood,“ is to grow to my right size again; and the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think that will be the best plan.”

Very soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about, and called out to her in an angry tone, “Why, Mary Ann, what are you doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!”

It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard it muttering to itself, “The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She ’ll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where can I have dropped them, I wonder!”

“Come, my head’s free at last!” said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her. /// “...now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!” (for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off).

They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank—the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.

“ Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.” “How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice. “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. /// “I quite agree with you,” said the Duchess, “and the moral of that is—‘Be what you would seem to be’—or, if you’d like it put moresimply—‘Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.’”

They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance? Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance? Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, won’t you join the dance?

“You can really have no notion how delightful it will be When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!” But the snail replied “Too far, too far!” and gave a look askance— Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.

Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew how to begin.” For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.

At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in his note-book, called out “ Silence!” and read out from his book, “ Rule Forty-two. All persons more than a mile high to leave the court.” /// “I can’t help it,” said Alice very meekly : “I’m growing.” “You ’ve no right to grow here,” said the Dormouse. /// “But then,” thought Alice, “shall I never get any older than I am now? That’ll be a comfort, one way—never to be an old woman— but then—always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn’t like that !”

Alice gave a little scream of laughter. “Oh, hush!” the Rabbit whispered in a frightened tone. “The Queen will hear you! You see she came rather late, and the Queen said—”

He sent them word I had not gone (we know it to be true): If she should push the matter on, what would become of you?

“No room! No room!” they cried out when they saw Alice coming. “There’s plenty of room!” said Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table. The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he said was, “Why is a raven like a writing-desk ?” /// “Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again. “No, I give it up,” Alice replied : “what’s the answer?” “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter. “Nor I,” said the March Hare. Alice sighed wearily. “I think you might do something better with the time,” she said, “than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.” “If you knew Time as well as I do,” said the Hatter, “you wouldn’t talk about wasting it. It’s him.” “I don’t know what you mean,” said Alice.“Of course you don’t!” the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. “I dare say you never even spoke to Time!”

Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!”

“Cheshire Puss,” she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. “Come, it’s pleased so far,” thought Alice, and she went on, “Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to walk from here ?” “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat. “I don’t much care where——” said Alice. “Then it doesn’t matter which way you walk,” said the Cat.

Alice laughed. ‘There’s not use trying,’ she said: ‘one can’t Alice laughed. ‘There’s not use trying,’ she said: ‘one can’t believe impossible things.’ ‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. There goes the shawl again!’

However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.

“ I’ll tell it her,” said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone: “sit down, both of you, and don’t speak a word till I’ve finished.” So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Alice thought to herself, “I don’t see how he can ever finish, if he doesn’t begin.” But she waited patiently. “Once,” said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, “I was a real Turtle.”

...“we went to school in the sea. The master was an old Turtle—we used to call him Tortoise—” “Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn’t one?” Alice asked. “We called him Tortoise because he taught us,” said the Mock Turtle angrily; “really you are very dull!”

“Herald, read the accusation!” said the King. On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment scroll, and read as follows:—

“Let the jury consider their verdict,” the King said, for about the twentieth time that day. “No, no!” said the Queen. “Sentence first— verdict afterwards.”

... “Don’t let him know she liked them best, For this must ever be A secret, kept from all the rest, Between yourself and me.”

At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her; she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face.

“Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream!” said Alice, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about; and when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said, “It was a curious dream, dear, certainly : but now run in to your tea ; it’s getting late.” So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.

[fortisfiliae]

Promised Part 4 - Tom Riddle x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2k

Part 4 - One and the Same

As the weeks passed and the weather in late October turned colder, the halls and chambers in Hogwarts stayed warm. It also seemed that somebody specific had warmed up around you as well. Tom didn’t ignore you anymore. Not completely at least. He was still distant, but you guessed that was just how he was. Progress, still.

Camille was sure he liked you, even if he didn’t show it. You didn’t entirely agree with her, but it was definitely a start.

You had just thought of him when you walked along the shore of the Black Lake alone. Since Avery and Lestrange hadn’t dared to even look at you for more than a moment, you felt save enough to wander around on your own again. And you enjoyed taking time for yourself. To manage your thoughts in peace, while the wind howled across the water to keep you company. 

Tom must have been impressed by your potions skills. His demeanour had changed ever since you beat him making Moonseed Poison, even though you thought he was mad at you at first. You had lost count of how often you had thought about that smirk on his face and what that did to your stomach. It was almost embarrassing how many times you started daydreaming, how your mind wanted to drift off, and you let it.

Your thoughts were interrupted by someone calling out your name and hasty footsteps coming your way from behind. You stopped and turned around to see who it was. Benjamin Hilt. The Gryffindor boy from sixth year, who had already asked too many questions. 

He was quite short for a boy of his age, but it seemed like he didn’t care about it. He didn’t care about a lot of things apparently. He wore jeans a lot. A clothing item wizards would usually not choose as their attire since it was such a muggle thing to wear. 

You thought it was his way of revolting the system. A very subliminal way of showing his political views. His hair must have also been part of that. That, or he didn’t own a comb. 

Not that he was unpopular, he definitely had friends. They were all like him to an extend. Loud, candid and sometimes a bit scandalising. They liked to be the centre of attention, even if that meant they would go on everyone’s nerves. You have never had a problem with them. They weren’t your friends, but you knew they usually meant no harm.

“Hey,” he said, a bit out of breath once he caught up. 

“Hi Ben,” you answered and started walking again.

“Can I walk with you for a minute?”

“Sure. Did you come up with more questions for your investigation?”

He kept quiet for a moment and you grinned while looking out over the lake, where the tiniest waves rustled in the wind.

“No,” he then said. “I mean, yes. I mean… Possibly.”

“What’s your deal, Ben?” you asked. “Not to be mean, but none of this is any of your business.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. But I just can’t wrap my head around this. It kind of keeps me up at night. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Well if it doesn’t sit right with you, then, of course, we’re going to listen to you and throw all plans out of the window.”

“Don’t be sarcastic now. It’s a serious thing.”

“Oh really? Thanks for reminding me. Still none of your concern. And even if it was. What doesn’t sit right?”

“Two things actually,” Ben answered. “Firstly, I still don’t believe that you’re doing this of your own free will. I think he’s forcing you to marry him. And secondly, with your two families combined, Tom and his relatives will be given a whole new level of respect. And power.”

“So?”

“So? Don’t act like you don’t know what the Gaunts are all about.”

Of course you knew. Everyone did. And Ben was probably right. But what should you do about it now?

“Look, Ben,” you sighed. “I’m thankful for your concern, really. But it wasn’t forced. Tom and I… We love each other. And I’m afraid you don’t know him or any of his relatives as well as you think. They’re not seeking power. Or anything of that sort.”

You’ve never lied to someone like this before. Twisted the truth a bit, yes. Kept some information secret, yes. But this was the greatest lie that ever left your mouth. And Ben knew.

“Alright,” he said slowly and raised his eyebrows. “The Gaunts are dangerous, whether you believe it or not. Who knows what they’re capable of when they get even more respected in the wizard community. I thought you weren’t like them, you know. But seems like you’re one and the same.”

You didn’t respond. Maybe you really were like them. But what did Benjamin ‘knight in shining armour’ Hilt know about your life? You had your reasons and you weren’t going to share them with him. Who did he think he was? 

“I see you don’t want my help,” he said. “Just know, you can always ask for it when you change your mind.”

Then he walked off. And it made you angry. Not that you had anything else to say. But the mere fact that he thought he knew better than everyone else turned your insides sour. So much that you wanted to scream. But he would have heard you. So you kept it down and walked for a little longer.

One and the same. Sure. Like one of the Gaunts would do anything remotely similar than what you had done for your sister. What an idiot. And even if you accepted his help. What would he be able to do for you? Nothing. One and the same. If people wanted to see you like that, they should. But then, they should be as afraid of you as they were of Tom.

You thought of Elsie and your parents. They had sent a letter some days ago. Finally. A reason to keep going. To keep the facade. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about quitting. Now that your sister was better, you had thought that there would be a way that would lead you out of the pact. But the letter reminded you that there wasn’t. And what you did it for. Who you did it for. You took it out of your pocket and read it again.

“Dearest daughter,

we are delighted to let you know Elsie is doing much better. The Gaunts were a tremendous help. Morfin brewed several potions and one of them seemed to be the cure. Her cough stopped immediately and she is on the mend. 

She is finally eating again, she even wanted to help the elves make lunch yesterday.

I think she also grew half an inch over the last week. 

It is an incredible joy to watch her laughing again. We wish you could see her now. 

And we want to let you know, again, how thankful we are for what you did. Without you, Merlin knows what would have happened. We are so proud of you.

However, Marvolo informed us that they haven’t broken the curse entirely.

He said if there will be any kind of breach or breaking of the pact, they can make Elsie sick again. And that it would be worse than before.

We hope you know what that means and what is expected of you. We wish we could take that burden from you.

All the best,

Mum and Dad”

There was a little red heart scribbled at the bottom right corner of the letter, that Elsie had drawn. It made you smile each time you saw it. It reminded you of the countless times you had sat with her in the garden and had watched her draw random figures and shapes. She would always get angry when your drawings came out better than hers. But she never gave up trying. And you couldn’t give up trying either.

The sun went down earlier each day now, so you went back to the castle once you had walked off the anger in your bones. 

Tom sat there in the courtyard. He was alone to your surprise. Even though he didn’t talk much, he was usually with at least two other people, who competed for his attention. But not today.

“Hello,” you said and he nodded. You sat down at the stone bench next to him. “What are you doing?”

He looked at you for a moment, then leant forward and gazed into the distance. “Thinking.”

“Me too.”

“Really?” he asked sarcastically.

“What do you mean?”

“It didn’t seem like you thought of much when you were walking with Hilt.”

“Ben? Did you see us? Hang on. Did you watch me?”

“Does it matter? I just happened to take a walk towards the lake. Then I saw you two.”

“Okay,” you said. “Well next time feel free to join in. Anything to keep him away. Ben really gets on my nerves you know.”

“Sure,” he said, still not looking at you.

“What’s the matter now?” you asked and smiled. “You’re not jealous of him, are you?”

Tom shot you a look that could have possibly killed you. Your smile disappeared instantly and the wind suddenly felt icy.

“Because there’s nothing to be jealous about,” you went on. “I don’t even like Ben.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he asked.

“What? No. I’m just trying-”

“Listen! If you’re going to be my wife, you must not give the impression of being unfaithful.”

“And being unfaithful means walking with anyone that isn’t you?”

“You know what it means.”

“So I’m not allowed to talk to friends?”

“I thought he wasn’t your friend.”

“He isn’t. This is not about Ben but in general.”

Tom stayed silent.

“You can’t be serious,” you said. “What do you expect me to do? Only ever speak to you, even if other people approach me? I didn’t even invite him. He just happened to be there all of a sudden.”

Tom turned towards you again and came uncomfortably close. 

“I. Don’t. Care. I expect you to be loyal.”

“I am,” you said but he stood up and left.

“Wait! You can’t just walk away.”

But he went. You ran after him, your frustration banging from inside your head against your temples. When you entered the hallways, quite a few people were around, some of them already looking at you. 

There he was, still walking away. You finally reached Tom and grabbed him by the shoulder, to make him look at you. He stopped abruptly and turned around, quicker than you had thought, so you almost bumped into him. A second of silence and staring occurred before you took a step back. Okay. Now was the time to get your point across.

“Listen,” you said quietly. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but I guarantee you that’s not what happened.”

“I know wh-”

“No, I said listen to me,” you interrupted him more vehemently and people’s heads turned your way, so you kept your voice low again. “Ben is not my friend. He came up to talk to me about us. I think he knows about the pact. And he wants to ruin everything. I’m not going to lose my sister because of him. So I tried to convince him. And if you think that’s being disloyal then so it be. I don’t care either. But never run away from me when I want to explain myself. And never distrust me again for no reason.”

That was the first time you witnessed Tom Riddle being speechless. So you left him standing there without another word. If people wanted to believe you were one and the same, you would make him believe it too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

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[meowmerson]

hi meowmers! just read your latest tomione fics and i'm so glad you're back here blessing us. would love to read your take on head boy & head girl tomione fic? or maybe an au where auror! hermione chases after dark wizard tom riddle

head boy head girl you say??????????????? one of my favorite tropes you say????????????????????????? I ACCEPT

–

Hermione knew it would be him. He was top of their class (a title she had been battling against him for since their first year) beloved by their professors and classmates, he was a natural-born leader, handsome, likable - it would have been outrageous for head boy to be anyone other than him.

Didn’t mean she had to like it.

Hermione always found something suspicious about Tom Riddle. She was certain she was the only one who thought so, save for maybe Harry, but then Harry was easily won over when people were kind to him. And Tom Riddle certainly went out of his way to be kind.

But he was mysterious. No one really knew where he was from - everyone knew he was an orphan, but no one knew how, or where he lived now. Everyone just thought he was a poor tortured soul and that those things should never be mentioned.

He had a close circle of friends who followed his every command and cowered in the face of his glare. She had seen Malfoy once laughing and subsequently cowering from nothing but a look from Tom Riddle, nothing more than a glance, and suddenly Malfoy was swallowing his laughter and averting his eyes to the ground. Malfoy didn’t do that for anybody.

How could someone so allegedly kind strike that kind of fear into someone’s heart with nothing more than a glance?

He was fake, she had decided. He was nothing more than secrets upon secrets shrouded beneath a pretty face, a friendly smile, an intelligent mind. But there was something there, beneath the surface. Something secret, something dark.

And Hermione never liked liars.

“Would you just admit you want to ride his dick til you pass out so we can move on?” Lavender drawled from her bed in the Gryffindor seventh year room.

Hermione sputtered for a solid thirty seconds while Padma and Parvati absolutely killed themselves laughing. Ginny, who was lounging on Padma’s bed while the twins lay together on Parvati’s, stared at Hermione awaiting her reaction with unrelenting glee.

“Lavender!” Hermione finally managed to choke out, bringing on another round of obnoxious laughter from the girls.

“Oh come on, Hermione,” Lavender said, “You have wanted to hop on that since first year!”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are–”

“Oh, look at him Hermione!” Ginny said, “That boy is sex on legs,”

“Whether or not he is sex on legs is not the point!” Hermione snapped, “Have you been listening to anything I’m saying? I have to share a living quarters with a boy who–”

“So you admit he’s sex on legs then?” Lavender interrupted.

“Ugh!” Hermione pushed herself to her feet, “I am finished with this conversation. I’m leaving.”

“Make sure you get back before curfew starts,” Padma said, and Parvati added, “Or Riddle will need to punish you!”

“Fuck all of you!” Hermione swore, and the uncharacteristically foul language sent the girls into another round of laughter.

–

She tried to speak to Harry and Ron.

Ron said, “Ah, this is about how badly you want to snog Riddle then, is it?”

Harry laughed, and Hermione picked up the bottle of firewhiskey they had snuck in and poured it out the window as revenge.

–

She put off returning to the common room as long as she could. Guiding the first years around had been alright, mostly because they split up those responsibilities and didn’t take them together, but they would be doing rounds tonight, together, just the two of them, then returning to the Head’s common together.

It all felt very strange.

Tom was stood outside the portrait to their common room when she arrived. “You’re nearly late.” He said.

“Nearly,” Hermione agreed, “But not quite.”

“Meeting up with your friends?” He asked as they started down the hall. He always did this, attempted friendly conversation, as if they were familiar enough to do so. She nodded curtly. “Did you meet up with any of them over the summer?”

“No,” She answered. She didn’t elaborate.

“Ah,” He replied, seemingly nonplussed, “It must be nice to catch up, then.”

When would this torture end?

“Yes, it is.” Hermione agreed.

“And did you have a nice summer?” He asked.

She glanced toward him, but looked away before she caught his eye. He was peering around the corridor, keeping an eye out for any students out after curfew or first years who had gotten lost. She wondered what he was playing at, why he was trying to make friendly conversation. What did he have to gain, here? What did he want?

“Miss Granger?” He pressed.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you had a nice summer.” She looked toward him again, and this time his eyes were fixed on her.

“Did you?” She asked, just to see the twitch in his brow in response. He did that sometimes, little ticks to show that his endless patience wasn’t really so endless. She loved to see it, see those glances into whoever he was behind his mask of perfection.

“Yes.” It was the shortest response he’d given her that night.

“Oh,” She said, and offered him a strained smile, “Yes, I did.”

He didn’t speak to her for the remainder of the evening, except for a polite ‘have a good night’ when they returned to the common room.

It felt like a win

–

They split up rounds, after that. They worked on a one night on, one night off schedule, trading off. It wasn’t typical for head boy and girl to do this, but Hermione had suggested it, and Tom hadn’t argued.

He never did, she found out. He had debated her countless times in class, but they had never had a personal conversation before this year, and it seemed no matter what she said, what she suggested, he tended to agree.

She didn’t understand what he was up to.

Her friends wouldn’t stop relentlessly teasing her, and wouldn’t listen to a single one of her suspicions. And why would they? She didn’t have anything to go on, just this feeling in her gut.

Maybe it was just an issue of attraction.

He was handsome, certainly, and extremely intelligent. He impressed her, and it had been a while since she had met someone who genuinely impressed her. He had a way with people that she always lacked, everyone liked him, maybe it was jealousy. Or maybe it was the way she had so often caught herself thinking about him over the year, wondering what it would be like to know him, for him to know her.

Was this feeling nothing but her own convoluted emotions making her over paranoid?

Living in close quarters to Tom was easy. He kept to himself, didn’t invite anyone over, she would only see him if he was reading in front of the fireplace in their shared common area. She never saw him up to no good, never heard strange noises or saw strange things. He was perfectly normal, perfectly good, perfectly perfect.

She was beginning to doubt herself.

“You know,” Harry told her once, “I thought I hated Draco for ages until I realized I just like blokes.”

“But you also hated Draco,” She reminded him.

“True,” He agreed, and shrugged, as if that didn’t really matter.

–

It was her turn for rounds, and she was dutifully making her way through her assigned route. It was a quiet night, she hadn’t run into any first-years sneaking around the castle, or third-years finding their way to the kitchens, or sixth-years hooking up in abandoned classrooms. She was grateful especially for the last one, she hated stumbling upon that.

She was about ready to finish, head back up to her room and go to bed, when she saw the slightest glow under a classroom door.

It only lasted for a moment before it was gone, like a candle being burnt out, or a spell being cast. She crept toward the door, it was probably a couple of naked teenagers again, trying to get their rocks off in the potions classroom. She pressed her ear against the door to see if she needed to knock or if she could barge in.

She could hear nothing.

She moved away, furrowed her brow. There was definitely someone in there, but they put up a silencing charm. Definitely a couple. She went to open the door, it was locked. So she cast an Alohomora, and to her surprise, nothing happened.

Something icy settled in her stomach. She could only think of one person that she could imagine casting such advanced locking charms. But it wasn’t his night for patrols, and she thought he was in his room.

She was being paranoid. She knew she should knock and demand whoever is in there comes out immediately, deduct house points for being out late and finish her rounds. She shouldn’t be overdramatic about this, lest she look like a fool.

She blew up the lock and removed the silencing charm.

She heard a boy yelp as she pushed the door open. There was a bit of smoke from the exploded lock that had to clear before she could see what was going on inside the room.

Malfoy stood inside, his eyes wide and wet, and Tom stood opposite, looking like he was trying very hard not to look angry.

“What is going on in here?”

“Miss Granger,” Tom said calmly, “Was blowing the lock truly necessary?”

“Was locking and silencing the room truly necessary?” She replied, but she was quickly distracted by Malfoy. He looked terrified, he was blinking rapidly, his eyes wet, and he was shaking like a leaf. She glanced between the two of them, Malfoy looking traumatized, and Tom looking the picture of poise, his eyes locked on her.

She wondered what could have been happening before she opened that door.

“Are you alright?” She asked Malfoy quietly.

“Draco sometimes has nightmares,” Tom answered, “It’s not something he is particularly open about. I was trying to give him a space to calm down with a bit of privacy.”

Hermione watched Tom for a long moment, examined the friendly tilt of his lips into an almost-smile,  the gentle tone of his voice. He was for all intents and purposes, a dedicated friend.

Hermione wasn’t buying it. “I asked Malfoy.” She said.

Something changed in Tom’s expression then, something she hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t just the twitch of his eyebrow or a slight, barely present frown. His whole face went startlingly blank, and his eyes became sharp. She had never seen his eyes like that, focused and intense.

She looked back to Malfoy, who stared back and forth between them with wide eyes. “Malfoy.” She repeated.

He looked at Tom first, who met his gaze. Malfoy then looked back to her, and finally spoke, “Yes,” He said, and the breathiness of his voice made Hermione wonder what had been happening before she interrupted. Did people really sound like this just from crying from a nightmare? “I get night-terrors. Tom was simply calming me down.”

Hermione didn’t like the way Tom turned back to her with a smile. “If you don’t mind, Ms. Granger,” He said, “I’ll take care of Malfoy.”

Malfoy had not stopped shaking.

“I can take him back to his common room,” Hermione said, “It isn’t your night for rounds, Mr. Riddle.”

“I would rather Tom takes me back to the common room.” Malfoy interjected.

There was nothing more Hermione could do then, except look sadly at the state Malfoy was in and ask, “Are you sure, Draco?”

She used his first name on purpose. Malfoy blinked at her, and Tom turned his head slowly to look at her as she said it. She didn’t look at Riddle, kept her eyes on Malfoy and waited for his response.

He nodded, so there was nothing else she could do.

“Fine,” She nodded, and didn’t look at Riddle when she added, “Take him straight back to his common room, it’s after curfew and I don’t want to have to deduct house points.”

“Of course, Hermione,” Tom said.

It was the first time he ever used her first name.

–

Hermione didn’t see Tom that night, and she left her room early that morning.

She didn’t see him until breakfast.

“I need to tell you something,” She said to Harry and Ron, “Something I saw last night.”

“What is it?” Ron said through a mouth full of food.

She looked around the Great Hall. Tom Riddle hadn’t made his appearance yet, but Malfoy was at the Slytherin table. He looked normal, his typical haughty self, it was as if last night had never happened. But Hermione couldn’t chake the memory of his expression, frightened and shaking like a leaf.

“I was doing my rounds,” She said, looking back to Ron and Harry who were listening closely, “And I walked in on Riddle and Malfoy.”

“Doing what?” Harry asked.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said, “They were in the potions classroom and had a silencing charm and complicated locking charm on the door.”

“Doing what, though?” Ron pressed.

“I don’t know!” Hermione protested, “I can’t imagine what they could have been doing, but–”

“Were they fucking?” Ron asked outright.

Hermione sputtered for a moment, “No!” She said, “Well, I–I don’t think so. No. Malfoy looked terrified.” She thought of the two of them, standing there, Riddle’s calm stance, Malfoy’s wide, wet eyes. “No, definitely not. I blew the lock and walked in unannounced and they weren’t even touching, no clothes askew.”

“Wait,” Harry interjected, “You blew the lock?”

“Yes.” Hermione confirmed.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said, “Why’d you do that?”

“I couldn’t unlock it.” Hermione shrugged, not understanding the fuss. “That’s not the point.”

“So what did they say?” Harry asked.

“They said something about Malfoy having nightmares,” Hermione sighed, “That he needed to calm down, and Tom was helping him.”

Ron shrugged, “Sounds believable to me.”

“Does it?” Hermione asked, astounded, “Does it actually?”

“Yeah, why not?” Ron asked, and commenced shoveling food into his face again, “They’re friends, aren’t they?”

“Riddle doesn’t have friends,” Hermione protested, “Have you ever heard him call anyone by their first name? Have you ever seen him spending time with someone outside what is absolutely necessary?” She didn’t miss Ron rolling his eyes, but she ignored it, “Something was going on, I’m sure of it. I’m just not sure what.”

“What does Malfoy have nightmares about?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know, Harry!” Hermione replied, exasperated, “That’s not the point.”

“The point is,” Ron said through another mouthful, “Hermione is pissed her boyfriend was canoodling with another guy.”

“Ronald.” Hermione said sternly.

“Hermione.”

That wasn’t Ron. That wasn’t Harry. Hermione looked up to see Tom Riddle stood behind her two best friends, a small, friendly smile on his face. Ron’s eyes practically bulged out of his skull when he turned to see who was behind him, and he turned back to Hermione to raise his eyebrows and she knew what he was trying to say to her without words, ‘he calls you Hermione, huh?’

“Riddle.” She greeted, pointedly avoiding his first name.

“I was hoping I could speak to you.” Tom said.

“No.” Hermione replied, secretly delighted by the slight falter in his smile, “I’m in the middle of a conversation.”

“We just finished, actually!” Harry chirped, smiling at Tom and then turning back to Hermione, “Go ahead, ‘Mione. It’s fine.”

She wanted to kill Harry.

“Fine.” She said, and stood slowly, “We can talk.”

“Excellent.” Tom said.

They were on opposite sides of the long table, and the distance from where she was sat to the main door of the great hall felt like a funeral procession. She glanced toward him, over the heads of the students at the Gryffindor table. He looked straight ahead, his hands clasped behind his back, his head held high. He had excellent posture and a perfect mask. It felt dreamlike, walking alongside him with only a table full of oblivious students between them.

Once outside the Great Hall, Tom walked beside Hermione until they reached a relatively quiet corridor. It was lined with windows that overlooked the courtyard. Sunlight streamed in, and they stopped in the light of one of the windows, but Tom stood just outside of the sunlight.

She waited for him to speak.

“You blew the lock off the door.” Was the first thing he said. She didn’t understand why everyone was so hung up on that.

“Yes.” She confirmed, “You cast very complicated locking spells.”

He smiled tightly, “We wanted privacy.”

“What for?” She asked.

He paused, examined her for a quiet moment. Hermione wasn’t sure what he hoped to find, but he stared into her eyes for what felt like a very, very long time before speaking again, “Forgive me to saying so, Hermione,” He used her name again. She didn’t know why he did that. “But you seem suspicious of me.”

“Is there something I should be suspicious of?” She asked.

“I certainly don’t think so,” He laughed, “I told you the truth last night, I’m sorry if it appeared suspicious.”

“Why was he so afraid of you?” She tipped her chin up, tried to search his eyes for some kind of answer like he seemed to try to do with her.

He laughed, “Hermione,” He said her name again, she felt something uncomfortable coil in her gut, “He was not afraid of me. I don’t believe anyone has any reason to be afraid of me.”

She didn’t believe him. That was the strangest thing about all of this - despite his nice smile and his kind words, she couldn’t find it within herself to believe him no matter how she tried. But it would do no good to say so, so she looked away and said, “Of course. Forgive me, I’m a bit on edge.”

“Are you alright, Hermione?” He asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

You can stop lying to my fucking face, she thought. But she just smiled tightly and shook her head.

He reached out, gently laid his hands on her arm, and it took everything in herself not to flinch. “Let me know if you need anything.” He said kindly, “Perhaps we can start doing rounds together?”

She didn’t like the idea of spending any more time around him than absolutely necessary. But then she didn’t like the idea of him galavanting around Hogwarts at night, either. At least this way she could keep an eye on him.

“Alright,” She agreed, “Let’s do that.”

He smiled, and let his hand linger just a moment too long on her arm.

–

Hermione cornered Malfoy in the library.

“Draco,” She greeted, sitting down across from him where he was reading. He looked up, and promptly blanched.

“What the fuck do you want, Granger?” He snapped.

“Just checking in.” She said, “How are you feeling?”

He stared at her for a very long time, a sneer steadily spreading across his face. “Fine.” He spat.

“No more nightmares?” She pressed.

There was a split second, barely there at all, where his brows started to press together, and he looked confused. It was gone in a flash, and he averted his eyes and followed along, but it was all Hermione needed to know she was right. “Yeah, nightmares…” He agreed, “I’m fine, Riddle helped.”

She leaned closer, folding her arms on the table in front of her. “But it wasn’t really a nightmare, was it?”

Malfoy grit his teeth. “What are you on about?”

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Hermione repeated, “It was something else, right?” Malfoy was glaring fiercely at her now, “What happened to you in there? Why were you so scared?”

“Granger,” He started, and it sounded like a warning. Hermione ignored it.

“What did he do to you?” She pressed, “Malfoy, if you tell me, I can help you.”

Abruptly, Malfoy slammed his hands on the table and stood. He leaned toward her, and in a quiet tone, he furiously spoke, “I have never once asked for help from a mudblood,” Hermione sat back, the word sinking deep into her chest. She blinked once and willed herself not to show how it bothered her, “And I won’t start now.”

She stood and slammed her hand down on his book, let her magic seep out through her fingertips to set it on fire.

She left him there, frantically stamping out the flames, and felt foolish for caring.  

–

She was studying in the heads common room. She didn’t usually do that, opting to study in her room instead, but she wanted a change in scenery, so she sat on the floor of the common room by the fire, taking in its warmth and focusing on her coursebook.

She didn’t expect Tom to sit in the chair across from her by the fire.

She glanced up, and saw he was staring at her intently. He hadn’t greeted her yet, just stared. It was evening time, and the room was dark except for the fire. She watched the glow play along his features, and felt something strange in her belly.

“Hello, Riddle.” She greeted first, because he wasn’t saying anything yet.

“Hermione.” He greeted, and smiled a small, private smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” She answered, “Why?”

“I heard about your conversation with Malfoy.” He explained, and she felt herself go cold despite the warmth of the fire.

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what she was meant to say.

He pursed his lips for a moment, then moved from the chair to sit on the ground across from her. “Hermione,” He said quietly, “I heard about what he called you.”

She suddenly felt very confused. She thought he would ask why she was still asking about him, still acting like he was suspicious. She couldn’t fathom why he, a Slytherin who had absolutely used that word before, would be concerned because someone called her a mudblood.

It wasn’t precisely that it didn’t bother her. It did. Every time someone called her by that name it made her feel angry, upset, ashamed, all at the same time. But she was used to it, to some extent.

“He’s called me that before,” She finally answered, “I know you’ve used that word before.”

“Not against you.” He argued.

A strange argument, because it hardly mattered who he used it against.

“Regardless,” She continued, “You’re hardly in a position to comfort me if someone calls me a horrible name.” His brow twitched, “Besides, it isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. I’m fine.”

“I’ve spoken to him,” Tom said, “He won’t call you that again.”

She felt well and truly lost. She couldn’t hide the confusion on her face even if she tried.

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned with other parts of our conversation?” She asked.

It was a foolish thing to ask him, but she couldn’t help herself.

He laughed, glanced away for a moment to look into the fire. Hermione found herself unwillingly fixating on the glow of his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the way the firelight danced in his dark eyes and made them glow red.

“Do you know what I think, Hermione?” He asked, still looking into the fire. She didn’t answer, and after a moment he looked back at her, and there was something in his gaze that made her stomach twist. “I think there are better things we could be doing than fighting each other.”

Hermione suddenly found herself rather short of breath. There was no mistaking what he was implying, his tone of voice and the weight of his eyes made it very clear. Though for all of the female attention Tom Riddle received, she had never heard of him being so forward. Quite the opposite - she had often heard girls bemoaning the fact that Tom was so standoffish, refused to make a move or pursue anyone, was nothing but a perfect gentleman at all times.

He was trying to distract her, she thought. It was the only explanation. He was trying to take her mind off of things that he didn’t want her to be thinking of.

She wondered…

She set her book aside, leaned toward him slowly. There was no sound except for the crackling of the fire. She watched his eyes as she leaned toward him, closer and closer until there were only a few inches between them. He watched her, sat as still as a statue. She paused, left a breath of space between them and watched his expression, but he showed no emotion.

Quietly, she spoke, and as she did, his eyes fell to her lips, “I would love to know what it is you think we should be doing, Tom Riddle.”

His eyes met hers again, impossibly dark. She didn’t notice he lifted his hand until she felt his fingers drag gently up her arm. He didn’t move closer, he left that decision entirely up to her. Clever, she thought. To let her believe she is entirely in control, to ease any thoughts of suspicions that he should be hiding something by distracting her but making it feel like it is her decision.

Briefly, she did consider the possibility of going through with it. It would grant easy access to his bedroom, and she could surely find all sorts of things in there to clear some of his mystery. But there was no guarantee she would have a moment in there without his watchful eye, and she felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought of sleeping with someone to get what she wanted.

She wasn’t like him.

She could feel the heat of him, as strong as the fire, blazing against her chest. She was struck by the uncomfortable thought that some part of her, buried beneath the suspicion and frustration and anger, would like to kiss him. It made her angry, the way some parts of him seemed to call to her, it made her deeply uncomfortable that the thought of being with him made her stomach twist with anticipation.

It especially infuriated her that all of this was only a show. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that someone like Tom Riddle - intelligent, poised, enigmatic, Slytherin - would never look at her that way. He must think her a fool to fall for something as simple as this, to trip over herself because he gives her an iota of attention.

Hermione tilted her head. He still hadn’t moved. She found it fascinating, the way he held himself so still, allowing her to make all the moves. Somehow she doubted someone like him, someone capable of instilling os much fear in his friends, would be so submissive in matters like this.

“How stupid do you think I am?” She asked, breaking the silence with nothing more than a whisper. He blinked, a slight pinch to the centre of his brow. “What kind of simpering fool do you take me for?”

His hand dropped. “Hermione,” He started, but she caught his hand by the wrist and he fell silent once more.

“Perhaps next time,” Hermione spat, “We can come from a place of mutual respect, rather than pretending I am like every other person you have ever seduced, intimidated, or threatened into doing what you want.” His face was carefully blank, but he didn’t interrupt, he didn’t move, didn’t even pull his hand away. “You can start by telling me what was happening with Malfoy the other night, and then perhaps I can withstand your present long enough to have a conversation.”

He didn’t say anything, so Hermione turned to pick up her book and began to stand. Tom Riddle caught her by her wrist before she could get far, so quick and so sudden that he startled her. She dropped her book as he pulled her back down, and in a tone sounding very unlike him he spoke.

“How about we start with you telling me something,” He said, and she noted his voice was higher when he was angry, sharper, more cutting. It wasn’t a nice sound, not like the way his voice usually sounded. “Why do you care so much about what happens to Malfoy?”

“So you admit it?” She pressed, “Something happened to Malfoy?”

“Don’t you know that he hates you?” He spat, and this version of him was so different than any version of him she had seen before. She took in every inch of him, the downward curl of his sneer, the slight wrinkle of his nose, the cutting gaze, the slope of his brow. There was even a slight flush to his cheeks, a sign of life that she hadn’t even noticed wasn’t there before. “More than he hates Potter, more than he hates anyone, he hates you. He find you repulsive, dirty—“

“I have never cared what Malfoy thinks of me and I won’t start now.” She interrupted.

“Then why do you give a shit about what happens to him behind closed doors?” His grip on her wrist was bruising, but she wouldn’t flinch. This was the most brutal, honest display he had ever shared with her, and she wouldn’t miss a moment, wouldn’t shy away, not now when she was getting exactly what she asked for.

“Because it doesn’t matter how much of a bigoted arsehole someone is,” Hermione spoke through gritted teeth, “Doesn’t mean they deserve to be tortured.”

It surprised even her when she said it. She wasn’t sure what precisely it was she suspected when she found Malfoy shaking and terrified in that room with Riddle, hadn’t thought on the details too much. But it made sense to her somehow that someone so perfect and so poised, so falsely kind, could only be capable of horrible, unspeakable things.

Tom’s face closed off immediately, and any and all emotions she had been rewarded with was suddenly gone. His eyes went blank, cold, and a dead smile stretched across his lips. “Oh Hermione,” He murmured, “What a dark imagination you have.”

She snatched her wrist out of his grip, and realized a moment after he did that her hands were shaking. His eyes followed the movement of her hands as she picked up her book and pressed it against her chest.

“I’m not so easily fooled, Riddle,” She said as she stood, “You can deny it all you want, but we both know I’m right.”

“You always are, aren’t you?” He asked, his tone mocking, looking up at her from his place on the ground.

Such a strange and unusual stalemate, she thought, standing her him while he stared up at her with cold, emotionless eyes. She was too quick to call him out, it was too sudden, and because of that they were back to square one. He hadn’t admitted it, but he hadn’t denied it, and he hadn’t lashed out at her either. She might’ve expected more anger in light of her accusations, but he just sat there, the picture of ease, staring up at her as if he had nothing to worry about.

She didn’t say anything in return, instead she stormed to her room, shut the door, and cast three separate locking charms.

She didn’t sleep well that night.

—

Hermione wasn’t sure what she expected the following morning, but seeing Tom Riddle waiting for her on the couch in the common room stopped her in her tracks.

“Hermione,” He greeted.

“Riddle,” She replied, pointedly refusing to use his first name. “What do you want?”

“I’d like to walk you to the Great Hall.” He answered, standing smoothly. She narrowed her eyes.

“Why?” She asked.

“Because I’d like to show you something.” He answered vaguely.

She didn’t like this, it gave her an uncomfortable feeling, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do. If she resorted to violence, its more than likely people would side with Riddle. Running away would do no good, as they went to school together, shared multiple classes, and slept in rooms next to each other. Not to mention, the idea of running away felt cowardly as well as foolish.

She sighed through her nose and nodded, approaching him with measured steps. He held his arm out to her with a smile as if to guide her, and she ignored it.

They walked in silence. He didn’t try to speak to her and she had no interest in speaking to him. She paid close attention to the corridors, trying to see if any of his friends were lurking about, ready to jump her. She kept a hand on her wand at all times, ready for anything, but nothing happened.

When they neared the Great Hall, she saw a head of white blonde hair lurking outside the entrance. She glanced at Tom momentarily, then looked ahead, tightening her grip on her wand.

Malfoy straightened as they approached, and Hermione readied herself for…for what, she wasn’t sure. It seemed foolish to start something right outside the great hall, and Malfoy didn’t have his wand in hand. His eyes were trained on the floor as they neared him, and he didn’t look up.

“Malfoy.” Tom greeted.

“Riddle,” Malfoy returned, and then more quietly, “Granger.”

Hermione had no idea what was happening, even less so when Malfoy squared his shoulders and spoke.

“Granger,” He repeated, louder this time, somehow managing to sound haughty and arrogant even while his eyes were trained on her shoes, “I apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was inappropriate and uncalled for.”

Hermione was at a loss of what to say. At her extended silence, Malfoy glanced up at her, and then toward Tom. His eyes quickly fell to the ground again, and to Hermione’s utter shock, he lowered his head in what was almost a bow.

She had seen purebloods do this often, mostly to their elders, bow their heads in respect. They rarely did it to anyone on their level, classmates or colleagues, and certainly never did it to muggleborns. “Please, forgive me.” Malfoy said.

Hermione turned her head slowly to look at Tom, who was watching Malfoy with a blank expression, but something dance in his eyes, something almost gleeful.

She turned her head back to see Malfoy, head still bowed. “I forgive you.” She said quietly, and watched the way his shoulders sag, like he was expecting differently.

He straightened, tipped his chin up and nodded before heading into the Great Hall. Hermione watched the empty space where he had just stood.

Tom started to move, but Hermione caught his arm before he could enter the Great Hall. “What in Merlin’s name was that?” She hissed.

“A gift,” He said, and stepped close to her, so close that she had to lift her chin, tip her head back to meet his eyes. “Did you like it?”

“What are you doing?” She asked quietly, and he smiled.

“You don’t like it then?” He surmised, looking like he was enjoying this far too much.

“What did you do to him to make him do that?” She snapped, keeping her voice low.

He dipped his head just a bit, and whispered, “Nothing more than he deserved,” Then he straightened up again, and continued, “Don’t you like him better this way?”

“What are you doing?” She repeated, quickly losing her temper.

Tom Riddle smiled, an unusual thing, because it wasn’t just a quirk of his lips. It was a fully-fledged smile, one that showed his teeth, dimpled his cheek. Hermione felt that smile deep in her belly, twisting and tugging, shortening her breath. “It’s time for breakfast.” Is all he said.

“I’m not eating with you.” She said, furious at how breathy her voice sounded.

“I would be surprised if you did.” He answered.

He took her gently by the arm, and it was only then she realized she had never let go of his arm. She let go as if burned, but didn’t shy away from the gentle fingers on her arm. He guided her toward the entrance to the great hall, and waited until they had entered, until they had caught the gaze of the students nearest to the entrance, before he dropped his hand and nodded his farewell, heading toward the Slytherin table.

Hermione ignored the twisting in her belly, the heat where this hand had touched her arm, and wondered what it meant that when she turned her head to peer over the heads of all the students as she walked toward her table, Tom Riddle’s eyes were still fixed on her.

[mopeytropey]

a beer buds series: chapter 8

author’s note: happy, sappy Lexa hath arrived

available on AO3: here or below the cut

Timeline: just after Lexa returns from her holidays in New York, Clarke is bombarded with work at Dockside; Lincoln keeps her company over the weekend as Lexa relays the events of her Friday spent with Clarke (chapter 7 of 'apu')

Beer: Frequency KÖLSCH-INSPIRED GERMAN ALE

Clean and bright. Pleasingly malty with a touch of noble hop. Crisp and sharp with a subtle malt sweetness on the finish

ABV 5.0%

Frequency: Winter Hill Brewing (Somerville, MA)

:::

Lexa cannot stop smiling.

She hasn’t been able to curb the small grins and outright smiles that keep spreading across her lips at random intervals since leaving Clarke’s house on Friday morning.

She doesn’t stop them when her thoughts drift to the sound of Clarke’s voice and the looks they shared in her kitchen over coffee and bagels. And, she can’t keep her lips from curving when remembering their dinner Friday night, the way Clarke’s eyes would gleam and her cheeks would blush when Lexa would say something purposefully flirtatious. She has more-or-less lost all power over the muscles in her face and the control Clarke has on her overall good mood.

She hasn’t allowed herself this much visible happiness in ages. It feels both incredibly unnatural and like enormous relief.

And, because she is smiling into her phone while reading a recent text from Clarke, riddled with profanity about being stuck at work, she doesn’t notice Lincoln approaching.  

“Hey, I’ve missed that smile.”

Lexa’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and her smile remains. She’s missed him too.

“Hey.”

They clumsily exchange a hug while Lexa is sat on a wicker bar stool and Lincoln stands beside her at a bright grey bar counter made from swirled marble. The sun streams through the front windows of an upscale restaurant known for their brunch menu, woodfired pizzas, and signature cocktails.

Lexa had, in fact, intended to ask Clarke to brunch at this very establishment. She has been eager to resume their mutual exploration of the attraction that’s been brimming between them since early June. Friday had been a glimpse, a negligible fraction of what Lexa knows they are bound to discover over time. She thinks of her fingers tangling between Clarke’s or the physical distances between them that are gradually vanishing. Her head buzzes with all their potential in the days and weeks to come.

Lincoln unbundles from his wool peacoat and unwinds a striped scarf from around his neck to reveal his thick cable knit sweater beneath. “I just saw the girls,” he announces.

Lexa swallows, torn abruptly from the places her mind had been wandering. “Did you?”

“Yeah, they’re slammed down there.” Lincoln takes his seat and then angles himself comically in Lexa’s direction as if he plans to interrogate her. “So, Clarke says hi.”

Lexa’s chest balloons and her smile expands beyond her control. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

“I assume this means you two are on speaking terms again?”

The burn in Lexa’s cheeks is so severe, she’s forced to look away to the sounds of Lincoln’s delighted laughter. He playfully jabs a finger into her bicep while she fails miserably to keep her cool.

“We started talking before I left for New York.” Lexa clears her throat, hoping it will reduce the heat of her embarrassment. “She dropped me at the train station, actually.”

“Yeah, I know. Octavia told me,” Lincoln admits. Lexa backhands him across his chest and attempts to scowl. “Sorry, I had to mess with you a little bit. I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“That’s your one free one.” Empty threats, and they both know it.

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” Lincoln plays along, nevertheless slinging an arm around the back of Lexa’s stool.

The bartender approaches before Lexa can respond, and Lincoln reaches across the bar to slap her hand in a familiar exchange. “What’s good, Lincoln?”

“Hey, what’s up, Taylor?”

“What are you drinking?” she asks him while sliding a coaster in front of him.

He nods to Lexa’s pint of beer. “What’s this?”

“It’s that kölsch-inspired one from Winter Hill,” Lexa answers. “It’s really smooth.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll do the same. Thanks.”

“You guys eating?”

“Yeah, I’d love to see a menu,” Lexa tells her.

Taylor nods, reaching for two rolls of cutlery from beneath the bar. “You got it. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, so: what happened? What’s happening? Tell me everything. How was your Christmas?”

Lexa can’t help but laugh at Lincoln’s eager requests, rattled off with palpable excitement. She takes a deep breath. “Christmas was definitely interesting.”  

“Oh yeah?”

Taylor returns with Lincoln’s beer and two menus. She mumbles something quick and low in Spanish to Lincoln that makes him laugh.

“She’s got some real pretentious dicks on the other side of the bar,” Lincoln informs her once Taylor has left them to tend to her other customers. Because the bar is circular, Lincoln attempts to scope out the situation on the other side of the bar by peering through the rows of bottles, glassware, and flatscreen TVs that create a barrier between both sides.

“Think we should bounce them out of here?”

Lincoln laughs into his first sip of beer. “Let me have another pint and I’ll let you know.” He finishes another long sip before sliding his glass back onto the bar. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why Clarke is suddenly in such a supremely good mood despite working her second double in a row, and why you haven’t been able to wipe that idiot grin off your face since I walked in. Wait—also, what did Anya get you for Christmas?”

Lexa rolls her eyes, hoisting up with disdain an article of outerwear from the stool beside her. “Stupid hat.”

Lincoln swallows his mouthful of beer and laughs, nodding approvingly. “Classic An. Okay so, what exactly happened while you were at home?”

Lexa watches her fingers trace the darker patterns that thread the marble bar top. “For one, Costia and I met for coffee after Christmas and finally had that long overdue conversation I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, you weren’t the only one avoiding,” Lincoln reminds her.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And so, it’s over?”

Lexa exhales, reaching again for her pint of beer and taking a low sip. “I think it’d been over for a while, but: yes. In an official capacity, we ended it.”

“And, how are you and Costia? Okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good. We’d been such good friends anyway—I honestly think that was a huge part of what complicated things for us for so long.”

Lincoln hedges his reaction. “I want to be really happy for you right now because you basically look like you just dropped this huge weight around your neck, but … are you okay with everything?”  

“I am.” She looks up to meet his eye as if to prove herself. “It felt right. And, I’m—” Her traitorous lips, already pulling at their edges in a smile, will give her away every time. “I’m really good actually.”

“Good because I’m so happy for you, buddy.” Lincoln squeezes her shoulder with the hand resting on her stool. “Okay so, I know you and Clarke are talking again—and, believe me, we’re all relieved as hell about that—but, what exactly have you told her?”

“You mean about Costia?”

Lincoln finishes his sip of beer, pinning her with a look he must have learned from Anya because Lexa feels absolutely transparent. “I mean, I think Costia is just the tip of a pretty substantial iceberg, but sure. Let’s start there.”

At his candid retort, Lexa exhales a laugh and grasps her beer. “I’m fairly certain Clarke knows that my feelings for her aren’t entirely platonic, if that’s what you mean.” Her mind flashes briefly to the lighting and warmth of Clarke’s kitchen, the scent of toasted bagels and freshly ground coffee.

Lincoln claps his hands, as he so often does in moments of triumph, and smiles broadly. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that we are finally having this conversation.”

“I know. Me too.” In spite of her nerves constantly bubbling to the surface, Lexa is also flooded with the acute relief of authenticity.

“Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”

“We spent some time together on Friday.” Lexa ineffectually bites at her lip to keep from smiling. She thinks of slow hugs, soft hand-holding, and timid admissions amid charged goodbyes. Their interactions thus far have been so buffered by innocence, Lexa cannot believe the way her stomach swoops at her memory of them. “I brought her bagels.”

“Suave.”

“Listen, she—I wasn’t attempting to be romantic.”

Lincoln doesn’t miss a beat. “Liar.”

“Clarke has been living her entire life under the misguided assumption that a small, newly established bagel shop in northern Massachusetts is on par with legitimate New York bagels, Lincoln.” The severity in Lexa’s tone has him visibly amused. “I felt it my sacred duty to correct this misconception.”

“You brought her Bergen’s, didn’t you?”

Lexa looks offended at the ask. “Like I would offer her anything less.”

“And, where are my Christmas bagels?”

She rolls her eyes, reaching for her nearby pint. “Linc—”

“Okay, I see how it is. Too hung up on impressing Clarke to remember one of your oldest friends.” He is nodding, self-righteously.

Like a loveable idiot.

“I’m beginning to second-guess your request to hang out today,” she tells him while averting her eyes to the paper menu in front of her.

Lincoln laughs at her stern tone, knowing it’s a bluff, and returns his arm to rest along the back of her stool.

“How are you actually feeling about this?”

“Sharing an afternoon drink with you? I’m of two minds at the moment.”

“Now who’s being a jackass?” Lincoln grins. “So, you’re scared out of your mind about Clarke then?”

Yes. Absolutely. The nervous uncertainty is all-consuming.

Lexa shrugs, ignoring her inner anxieties and recites aloud the mantra of useless facts she’s been telling herself for days.

“Clarke and I have been close for quite awhile. She knows me, maybe better than most people. Despite any potential uncertainties, we’re operating on the foundation of a very sound friendship.”

Lincoln watches her like she’s come entirely unhinged. “Okay, yeah. Do you have any idea how incredibly shook I was at the prospect of kissing my friend Octavia?”

At the thought of kissing Clarke—images painted vividly by her traitorous mind—a breath lodges in her chest, and Lexa must return to her beer for fear of passing out.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m just trying to get you to be honest with yourself. And me, for that matter. I mean, I’m just assuming—knowing how much you overthink every goddamn thing to death—that you haven’t slept with her yet.”

“Jesus, Lincoln.” Lexa swallows her embarrassment through multiple sips of beer.

“For that matter, you probably haven’t even kissed her yet.”

“I can’t think about … that yet,” she manages to say without her voice croaking from the strain.

“Kudos to you for being able to think about anything else.”

“I have, obviously, considered the prospect. I just—more than anything I keep thinking about how I want to be around her all the time.”

“No offense, because I mean this genuinely and supportively as your friend, but are you just now figuring that out?”

“Shut up,” Lexa laughs.

:::

The food, as it turns out, is notable.

Lexa orders chicken fried steak and eggs with chorizo gravy and griddled potatoes, immediately lulled into a state of happy sedation as she clears her plate.

Lincoln groans his satisfaction as well, leaning back into his stool when he’s finished. “Damn. That was so good.”

“I might nap on this stool. Your friend would be okay with that, right?”

“Yeah, obviously.” Lincoln stretches his arms over his head and folds his hands behind the base of his neck. “A good bartender is always looking to have her guests fall asleep at the bar.”

“Okay good,” Lexa answers with a sleepy smile and suppresses an actual yawn with the back of her hand.

“What are you up to for the rest of your day?”

“This meal has completely erased any prior motivation to workout. My couch sounds pretty nice right now.”

The sun is setting and the streetlamps have begun to flicker on along the cobblestreet outside the restaurant windows.

“Not gonna go lurking outside Dockside until Clarke gets out of work?” Lincoln prompts with a teasing wink.

“Why do I feel like this was an actual tactic used on Octavia?”

“An effective tactic, you might say.”

“No,” Lexa laughs. “I’m not planning to stalk Clarke at her place of business, you creep.”

“Suit yourself,” Lincoln shrugs. “If you need any tips, I’m just sayin’.”

Lexa’s laughter is more of a cackle, lost in the increasing din of the Sunday evening bar crowd. “I think I’m all set. Thanks.”

“Oh okay, here we go—two beers later, she is confidence personified.”

Taylor returns to collect their empty plates, and Lincoln, practically gleeful, seizes on an opportunity to embarrass Lexa in a public setting.

“Taylor, help me out here—first kisses with relative strangers versus first kisses with a friend-turned-something-more. Generally speaking, which one makes you more nervous?”  

“Why?” Taylor grins, bracing herself across from them with both hands grasping to the edge of the bar top. “Is one of you about to ask me to makeout?”

Lexa smothers a mortified oh-my-god against the palms of her hands where she has covered her face.

“No, no,” Lincoln laughs while shaking his head. “Like I would ever do anything to get Toni on my bad side—your girlfriend might be more intimidating than Octavia.”

“She’s gonna love hearing that,” Taylor smiles.

“The thing is, Lexa here—”

“Would love the check,” Lexa interjects, pinning Lincoln with her most threatening glare while her cheeks still burn warmly. “And, for reasons yet unclear to me, I’ll take Lincoln’s too. You can put us on the same tab.”  

“You got it,” Taylor chuckles, and strides off to the kitchen with their empty dishes.

As Lexa signs the tab, leaving an exorbitant tip to somehow assuage her own embarrassment as well as fulfill an unspoken creed between service industry workers, Lincoln warmly grabs her shoulder.

“Thanks. This was a great way to spend my otherwise very boring Sunday while O is stuck at work.”  

“Lucky for you, my Sunday plans were also foiled.”

“So glad we could be each other’s second fiddle,” Lincoln grins.

Lexa returns his familiar smile. “Anytime.”

They bundle back into their coats and hats and gloves before Lincoln waves and shouts a quick farewell to Taylor from across the bar. As they push through the front entryway back out into the cold and wind and lightly dusted snowy sidewalk, Lincoln wraps an arm around Lexa’s shoulder and hugs her closer.

“Thanks again—you didn’t have to pick up the tab, buddy.”

“Think of it as your belated Christmas present. Besides, you basically always pay whenever we hang out. I owe you.”

For the drinks and food, yes. But, Lexa also feels indebted to Lincoln’s unending kindness and patient listening as everything between she and Clarke has unfolded.

“You don’t owe me anything, but that food does make for a great belated Christmas present.”

“Well, it’s not pumpernickel bagels and pimento cream cheese, but,” Lexa shrugs, looking up to catch Lincoln’s eye just as his expression creases painfully.

“Aw man, did you have to bring up the pimento cream cheese?!”

Lexa laughs and savors the warmth of Lincoln’s broad frame close beside her.

:::

Sometime between the distance of Lincoln’s apartment, where they had parted after a smothering hug, and Lexa’s front entryway, her phone buzzes from within her coat pocket. When she sees Clarke’s name as the incoming call, she removes a glove with her teeth and swipes to answer.

“Hey.” It’s so cold now that the sun has set, her breath is frozen in puffs, but the anticipation of hearing Clarke’s voice builds a warmth deep in her stomach. “How are you?”

“Oh my god, I’m so tired,” Clarke whimpers.

Always so dramatic.

Still, she has sympathy for Clarke’s long and tiresome hours of unexpected work over the weekend. Lexa shuffles across an empty crosswalk, hurrying towards her street as other pedestrians bustle past in bulky winter wear. “Sorry you’ve been stuck there for two days.”

“I was prepared for Saturday. Today has kicked my ass. Where are you? It sounds windy. Oh my god, please tell me you aren’t running in this weather.”

Lexa laughs as she reaches her apartment and searches for her keys while keeping her phone pinned against her shoulder. “I’m walking home from grabbing food and drinks with Lincoln.”  

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, my brain is fried. Drinks and food sound so nice right now,” Clarke practically whines.

Lexa pushes into the warmth of the stairwell and begins to take the stairs to her apartment. “Seeing Lincoln was really nice, although it was you I was hoping to share a meal with today.”

“Were you?”

She can hear Clarke better now as she unlatches the locks of her apartment’s front door and steps inside a quiet, darkened room. She smiles shyly at Clarke’s surprised delight and lightly clears her throat.

“Yes.”

“And what did these plans entail?”

Lexa used to wonder constantly about Clarke’s intentions—whether or not she was consciously aware of the provocative ring to her voice. Presently, Lexa requires no translation: Clarke’s flirtation is unmistakable.

“I wanted to take you out for brunch.”

“I would have loved that.” Clarke sounds beyond charmed, and Lexa’s entire face warms.

“That’s—that’s good to know,” she responds, exhaling shakily at Clarke’s belated acceptance to a date they never got to have.

“I had brunch plans for us today too!”

“Oh yeah?” Lexa’s intrigue instantly distracts from her spike of nerves.

“Yes! They involved homemade waffles and really nice prosecco I absconded with the last time I left my mom’s and, most importantly, not being at work for over nine hours.”

Lexa clicks on a nearby lamp and shuffles out of her coat but does not bother to remove her absurd winter hat. The idea of Clarke making plans for them—specifically plans that involve home-cooked meals and sharing bubbly wine in Clarke’s home—sets Lexa’s stomach fluttering as she collapses onto her sofa.

“Well, for future reference, I’d be up for drinking prosecco with you any time, appropriated or otherwise.”

“This is good information to have.”

Lexa cozies into the couch cushions at the sound of Clarke’s laugh, wishing desperately that they were sat side by side, filling each other in on their day. She might weave her fingers into Clarke’s hair to help her relax or pull Clarke’s legs into her lap to massage her calf muscles after a long shift at the bar.

“How was your afternoon with Lincoln?”

“He was very upset about being excluded from the New York bagel delivery.”

More of Clarke’s laughter broadens the small smile on Lexa’s mouth. “They were indeed very enviable bagels.”

“I’m glad you liked them. We’ll have to get more sometime.”

A pregnant beat in which Clarke doesn’t immediately respond has Lexa’s heart racing. “In New York?”

The insinuation of taking Clarke to Brooklyn is lightyears ahead of asking her to brunch, and Lexa scrambles to backtrack her overzealous suggestion while pulling her stupid hat over her eyes. “I, um—I didn’t mean—”

“Lexa, I’m sorry—ugh,” Clarke grunts in frustration. “I have to go help one of our servers with something.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. I’ll let you go,” Lexa fumbles to say, grateful that Clarke’s endless string of responsibilities has saved her from more useless stuttering.

“Can I call you when I’m finished here? If it’s not too late?”

Lexa sits up and finally removes her hat. “Call me whenever.”

“Okay.” Lexa can hear the grin in Clarke’s response and indulges in one of her own. “Oh, and if the invitation still stands, I would go with you to New York any time, with or without the promise of bagels.”

Lexa cannot stop smiling. She doesn’t even try.

:::

[crystalsexarch]

Eight: Adroit - E

"Do you think I'm good at this, too?"

-

Specific male WoL Bas'ir Bahani and trans G'raha Tia. In a night of perplex passion, the Crystal Exarch accidentally touches on a touchy subject.

CW: Referenced consensual sex work.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2021 FFXIV Writing Challenge

The Crystal Exarch has had decades to put his past sexual experiences on a pedestal. Somehow after all those fantasies, after all that longing, he failed to overestimate the ability of Bas’ir Bahani.

Or perhaps he greatly underestimated himself.

“Oh gods—Bas’ir!” G’raha plants both of his hands on the back of the Warrior’s head and pushes, pulls. He can’t decide whether he wants more or less pressure on his clit as climax comes. A finger or two (or maybe three—G’raha lost count) push in and out relentlessly. The twist is calculating, the execution expert. As the Exarch’s thighs squeeze around his new-old lover, just one thought pierces through the daze of rapture: was Bas’ir always so capable in bed?

The Exarch swears and his limbs relax. Dead weight. It used to take three or four rounds to have him feeling so utterly spent, but now all he needs is a few minutes with Bas’ir’s head between his thighs and he's clutching the covers for dear life. "Bas'ir…" He stretches his wobbly legs enough to let the Keeper pull back. "I swear it...it seems as though you've learned some new tricks."

With narrow eyes, Bas’ir smears his hand across his mouth, letting his tongue linger at the tip of his index. It was just the one finger. What do the Exarch’s history books say about Bas'ir's time in Kugane? And would G’raha dare broach the topic indirectly? Rationally, there's nothing shameful about Bas'ir's work at the brothel, but it's difficult for him to resist the dark urge to raise his voice and shout are you calling me a whore?

“Perhaps,” the Keeper says, standing and setting a hand on either of the Exarch’s knees. “But I didn’t have as much time to hone my skills as you did.” He leans closer as he speaks until their faces are but a few ilms apart. A touch of mischief tints his voice, but a smirk does not accompany.

The Exarch goes cross-eyed trying to focus. "I, er…" This is some kind of slight or challenge, and he can't be certain how to meet it. He's no longer fluent in the queer language of his old friend. In pondering the riddle, he looks away. "Forgive me if my aptitude fails to impress." He means it in two ways.

"Your aptitude…" Bas’ir pulls his lower lip with his fangs. There’s a poor liar beneath him, blushing and wet in the proper places. Maybe history missed Bas'ir's time as a whore, or perhaps in some confused attempt at showing respect—elected to ignore it. More research required. Now is far from the time. "Your endurance matters more at this precise moment, Raha."

G'raha's ears perk up. "My endurance?"

"Mm…" Bas'ir lowers his head to press a tiny kiss at the apex of the Seeker’s bullet wound, blue with crystal, purple with bruise. "Or I can stop here for the night, old man..."

"Stop here? What! No." G’raha shuffles to spread his legs, and Bas’ir’s hands slip from his knees. The loss of contact surprises the Exarch, even though it’s his own doing. He presses his fingers, flesh and crystal, to his collarbone and tries to read his partner, tries to make himself look enticing. “I would have you exercise the full breadth of your ability.” He smiles.

And what to do about it? Bas’ir grinds his teeth. If the Exarch knows, the smile is a taunt. If he doesn’t, it’s an olive branch. Bas’ir recognizes how unfair these foolish mind games are, so easily solved with a string of well-placed words. But tensions are high. and his dick is hard. He’s compelled to quell it before moving onto any other task that requires a careful tongue.

“You’ve energy enough to handle more?” Bas’ir says, making a gentle fist around his cock. His voice is gentle, too. With his ever-gloved mechanical hand, he traces down the Exarch’s abdomen, then up to thumb once at his nipple. The crystal missed but one.

“I think so.” Red eyes and optimism.

“Very well.” Bas’ir lines the head of his cock up with G’raha’s swollen clit and starts rubbing. The slick sounds make his pupils dilate. He imagines coming directly onto the Exarch’s lips, watching the white smear to the rhythm of his head. He would quickly plunge inside to pump the rest of his seed somewhere warm. Many times his ears have pinned at the beg of inside, inside! Many times he has been the beggar.

G’raha’s mouth hangs open as he waits. A dark maturity flutters with Bas’ir’s lashes. That he’s eyeing the place where their bodies meet is clear. Bas’ir’s past is far from G'raha's business—he knows too much already—but he wonders what happened to the braggadocious brat who first bedded him in Sharlayan. G’raha recalls spreading his legs that first night and receiving a full load less than three minutes later. The memory is almost enough to make him laugh.

Almost. But that would’ve been bad for coming to terms with the past, present, and fragile future. Bas'ir doesn't do anything special to get himself inside. A simple exploration of the right angle, a shift forward and an extra push from the hip. Once the head is in, he pauses to give G'raha time to request a moment. No request comes.

"Do you think I'm good at this, too?" Bas'ir says it with a harsh thrust deeper.

G'raha gasps and throws his head back. "Y-yes!" His readiness to answer embarrasses him. As a scholar, he’d have teased until the pulse of orgasm gave away the truth of his enjoyment.

Bas'ir closes his eyes and eases forward until the two of them are chest to chest. He could will himself to the point of finishing at practically any moment—the very next, or a full bell later. But he's tired of overthinking. He's tired of fucking. Would it be so unpalatable to just make love for once in his life? Whatever that means. The thought itself feels dirtier than anything he did in Kugane.

"Bas'ir," G'raha says. He can't get this out of his head. "I—I didn't mean anything by it."

The Keeper rubs his fingers over the base of G'raha's ear and hums a rumbling, one-note question, following his body's call by setting a merciful tempo. "Hold me."

"All right." G'raha locks his arms behind Bas'ir's neck, his legs around his waist. He could drop his apology now, but he knows he saw something behind those yellow eyes. Something hurt. "About your ability. I didn't mean—"

"Taking back your compliments?" Now, Bas'ir presses a sinister smile into the crystal of G'raha's neck, kisses the same spot.

G'raha swallows hard. "Never."

Ultimately they tangle with each other for another half bell or so. Bas’ir’s final orgasm comes as he sinks his cock into G’raha’s cunt from a standing position on the bed. He has the Seeker half rolled over, his knees hovering near his shoulders on the mattress. Not a graceful position, not a gentle end to the night. When they clean themselves up and connect beneath the covers, G'raha is the one left staring at the ceiling. Perhaps it's a mistake to conceptualize Bas'ir as something he can understand completely. If so—G'raha was an utter fool in ages past, assuming he'd already cracked every puzzle worth cracking before unceremoniously, brutally, nigh-unforgivably throwing out the pieces.

[olliedollie1204]

for future reference

Virgil works at the reference desk. Logan is looking for a very specific book.

Pairings: Platonic Virgil and Logan

Word Count: 3,613

Tags: Librarian Virgil, Kid Logan, (very loosely) implied but not shown romantic Moceit

based on that one tumblr post that is maybe the cutest thing i’ve ever read? also, Logan mispronounces some words because he’s Babey, so I included a guide at the end to clarify what he was trying to say.

also i meant to make this short and simple but i tripped and came up with an entire new AU, so hopefully if y’all slam that mf like button I will find the energy to write the sequel

(Read it on AO3!)

Working at the reference desk was cool. When you walked through the main door of the library, you’d never suspect that nestled beyond the rows and rows of adult nonfiction, far away from the busyness of the community room or the chaos of the children’s section, was a neat and well-tended desk, behind which sat just one man.

That one man was currently alternating between scanning the sea of tables and chairs in front of him, and reading a cheesy romance paperback under his desk. Listen, he had an image to maintain, okay?

Virgil had always liked the solitude of a good library, almost as much as he’d liked the books themselves. Despite spending many long hours hidden away among dusty shelves when he was younger, he'd never thought about actually working in a library. He wasn’t a people person, and libraries, unfortunately, tended to attract people; so when he found out there was a position where he could get away with isolating himself behind a computer monitor all day long, where his main form of social interaction was helping patrons fix the printer approximately nine hundred times a day, where he could read or play Temple Run or just sit still and daydream for hours on end? He was sold.

He supposed he had to thank the library’s set up for his lack of work; truly, most people never made their way this far into the building, and those who did were usually just looking for a place to sleep for a few hours, so it wasn’t uncommon for him to go an entire shift without speaking to a single person.

It had looked like today was going to be the same, with Virgil halfway through his shift and having only spoken to one patron who was looking for the bathroom. He had just gotten to the part in his book where the farmhand and the farmer’s son were trapped together in the barn during an unexpected thunderstorm, shirts dripping wet and faces flushed from humidity and passion (and maybe Virgil had read this one once or twice already, don’t worry about it).

It was a perfectly normal day. Until the kid showed up.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Virgil certainly did not jump about a foot into the air at the kid’s sudden appearance, but it was a close thing. The librarian quickly sat up in his rolly chair, dog earring the already well-worn novel and shoving it back under the desk.

“Uh, hi,” he replied, gazing down at the child in front of him. He was small and scrawny, with wildly scruffy hair and a large pair of glasses on his face. As Virgil sat up taller, he was able to see that the kid was actually tiny, his chin barely reaching past the edge of the desk. Despite his small stature, he had an oddly serious look on his face.

“How can I, uh, help you?” Virgil asked haltingly.

“I need to find a book about baby names,” the child informed him plainly. His quiet, high-pitched voice felt completely at odds with the grave importance he seemed to place on his request.

“Oh?” Virgil said for lack of a better response. He quickly scanned behind the kid, looking for an adult that might’ve misplaced their incredibly somber toddler, but he quickly brought his attention back to the child in front of him as he nodded.

“My dads told me that I’m going to be a big brother soon and I need to find the names for my baby twin brothers who we are taking from a woman in the city because she is a sugar-ette and she is giving us her babies to keep,” the child replied in one long breath. Virgil blinked at the sudden influx of information.

“Ah,” he replied, absolutely nailing this conversation with this random, unaccompanied baby. “Let me… look that up for you.”

He paused for just a second before jerkily turning on his monitor, opening to the library catalogue’s search engine. Instinctively he opened the filter and clicked ‘search for keywords’ and typed ‘baby names’, until he looked down at the… really small child in front of him, like damn, were all kids that small?

“Um. How…”

How old are you? How many letters of the alphabet do you know? How stupid am I gonna look if I send you to the checkout desk with an armful of dense, high-level books about etymology?

“How high is your reading level?” he settled on. To his surprise, the child puffed out his chest in pride.

“I am five and three quarters years old and I will be going into kindergarten in Set-member and Dr. Picani says that I am reading like a kindergartener and I even can read first grade books, too.”

Okay. Virgil didn’t know who Dr. Picani was, but that wasn’t important. Kindergarten to first grade reading level. He switched the filter to adjust for that new information, but he was quickly met with the realization that the kid was looking at him for… some sort of response, because that’s how conversations work, Virgil, come on.

“That’s cool,” he replied lightly. Lucky for him, the kid didn’t seem to mind his lack of social graces. He just nodded, rocking back and forth on his heels as he watched Virgil type.

“And my Daddy gave me a bunch of chapter books for my birthday and I already read them all because that was last year and he and Papa said that for my next birthday I can get some more chapter books but I hope they are mit-sery books because I like the mit-sery books most of all. Dr. Picani told me that’s because I like to collect and organize information. I like it when Papa reads the mit-sery books to me, even though I can read all by myself, because he is always bad at solving the mit-sery and I have to explain it to him every time.”

At first, Virgil had merely been listening with a polite interest, nodding a little as his eyes scanned the page for what books they had checked in, but as the kid continued to talk (and Virgil was seriously starting to wonder if he ever ran out of breath), he realized he was now listening with a genuine interest. This kid seemed pretty smart for his age, even with his tendency to mispronounce words in his rush to get them out of his mouth, and it was honestly kinda endearing. This coming from Virgil, who was running out of excuses as to why he couldn’t help out with any of the children’s programs that the library hosted in the community room twice a month.

He pulled his eyes back to his computer. “Okay, so, um, it looks like we’ve got a couple books that you might want.” They had more than a couple books about baby names, of course, but Virgil really didn’t wanna hurt the kid’s feelings by giving him a book that was too difficult for him.

“I’m gonna write the titles down on this piece of paper,” Virgil continued, pulling out an index card and one of the weird tiny golf pencils that were at every desk in the library for some reason. “Here’s what the book is called, here’s the last name of the person who wrote it, and here is the number of the shelf where you can find the book, okay?”

He finished writing and slid the paper across the desk to the kid, who hesitated for a moment before taking it.

“... Thank you,” he said stiffly, turning on his heel and marching away. Virgil wasn’t gonna look away until the kid was out of his sight, but to his surprise he stopped just about ten feet away from the desk, looking between the paper in his tiny hands and the tall rows of shelves.

Virgil stood up suddenly, feeling like an idiot. He’d just told an infant to go look for one specific shelf in a giant room of identical shelves. Alone. Fuck.

“Hey, kid,” he called softly, moving around his desk and hurrying to the child. The little boy turned to him, eyes wide behind his glasses lens.

“How about I help you find those books, okay?” Virgil asked, trying not to tower over the tiny child. The kid looked around for a second before nodding quickly.

“Okay, I think that is a good idea, because I know where the books are in the playzone but I think this li-berry is really big and— and maybe I’d get too lost and my dads are scared of me being lost and so I don’t wanna make them scared,” he finished, looking down and scuffing the toe of his shoe against the carpet.

Virgil raised an eyebrow at the end of the kid’s sentence. “Do you know where your dads are?”

The kid nodded quickly. “They’re having storytime in the group room!”

Virgil nodded. He knew there was an adult book club happening in the community room that day, so that definitely made sense. But still, he leaned down, catching the boy’s eye with what he hoped was an appropriately stern face for the circumstances.

“Do your dads know where you are?” he asked. As he expected, the kid began to look slightly guilty, scrunching the hem of his navy polo in his hands.

“Um…” he started. It was the first time Virgil had heard him pause between his words. “Well, technically, they told me to stay with the li-berrian, and they thought I was gonna stay in the playzone with Ms. Dot, but technically, if I can stay with you then I am with a li-berrian and so I’m not in trouble.”

There was a note of self-satisfaction in the kid’s voice, like he’d just solved a riddle as opposed to trying to explain why he disobeyed his parents. Virgil got the feeling that this was a kid who knew how to use his words to his advantage.

“Okay,” Virgil replied, gently pulling the paper out of the kid’s hand and scanning what he’d written. “We’re gonna go look for some books, but then I’m taking you back to the children’s section— uh, I mean the playzone— and Ms. Dot is gonna watch you until your dads are done, deal?”

The child nodded, watching Virgil with intensity, and the librarian gently ushered him to the side and led the two of them down a row of books.

“What’s your name?”

“Logan,” the little boy replied, running ahead a little and turning to wait for Virgil to catch up. “What’s your name?”

Virgil reached Logan at the end of the row just as he answered, “Virgil.”

Without warning, Logan darted ahead again, reaching the end of the next row before turning around to face him. “Daddy says I should call the li-berrians Mr., Ms., or Mx. What are you?”

“Mr. is okay,” Virgil replied, a little bemused by his childish bluntness. “And be careful, okay? I don’t want you to trip and hurt yourself.”

Logan trotted back to Virgil, walking backwards for a minute so he could look at Virgil while he talked. “I’m sorry for running, but I really want to find a book about baby names because my dads are busy making the babies’ bedroom and buying all of the baby clothes and toys and ex-cetera and I want to be a good big brother and I want my baby brothers to have names that are good but my dads are really busy and they don’t even know what they want to name the babies yet!”

Virgil smiled at the indignation in Logan’s little voice. Of course, he knew there were far more important preparations to make when expecting a new child (let alone two new children at the same time), but to a child as young as Logan, the name was probably the most important decision to be made.

“Well, they should be on the next shelf over, so let’s—”

Logan took off before Virgil could finish his sentence, running halfway down the row and looking at Virgil expectantly.

Virgil scoffed, an amused smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

As he entered the row, he began scanning the numbers on instinct; he knew these stacks pretty well, but he didn’t have them memorized.

“Okay, 929.4,” he muttered to himself, bypassing books about genealogies before coming to the section for baby name books. “Here they are.”

Logan came towards him, standing on his tiptoes as he reached his arms up high.

“Mr. Virgil, may I please have the biggest book, please?”

Virgil looked back at the shelf, immediately seeing which book Logan was talking about. He pulled it out, holding it in both hands as he scanned the cover.

“‘Ten Thousand and One Baby Names For You’,” he recited, passing it down to Logan. “Is that enough names to choose from?”

Logan’s eyes were wide, struggling to open the heavy book while still keeping it in his arms. “I never even knew there were ten thousand and one names!”

“Same,” Virgil replied, helping Logan open the book without damaging it. “I think this book has lots of names from all over the world, plus some super old names from the last century.”

“Like the 1990s,” Logan said, nodding seriously, and Virgil had to pretend to cough to avoid laughing outright at the kid’s earnestness. He turned back to the shelf, pulling out a thinner yet still dense book.

“And this one is called ‘The Story Behind the Name’,” Virgil explained, holding it down to show Logan. “It tells you more about what the names mean, where all of the names came from… stuff like that.”

He held the book out for Logan to take, but to his shock the child was looking at him with something akin to distress.

“Do names mean things?”

Virgil blinked. “Oh! Uh, sometimes? Not really. But some names have things that they used to mean, a long time ago, but a lot of people don’t know what they meant. Like—”

He hastily flipped the book open to the ‘L’ section, skimming the page before he found what he was looking for.

“Like, ‘Logan’, for example, is an Scottish name,” he explained slowly, “and it apparently means… uh, ‘from the hollow’? Which, I don’t even really know what that means, so. It’s not that important nowadays.”

He looked back at Logan, who was looking into the distance with a pensive look on his face.

“But what if I give them a name that means something bad,” he pondered slowly, and Virgil’s stomach swooped at the idea that he’d just given this kid something to worry over.

“Well, here,” he said hurriedly, holding the second book out to Logan. “If you take this one, you can check that the names you pick mean good things. Some people like to choose names that remind them of something good, like nature or history or— or their favorite book characters.”

That perked Logan up, causing him to eye the book with a new interest. “Really?”

His gaze flicked between the second book, and the much larger book that he still held in his arms.

“I think I should take both,” he said after a long moment to think. “Just in case.”

He smiled up at Virgil, who literally couldn’t stop himself from smiling back if you’d paid him. Logan was just too darn cute.

“Well,” he said, “how about I carry your books and take you back to the playzone, and you can get started reading these before you check them out?”

Logan nodded, somewhat reluctantly handing Virgil his large book as the two made their way out of the nonfiction section. “That is a good idea, because I am already checking out a lot of chapter books and my book basket is full and so I think my dads will help me carry these books to the checkout counter because they’re really big books.”

“They sure are,” Virgil said conversationally, holding a hand out to stop Logan as another librarian walked by with a cart. Before he could take another step, however, he felt something small and soft wrap around his free hand. Virgil looked down to see Logan holding his hand in his own tiny grasp.

“Papa says I shouldn’t hold hands with strangers,” Logan informed him, idly swinging their hands together, “but I don’t think we’re strangers because I know your name and you know my name and you’re helping me carry my books because you are a nice li-berrian.”

Virgil felt an inexplicable surge of protectiveness over this child he’d met only fifteen minutes ago.

“Sure,” he replied softly, letting Logan continue to talk as the two walked hand in hand back to the populated side of the library.

He almost didn’t want to interrupt Logan when they did finally arrive at the playzone, but he wanted to make sure this kid got back to where he was supposed to be before his dads found out he’d left. Dot looked at him from behind Logan, her eyebrows raising at the sight of Virgil a) not behind his reference desk, and b) attached to the world’s chattiest five year old.

“Hey, Lo,” he gently interjected when Logan took a breath, kneeling down to be on the young boy’s level. “I’m gonna set your books down with your book basket, okay? Where is that?”

Logan paused, eyes flitting around the colorful rug. “Um… it’s… oh! It’s right there!”

Virgil’s eyes followed where Logan was pointing. There, on the ground next to one of the large plush sofas in the reading circle, was one of the library’s book baskets. From here, Virgil could see at least a dozen junior chapter books poking out of the basket.

“Oh!” Logan exclaimed, darting forward and grabbing the handle of the basket in both hands and tugging it back over to Virgil. “Mr. Virgil, look, I raised my hand and asked Ms. Dot if I could please have the storytime book to check out for a little bit because I liked it a lot, even though it’s not a mit-sery book, but it is about cephalopods and those are octopusses and squids and ex-cetera, and she told me to turn around and the shelf behind me had tons and tons of books about cephalopods, and I picked out this book because it has pit-chers but it’s not a pit-cher book, it has chapters, too—”

Logan flopped onto his butt in the middle of the carpet, pulling out each book one by one and explaining to Virgil exactly what it was about and how many chapters it had and how he couldn’t wait for bedtime so he and his dads could read them all together. He chattered on and on and on, and Virgil didn’t even realize when he joined Logan in sitting cross legged on the floor. He didn’t have to talk much, but every now and then Logan would actually pause to breathe, and Virgil would ask another question that set the young boy off onto an entirely different spiel that lasted another ten minutes.

It was so different from working at the reference desk, quiet and hidden and isolated. Different, but not bad.

“Mr. Virgil?”

Logan’s voice was suddenly quieter, and it snapped Virgil back to reality. He looked at the kid, who was looking at his own tiny hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Yeah, Logan?” Virgil asked. “Are you okay?”

Logan nodded. “Yes, thank you, I’m okay. I think you are maybe the nicest li-berrian ever.”

The sincerity in his little voice nearly made Virgil reel back in shock.

“Really?” he asked, and normally he might be embarrassed about how insecure his voice sounded after receiving a compliment from a five year old, but Logan nodded immediately.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Ms. Dot and all of the other li-berrians are nice but I think you are the nicest because I broke the rules and you didn’t tell my dads and you gave me the name books for my twin baby brothers and you let me hold your hand and I like talking about my books and you liked hearing me talk about them. So I think you are— I think you are the best li-berrian I ever met.”

Logan fell silent, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with his shirt hem, and Virgil was honestly a little speechless.

“Oh,” he said slowly. “Um, thank you, Logan. I think you are… the best reader I’ve ever met.”

No sooner were the words out of Virgil’s mouth that Logan looked up at him with wide-eyed shock.

“Really?” he squeaked. Virgil was literally going to get a cavity from all of this sugar.

“Yep,” he replied. “You’re smart and kind and you care a lot about your baby brothers. Your dads must be very proud of you.”

Each word of praise was brightening Logan up bit by bit, and he switched to sitting on his knees and bouncing up and down.

“Will you play checkers with me?” he asked, hands flapping in excitement. “I always want to play checkers but Ms. Dot says I’m not old enough, but you’re definitely old enough, right?”

Virgil laughed outright at that. He thought about his reference desk, sitting unoccupied on the other side of the library. He looked at Logan.

“Sure, kid,” he replied, standing up with Logan’s book basket. Logan grabbed his free hand, and Virgil let him lead them both to the game table, Logan already explaining the rules in anticipation.

Yeah. Different, but not bad. Not bad at all.

~

Post notes: As promised, here's the guide to Logan's incorrect words!

Sugar-ette: Surrogate Set-member: September Mit-sery: Mystery Li-berry: Library Li-berrian: Librarian Ex-cetera: Et cetera Pit-chers: Pictures

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Dark Paradise (Keanu x Reader)

Summary: AU! With their ‘arrangement’ in place, reader and Keanu go apartment hunting. Part of the Always the quiet ones universe. Part 1 - Always the quiet ones | Part 2 - The Proposal | Part 4 - Without You

Author’s notes: I don’t know about you people, but I’m slightly addicted to this series. It’s so fun to write! As usual, feedback is greatly appreciated.

Wordcount: 4247

Warnings: Age gap; smut (dirty talk; d/s undertones; exhibitionism)

It was strange to be in the presidential suite without Keanu, but definitely something you could get used to. You took your time in a long bath, using the deliciously scented bath products from the hotel that you were very familiar with, despite never using them yourself.

You stepped out once the water turned tepid, your skin feeling silky soft and smelling amazing as you wrapped your body on one of the fluffy white robes, a towel holding your hair on top of your head. You scanned the menu for room service, your stomach rumbling. It was late and your last meal had been lunch.

Picking up the phone, you paused in hesitation. Everyone in the reception desk knew you. They would recognize your voice at the same second. How were you gonna explain this? You set the phone down again, choosing instead to order your favorite burger and milkshake from the diner a couple of streets over. They frequently delivered to the hotel guests and employees so no one would bat an eye to see them there.

You grabbed your laptop and books, bringing it to the bed with you because you had an essay for your abnormal psychology class to deliver next week and you hadn’t had time to start. Between work and all the other courses, you had been feeling overwhelmed and stressed and every time you tried to sit down to write, it was like your brain would just shut down and refuse to form any coherent thought.

Tonight, it was the first time in a while you felt completely relaxed and as you pulled out your reference notes, the text flowed easily, the essay practically writing itself as you swayed to The Weeknd playing on your earbuds.

You finished the first draft in record time, saving it on your college folder with a smile. So, this was how studying felt like when you had plenty of time and no distractions? It was amazing and the idea of not only having an apartment of your own but not to worry about long work hours and crushing debt was starting to sound even more appealing.

Pulling up a few real-estate websites, you started to browse apartments you liked which were around St. Joseph’s College, but after another moment’s consideration, decided to look for places closer to Columbia University, where you were planning to attend for Law School.

At first, you searched for an apartment with two beds two baths just like you first envisioned, but the prices terrified you. Why was everything in New York so fucking expensive? You could never ask Keanu to spend so much on you, a woman he barely knew. Then again, what would be the right price under those circumstances?

With a sigh, you got up, putting your clothes back on and moving to the balcony to watch the Manhattan lights. What were you thinking by getting in such a weird, messed up situation? You could already foresee that every single step of this would be riddled with uncertainty and self-doubt and you already hated.

You were usually so sure about your own choices. You had been sure that you needed to move away for college and even though you hated leaving your mom and brother behind, you knew it would be the only way to ease the weight of responsibility on your mother. If you stayed, she would insist you dedicated exclusively to school and she would kill herself working two, three jobs to keep your family finances afloat.

From a distance, with only phone calls twice a week, it was easier to pretend you weren’t struggling. It was easier to pretend that you were having the life she always dreamt of for you. The life Keanu was offering you right now.

And when you accepted his proposal, you had been sure too. Thinking about your future and the fact that even though you barely knew him, Keanu made you feel like no other man or boy ever managed.

It wasn’t a coincidence that, even though you knew next to nothing about him, he had been your first. You knew he was the kind of man you wanted, and you didn’t regret your decision. You were just doubting if this was the right way to go about things.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist, making you start and giggle, especially when he pressed his cold nose against your neck.

“I could hear you overthinking things as soon as I stepped inside the suite,” Keanu commented, tugging you closer to his body, surrounding you with his heat and you rested against his chest, relaxing in an instant. How was this possible? “If you changed your mind…”

“No,” you sighed, turning in his embrace, your arms coming around his neck, fingers combing through the soft hairs in his nape. “I just…”

“Unsure if it’s the right thing for you?” he asked, and you chuckled because you hated and loved how he could just read your mind.

“Maybe,” you replied as Keanu rested his forehead against yours, letting out his own sigh. “I mostly wondering why you’re doing this.” He pulled back long enough to give you a look, his eyebrow arched in question and you felt heat rising to your cheeks. “I mean, you’re a handsome guy. Smart, educated, very good at…”

“Sex?” he offered with a smirk and you chuckled.

“Well, yes, but that wasn’t really what I was gonna say.” Even if you were thinking it. “My point is, you literally could just ask me or any other woman out and they most likely say yes.”

“Truth is, I’m selfish,” Keanu said with a shrug, his hands trailing softly down your back, rough fingers under your shirt, making goosebumps rise on your skin. “I have very little free time and when I do and I want to spend it with someone, I want their undivided attention. Bills and unfulfilling jobs tend to take their focus away.”

“So, you’ve done this before?” you asked carefully because you’ve been dying to know.

“Does it matter?” he asked, pulling away from you and there was a tension in his shoulders that you hadn’t seen before.

“Yes,” you replied a little more firmly because you needed to know. You needed to know what kind of future could be waiting for you.

“Twice,” Keanu finally replied, stepping closer to the railing and lighting up a cigarette. “First time, she ended it. It wasn’t what she wanted in the long run. She’s married now. With a kid.”

“And the second time?” you prodded, trying to be gentle.

“She wanted more than I could give so I had to end things. For her own good and mine.”

You could tell there was more to it but decided to leave it alone, your curiosity sated for now. Instead, you fitted yourself between his body and the railing, making Keanu smile as he looked at you. His gaze held you with its intensity and you wanted to hide, but also to expose your entire self to him because it made you feel like the only person on Earth and it was such a strange but thrilling feeling.

“It never felt like this, though,” he whispered, leaning closer, filling your nose with the smell of smoke and expensive cologne. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone the way I want you.”

“I want you too,” you assured, arms returning to his neck.

Your mouth found his and for a moment you got lost in the taste of him. Just the touch of his lips upon yours was enough to make your knees feel weak and arousal pool between your legs.

“You should eat first,” Keanu said with a soft smile. “Your burger is getting cold and your milkshake is melting.” You followed him back to the bedroom, surprised to see the takeout bag on top of a bedside table. “The delivery guy was at the reception desk when I got in, so I just brought it with me.”

“Thanks.” You grinned, your belly growling at the smell of the greasy food.

“Where are you going?” Keanu asked when you took a step to the sitting room.

“I’m not gonna eat in bed,” you replied with a snort. You knew how much of a pain in the ass it was to clean up those sheets from grease stains.

Instead, you brought everything to the small dining table in the sitting room, mouth watering as you unpacked your food. You were halfway into your burger when Keanu came in, your laptop in hands.

“Looking for apartments?” he asked, sitting next to you. “Let me see?”

“Sure. Third tab is my favorite so far,” you said licking the excess of ketchup from your fingers before you popped a fry in your mouth and tilted your head to see the screen too.

“It’s a shoebox,” Keanu complained with a displeased noise, moving to the next tab and then the following one and the one after that. “They’re all shoeboxes.”

“I don’t need much,” you shrugged and watched as he altered the search parameters, his brown eyes scanning the options, his forehead slightly creased in concentration. “Fry?”

“I already had dinner,” he said, clicking in one of the adds.

“Ok, but this is French fries,” you pointed out, waving it in front of his gaze. “The best in town.” He chuckled, before snatching it from your fingers with his lips.

“I like this,” he said and the first thing you noticed was the price that nearly made you choke on the mouthful of milkshake. “Don’t worry about prices,” Keanu assured with a smile. “Just tell me if you liked it.”

“Well, obviously,” you sighed, glancing back at the pictures and the wide window panels. “But seriously, Keanu, I’d good with a studio or…” You trailed off when you saw him pull out the real-estate agent information, take out his phone. “It’s almost eleven p.m. Keanu, you can’t just…”

He shushed you, a smirk on his face as he pressed the phone to his ear with one hand, the other traveling up your thigh, making you shiver.

“This is Keanu Reeves.”

His hand moving higher as he spoke to the woman on the other side. You tried to still his wandering fingers when they reached between your legs, but Keanu just gave you a wicked smile, his voice not wavering even the slightly as he started teasing you. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to muffle your noises as you rocked against his fingers.

You got lost in the sensations, in his teasing and you didn’t even realize he ended his call. Not until Keanu pulled your hand away from your mouth, meeting your lips for a sweet kiss.

“We have an appointment tomorrow at noon. Can you make it?”  

“Yeah,” you assured, moving to his lap. “Now, are you gonna fuck me again, sir?”

“Yes,” Keanu replied, smirking. This time when he stood up with you in his arms, you barely made a sound. “Until you can’t sit straight without feeling and remembering me.”

----

You tried your best to focus on what the professor was droning on about, but it was hard when every time you shifted in your chair, you could feel the throb in your center, not exactly painful, but definitely making sure you didn’t forget the pounding you got last night and you had to hide your satisfied grin behind a sip of your water so not to drag attention to yourself.

You never thought sex could be quite like that. Sure, Keanu was your first real experience, everything else just awkward fumbling, but even in your inexperience, you could tell that wasn’t just good. It was unbelievably amazing.

Feeling your phone vibrating in your pocket, you reached for it and the sight of Keanu’s name on the screen made your heart speed up. It was just a text message; sending you the address for the apartment complex you’d be visiting and asking if you wanted him to send a car for you. You had no idea why you were acting like this.

With a quick reply, you assured you’d be there and that you could take the subway before you tried to get your attention back to the lecture. This was one of the toughest classes in your course, you knew only 5 percent of the class would get grades higher than B and you planned to be in that percentage.

Once the class was finally over, you put your things away and checked the time to make sure you could pop in your dorm to drop your stuff and change before you met Keanu. You wanted to look nice and maybe a little more… mature? Maybe it was silly of you, but you wanted to make sure to cause a good impression and jeans and a ratty tee wasn’t the ideal way.

So, you exchanged them for one of your favorite sweater dresses, cream-colored and tied around your waist with a ribbon. You always felt the shape complimented your curves, as well as the tone, made the earthy hue of your skin pop up.

           “You look hot,” your roommate commented, making you grin. She was hardly your favorite person sometimes, but she did have an amazing taste. “Meeting the boyfriend?”

“Never said I had a boyfriend,” you pointed out as you put on your boots.

“The hickeys told the tale,” she smirked, nodding that the bruise peeking from under the hem of your dress and you blushed, tugging it down. “No shame. Maybe he can get that stick from up your ass.” She called out from over her shoulder as she moved away, taking your charger without asking once again.

“Soon,” you whispered to your mirror self, before picking up your bag and heading out, fidgeting the entire way to Morningside Heights, the neighborhood a distant cry from your own and you felt slightly out of place as you approached the elegant building.

Keanu was waiting for you at the foyer, once again in a suit, this time all black, his hair neatly combed and you couldn’t help the way your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, especially with the way he smiled when he spotted you, his gaze traveling appreciatively down your body before he met your eyes again.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, letting Keanu pull you closer, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“You’re just in time, sweetheart,” he replied, his eyes never leaving you. “We’re ready, Gwen.”

For the first time, you noticed the woman in a crisp pantsuit, her hair pinned back in a neat bun, a fake smile plastered in her face as she looked at you and at the way Keanu was holding you close, his large hand pressed against your hip, warm and possessive.

You matched her smile, daring her to say a word, knowing that she wouldn’t, not in front of Keanu anyway.

This was something you would have to get used to it. The judgmental looks whenever you were anywhere near Keanu. He seemed oblivious to it, but you could just feel eyes following the pair of you as Gwen led the way to the wall of elevators.

The first apartment she showed was one of the studios you had seen originally. Yes, it was small, but the wide windows let plenty of sunshine in; the modern concept kitchen was gorgeous, and the bathroom had plenty of space. You loved it.

“Shoebox,” Keanu whispered in your ear as Gwen droned on and on about the qualities of the place, making you giggle. “Can you show us the other one we talked about?”

“Absolutely,” the woman said, leading the way out, the elevator taking you three to a higher floor in the building.

This one was also amazing and considerably bigger. Two bedrooms, two baths, an open kitchen, the master bathroom was huge, with a tub that looked very inviting and a closet bigger than you knew what to do with.

“What you think?” Keanu asked, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you ran your fingers over the stone countertops.

“It’s amazing,” you told him with a grin, which he returned. “What do you think?”

You followed him as Keanu walked the apartment, analyzing every inch before, turning to look at Gwen.

“You have a penthouse?” The woman stilled for a second, stunned before she checked something on her phone and then looked back at Keanu.

“We do, but it’s already reserved,” she said, her tone apologetic.

“Show us anyway.” And who could resist when Keanu was flashing that charming smile, looking so suave and unflappable?

You watched as flustered Gwen raised a finger asking for a minute and scurried off, phone to her ear, probably talking to her superiors.

“What’s the point of checking an apartment someone else already getting ready to buy?” you asked, coming to stand next to him. The idea of it being the penthouse scared you a little and something told you Keanu knew.

“Just to sate my curiosity,” he said, fingers toying with the edge of your dress. “I like this look on you,” Keanu said, pulling you closer, his hands coming to your ass. “Easy access.”

You giggled and pushed his hands away moments before Gwen returned, her smile wide and you could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes as she led the way to the top floor, the elevator opening to a small hall that had only one door. She unlocked it and let you and Keanu step in first.

Your breath caught in your throat once again. This time due to the ceiling to floor window panels that showed the most gorgeous view of New York. There was a huge terrace and your heart leaped when you noticed you could see Columbia University from up there, closer than you could have hoped for. St. John’s cathedral too.

This apartment wasn’t much bigger than the other one you just visited and had all the same winning features. The biggest difference was the terrace and it was definitely something. You could see yourself having breakfast out there with Keanu when the weather was nice or cuddling at the lounge seat overlooking Manhattan and the Hudson River.

“You loved it, don’t you?” Keanu asked in a throaty chuckle, his arm surrounding you, his lips grazing your cheek, his beard tickling your skin.

“Ok, yes,” you admitted, turning your head to look at him. “But it’s too…” He silenced your words pressing a finger to your lips, his brown eyes shining bright as he looked at you.

“It’s just right. For both of us.” With a final kiss to your cheek, Keanu moved away, meeting Gwen in the living room.

You could protest of course. Insist on the smaller one but Keanu was right. This was perfect, the kind of place you had only dared to think about in dreams. The master bedroom was large enough that you could have a small home office in it and leave the second bedroom exclusively as a guest room. Your mom would die for that kitchen. It was everything you wanted, and Keanu was more than willing to buy it for you.

With much struggle, you turned your back to the view so you could watch Keanu and Gwen talking. There it was again, the flustered look confronted with his smooth ways and you almost felt bad for her. You had no idea what he was saying, but it was enough for the real estate agent to lift her finger once again and scurry off.

“Even if we love it,” you said returning to the living room, but pausing to admire the high windows. “Someone else is already about to buy it.”

“You’d be surprised what the right offer can do,” Keanu replied with a smirk. He shrugged off his blazer and set on the kitchen counter before he moved towards you, his gaze dark with desire.

“Keanu, we can’t…” you warned just as he crowded you against the window, his lips hot against your neck, his hands on your thighs, sneaking under the hem of your dress.

“Why not?”

“This isn’t our place.” Your voice turned a bit high-pitched as he nipped at your skin. “And she can come back at any moment.”

“She’s talking to her boss, who’s gonna talk to their bosses so they can find a compatible, but more affordable place to offer to the other interested part. That will take a while, so we have time.”

His hands moved to the front of your thighs, dipping in between before nudging them apart and you let him. Any resistance you had reduced to shambles when Keanu pressed a wet, sucking kiss to that sensitive point just bellow your ear that always made you soaked in seconds.

You rested your hands on the sun-warmed glass of the window, bending your body just enough so your ass was pressed against his growing erection, making Keanu smirk against your neck as he tugged your dress up, your panties down and dipped two of his fingers inside you and making you moan.

“Today you have to be quiet, sweetheart,” he said, and you could hear the noise of his buttons and belt being undone. “And I don’t have time to prep you like I usually do.”

“I can take it, sir,” you replied, voice shaking as he continued to move his fingers in and out at a fast pace, making pleasure shoot through you like lightning bolts, the surge of arousal and lust igniting your nerves.

“I know,” Keanu whispered against your cheek. “You’re already drenching my hand, your cunt desperate for my cock.”

You didn’t have time to reply nor to feel embarrassed, because he was replacing his fingers with his cock, burying into you till the hilt and muffling your cries by pushing two fingers into your mouth, his other hand positioning your hips so Keanu could better thrust into you.

His pace was punishing and soon you were pressed against the window, his hand coming up to play with your breasts as he fucked you, his grunts and curses tickling your ear, his smell surrounding you as he took you.

If there was any cognitive function left in you, you would be worried about getting caught; about someone from the nearby buildings seeing the two of you, but all you knew was the shattering pleasure spreading from your center to the rest of your body, coiling deep inside you and building like wildfire. You just knew your orgasm would be the kind that left you completely shattered and weak.

“Are you close, sweetheart?” Keanu asked, tone breathless as he ground into you, his thrusts short and angled just right. “I wanna feel you squeezing me tight when I cum inside you.”

You only nodded, bringing his hand from your breasts to your clit and Keanu started rubbing circles, his soft touch a contrast to the way he was taking you, but it worked, because in moments you were whimpering and shaking as the tension coil snapped and you came, gushing and throbbing around him.

“Fuck! I love how tight your cunt gets when you come,” he grunted, his thrusts gaining speed and losing coordination as he fucked with abandon, muffling his own groan with a bite to your shoulder.

His weight pressed you against the window, the glass smudged by your sweat as the two of you caught your breath and, in your case, also recovered the control for your lower limbs.

You were barely aware of Keanu fumbling behind you, slowly pulling his fingers from inside your mouth, wiping the spit the escaped from the corner of your lips and drying them on his pants before, pulling out his softening cock as the same time he brought a handkerchief between your legs, gathering most of the mess the two of you made.

At the sound of steps on the foyer, you hurried to fix your dress, hoping your hair wasn’t too much of a mess as the Gwen returned to the room, taking one look at the two of you and blushing bright red.

She knew. Of course, she knew. It was written on your faces. She could probably smell it in the air.

“The apartment is yours, Mr. Reeves.”

“Perfect,” he said, smiling wide, both hands inside his pockets. “I’ll have my people send all the required documents to your office.”

“Alright,” she nodded, a timid smile in her face. “Would you like some more time to… uh, look?”

You could feel your cheeks flaming as her gaze moved your direction. You quickly looked out the window, avoiding her eyes.

“Please,” Keanu replied with a smirk, and you felt his hand back on your hip. “I’d like the inspect the master bedroom a little more closely.”

“Just drop the keys at the lobby once you’re done,” she said, her eyes knowingly as she walked out of the loft.

Once the door closed, Keanu tugged you into his arms, his mouth seeking yours for a searing kiss.

“I hope you cleared your schedule because I’m planning on fucking you in each and every one of these rooms,” he said against your lips.

“I’m all yours,” you replied with a matching smirk, sucking on his bottom lip just to hear him grunt, his hands tightening over your hips.

“Don’t you forget it.”

xxx

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[bakudekuficlibrary]

Do you have any fics with a deaf or blind Bakugou or Midoriya? Doesn't matter if it's angst, fluff, or whatever, I love all types ^w^

All righty, here we go. I found a ton of these! The tags are riddled with Koe no Katachi AUs, as to be expected (KnK is The Sob-Inducing BombTM). But there’s a ton of really cool and interesting fics that diverge from that. Thank you for your patience^^ I hope you like.

Also, be sure to check out the Disabled Bakugou list curated by Jay!

~Gabs ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

25 works.

Actions Speak Louder by TsunaidaMay( E | 38,438+ | 10/14 )

When Bakugou Katsuki meets Midoriya Izuku at a Pro Hero fan event, he’s intrigued by the intricate way Izuku’s hands move, emphasizing every word and phrase. After another chance meeting, Katsuki will soon come to learn that sometimes, actions speak louder than words.

The Way You Used to Do by edema_ruh( T | 347,037+ | 20/? )

“We’re really sorry,” his father says, in a teary-eyed, wobbly way. “But your friend, Izuku, he’s… He’s gone, son.”

Katsuki can do nothing but blink up at them for moments that feel like an eternity, eyes darting between both his parents in obvious confusion, disbelief, and, more than anything, indignation.

“What the fuck are you two talking about? The damn nerd is standing right beside you!”

During a battle, Midoriya gets hit by a villain whose quirk detaches his soul from his body. Stuck in a ghost-like state, the boy enters a race against time in order to save himself from permanently dying. Much to his luck - or lack of it -, the only person who can see and talk to him in this state is no one other than Kacchan.

Alternatively: Deku and Kacchan are soulbound.

[PTSD]

Some Wannabe Hero! by Superior_Mustache( M | 50,792+ | 14/25 )

Katsuki had bullied Izuku for nearly all his life for being deaf and Quirkless. After middle school, they went their separate ways, never to see each other again. Ten years later, however, when Izuku moves back into his old neighborhood, a familiar face jumps back into his life. But neither of them are sure if they want to reopen old wounds.

Senses by Phayte( E | 22,294+ | 6/? )

In a freak accident through battle, Bakugou loses his sight. This is the story of his struggle, downward spiral, and the friends that get him through it. 

Hand Speak by crackmonster( E | 30,350 | 12/12 )

“You think you’re some hotshot, huh? You’re not going to even apologize, are you?” Bakugou folded his arms, waiting for him to get on his knees with grief, but he turned around and picked something up from the counter inside. “Hey! Hey are you serious? I’m talking to you!”

Bakugou had no qualms about barging into his house uninvited. “I said I’m talking to you! Are you Deaf-” 

Blue snow by Darkshadow( T | 908 | 1/1 )

A bullied Izuku meets a blind Katsuki in the park.

I guess… I’ll just… fuckin read this by TheGeekProblem( G | 1,533 | 1/1 )

Izuku works the graveyard shift in a diner and he’s really tired. A group of people come at 2 a.m. What could go wrong? 

Dull by choimarie( G | 714 | 1/1 )

“What? Never have seen a hot dude before?” 

Learning A Thing Or Two by overworldpumpkin( G | 654 | 1/1 )

Bakugou meets somebody new and interesting on his first day. 

love is blind (and deaf) by kagehinataboke( T | 789 | 1/1)

Izuku hesitantly opens the door, wielding an umbrella and ready to square up against a mugger. but it’s only one of his neighbors: a new one, in fact. Izuku faintly recalls him moving in a few weeks ago, but one unfriendly glare was enough to stop him from approaching.

he discreetly drops the umbrella behind the door. “can i help you?”

— a bakudeku one-shot

Learning Curve by iknewaman( G | 10,304 | 1/1 )

“Izuku.” Uraraka repeats as she motions at the person stood next to her. Green curls, average height, and, well. Up close, not such a bad smile. Uraraka points a thumb at Bakugou and enunciates slowly, “This is Bakugou. He can speak sign language too.”

Wait. Sign language?

The stranger— well, Izuku— looks at him with a raised brow. Their free hand lifts up as they make a slight motion of the hand.

‘Really?’

*

Bored out of his mind at a house party one night Bakugou is introduced to Izuku, a deaf student who offers to help teach Bakugou sign language in exchange for a favor– or well, is prompted into asking for a favor.

Missed Connections by Labellevita( M | 9,765 | 3/5 )

Deaf Uni student Bakugou can’t catch a break, but he does catch the scent of a fantastic smelling omega. 

Hackles Raised by Sanctioned_Chaos( T | 3,357 | 1/1 )

Twenty-six year-old Midoriya Izuku takes a trip to the past in the middle of grocery shopping for him and his mate, Bakugou Katsuki. It’s happened before but it’s always managed to be different each time. Still, doesn’t change the fact that he usually only travels when he’s needed. He shouldn’t be surprised coming face to face with a teenage Katsuki mid-panic attack.

His inner alpha bares his teeth and Izuku worries.

Silenced. by RJDAZE( T | 2,644 | 1/1)

When Bakugou was bit, he didn’t die. He was one of the few people that lived. But he lived for a price, and that price … it was his quirk.

OR

Bakugou runs into Deku while he’s in a bad situation and helps him. They talk— they really talk.

transfigured night by bittermoons( M | 6,044 | 1/1 )

An unexpected hospital trip changes things between Izuku Midoriya, age forty-four, and his longtime roommate, co-parent, and co-composer, Katsuki Bakugou.

Do You Hear What I See? by SilentJo( M | 2,156+ | 1/? )

Nearly deaf from the use of his own quirk, Bakugou fights to keep his dreams alive, despite knowing his career will only last as long as his hearing.

When a villain’s attack takes Midoriya’s sight, Bakugou is overwhelmed with guilt that it was his fault Midoriya’s hero career was over.

But Midoriya was never one to just give up, now was he?

No Warning by DeafBakugou( G | 10,375 | 1/1 )

Bakugou survives a natural disaster and has to navigate the world without the normal accommodations he depends on as a Deaf individual.

To Fight and Protect by HapSky( T | 2,566 | 1/1 )

The officer laughs then, and claps Katsuki’s shoulder. “You guys really fit the ‘go big or go home’ attitude! If I weren’t on the job right now, I’d praise you. Really nice teamwork there–every villain got caught and every citizen was protected,” he clears his throat and retreats his hand, “but I’m on the job right now so you didn’t hear any of that,” he winks then and adds, in a forced serious voice, “You could do better regarding own safety and quirk overuse next time.”

Katsuki grins, because he knows he didn’t kill the villains yesterday, and knows the villains didn’t get past Izuku to kill anyone either.

Lost the Fight by Katt1848( T | 1,733 | 1/1 )

Every Hero remembers the first time they weren’t able to save someone. This is Katsuki’s.

Angel Down by Baltic_Breath( M | 16,008 | 3/3 )

After Midoriya Izuku throws himself out of a window because of him and almost dies, Katsuki comes down from his high horse real fucking quick.

He decides to be responsible for what he caused.

(glimpses into the lives of Katsuki and Izuku in the aftermath of Izuku’s suicide attempt in middle school.)

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Finding Out and Confessions by Needle_In_A_NeedleStack( G | 605 | 1/1 )

Bakugo is deaf, that’s why he’s always so loud. He hasn’t told anyone. So when Midoriya Izuku accidentally finds out Bakugo’s secret, how will things change.

[Discontinued] Listen to the Heart by milkcandie( M | 25,682+ | 5/? )

Katsuki wants to remake what he had demolished (broke, cut, destroyed), every little thing that he had single-handedly set on fire and every moment that he had crushed under his foot. The past is irreparable, but when he sees Izuku, he feels like he can believe in the impossible again.

☆ A Koe no Katachi AU where Izuku is deaf and Katsuki dedicates his entire being to see him smile.

Omniscient Eyes by everlastingspaghetti( T | 11,285 | 1/1)

Katsuki wasn’t sure what to say about this. All his life, he'd— he was a horrible person; both inside and out.

He didn’t deserve whatever this is. He didn’t deserve anything, not when the boy he’d tormented relentlessly was shaking in front of him, with outstretched limbs a sincere smile dripping down his face, tears smacking the concrete.

Katsuki wanted to say something— anything, but then Deku had looked up at him - through a tearful gaze of forest green - and softly gasped, “I forgive you, Kacchan.”

Silent Voice, Loud Gestures by ReadingHell( T | 10,001 | 3/3 )

“My name is Bakugou Katsuki”

“If you need to talk to me, use this notebook”

“I can’t hear”

Koe no Katachi AU

Say Something by limesicle( T | 4,520 | 1/1 )

Katsuki pushes and pushes until he pushes too far. He is left guilty until Izuku returns to give him–not a second chance, or even a third–another chance.

[vicecityhq]

██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: autumn, forestpunk, cottagegore, darkest academia . With a slight resemblance to PAKORN THANASRIVANITCHAI of/the ACTOR.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Suwannarat, Briar Alias: Pan (codename for his job), Ari (more of a nickname than an alias) Realm of birth (if earth, nationality): Earth realm, Thailand Age: 29 Date of Birth: November 23rd Gender: Male Preferred Pronouns: He/Him Species: Children of the Twelve - Sagittarius Occupation: Police Detective Sexual Orientation: Homosexual

VISUAL FILE: 

Skin Color: Tanned, burnt orange hue with a smattering of chocolate freckles along his face. He has the same freckles throughout his body, but has bigger white spots along his shoulders, the backs of his ears, and his outer hips. Eye color: Honey Brown Scars: None that have a significant story Piercings: None Tattoos: None Hair color: Dark chocolate brown Abnormalities: Fawn-like ears Horns/ wings/ etc: Small, stumpy antlers that stick just above his hair Transformed form: He does not have a transformation.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Agnostic, but was raised Buddhist SINS:  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  /  lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath VIRTUES: chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility /  kindness /  patience /  justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: English, Thai, Latin SECRETS: Teen romance can be rough, right? It’s like two colliding whirlwinds of emotions, hormones, and desires. One minute you’re together, the next you’re broken up for no reason. Now when that volatility is coupled with doubts about sexuality, it’s just a disaster waiting to happen. Most people didn’t accidentally melt half of their boyfriend’s face off and cause him to have to undergo grueling, expensive reconstructive surgery that would never quite make things right, though. Briar had told him the gloves had to stay on, but kids were reckless and foolishly believed in their own infallibility so it didn’t take much convincing to risk it all for some skin on skin. Then next thing they knew, Briar was babbling some half brained excuse about a science experiment gone wrong while his boyfriend’s blood curdling screams echoed in his ears. It was believably enough… until a month after - when the swelling from some of his injuries went down - his former lover was able to unintelligibly mutter “Briar did it.” Then suddenly an ‘accident’ turned into a full scale investigation of malicious intent. All Briar could do was tell the truth. He didn’t know which was more difficult - coming clean about his powers or coming out of the closet. But the officer sitting across from him and his distraught mother in the cramped interrogation room didn’t seem particularly disturbed by the confession. His bushy brows only furrowed in disappointment over the entire situation. In the end, Briar was only charged with obstruction of justice for initially lying to police, but the damage to his reputation was irreparable. His mother decided it would be best to relocate, which is how Briar came to finish his last years of high school in Agdoeg.

SAVVIES: hiking, gardening, camping, sightseeing, investigative work, problem solving, riddles and puzzles.

Powers & Abilities: Zodiac Empowerment (Sagittarius: enhanced accuracy, vision, tracking), Zodiac Physiology (see above appearance), Animal (deer) Spirit Summoning, Fthinóporokinesis (Autumn manipulation), Rot Inducement/Decaying Touch, Body Part Erosion, Luck, Evolution Manipulation, Supernatural Bowmanship.

Traits: (positive) Determined, intelligent, neat freak, health conscious, animal lover, usually down to earth, assertive, responsible, (negative) Sarcastic, impatient, untrusting, can have a temper when someone pushes him too far, distant, prioritizes work over everything else.

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: November 23rd

Date of Death: N/A

Crime Record: Most would assume someone has to have a clean slate to enter law enforcement, but that would leave slim pickings in a city like Agdoeg. Briar doesn’t have any outstanding criminal record, but he did have a couple of dings on his juvenile one that were expunged once he became a legal adult and, therefore, they can no longer be found in most databases.

Background/Biography

(tw miscarriage, tw immaculate conception by some strange god XD, tw domestic disputes, tw divorce) 

 Briar’s parents had been struggling to conceive a child for many years, since their prompt marriage right out of secondary school. These sweet hearts had longed to have a cookie cutter life and family, but fate seemed to inhibit that every step of the way. His mother have seven miscarriages due to the condition of an incompetent cervix and was told many times that she may never be able to carry a child to full term. This had been devastating news to the couple, who had no means of affording everything that went into surrogacy and were now facing the reality that they may never be able to have their own children. In spite of these odds, though, they kept trying and praying that whatever Gods that were out there might grant them a miracle.

Their prayers never seemed to be answered, though, and this put an understandable strain on their marriage. It was when his mother was thirty three and beginning to lose hope that she was plagued by a strange dream. She was floating in a vast emptiness, unable to move or even scream. This might have terrified someone else, but she somehow felt safe blanketed in the darkness. It was as if the entire universe lay bare before her, starlight dancing between her outstretched fingertips. Except she didn’t have fingers. She didn’t even have a physical body. There was a sense that she had become a part of something greater or perhaps been broken down into a form akin to what they had all been before the universe collided together in some cosmic firework show to create all that they knew. After what seemed like an eternity if time even passed in that world, the stars began to slowly take shape before her, pulled together by gravity or some other force she would never quite understand. As they converged, the light became so bright that it was nearly blinding, but she was space dust so how could she look away? She remembers trying to rationalize it with that absurd thought as the light shifted around her and the sound of harps and a heavenly chorus interrupted the sacred stillness that she’d been immersed in until then. Heralding the coming of something… or someone. The light came together at the peak of the crescendo, shapeless but she somehow got the sense of a shapely figure wrapped in a gown the longer she stared into it. This motherly figure bent over her and she recalled the warmth as its tendrils of light stroked over her cheek before urging her mouth open. In that moment, she didn’t feel any sense of unease as the being urged her to partake of its light. It traveled past her lips and through every corner of her being, rushing into her fingertips and even the ends of her hair. It was the first time since being in that plane that she had any sense of where she ended and the rest of the world began. The last thing she remembered was that light condensing, forming into its own little star in the lower part of her abdomen and radiating such soothing warmth…

Then she woke up and that was the first time she really had any sense of unease about the strange dream. As someone who had experienced how odd dreams could get during pregnancy, though, she took it as a good sign. Sure enough, when she took a test three weeks later, she was pregnant! Unlike prior, when she’d lost her children around the three month mark, this child was growing strong and without the complications she always worried about. Everything seemed to finally be falling into place. Their marriage and hope in the future was revitalized! And after nine months of perhaps the most physical and emotional pain she had ever been in in her entire life, she was welcoming a beautiful, healthy baby boy into the world and never once thought about the unsettling dream at the start of it all.

Admittedly, Briar was certainly a unique baby. His ears had always been a little odd since birth - bigger than usual - but his parents figured he would just grow into them and found it one of his most endearing traits. However, when he was three years old, that’s when his antlers started coming in. His mother found them one night when she was reading him a bedtime story and running her fingers through his unruly mop of wavy hair. Understandably, she freaked out and brought him to the doctor the next day, who took a biopsy and found the strange growths to primarily be made of calcium. It was unusual, but they decided to simply keep an eye on it since it seemed harmless enough. They only became more noticeable as the years went by, poking through his hair, and Briar recalls the Chinese Buddhists of his neighborhood always telling his mother it was a sign of good fortune. At the time, Briar had always thought it was annoying how they’d always want to lay their hands on him, but he realized as he’d gotten older that they believed the cow was Guanyin’s reincarnated father and the stubby little nubs atop his head made them think he was blessed. But horns and antlers are two different things - one being keratinous and, the other, bone - but he supposed it was easy to confuse them at first glance. Going into adolescence, those things grew like crazy. As if puberty and having velvety twigs growing on your head wasn’t stressful enough, that was when Briar first noticed his parents beginning to drift apart. One night, when coming home late from a friend’s house, he overheard a heated argument between them in the kitchen and his father’s accusations would forever be etched into his mind... “You thought you could trick me forever? I don’t know who knocked you up, but I can’t pretend that thing is my son!” The words drove through him like a knife. Yet after the initial shock subsided, Briar felt for the first time that all the little confusing pieces he’d chosen to overlook his entire life began to make sense. At first his parents had simply assumed he’d taken on more features of his mother, but his father had begun to grow distant as his otherworldly features and powers emerged. The reality was that two humans couldn’t possibly have made a half-deer-whatever-he-was and the only logical explanation was that he wasn’t his father’s at all. He only wished he’d come to that conclusion sooner instead of deluding himself and becoming foolishly attached to the man… The divorce was relatively swift. The judge didn’t even demand a paternity test when his father rebuked having to pay child support. All he had to do was look across the courtroom and he could tell that the speckled, big eared, horned child standing there wasn’t his. It was a dirty, unjust move that besmirched his mother as a disloyal wife and watching her go through that emotional rollercoaster was perhaps the toughest thing of the whole ordeal. Thirteen year old Briar comforted her through the fits of tears and had a strong upper lip when she insisted that she’d never betrayed his father… What bothered him the most was that he couldn’t believe her, but he also couldn’t be angry or blame her either. He had always been closer with his mother and he promised her in those moments of weakness that he would always take care of her. Of course, a single mother with a bad reputation was not an easy gig when trying to support a family. They were forced to move from their smaller town into the teeming metropolis of Bangkok for her to find work and Briar was honestly quite happy with leaving the past behind him. He thrived in the city with its far more diverse population. No one looked at him like he was a freak when he rode the bus or went to buy groceries. It was the first time he felt like he could truly be himself. He had his fair share of rough patches, just like any hormonal teenager, but having otherworldly powers and no one to teach you how to use them certainly caused a few catastrophic, social life obliterating faux pas. His mother thankfully was able to transfer within her company to the Agdoeg branch. It meant not only relocating in the middle of high school for Briar, but moving to an entirely new country. The level of diversity and integration of the supernatural community within Agdoeg was even better than what he’d experienced before. They were in government, owned small businesses… But not all of them were reputable or honest. Briar quickly learned that there were parts of the city that he shouldn’t venture to if he knew what was good for him. However, in spite of the seedier things going on in the underbelly, he was able to find a youth center which helped him to get a better handle on his powers and met his role model who would eventually lead him into his career as a police officer.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

Briar squeezed his eyes shut tight in an attempt to chase away the spots dancing across his vision from the overbearing fluorescent bulbs that bore down on the table in the center of the interrogation room. It was so intense that he could hear the hum of the electricity going to it and, somehow, he mentally processed that before the weight of the officer’s words. Words he’d uttered himself many times when the roles were flipped. Normally, this was the point a smart suspect would clam up and demand to talk to a lawyer, but clearly this was some kind of joke and he’d just missed the punchline. “Ha. Ha! Very funny.” He gruffed, devoid of amusement as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off the pounding headache settling in like someone was playing the bass drum behind his eyeballs.

The precinct had all been out drinking the night before, celebrating closing a case that had been busting their proverbial balls for the last six months, and there was a point after countless shots of tequila that Briar didn’t even know what was up and what was down, let alone why they were even there anymore. Now, he didn’t doubt that many profoundly stupid things had fallen from his lips and been done, but he hardly would have thought it would be anything illegal. Officers protected their own and someone less inebriated surely would have stopped him before he did anything he’d regret. Trying to wrack his brain, Briar bent to press his forehead to the cool metal of the table with a pitious groan. He remembered waking up in one of the cells to the sound of the door noisily being opened and before he could even get his bearings, two uniformed men were hauling him up and dragging him down the hallway toward the room he sat in now. None of it made a lick of sense.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a joke, Officer Suwannarat. Something very serious happened tonight and we need you to tell us why.”

The brutally stern voice sobered Briar up really quick and he lifted his head up from the table to narrow his eyes on the man that sat across from him, his fawn-like ears flicking in annoyance. He’d worked on the force for many years now and he wasn’t about to be hassled by some nameless rookie who was probably forced in here by his supervising officer, like a lamb being pushed into a cage with a bear. “Listen- no. What is going on?” He demanded with surprising eloquence for someone who’s tongue felt like a dried up sponge in his mouth. Drunk drought be damned. “Am I under arrest? ‘Cause if I am, you better tell me the charges or else I’m walking right out that door and finding your commanding off-”

What was likely going to be a memorable tirade was cut short as the door to the interrogation room swung open and a handful of officers poured into the small space like salmon all fighting to spawn upstream. All Briar could do was stare wide eyed where he was glued to his seat and watch with no small amount of mortification while a cake was set in front of him with messy lettering iced on top that read ‘Congrats on your Promotion! Now you’re their problem.’ Feeling the mixture of rage and bewilderment quickly begin to ebb away, the corners of Briar’s lips twitched into a crooked smile and he shook his head in exasperation. “You’re fucking kidding me. Who’s terrible idea was this?” He demanded with a mirthless laugh as he deflated back into the hard metal chair and glanced around at the familiar faces of the men and women he’d worked with for the past ten years. God, how had he survived their crazy antics and made it this far?

“What do you mean? We had to give you a memorable send-off.” His partner mounted his defense and slunk out from the crowd to give Briar an encouraging clap on the shoulder. “Besides, do you know how hard it was to carry your heavy ass into the cell to pull this off? The least you could do was say thank you. Geez. Too good for us already, Detective?”

Briar should thank him. That much he’d already mentally concluded. But shoving his partner’s smug face into the cake was also a tempting option. Instead, he reached up to gently pat the other’s hand with his gloved one. “Never.” He assured him gently before a chorus of obnoxious coos from the peanut gallery made sure to not only kill the moment but beat it once it was down. Pushing himself up from the chair, Briar swayed unsteadily and shamelessly grappled a couple of his friends for balance on his route to the door. “Ugh. Alright, get me out of this room before I literally end someone and get stuck here forever. That cake better be chocolate, I swear-”