#but for now. it felt weird when dagger (i think?) referred to me saying she so perhaps im a they.

[existencebringsonlypain]

howdy geek how’s the gender going

it's funky and weird and I don't totally understand but I'm not a guy so that's cool

[redwayfarers]

survivor - for the random word generator prompt!

hello! sorry for the wait, real life got the better of me and i didn't write, but i was reading gide and this came to me like an angel, so i had to write it! if it reads like les faux monnayeurs, i'm so sorry lmao, this is why they tell you not to write immediately after reading (affectionate)

a flickering light, or a tale of two survivors

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Cassander/Stephanivien (implied), Nika/Minfilia Characters: Cassander Inteus (aka a Cass AU), Nika Perseis (WoL), Stephanivien de Haillenarte Rating: Gen Words: 1759 Spoilers: ARR patches, if you squint. dividers by @saradika

Set during early Heavensward.

The Skysteel Manufactory gets stupidly creepy at night. It’s not lit by torches or something, like some parts of the city - Stephanivien saw to that, he’s too avant-garde for torches, how dare the world not use every technological advancement ever! - and there’s a few of the lamps that go on and off, like a broken clock. Stephanivien is too busy to see that of all things, and we’re all far too enthralled by the creepiness to tell him. 

Some of us have weird tastes. 

The workshops on higher levels are a mess of metal parts, wires, cogs, magical devices and whatever the fuck machinists need. There’s a beauty in that too, in a way. It feels lived in, like a childhood bedroom you can’t yet leave even though you’re getting married tomorrow. Except that I was an adult when I first saw this room, and that I’d have no idea what a beloved childhood room would look, let alone feel like. My childhood bedroom - or the room where I spent a large part of what people call a childhood, anyways - is pristine, devoid of personality, rich, opulent. It’s a stage more than anything. Only thing remotely lived in in that whole fucking room - no, the whole shitty house - is the bright, orange pillow with Dzemael sigil sewn on it. 

It was embarrassing, packing your childhood pillow, the first time I left to spend the night in the Manufactory. But maybe I am embarrassing, deep down, so I get to keep my little pillow with me and go freeze in the messy, lived in workshops overnight. The more I got used to that, the less embarrassing it felt. 

One day, I might even go take it to Coerthas and drown in a river there. I’m sure my mother would be happier for it. She found the pillow rather tacky anyways. 

“It was very.. Kind of you to let me in,” I told Stephanivien one night, seated beside him to watch him work. His eyeshadow bore the signs of wearing, a little messy at the edges. His forehead gleamed with sweat. The lamp was dying, but he was too engrossed in his work to notice and I was too engrossed in him to tell him. 

“Kind? Cassander, your mother is an absolute bitch. Even if you weren’t as pretty as you are, I would have taken you in regardless. Between us, darling, you’re wasted in that house.” He smiled, widely. “You look much better with a gun in your hand, I will say.” 

“You will,” I laugh, looking at my hands. My cheeks were burning. “I think I like guns. Long ones in particular. Elegant. You may think I’m referring to something else, but no, I am referring to metal objects you use to shoot things with.”

“You’re funny,” Stephanivien shakes his head. “I can make you one, if you’d like. Golden, to match the pillow.” 

“My future gun has a bed now, who would’ve thought.” I reached out and grasped his gloved hand, dirty from the work. Stephanivien smiled, and it seemed brighter than the dying lamp above our heads. 

Maybe I’m also a little fond of that struggling, dying thing. I go up sometimes, when it’s cold, or rainy, or everyone’s simply too busy for me and my jobless ass, sit beneath it and look at the gun Stephanivien gave me. A nameday gift, engraved with a little dagger. It’s in pristine condition, but I clean it anyway, with all the care you afford a priceless, porcelain vase; the light flickers, on and off, but I don’t need it to see the little dagger engraving, the nooks and the crannies and the long barrel that feels like something my mother would hate. 

That, too, brings me joy. Theokleia de Dzemael hates machinists, on principle. The fact that I not only own a gun, but can shoot with it, is a kind of pleasure I wouldn’t have thought myself capable of some 5 years ago. 

This particular evening, I climb up the stairs to the workshop, coffee in hand, ready to clean it from the last practice from earlier. A curl that the goggles aren’t holding up tickles my temple, but I’ll be damned if I let my coffee spill just because of one stray piece of hair that refuses to sit still. I kick the door open. 

“I like your gun,” someone says before I can fully register them. A pair of mismatched eyes moves from the weapon to me and my coffee. “Did you also drink the last of the coffee?” 

“I’m not a coffee maniac,” I grumble, frowning. “I can’t drink all of it. What kind of question is that, for fuck’s everloving sake?” 

Nika looks at me with an equal furrow. However, that’s his MO, and mine is decidedly not. I have been known to grin maniacally once or twice. “One that needs answering.” 

The light flickers above our heads. It casts a sudden light onto his face, and shines a weak light onto the hazel eye and the scar on his nose and cheek. Ouch. His lips are pulled in a tight line, his short, black hair in disarray, a stark contrast to the finery of the clothes he’s wearing - courtesy of his hosts here in Ishgard. 

For a Warrior of Light, he is very gloomy and dark. An asshole, too. You’d think the Warrior of Light, of all people, would be a hero, but no, we’re stuck with a perpetually frowning asshole. What a joy. 

“What do you want? Move, I need that desk.” I place the overfilled cup down as roughly as I can. “There’s no fucking coffee here except the one on the table, and that’s mine.”

“I paid you a compliment,” he says, unmoving. “You could at least say thank you. You nobles should have manners.” 

“Je suis plein de gratitude. I know you paid me a compliment, but the question later made no sense so that had to be addressed first.” 

Nika looks at the gun again. He taps his fingers against the wood in a rhythm, three taps forward, one tap backward, three strong, one a glide, then in reverse. He then looks at his feet and takes a deep breath. “Minfilia is better at this sort of thing. She knows how to talk to you higher classes.” 

“Minfilia?” Who the fuck is this Minfilia woman? I readjust my goggles, and push the tickling curl away from my skin. Is she his lover, his sister? His friend? I can’t imagine him caring about anyone, including himself. From what little he’s been here in the Manufactory, a stray taken in by Stephanivien’s brightness much like me, all he did is make nonsense sentences and antagonize everyone. 

“Someone very dear to me. But she isn’t here, and neither is Alphinaud, so you’re stuck with me.” 

Alphinaud? Oh yeah, one of the other wards. The elezen kid. Whoever did his braid deserves to be fired because it’s needlessly messy and terrible. “Which would be fine, if you stopped speaking in riddles. Now can I sit, Warrior of Light, or will you clean my likeable gun for me? I’m not making you coffee.”

“In riddles? I’m not–” Nika frowns yet again. “Have your gun, whats-your-face.” 

“Cassander. Cassander de Dzemael.” 

“Cassander,” he says, like he’s testing the name. I look down at him. 

The light flickers. Something crosses his face, and his eyes look painfully vulnerable for a moment, and he’s tapping his fingers in the same rhythm again. 

“Why are you here, Nika?” I ask. I don’t know why my voice becomes so gentle. Maybe because I’m towering over him, and if I kept the hard edge, it would scare him off, not that I care about that. Maybe if I spoke gentler, he’d buck less under every question. Maybe he’d even start making sense. 

Or maybe the images of my mother’s hard voice echo in my head, like a hammer to the anvil. Now it is my turn to grip the table until my nail beds go a little pale. Her shouts and her yells, her derisive comments, her hard eyes and her pointed anger, and her looming, Halone’s ass, the looming! Do I sound like that? Do I sound as rough as she does? 

Nika’s quiet for a while. He keeps looking at his hands, rough and harsh. “That’s none of your business,” he rasps, but moves so that I could sit. “If someone needs me, they don’t know where to look.” 

I sit and take a long sip of my coffee. “Just mind the pillow, then. And try not to interrupt. This is something of a sacred ritual, you see. Halone-ordained. When you go to church, they tell you you must clean your gun or else she will smite you, or something.” 

He huffs. 

“Or so I hear,” I add with a shrug. “I’m not frequently in church.” 

The light flickers. 

“Minfilia would also laugh at that,” Nika says. I still have no idea who this Minfilia is, but she’s welcome to laugh at my jokes, wherever she is. “Will they fix the fucking thing?”

I take a sip of coffee. “Don’t think so. It’s rather cute. On and off. We all like weird things, I think, and my particular weird thing is this broken little lamp. Besides, I’m sure Stephanivien will notice at some point or another. When it dies, probably.”

“He’s the one making these guns, I’d rather he didn’t make me a faulty one,” Nika shrugs. “But if he sees, it’s whatever. It’s just annoying. You asked me earlier why I’m here. I was drawn to the gun. I think it has a nice shot.” He pauses. “I’m sure that the Fortemps family can pay for one of these.”

“Pretty sure they can, yeah. This one’s mine, though.” 

“I’m not in the habit of stealing people’s weapons.” 

I lift a brow. “Never said you were.” 

Nika shakes his head and heads for the door. The light flickers and he looks up. “Someone should really fix the damn thing,” he says, a little less angry than before. He’s then gone, tucking his waistcoat tighter for warmth, and I watch him go before he’s part of the shadows and I can take out my tools. 

We all like weird things. Some of us like long-barreled guns. Some of us like women named Minfilia, and speaking in riddles. And who knows? Maybe this broken little lamp refuses to die because it likes us, too. 

Halone works in weird fucking ways. 

[prrism]

Idk if ur taking requests or not but if u are then I would like to request a c!phil x pregnant reader only if ur comfortable!!!!

Interesting first request let me tell ya. Sooo… it’s not that I’m uncomfortable with the idea, it’s just I’ve never written romance before, idk it’s not my cup of tea… but this was never specified to be romance so I sorta worked around the idea. I hope it’s still to your liking my dear anon! (and if it’s not I’m sorry) I’ll be sure to make a proper rules list for anyone who wants to make a request soon

Cut Out For This

Summary: It’s lucky for you to have a friend like Phil who can help calm you down when you start feeling overwhelmed with way too many thoughts and emotions over your pregnancy

Characters: Philza x Pregnant!Reader, the rest of the sbi are here too because why not

Relationships: platonic, familial (sbi dynamic baby!)

Pronouns: she/her/they

Warnings: panic attacks, mentions of abusive relationship, implied sexual assault (don’t worry it turns nice and fluffy quickly) is there more that I’m missing? idk let me know if there is

It's been 5 months since you discovered you were pregnant, the morning sickness was finally gone which was very reliving for you but there were still other things weighing on your mind. The idea of a child, your child, coming into the world was insane making you wonder what they’d be like, would they like you? Would they look more like you or… the other half… You shudder and shake your head away from such thoughts, it shouldn’t matter what they’ll look like anyways, they’ll be yours and you’ll love them no matter what. But what if you mess up? What if they don’t end up liking you and think it’s weird they only have a mother and no father. What if you’re not cut out for this after all? Your head was now rushing with all sorts of what if’s… and other scenarios, overwhelming you. The room felt like it was spinning, the air felt heavier then normal, you couldn’t see straight, it was all starting to feel like more then you were ready for.

"(Y/n)?… Hey, it’s alright. There’s no need to cry." A calm voice followed by a hand gently placing itself on your shoulder pulls you away from your thoughts, you didn’t even realize you were crying until the hand on your shoulder moves to help wipe away some of the tears. You look up confused when you meet the eyes of your longtime friend, Philza.

"Ph-Phil? How long- when did- What are you doing here?" You fumble over your words a bit, trying to figure out what he was doing your house.

"Well we were out by the village and decided to pay a visit to see how you were doing, good thing too." He explains, making you confused all over again.

"We?" You raise an eyebrow and wipe away another stray tear before a voice cuts in.

"Why's auntie (y/n) crying? Is it because they’re getting fat?" Phil nearly chokes on his own spit, while you stare shocked at the 4 year old standing in the door way.

"Tommy watch your words!" Wilbur scolds, while Techno slaps him upside the head.

"Ow! Why you gotta hit so hard!?!" Tommy’s face scrunches up in anger as he tries to glare daggers into his older brothers. The three of them start arguing in the doorway, while you just shake your head rubbing at your temples, all that crying from earlier gave you a slight headache.

"Boys! Do ya mind waiting downstairs for now. Me and (y/n) are trying to have a bit of grownup talk." Phil says in a more stern voice. Once the three of them are out of the room he turns his attention back over to you. "Are you alright?"

"I’m fine, I know Tommy means no harm with his comment." You wave him off.

"You know that wasn’t what I was referring to." Phil sighs with a worried look. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod in understanding, taking a breath before finally saying what’s really on your mind.

"Do you think I’m cut out for this? Being a parent I mean. I… it’s just this was never planned for, but it’s not like I don’t want this either! I still don’t know what to expect, or what to make of everything. What if the kid doesn’t like me or runs off because I wasn’t good enough! What if-… what if they find me again and see the kid! I don’t- I can’t-" You feel like your going to start hyperventilating, only to stop when you’re gently pulled forward, arms and wings wrapping around you in a comforting hug, being mindful not to squish you too hard.

"Hey, it’s going to be alright. Just breath." He says softly as you slowly return the hug, taking a few minutes to calm your breathing and recollect yourself. "Listen, I know you’re going to be a great mother. You wanna know why I know that?" He pauses a second before continuing when you give a small nod. "It’s because you are so much stronger then you give yourself credit for, and you’re not going to be alone in this. I mean look at me, take care of 3 boys on my own, it’s been rough but you’ve been there to help me through it, that’s why you’re their favourite aunt."

"Pretty sure I’m their only aunt." You say, cracking a small smile as you pull away from the hug. Phil chuckles a little at this.

"Still, the boys love you, so I’m sure your own child is going to love you too." You let out a small hum, your smile getting bigger for a second before dropping again.

"What about-"

"Don’t you dare think about them. They’re not worth the time." Phil quickly cuts you off. "But if it ever did come to that, well… they’d have to get through me and the boys first."

"Thanks Phil. Really helps put me at ease." You sigh with relief, your smile returning.

"Of course. And if you ever need any tips for child care, I’m more then willing to help."

"You know, you’re right," you say, a mischievous smirk starting to crawl up your features. "I’ll ask for advice then make sure to do the opposite of what you say so I don’t end up raising another gremlin."

"Exactly!" He smiles, then pauses while you hold in a laugh as he processes what you just said. "Wait a minute, what’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means you’ve raised three gremlins. I thought that was obvious." You chuckle, Phil places a hand on his chest with a look of fake offence.

"Excuse me you helped me raise said 'gremlins'." He playfully retorts.

"Only when you visit me or I visit you, other then that they’re completely under your supervision."

"And what’s that supposed to mean?" He shoots you a playful glare while you just continue to smirk cheekily.

"Well, I mean if you ask me it takes a gremlin to raise gremlins sooo…" You joke, purposely trailing off your sentence.

"How dare you." Phil says dramatically, giving you a flick to the head.

"Phil! You’ve just attacked a pregnant woman! How could you!" You reply just as dramatically, placing the back of your hand against your forehead for extra effect. Neither of you can keep up the act as you both end up laughing together.

"At least you’re feeling better now, right?" Phil asks genuinely.

"Yeah, I’m feeling much better." You look over towards the doorway, seeing Wilbur quickly duck out of view making you chuckle. "I know you’re there, it’s alright to come out we’re done with our little grownup talk." You call. A few seconds pass before Wilbur reappears in the doorway, footsteps echo down the hall with Tommy popping in and shortly after Techno makes an appearance too.

"So when’s my new friends going to arrive? Wil told me you’re going to deliver a new friend for me, I wanna meet them as soon as possible!" Tommy beams obliviously. You look over at Wilbur who just shrugs awkwardly.

"It’s not that simple Tommy, but I promise you’ll get to meet them once they arrive." You say, not wanting to get into detail about everything. He huffs but nods anyways.

"Alrighty, I think it’s about time we head back home, don’t want auntie (y/n) feeling too crowded now do we." Phil instructs, getting some noises of complaint from them, saying it was too soon and that they should come back tomorrow to make sure everything is still fine.

"You guys know you’re always welcome to visit whenever." You say as you go to wave them off.

"Or you could always visit us." Phil remarks. You roll your eyes at him.

"Yes I know, but as of right now I am in no condition, or mood for that matter to be trekking through the tundra just to visit for a few hours." You remark back, earning a shrug from your friend.

"Worth a shot." He jokes. With that the four of them wave goodbye to you and you watch as they disappear into the distance. You let out a breath and look down at where your baby bump is, placing a hand on it softly.

"Don’t worry, they might be a little all over the place and crazy but they are some of the best people I know." You say, you knew the baby wouldn’t be able to hear you yet but as if reacting to your emotions you feel it move and can’t help but smile at the thought of what the future will hold for the both of you.

Again I’m really sorry if this turned out badly I don’t normally write this kinda stuff, but I wanted to give it a try

[drakenology]

I Hate Everything About You - Dabi

warnings: ANGST, smut, daddy kink, mentions of rape,violence, AND swearing (cause im a potty mouth)

author’s note: this lil story is inspired by my favorite song I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace. im a lil emo bitch ok? I recommend listening to the song to get a better perspective of how the emotions of the lyrics and the story goes hand in hand. the chorus goes like “I hate everything about you. why do i love you?” and I immediately thought of something angsty and raw to write. hope yall enjoy! this one might be a little long.

summary: You and Dabi have worked together as villians for as long as you can remember but you two don’t get along at all. is this truly hatred or is this repressed feelings coming to surface?

You hated heroism. You viewed it as weak and meaningless. When both of your parents were murdered by an anonymous killer and no one came to their rescue when they could very well have been saved, something dark took over your spirit. You snapped. At the tender age of 17, your parents did not receive justice for the act of violence committed against them. The police told you there “wasn’t enough evidence” and that the killer had most likely killed himself.

There were simply too many holes in the case for it to be solved. Obviously this infuriated you. So much in fact that you planned to blow up the entire police precinct.

And you did.

Now being on the run at only 17 you fell into a life of crime, committing yourself to being a villain who killed police officers off duty earning yourself the villain name “Cop Killer” from the authorities. Not to mention your very dangerous quirk called “Leech”. You were able drain anyone you gazed at of their blood, the gaze having to be completely focused on the person’s eyes. Once concentrated enough it becomes hard for the person to look away from you. To trigger your quirk, you have to say the word “leech” in order to essentially stop the flow of someone’s blood to their heart; their blood being extracted from their veins to yours. The blood only made your quirk stronger as you can now manipulate it and use it in combat. You had enough control to where you could take a little or take it all. The stolen blood was also good for increasing your stamina and speed for a short period, manifesting a weapon with the blood you stole and of course leeching the person of their blood entirely, instantly killing them. The murders you committed granted you the number one spot of Japan’s wanted list. You were also the youngest assasin in Japan at the time so you had to move around a lot. You spent your teenage years living in abandoned buildings and sketchy motels; robbing, stealing and of course murdering for survival.

The day you met the League of Villains was your 23rd birthday. As a treat to yourself, you had cornered one of the dirtiest cops you had ever encountered. He was a known sex trafficker, a thief as well as a disgusting rapist. You had him right where you wanted him; wearing a disguise to hide your true visage in order to avoid being recognized. You had pretended to be a love interest to the cop, sitting in the seedy hotel room he rented to have a little “privacy” with you.

“Oh baby, you don’t know what you do to me. I wanna see that pretty little mouth of yours around my cock. Get on your knees for me.” The police man said, the sleazy bastard unbuckling his belt. You nod, secretly being disgusted by this man. But you had to keep your cool. You got down on your knees and took his hard cock into your hands and pumped, looking him directly in the eyes as you did so.

“Yeah, baby. You’re so hot.” He groaned, keeping his eyes locked on yours almost instinctively as sweat collected on his brow.

“Thanks.. but your time’s up, you sick fuck.” you say, standing up on your feet. You straddle him, watching the cop’s eyes become terrified as he finally realizes who you really are.

“Leech.” You say as you watched your quirk take effect. The reaction was instant as he starts to gasp and grab at his heart, clinging onto his last minutes of life as he died on the hotel bed. You moan as his blood is transferred into yours, creating a dagger out of his blood. You slice his neck, licking whatever was left off of his cold throat. You laugh, searching his dead body to take whatever he had on his person; money, personal possessions and his gun. Just as you’re about to get up and leave you get the feeling that you aren’t alone. You turn and see none other than the villain you had seen all over local news.

Shigaraki. 

He chuckles dryly, admiring your work at killing the cop underneath you.

“Well done, little girl.” He said, peering over your shoulder to get a good look at the mess you made of him. You go to ask how the hell he got into the room until you hear the sound of police sirens blaring outside. 

“We have the entire hotel surrounded. There are Heros on the way to assist us. Surrender now or face the consequences.” You hear the cops say on a megaphone.

“Shit.” You mumble, quickly grabbing your things; planning your escape in your head.

“Listen, I’ve admired your work since your attack on that police station, Cop Killer.” Shigaraki said. “We could use someone like you in the League of Villains. My friend Kurogiri here can get us both out of here in one piece. But only with your consent of course.”

You think for a moment. You’d rather make a smooth escape than risk being arrested. So you agree. 

“We’ll explain everything once we get back to base.” Kurogiri says, morphing himself through the cracks of the door. 

Kurogiri takes both you and Shigaraki and consumed you both into his portals, leading you to the secret hide-out of the League of Villains. You look around, your vision a little hazy from being in the dark portal. You see a few other people standing in the lobby. A guy with a weird mask on with two sides on it eagerly introduced himself as Twice. You see a cute girl that looked a little young to be in a place like this. 

“Toga Himiko. Nice to meet ya. Hey, you’re way prettier in person. The police drawing of you is really unflattering.” She says, waving at you. You smile meekly as you turn away to see this guy standing at the corner of the bar. He had burn scars all over his face and neck, dark hair and the most mysterious eyes you’ve ever seen. You met his gaze when you noticed him staring at you, sizing you up. You found his stare threatening and kind of alluring. You almost couldn’t look away. 

“Don’t stare at me for too long, Cop Killer. I know what those eyes can do.” He said sarcastically, not even caring to introduce himself. He felt familiar, like you’ve known him for a long time. You rolled your eyes and walked over to Shigaraki. 

“Look, if you think just because you got me out of a tight spot that I’m just gonna beg to work for you, you’re wrong. I work alone.” You said, adjusting the top of your outfit. 

“I know. But today that changes. You see, we’ve been watching you, Cop Kill-” He says, interrupted by your loud groan.

“My name is Y/N. Please just call me by my name. My mother didn’t name me Cop Killer.” You demand, folding your arms in protest. 

“But that’s what you are, Y/N. Don’t be ashamed.” Shigaraki says, inching closer to you. “Look, the services of the League of Villains aren’t free. We helped you. Now you help us. You understand don’t you, Y/N?” 

You sigh, wishing you had just leapt out of a nearby window back at the hotel instead of taking help from this creep. 

“Fine.” You say, looking down at your shoes. 

“Wonderful.” Shigaraki says, walking away from you. “Oh and one more thing. I hate back talkers.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few months pass and you’re well acquainted with all the villains of the organization. You were all usually partnered up for missions; you always alternating between Toga and Dabi, who had finally told you his “name”. You grew to be pestered by Dabi. You’d much rather be paired up with Toga than Dabi any day since you and Dabi just could not get along, you both arguing like an old married couple at every mission. You couldn’t stand him. His cockiness, his elitist attitude, his aloofness. He hated you because of your attitude, you thinking you knew better than everyone else. He thought you were a spoiled brat who hasn’t done anything remarkable to even earn a spot in the League. To you, he was everything you despised about some men. 

One night you were all playing a friendly game of Blackjack; which seemed to be a ritual between the members. Shigaraki didn’t bother playing but Kurogiri always seemed to watch. 

“Ugh.. Fold. What do I have to do to get a decent fucking hand, huh?” Twice said, his two voices seeming to contrast in differing personality. You laugh, slamming down a perfect hand worth 21. 

“I stand, bitches.” You say, winning yet another round. 

“I’m bored.” Dabi says, standing up and leaving the table. 

“Oh don’t be like that, Dabi. Come back!” Toga says, throwing her cards down. She sighs and stands up from the table. “Well, I guess that’s it. I’m goin to bed. Nighty night, Y/N. Twice.” Everyone went their separate ways. You walk into your room and change into something more comfortable and walk outside to get some air. To your dismay, Dabi was already standing outside in the same spot you liked to chill and think. 

“Yo.” He says, referring to you. You roll your eyes and walk over to him. 

“What?” You say, annoyed to the point where you just want to turn around and go back inside. 

“Aw, what’s wrong, Cop Killer? Don’t like me?” He asks, inching closer to you to whisper in your ear. You stand still for a moment and lunge at him, grabbing his throat and pushing him against the wall. 

“Stop fucking testing me.” You say sternly, looking him deeply in the eyes with the intention to kill. 

“Careful, little girl. You might just turn me on.” He says, grabbing your arm and pushing you back. You freeze, stunned at the sudden harsh movement from the tall man in front of you. ”You’re 5′4′’, sweetheart. If I wanted to, I could end you without even using my quirk. You ‘oughta be nicer to me.” 

You get angrier by the second, yelling and screaming about how much you hate him all while trying to take jabs at him, throwing punches at his face. Dabi dodges every swing, smirking at your abilities. He was impressed, but he’d never tell you that. 

“Huh. Keep it up and you might actually hit me.” He teased, swinging back at you, landing right on your jaw. You stumble and collect yourself, charging towards him once more. You were certain you’d hit him, the blood from someone you’ve killed earlier that day increasing your speed. 

“Fuck you.” You hiss, taking another swing at him and connect, landing right on his cheek. He smirks, wiping blood from his mouth. You get cocky and go for another punch only for him to dodge you. He grabbed your arm and twisted it, pinning you against the brick wall in front of him with your back facing him. 

“When?” He asked in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You hated that he could so easily overpower you, making you despise him even more. He releases you from his grip and stands close to you; you feeling the warmth of his skin radiating from his body. 

“Listen. You hate me and quite frankly I can’t stand you either. But you don’t see me attacking you. Try it again and I won’t be so nice next time, little girl.” Dabi said, grabbing your face to daringly look into your poisonous eyes to mock your quirk. You focus, ready to end this asshole. Suddenly his lips crash into yours. At first, you’re disgusted and fucking pissed. But then you feel yourself start involuntarily melting into his kiss. So you kiss him back with no shame, all bitter feelings leaving your mind as the kiss gets more intense. You feel his hands groping and caressing your body, his hands exploring to stop at your neck; wrapping it around. You gasp, feeling yourself get hot. 

“The first time I saw you, I thought you were the hottest girl I’ve ever seen. And then you spoke. And I couldn’t stand you. But I couldn’t shake this feeling of wanting to bend you over and punish you for your slick mouth. You need a good hard dicking to keep your mouth shut and I’m the one to give it to you. That’s what you want too, isn’t it?” He asked, starting to kiss your neck harshly. You moan, embarrassed at his words. He was right. You found him attractive as soon as you saw him but his attitude rubbed you the wrong way. But right here and now, you realize that you might have been hiding your true feelings behind a façade of hatred. You wanted him too and you couldn’t stand it. 

“I’m talking to you, Y/N.” He persists, biting into your neck. You mewl, shocked at how good he was making you feel. You almost couldn’t believe you were in this situation. It was confusing but formalities could come later. You wanted him now. 

“Yes, Dabi. I wanted you to fuck me the first time I saw you.” You say quietly, feeling him reach under your shirt and bra to grab at your naked breast. You bit your lip, feeling slick pool between your legs as you fall victim to his touch. 

“Get inside and go in my room. I expect you to have nothing on when I get there. Understood?” He demands, pinching your nipple lightly. You gasp, nodding at his request. 

“Words. You’ve already made me angry with that stunt you pulled punching me in the face. I wouldn’t try me further.” He said, grabbing your hair and pulling it to expose more of your neck. You moan, unable to control yourself suddenly. It’s like he knew exactly what to do to turn you on. Fucking asshole.

“Y-Yes, daddy- I-I mean Dabi.” You flush. Damn. You couldn’t believe you let that slip. He laughs, kissing your lips once more as he lets you go. 

“Daddy works just fine.” Dabi says smirking, watching you stumble towards the door to go back inside. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You knew you should just go into your own room but, God you wanted to see what he’d do to you for almost punching him. You wondered how rough he’d be, your panties soaking at the thought as you gulp and open his room door. You sat on his bed and took off your clothes, leaving your underwear on to tease him. Suddenly his door opens and it’s him. He looked you up and down, loving what he saw. But to his dismay you had on too many clothes still. 

“I thought I told you to get naked, little girl.” Dabi said, pushing you onto his bed. He stood above you, running his fingers down your stomach and stopping at the waistband of your panties. You shudder at his cold fingers. 

“You never said naked.” You tease, looking back at him. He frowns, shaking his head. 

“Man, you just love pushing my buttons don’t you? You’re gonna regret teasing me so much.” He says, pulling your panties down roughly, holding them up to his face. He smirked at the wet spot he saw on them, throwing them onto the ground. “This is gonna be fun.”

You hiss as he slid one measly finger inside you while rubbing your bundle of nerves with his thumb, the single finger not being enough to satisfy your craving for that certain pleasurable stretch. Somehow though, Dabi was making you feel good with that one finger. You roll your hips for more friction only to have Dabi hold you down with his other hand. 

“Stop squirming so much. It makes you look desperate, doll.” He teased earning a whine from you. As if to be a little forgiving he adds another finger, watching your face twist up in pleasure. You were visually trying to hide your moans, Dabi not liking that at all. 

“Come on now. It’s no fun if you don’t scream for me. Let everyone here know how good I make you feel.” He said, halting his movements. You nod, moaning loudly as he adds a third finger. Any shame or embarrassment is gone as he worked you up to your first orgasm. You grab at his sheets, trying to move for more friction only to once more be overpowered by Dabi. 

“You don’t listen too well do you? I said stop squirming. You’ll have your fill but good girls wait to cum. Understand? I expect you to address me correctly this time.” He says, grabbing your face to make you look at him. Something about knowing you could kill him with your eyes turned him on, because he knew he could keep you from doing so. All he had to do was please you, knowing you won’t be able to focus on anything but screaming his name let alone his eyes. 

“Y-Yes daddy.” You mewl, your eyes rolling back as he pulled out one of your breasts, sucking on your nipple harshly. The sound of your moans was music to Dabi’s ears, the only thing he ever wanted to hear come out of your mouth. He cooed praises into your ear, telling you hot sexy you are and how et your pussy is just for him. He crawls on top of you, pulling his fingers out of you as you whine at the sudden loss. He kissed you, ripping your bra off. He sat up and stared at the gorgeous naked woman underneath him. 

“You’re so hot when you’re not talking shit.” He says, playing with your boobs. He was unsure of where to start. He wanted to please every inch of your lovely curves, his eyes drinking in your hips up to your beautiful breasts. He nearly drooled at the sight of them, your nipples seeming to perk up when he looked at them. You stare back at the man on top of you, his scars almost complimenting his skin as you watched him take off his shirt. You bit your lip as you feel a nice sized bulge grind up against your dripping core. You didn’t even notice that his pants were off, drooling at the sight of his body overpowering yours. He grinded up against you, leaning in close to your ear. 

“Ready to get fucked, sweetheart?” He asked, nibbling on your ear lobe. 

“Yes, god, yes!” You gasp, feeling him take off his boxers. He positioned his dick at your entrance, tapping it against you to tease you. You moan, going to grab his cock and shove it inside you but you think twice, already in trouble with him. Dabi smirks, excited to break you as he shoved himself inside you and started to rut his hips into you. You moan sinfully at the sudden stretch, loving how he filled you. You feel him speed up, not even fully adjusted to his length as you clawed at his back for dear life. 

“You’re takin me so well, doll.” He said, grabbing your neck to lightly choke you. Your eyes roll back as you reveal a sinful ahegao face while he pounds you senseless. You’re moaning his name and telling him how good he feels inside you, cussing and screaming into the air as you feel yourself coming close to cumming.

“C-Can I-?” You ask, unable to finish your sentence as you feel yourself clenching around him. Dabi is relentlessly prodding at your g-spot, causing you to see stars as he notices he’s hitting that special spot. He smirks and angles himself so that he’s repeatedly hitting that spot, watching you cover your mouth as you scream. He snatched your hand away from your mouth and pinned it above your head. 

“Tell me you’re sorry for punching me, kitten.” He demands, harshly pinching your nipples. You shake your head no to tease him. “No? Must need more convincing, huh brat?” He pulls out of you, you letting out a pathetic sob at the loss. He roughly flips you on your stomach and plants a hard smack on your ass. You yelp, your pussy aggravated as it throbs at the feeling of pleasure. He yanks you towards him and shoves himself back inside you, you laying flat on your stomach. You kick and scream under him, feeling him so deep it blinds you. 

“Oh my god, daddy!” You whine, shoving your face into your pillow as he assaults your g-spot. 

“Say it.” He demands, landing another hard smack on your ass this one sure to leave a mark. 

“I-I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry!” You scream, desperate for release. 

“Good girl.” He hisses. Dabi grabs your hair and lifts your head off the pillow wanting to hear the last moans you can give before you cum. 

“Go ‘head and cum for me. You’ve earned it.” He says. And just like that you clench around him hard, your orgasm washing over your body as you cum all over his dick. He rides out your orgasm, only to continue pounding you earning a sharp yelp from you as you throw your head into the pillow again.

“You didn’t think it was over did you? That’s cute.” He said, taking you further. At this point you’re overstimulated, the pleasure almost painful as he worked you to another orgasm. 

“God, I love you!” You scream to his delight as you cum quicker than your mind can keep up. 

“I love you too. Even though you’re fucking annoying.” He hisses, unable to hold himself back anymore. He cums hot inside you, grunting as he slaps your ass one last time before pulling himself out. You moan softly, breathing heavily as he cleaned you up. He kissed up your body, you unable to move from being completely fucked out of your mind. 

“When you socked me, I knew you were a keeper.” He laughed. 

“Shut up.” You say, smiling into your pillow. 

“HEY, YOU TWO DONE IN THERE? YOU COULD HAVE WOKEN UP THE ENITRE CITY WITH ALL THAT RACKET!” Twice shouted through the walls, turning your face red with shame. 

“SHUT UP AND MIND YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!” Dabi yelled back, rubbing soft circles on your ass to soothe his harsh marks on both cheeks. 

bitch i.. i’m sick. 

[dreaminpetals]

Can you do Idv Andrew relationships Hcs, maybe add nsfw if it's not too hard. thank you so much also I love your writing style :))

⏳ Andrew Relationship HCs . . .

SFW ;;

♡ when andrew first arrived at the manor, everyone welcomed him pretty well but nobody ever went out of their way to make him feel welcome

♡ except for you

♡ you'd always make sure he had something to eat, an umbrella for the sun, and would help him walk if he felt dizzy or couldn't see very well

♡ he couldn't understand why a stranger was being so kind to a monster like him

♡ he was so enamoured with you, it was like you had put a spell on him

♡ thank goodness his shaggy hair covers so much of his face because every time your hands touched when you handed him a snack he'd blush furiously

♡ when you shared an umbrella with him, he was squirming so hard from how happy you made him and how new this feeling was.. you noticed he was walking weird and thought it was due to his condition, not that he was trying to stop himself from bouncing like a puppy every time he walked with you

♡ before the sound of footsteps shook him to his core, now he associates them with you approaching him to tell him about your latest match and he gets 🦋🦋🦋

♡ andrew is a religious man, so he figured you were an angel sent to watch over him

♡ you laughed when he referred to you as an angel but secretly... you didn't mind the name

♡ whatever you were, he felt blessed by your presence and unworthy of your kindness

♡ when he asked why you never degraded him for his condition, you explained that the timeline you were from before reaching the manor is about a hundred years ahead of his so you knew all about albinism, you even had classmates with it

♡ he stared at you in awe and sniffed back tears, thinking about how people like him were able to attend school and make friends

♡ you held his hand when you noticed him battling the urge to cry

♡ he'd never felt such warmth before

♡ andrew was the kindest, most gentle man you've ever met and it felt like daggers to your heart when he told you about how he was tormented his whole life

♡ that was when you kissed him and whispered, cupping his cheek and staring lovingly into his eyes, "it's okay andrew, they're all gone now, we all love you here... i love you,"

♡ he nearly fell off the bench the two of you were sitting on

♡ hearing those words, feeling your warm lips on his icy chapped ones;;;; he pinched his wrist under the assumption he was dreaming

♡ "this can't be real, if it is... she has to be deceiving me... nobody could ever..." poor andrew didn't know he was speaking out loud

♡ you hushed him and pulled him close to you, so close he could feel the heat radiating off your body, and planted a kiss on the crown of his head. "andrew... please don't say that. it's okay if you don't feel the same, but... i want to be yours,"

♡ he stiffened up in your arms and nodded profusely

♡ he was tongue tied, especially when it came to the word love. he's never loved or been loved before this

♡ love was a scary word for him but his nodding told you that he felt the same way, he was happy, he was warm, he wanted more kisses, he wanted you, he loved you

♡ the two of you laid there while you rubbed his back and whispered words of endearment into his ear, he was completely relaxed for the first time in his life

♡ luca and victor passed by you two and victor promptly slipped a coin into luca's pocket

♡ "told ya they were gonna get together eventually," luca snickered before whistling at you two, mortifying you in the process

♡ your relationship is the softest thing ever

♡ andrew loves to hear about the future

♡ even if he's completely lost when you describe video games to him, he cherishes being able to hear you speak about what you're passionate about

♡ plenty of nights he falls asleep to you reading aloud to him, andrew loves to snuggle up to you and nod off to a bedtime story told by his love

♡ he's a very attentive lover, always picking up on what you like and what you don't

♡ dating is a brand new concept to him so there's lots of explanations you have to give, it's all worth it though. andrew is like a puppy around you, he's sooo so so happy and in love

♡ he sometimes feels insecure about holding your hand, especially in the winter, due to how cold he is but you told him he made you feel so warm inside that it cancelled out

♡ that's how you make andrew so flustered he has to hide his face in his hands 101

♡ he's ripped from digging graves all day long and can give you piggyback rides

♡ you beg him to run around with you in his arms but he always refuses, he doesn't wanna drop you

♡ doesn't matter, getting picked up by him and hearing both of you laugh in sync while your legs wiggle in the air is the best part anyways

♡ speaking of his laugh

♡ he'll laugh at whatever joke you tell him, whether he understands it or not

♡ he loves you call you angel, sweetheart, honey, dear... especially like, my dear sweet wonderful y/n the light of my life my angel from above - he thinks the more petnames he stacks, the more love he conveys for you. it gets ridiculous at times

♡ you two never fight and can agree on pretty much everything

♡ the second somebody in the manor makes a joke about you two getting married, he seriously considers it and goes searching for rings

♡ he wants to be with you for the rest of his life 🥺

NSFW ;;

♡ if you thought andrew was inexperienced in relationships, just wait till you want to take things to the next level with him

♡ i feel like he'd know what sex is but only because he was told not to do it before marriage and he knows that it makes babies, he has no idea people do it out of love

♡ he's so affection starved that he gets horny when you do the smallest things

♡ he'd never dare to speak on it though

♡ your clothes dip to reveal your chest or ass and he feels something down there, but he doesn't know what to do about it and feels humiliated

♡ he thinks he's being cursed, he's been too lucky and too happy for far too long

♡ the final straw is when he accidentally opens the door while you're getting changed and he catches a glimpse of your naked body

♡ he's reduced to a trembling mess who can't do anything but palm himself through his cassock

♡ that's when you have to explain to him that he's just horny and there's nothing wrong with sex, even if you aren't married

♡ you emphasize that you'd love to do it with him and you've wanted to for a long time

♡ he trusts you but he's so embarrassed he doesn't know where to start

♡ you start off by slowly undressing him and running your hands all over his body, kissing every scar and praising him endlessly

♡ he's shaking and dripping so much precum with every word of endearment, he's waited so long for this to happen

♡ you sit in his lap and stare into his eyes and he cums before you even get to his lower half

♡ he can't sit up straight and clings to you for support, he's never had any sort of sexual action before and this poor guy is way too sensitive

♡ showing his body to you was scary but with the way you tenderly kissed him and drew circles on his skin with nothing but pure adoration, he realized maybe he wasn't so ugly after all

♡ your first time with him lasts hours and he proposes to you seconds after pulling out because he wants to do that with you everyday from now on without feeling guilty

♡ nobody thought he would have such a high sex drive but he's like a rabbit, he always wants to touch you and make you feel good

♡ he can't initiate things but you can tell by the way he squirms and eyes you when you walk in the room that he's about to explode

♡ those years of isolation did something to him

♡ his favourite activity is when you give him handjobs because he's scared of hurting you somehow, paradise for him is sitting in bed together while you pump his cock and kiss him gently

♡ his hands and fingers are HUGE and super calloused so the friction feels like heaven when he gets the guts to touch you

♡ not to mention his dick is like the eiffel tower, he needs to learn how to use it bcos it is biiig

♡ he's so addicted to the noises and faces you make when you cum, you truly are an angel to him

♡ he loves to go slow and savour every moment, but right before he cums his carnal side comes out and he's like an animal

♡ he goes from soft cries to straight up growling

♡ something unexpected he loves is bath sex

♡ the two of you covered in bubbles in a warm bath getting each other off makes him so happy, especially when you're back from a particularly gruesome match

♡ he'll be extra soft if you have any injuries

♡ andrew is willing to try anything that you want, even if he thinks he won't like it, he wants to make his darling happy

♡ he doesn't like when you bury your face in a pillow or try to hide from him, he wants to see your body in all its glory and worship it like you do his

♡ his moans can get so loud that your neighbours victor and luca have to smack the wall to tell you to quiet down in there

♡ which is pretty unfair since they aren't any quieter either :/

[cozy-the-overlord]

Just One Last Word

Summary: As children, she swore she'd become the greatest author in all of Asgard. Loki had his doubts.

Word Count: 4,360

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: Look who's back! I got this idea from a made-up fic title sent to me by an anon a while back and I just loved the concept so much I had to write it. What can I say? I’m a glutton for childhood romance and angst

Thanks for reading! :)

Warnings: Implied/referenced domestic violence/child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

The first time Loki heard about Sága’s extraordinary book was the day Lady Gudrun decided that the spring weather was just too lovely to ignore and took her literature students to give them their lessons in the gardens rather than the stuffy palace classrooms. He couldn’t quite recall what year they were—childhood seemed so long ago that all of his primary classes had melted into one amorphous blur—but they had to have been young because Sága hadn’t yet chopped off both her braids in the middle of arithmetic, claiming that they were too heavy to think properly whilst wearing them. No, her braids still hung at her shoulders, and as Lady Gudrun read aloud to them on the lawn, Sága was busy weaving dandelion flowers into their intricate patterns.

“This is going in my book!” she whispered to Loki with a grin. “In my book, all the girls wear dandelions in their hair.”

Loki frowned. “What book?”

“The one I’m writing,” she said, fiddling with another flower stem. “It’s going to be the best book in all of Asgard.”

He had been going to say that there was no way in all the realms she was capable of writing the best book in all of Asgard, but then Lady Gudrun asked them if there was something they wanted to share with the rest of their classmates, since they seemed to be having such an intriguing conversation by themselves, and Loki had shaken his head, blushing. Sága wasn’t bothered. She kept playing with her dandelions and humming softly to herself, some horrifically out of tune melody Loki was almost positive she was just making up as she went along.

Sága Svanhilddottir was a strange girl. One day she had just plopped her bulging crocheted bookbag onto the desk next to his, and she never really went away. There were plenty of whispers about her—her mother was an Asgardian noble who had run away to Alfheim to marry a man in the Elvish court, only to return nine years later with a child in her arms and no husband to be found. At dinner, Loki would overhear the noblewomen’s hushed speculations on what could possessed her to leave in the first place, and what prompted her return. How had the Elf bewitched her so? A love potion? A spell? Had she gotten with child and fled to preserve her dignity? But then why return? Was he unfaithful? Was she unfaithful?

Sága had her own story. She told Loki very seriously before class one day that her mother had come back to Asgard because her father had been turned into a dragon by a wicked witch and now every time he sneezed he spat out enormous balls of fire into the air, and that her mother was afraid that the next time he caught a cold he’d burn the whole apartment down. She pulled down her dress sleeve to show Loki her burn scar, angry red flesh that stretched from her wrist all the way across her shoulders—a scar, she explained, she had gotten when she had tried to give her dragon father a handkerchief.

Loki didn’t believe her.

“Witches don’t turn people into dragons,” he bristled. “My mother’s a witch, and she would never turn anyone into a dragon.”

“That’s because your mother’s a nice witch,” Sága explained impatiently. “This was a mean old witch, with pointy teeth and spiky hair, who hated everybody.” Ruffling her shorn locks (this was after the ill-fated math lesson), she bared her teeth in demonstration. “She was mad at my father because he forgot to bring her mousetail pudding for her birthday like he promised.”

“He—what?”

But Sága only waved him off dismissively. “You’ll have to read my book,” she said. “I explain it all there.”

Oh, that damn book. It seemed like it was the only thing she ever talked about, this stupid, imaginary book. Because it had to be imaginary. Loki had never even seen the girl hold a pen, let alone write a sentence. No, she was too busy prattling on about her wonderous book, this book that would one day become the pinnacle of Asgardian literature.

“Someday, they’ll be making students read my book instead of this nonsense,” she’d whisper to Loki as their teacher read to them in the front of the classroom. “It’ll be much more interesting.”

Or when he ran into her in the library, and she’d drag him to the shelf where they kept all the classics.

“This is where they’ll keep my book!” she’d grin, having the audacity to pat the dusty wood where the great authors of millennia long past rested.

And then there was that one time during one of the feasts, when he turned around to find her staring at him intently from across the ballroom, a studious expression on her face. He shot what he hoped was an intimidating glare at her, but she only skipped across the room to join him.

“What are you doing?” he asked sourly.

“Looking at you,” she said, grinning as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I need to remember how you look like, so I can put you in my book.”

Loki scowled. “I don’t want to be in your book.”

“Well, I want you in it,” Sága retorted. “And, since I’m the author, that’s all that matters.” She grabbed his hand and began pulling him towards the dessert table. “Come on, Prince Loki. Let’s get some cake!”

Thor said that he must be harboring a crush on her, to seemingly hate her so and yet be constantly spending time with her. Loki nearly threw a fit when he accused him of such at the dinner table. He didn’t like Sága. She was strange and irritating and talked far too much and he wanted her to go away. He spent time with her because she followed him around, not because he wanted to! She was annoying. And weird. And …

And yet.

One day she wasn’t in class. Loki thought he’d be relieved—finally, a lesson where he could listen to the teacher without having to filter out her constant chatter. But … it didn’t feel right. It was too quiet—he hated the empty stretches of silence that hung over the classroom every time Lady Gudrun stopped talking. For some reason, it seemed even more difficult to focus without the familiar presence of his deskmate hunched over the table and picking splinters out of the wood with her fingernail.

The library was more of the same. Loki perused the shelves, gaze lingering on the spot Sága had claimed for her own. She was the only person he really talked to, he realized. Without her, the day felt hollow.

She was gone for the rest of the week. Her mother was gone too, and rumors began to fly that she had decided to take her daughter back to Alfheim to rejoin her mysterious husband. Loki couldn’t help but remember her story about her father the dragon.

Just when he was starting to fear she had left for good, one morning a ratty old crotched bag smacked the desk next to his before class started.

He scowled to mask his sigh of relief. “Where have you been?”

But Sága wouldn’t say. She only grinned at him from under her crown of dandelions. “I was working on my book. Why?” she asked. “Did you miss me, Prince Loki?”

Loki flushed bright red.

It was strange to think about now, with everything that had happened. At the time, Loki thought he would have fallen on his sword before he ever referred to Sága as a friend. And yet, she was not only a friend, but the closest one he had. She continued finding ways to spend time with him even after they graduated Lady Gudrun’s class—she’d track him down and ask him for help with her arithmetic, or to wish him luck on an upcoming test, or to tell him about a book she thought he’d like. Thor and his companions drove Loki up the wall with their merciless teasing, but their words couldn’t quell the odd sort of fluttering in his stomach every time she came running up to him clutching some new story against her chest.

“Is it your book?” he’d ask jokingly, even as he took the novel from her hands.

“No,” she laughed. “I’m still working on that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you now?”

Sága patted his shoulder, still grinning. “Don’t worry,” she said. “When I’m done, you’ll be the first to read it.”

She was pretty. Loki wasn’t quite certain when that happened. Sága didn’t really change all that much, even as everyone else grew and morphed into something resembling maturity. She continued cutting her own hair, keeping it messy and uneven and even shorter than his. She’d weave dandelion stalks into the shorn clumps and walk around in gauzy yellow dresses with cuffed sleeves that went past her fingers, looking like one of her fairy-story creatures come to life. It was generally accepted that she looked ridiculous, and Loki didn’t disagree. He just felt that she made ridiculous look good.

He noticed it when she came down to the sparring pit to watch him practice with his daggers. There she was, perched on the railing, beaming like the sun as she waved at him. She was pretty. Very pretty.

Loki turned around without waving back. There was a heat rising in his cheeks that he wasn’t quite sure how to address. He missed the target completely on his next throw.

He wasn’t the only person who noticed. The other boys his age were beginning to be quite drawn to Sága Svanhilddottir as well, although Loki suspected it was less due to actual interest and more because of her proclivity for disregarding traditional decorum. She loved to dance. It seemed every ball she was spinning across the floor in the arms of some new beau, giggling so loudly that her voice echoed down the hall. Loki hated the way they’d hold her, gripping her tightly to their bodies as if she belonged to them, but Sága didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it. She’d laugh and whoop and make a show of it as they twirled through the song.

It might have made her popular with the young men, but older members of the court weren’t as amused. After all, such displays weren’t exactly becoming of an unmarried woman. But Sága didn’t mind that they whispered things like “promiscuous” and “loose” as she walked by. Unlike her fellow ladies, Sága wasn’t particularly interested in catching a husband. In fact, she once told Loki in no uncertain terms that she had no intentions of ever giving her hand in marriage.

“Marriage is horrible,” she said. Loki could barely hear her over the ruckus—it was Thor’s Nameday Feast, and such a raucous celebration was hardly ideal for intimate conversation. He thought Sága might have been enjoying the festivities a bit too much as well—she was swaying on her feet as she leaned in to speak. “You’re tied down forever to some person, and you don’t even know what they’re going to be like! Sure, they might seem nice, but who knows!” She hiccupped, and Loki found himself reaching out to steady her without realizing he was doing it, accidentally grabbing the shoulder he knew to be scarred under her sleeve.

Sága brushed him off. There was a bitterness in her eyes that made his chest ache. “I don’t want to get married,” she said. “I just want to have fun.”

He walked her back to her rooms that night. He had started doing that recently—partially because with the way she was staggering he didn’t trust her to be able to make it herself, and partially because the voracious looks some of her dance partners had been giving her were making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up.

Sága grinned at him when they made it back to her door. The dandelions in her hair were beginning to wilt. One was nearly falling off her head, held there only by a tangled strand.

“Are you going to kiss me, Prince Loki?” she asked.

Loki started. All at once, the fluttering was back. “What?”

“You’re my prince, aren’t you?” She was swaying quite a bit, but she didn’t look away. Her breath stank of wine. “Aren’t you supposed to kiss the lady goodnight?” She leaned forward as if meaning to demonstrate, but ended up falling right into his chest, giggling all the way. Loki caught her, hoping she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

My prince.

“I—I don’t think it would be very princely of me to kiss you right now,” he whispered.

“Maybe not,” she yawned against his armor. “But I’d like it anyways.”

Loki inhaled. I’d like it too. But she was drunk, practically incoherent—she didn’t mean any of the words coming out of her mouth right now, and he knew it.

And so, he helped her back up and through the doorway. “Not tonight.”

Sága perked up. “Tomorrow?”

She looked so childishly excited that Loki couldn’t hold back his chuckle. “Sure. Tomorrow.” Maybe he had had too much wine as well, because the thought of such a silly promise exhilarated him far more than it should have. “You come find me and I’ll kiss you.”

They never spoke about that night again. Sága didn’t seem to remember it—when he ran into her the next day she was nursing a headache and a new idea for her book and wanted to ask him a question about the mechanics of water seidr. Loki didn’t mention it either. The whole thing felt much sillier doused in daylight. What, did he think she was just going to knock on his door and cash in a kiss like a raffle ticket? No, it was better that the whole thing just fade into obscurity. Loki told himself he was relieved that Sága didn’t remember his promise.

It didn’t stop his thoughts from racing every time he saw her.

What would it be like to kiss her, he wondered? Would she let him pull her close? Would she wrap her arms around his neck and run her fingers through his hair? How would it feel to press his lips to hers, to close his eyes and just drink her in as if she were the only thing that existed?

He wished he could find out.

Loki remembered the last time he saw her. Her father had passed away, and she and her mother were returning to Alfheim for his funeral and to clear up several issues regarding his estate. They weren’t sure how long they’d be gone, but Sága predicted that the legal affairs would take years to resolve.

“Is it bad that I don’t want to go?” she asked in a whisper the night before she was set to leave. Loki looked at her, huddled against the balcony railing besides him. Inside, the feast raged on, but in the moonlight the world seemed almost tranquil.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” he said slowly. “Funerals aren’t exactly joyful occasions. I doubt anyone ever wants to go to them.”

She was silent for a moment, staring across the gardens spread beneath them. “I was happy when they told me he was dead,” she said finally, voice hoarse. “That’s bad, isn’t it? You’re not supposed to be happy because your father’s dead.”

Loki wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t know much about Sága’s father—she almost never spoke of him, and Loki never asked—but he never could quite forget the stories she would tell when they were children, about witches and dragons and violent, fiery breath.

He inhaled. “I don’t think that’s bad either.” A part of him wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand, but he wasn’t sure if that was right. “If he was a good father, you’d feel differently. But he wasn’t, and you don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

Sága only nodded.

The next morning was less somber. When Sága came to say goodbye, she seemed her normal, airy self, bouncing and bubbling over every small detail.

“Hopefully, by the time I’m back, I’ll have my book done!” she beamed. “And I’ll bring it back for you to read!”

“Well, in that case, I’ll be counting the seconds,” he drawled. Sága laughed, and he found himself gazing into her eyes. They were lovely, those eyes—warm, like liquid amber, brown and sparkling with mirth. He had never really stopped to think about it before, but she had to have the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

Perhaps he was staring too intently, because Sága had stopped laughing. Loki felt his cheeks flush. He was about to apologize when she threw her arms around his shoulders.

He was so thrown off by the embrace that he couldn’t really comprehend what had happened until after she had let go. It was a quick hug, spur of the moment and over as soon as it began. It meant nothing.

Still there was something in the air as Sága pulled away, something he didn’t think either of them had the capability to describe. She patted his shoulder, nodding as if in agreement with something neither of them had said.

“Goodbye, Prince Loki,” she said thickly.

He nodded too. “Goodbye, Sága.”

It was the last time he saw her.

Loki stared at the book on the table. He had told his mother that he didn’t want any more books—he was beginning to feel less like a person and more like a pity case with each shipment she sent in.

Enough with it! Just let me rot in peace.

And she had agreed. The flood of books had ceased.

Except for this one.

He hadn’t heard them come in to drop it off, which was concerning. Loki had always been a light sleeper, and that had increased a hundredfold by the time he had returned to Asgard. He wondered if they were drugging him.

The book itself was crisp and clean—freshly bound. He always used to like those books as a child, so new that the spine let out a satisfying crack as he opened them for the first time. Now, he was almost afraid to touch it.

The mossy green cover was unassuming. No artwork, no patterns, just the title and author in simple gold lettering.

Dandelion

Sága Svanhilddottir

Loki didn’t know how long he stared at it. The dungeons made it hard to keep track of time in general, but in that moment it felt as if everything around him ceased to exist. He couldn’t tear his eyes from it.

Damn. She actually did it.

Sága … when was the last time he thought of Sága? She seemed to exist in a different lifetime, a character in a story that had long since been shelved. He remembered her, though—a scrawny little girl on the grass, weaving yellow flowers through her braids.

In my book, all the girls wear dandelions in their hair.

He picked it up. It wasn’t particularly heavy, nor particularly thick—certainly nothing like the texts of old she had once proclaimed herself equal to. It appeared quite average, really. Maybe he wouldn’t read it. The whole thing was birthed out of a childish fancy, and he no longer held any appreciation for fairy-stories.

But who was he kidding?

The story was about a girl named Dandelion (Loki groaned aloud upon reading it, although such puerility was to be expected from an author who went about her days with weeds dangling from her hair) who lived with her mother and her beast of  a father off in some nonexistent realm, far away from Asgard. While her father had not the form of a dragon, he certainly had the temperament. He spent the days raging about their household, ranting and raving at every little inconvenience until he’d worked himself up into a violent frenzy.

Her mother didn’t know what to do. She was alone in a strange land, having forfeited her freedom to irrevocably tie herself to this monster of a man. She had nowhere to go, no family to turn to. And so she grit her teeth and took the beatings and the curses and prayed for a miracle.

Of course, little Dandelion was too young to understand this. She didn’t know why her mother cried herself to sleep at night, nor could she comprehend the foulness of the words that her father spat into the air. She had never known anything else. And so, every night she sat upon her father’s knee as he brushed out and braided her long, silky hair and read aloud to her from his rotted old storybook. Dandelion loved those stories, of monstrous dragons and evil witches who feasted on rats and tarantulas, fair maidens locked away in towers and dashing princes fighting their way through bramble-choked woods to awaken them with a kiss.

She’d dream about those stories as she lay in bed, writing her own in her head to drown out the crashes and cries ricocheting off the walls on the floor below her. In her mind’s eye, Dandelion could see herself as the maiden, nose pressed against the window as she waited for her prince to scale her tower and carry her to safety.

He never came.

But she was not long for this way of life. One night, during dinner, her father in a fit of anger overturned the candle on the tablecloth. The fabric went up in flames. They spread fast across the table and caught on Dandelion’s cuff, setting her sleeve ablaze. She survived—her father was quick to come to his senses and douse the flames—but her arm was badly burned. It was at that moment that her mother had had enough. She took her daughter and ran for it.

After a long struggle to secure the funds they needed, they were able to book passage back to her mother’s home realm. There, they found sanctuary.

She found something else there too. There, sitting in the very back row of the classroom with his head hidden behind a book, was a real, living, breathing prince. Dandelion was entranced—she had always thought princes to be some mythical creature that existed only within the pages of storybook. And yet, here was one right in front of her, like the most normal thing in the world. He didn’t seem very princely. He just seemed like a boy, a quiet boy who preferred reading to conversation. Dandelion would have never known him to be anything else if her mother hadn’t pointed him out to her.

But she was curious, and so when given the opportunity to choose her spot, she sat down next to him. He was a strange prince. He’d argue with her about the stories she told, but that only meant he was listening to her. He’d say he didn’t want to see her when she bumped into him outside of class, but he’d still follow her down the hall when she turned to leave. He didn’t strike her as the dragon-slaying tower-scaling type, but that was okay. Dandelion liked him just the way he was.

The story went on. Dandelion grew up to the whooshing of letters slipped under the door—her dragon father, asking her mother to come back, to come home, promising that he was different and everything would be all right. There were times when her mother seemed almost swayed by his sweet words—she’d sigh and say that it would be nice to see their family safe and back together again and stare off into the distance as if remembering something other than the screaming or the fighting or the burning, as if she had forgotten the way Dandelion would wake screaming in the night convinced she could smell her flesh burning. It sent cold shivers down Dandelion’s spine. She began tossing the letters into the fire before her mother had the chance to read them.

She’d turn to her prince for comfort. He didn’t know about the letters, but somehow, he made her feel better all the same. He was light and safe and everything she needed—she always seemed to be laughing when she was with him. And when he laughed—something about that laugh made Dandelion’s chest feel awash with a lovely sort of warmth.

She was in love with him.

But Dandelion didn’t say anything about that. She knew he only saw her as a friend—a silly, trivial friend who he could tease and laugh with without having to concern himself with the solemnity of his station. If he knew how she felt … she could lose him entirely. Dandelion couldn’t face such a prospect.

Instead, she danced with everyone but her prince, drowned herself in wine and spent her nights in the arms of any faceless man who wanted her, all in some vain attempt to sway her feelings in another direction. It only made things worse.

But life went on. Another letter came in from the realm of her birth, written in a different hand than usual. Her father had passed in his sleep, it explained. At long last, the dragon had been defeated. Dandelion was to return home immediately. And so, she bid her prince a friendly farewell.

The fallout of her father’s death was horrifically complicated. She was his legal heir, but she had also spent a majority of her life estranged from him and she found his representatives unwilling to hand over control of his estate to her. It was years before she could come back. And when she did—

Loki couldn’t bring himself to finish it. He knew very well what “Dandelion” found when she returned to Asgard—or more aptly, what she didn’t find.

You’re my prince, aren’t you?

He wished he had kissed her.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Hello! You’re such a talented writer! Can I please request Tom x reader where they are bestfriend and the reader visit Tom when he’s filming. All of his co stars were teasing him because they’re acting like a couple even though they claimed to be just friends. Thank you!

If We Were A Movie

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

Requests are CLOSED

You get it a lot.

“Your boyfriend left his wallet.” A lady ran up to you in a coffee shop and handed you Toms wallet.

“Oh, thank you.” You gave her a tight lipped smile and accepted the wallet. You turned around and jogged to catch up to Tom with an annoyed look at your face.

“What’s wrong?” Tom laughed when he saw your face. “How did you get annoyed so quickly? We just left the shop.”

“Nine!” You held up nine fingers with Toms wallet still in your hand. “Nine times!”

“You got called my girlfriend again?” Tom asked, knowing exactly what you were referring too. 

“No. This time you were called my boyfriend, which makes nine times this week.” You said with exasperation. Tom shrugged and looked ahead.

“Hey, it was twelve last week.” He offered as he opened the passenger door for you.

“Tom, it’s only Tuesday.” You sighed as you handed his his wallet and climbed into the car.

“I know, darling. I’m sorry. I know how insulting it is to be mistaken for my girlfriend.” Tom said sarcastically, and a little hurt.

“I just wish people believed that we’re only best friends.” You sighed and squeezed his hand. He accepted your apology and kissed the back of your hand before starting the car.

That’s how most of your conversations went.

“Ready to order?” The waiter asked Tom with his notepad ready.

“She’s just in the bathroom.” Tom nodded towards your empty seat. “I’m gonna go with the pasta though.”

“No problem.” The waiter said as he wrote it down. “And for your girlfriend?”

“She’s gonna have the apple salad.” Tom said with a smile as he closed his menu. You didn’t tell him your order, he just knew.

This was an everyday occurrence.

“Would you and your boyfriend like a photo?” A lady with a camera came up to you as walked arm in arm towards the exit of a museum.

“Sure.” Tom laughed at the annoyed expression that crossed your face as he pulled you in to pose for the photo.

Red carpets had a field day with the two of you.

“Tom! Toms girlfriend! Over here!” The camera men barked when he’d drag you along to a movie premier.

“They pronounce my name so funny! I’ve never heard someone say “Y/n” as “Toms girlfriend” before!” You whispered sarcastically into Toms ears, making him laugh as the paparazzi snapped away.

“Well, I think “Toms girlfriend” looks beautiful tonight.” Tom whispered into your ear among the noise. You looked at Tom fondly and hide your face in his neck, not wanting the paparazzi to see you blushing. You ended up making the picture they got your background, so it all worked out in the end.

His friends took notice as well.

“You totally hung up on me last night to talk to your girlfriend.” Harrison huffed as he walked into Toms room.

“She needed attention. I know because she texted me the words “I need attention” in all caps.” Tom explained, not even bothering to correct him about the nature of your relationship.

“But we were in the middle of a game!” Harrison whined.

“I’m sorry. She’s just more important than 2k.” Tom laughed.

Seriously, you couldn’t get away from it.

“Excuse me?” A girl tapped Tom on the shoulder, making him stop. You stopped walking when you noticed he wasn’t behind you, just out of earshot. You saw him talking a pretty girl and felt a weird feeling in the pit of your tummy.

“Your girlfriends hair is tucked into her sweater.” The girl explained to Tom as she pointed at you. You wondered what they could possibly be talking about.

“I’ll tell her. Thanks.” Tom smiled at the girl and skipped back to you. Even though it bothered you, it made Tom happy how easily you could be mistaken for his girlfriend.

“What did that girl want?” You asked when Tom approached you.

“She told me to tell you about your hair.” Tom explained as he scooped your hair out of your sweater and laid it neatly on your shoulders.

“Oh, thanks.” You said as a different feeling filled your tummy.

Tom didn’t help your case, of course.

“Who’s this?” Jake asked when you visited the Far From Home set for the first time.

“This is the special girl in my life.” Tom introduced you with his hand on your lower back. “This is Y/n.”

You shook Jakes hand, concealing how star struck you were, and smiled.

You couldn’t really blame people for thinking what they did.

“Tom! Your girlfriend is here.” Jacob called when he saw you approaching the set.

“Y/n is here?” Tom looked up from his script and looked for you.

“I thought she wasn’t your girlfriend?” Jacob asked, recalling the dozens of times you’d corrected Jacob when he called you and Tom a couple.

“She’s not.” Tom stammered, forever forgetting you two weren’t actually together. “I just knew you meant her.”

Seriously, everyone thought you were a thing.

“Hey man. I just met your girlfriend.“ Zendaya smiled as she took her seat next to Tom on the classroom set.

“Oh you met Y/n?” Tom replied with a grin. He always loved when his friends met his best friend. He didn’t even bother to correct Zendaya and tell her you weren’t his girlfriend. The boy could dream, couldn’t he?

“Only for a little while. I saw her by the snack table just now. We just said hi and had a bit compliment battle. She’s so pretty, I couldn’t believe it. What’s she doing with guy like you?” Zendaya teased as the camera men prepared to begin filming.

“Aw, thanks Zen-DIE-a.” Tom faked a smile as he purposefully mispronounced her name. “Did she happen to say she was my girlfriend?” He wondered why Zendaya thought they were dating if she’d never seen them together.

“No.” Zendaya realized and shook her head. “I just assumed because she was wearing a hoodie with your last name on it.”

“Oh, okay. Just wondering.” Tom smiled and got ready to deliver his lines, an extra burst of confidence coursing through him to know you were wearing his hoodie.

His costars made a point to tease him over it.

“Are you wearing a helmet?” Jake laughed as Tom approached the set. They were rehearsing a stunt scene and Tom had shown up in some questionable attire.

“Dude, stop. I promised Y/n I’d wear it.” Tom grumbled as someone began to harness Tom in.

“I get it. Your girlfriend wants you to be safe.” Jake nodded in agreement but made a face to Jacob behind Toms back.

“She just gets worried.” Tom said as he buckled his helmet, wondering why Jacob was suddenly doubled over with laughter.

Meanwhile, you waited patiently behind the cameras for Tom to finish filming. You were in a constant state of anxiety as Tom jumped from platform to platform to perform his stunts. You were just glad he wore the helmet.

“Alright. Shackles are off.” Tom shook his harness off after the rehearsal and made his way to you. You instinctively threw your arms around his sweaty torso.

“I was so nervous when you were up there.” You said Into his neck. Tom chuckled and held you closer.

“Don’t worry about me, baby. I’m a superhero.” Tom assured you, ignoring the kissy faces Jake was making behind your back.

It’s not like you didn’t give people a reason to think you were together.

“Hold.” A man with a clipboard yelled. “Tom, you need to lose the bracelet.”

“Right, sorry.” Tom called back and went to unclasp the bracelet before realizing the predicament. He grimaced and looked back at the man. “I’m sorry. I actually can’t take it off.”

“Why not?” The man called again, losing patience.

“It’s one of those lock and key bracelets.” Tom explained. “Y/n wears the key around her neck as a necklace. I need her to open it.”

“Isn’t that just adorable?” Jacob gushed from somewhere behind Tom.

“So you’re one of those couples.” Zendaya smirked.

“Is your girlfriend here?” The man with the clipboard asked with a sigh. Tom smiled a little at his words. He never even called you his girlfriend. It was just common knowledge around set now that you were.

“Yes. She’s in my trailer.” Tom called.

“Oooo.” Jacob cooed. “In your trailer?”

“She’s probably still resting. I’m sure they had a long night.” Jake said with a devious grin. Tom turned around and shot daggers at his friends.

“Shut up.” He snapped before turning back to the man. “She’ll be here. Just call her.”

The man let out another sigh before grabbing the radio and speaking into it. “Will Toms girlfriend please come to set?”

You were studying in Toms trailer when you heard the announcement. You perked your head up and furrowed you’re eyebrows. Was that directed at you? You decided to ignore it and go back to studying.

“She has a name.” Tom annouced to the crew, knowing you wouldn’t know that announcement was for you. “Her name is Y/n.”

The man gave Tom a death glare before picking the radio back up. “Will Y/n please come to set?”

You looked up again and set your textbook down. That one was definitely directed at you. You hustled to set and found Tom amongst the crew and cast.

“I was called?” You asked. Tom gave you a sheepish grin and held out his wrist.

“I need to take the bracelet off.” He said, gesturing to the silver band on his wrist with a heart shaped lock. You laughed and stepped closer to him, pulling the key you wore around your neck out from under your shirt. You stuck your key in his lock and twisted it, releasing the clasp on the bracelet. You caught it in your hands and slipped it into your pocket as Tom gave you a grateful smile.

“There you go.” You returned his smile, unaware of the cast and crew gawking at the two of you.

“So how long have you two been together?” Jake interrupted, causing panic to fill Toms eyes. You looked at him curiously before turning to Jake.

“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend.” You told him, and were instantly met with a rush of shocked murmurs from the crowd. You looked at Tom for answers, who looked like he wanted to disappear. He gave you an apologetic smiled and laughed awkwardly.

“Yeah, funny thing.” He said as he scratched the back of his neck and avoiding the piercing gaze from the crowd. “We’re not actually a couple.”

“Aren’t you Y/n?” An extra asked.

“Yes.” You nodded, still lost.

“The one Tom’s always on the phone with?” Jake pressed.

“Yeah.” You said with an awkward smile. Why was everyone so shocked that you weren’t together? Did Tom tell them you were?

“The one he talks about all the time?” Another extra chimed in.

“I guess.” You blushed a little upon learning this information.

“The one who has has visited him on every set since The Impossible?” Jacob asked.

“That’d be me.” You confirmed.

“The one he literally introduced to me as ‘the special girl in his life’?” Jake said in disbelief.

“She is my special girl.” Tom said quietly as he dug his toe into the floor.

“So you are his girlfriend.” Jake said.

“No. Still not.” You shook your head. Everyone looked at you like you had a third eye. You felt awkward and out of place and made an excuse to leave. “I really gotta study, but uh, I’ll see you later Tom?”

“Right. See you later.” Tom cleared his throat and looked at the ceiling. You gave him one more confused look before retreating to his trailer.

“I thought she was your girlfriend.” Zendaya looked at Tom for answers as soon as you were out of earshot. Tom wanted to run away and hide. He gave an awkward chuckle instead.

“I never said she was.” He said weakly.

“But you never corrected us when we said she was.” Jake pointed out. Toms face turned red as his friends stared him down.

“That…is true.” He admitted.

“You let us believe she was your girlfriend this whole time.” Jacob said pointedly.

“That is also true.” Tom said.

“So what are you guys?” Zendaya asked.

“We’re best friends.” Tom said with fake confidence. Even he didn’t know the answer to that.

“So she’s single?” Jake asked with raised eyebrows. “In that case-“

“Ah Ah Ah.” Tom held out an arm to stop Jake. “Absolutely not.”

Jake held up his hands and changed the subject to the stunts they went over the day before. Tom sighed in relief and got through the rest of his work day with a grain of salt. He dreaded seeing you and having to explain himself. He took a deep breath before entering his trailer to face you. You were curled up on his couch in one of his shirts with a textbook on your lap. Tom smiled fondly at the sight.

“Hey Y/n.” He said sheepishly. You glanced up at him and looked surprised.

“Who’s Y/n? My name is Toms girlfriend.” You asked with a fake smile as Tom took a seat next to you.

“I’m sorry about that.” Tom scratched the back of his neck and put a comforting hand on your knee.

“It’s fine. I actually love having to explain to Jake Gyllenhaal that I’m not dating his costar.” You quipped, not glancing up at Tom. He knew he messed up. He rested his chin on your knee and an idea popped into his head.

“I know how to make it up to you.” He said deviously.

“How?” You asked skeptically, looking at him through your eyelashes. He smiled like a child and leapt off the couch.

“Cause no one ever looks so good in a dress and it hurts 'cause I know you won't be mine tonight.” Tom sang at the top of his lungs, making your jaw drop. He never sang, despite his beautiful voice and your constant begging to hear it. Yet here he was, belting One Direction completely unprovoked.

“You are not serenading me with One Direction to get me to forgive you.” You told him. He shook his head at you and jumped up on the couch, singing into your foot like a microphone.

“No one ever makes me feel like you do when you smile, baby tell me how to make it right.” He sang even louder, making a smile appear on your face.

“Tom, stop.” You said, as if you ever wanted him to stop.

“Now all my friends say it's not really worth it, but even if that's true.…” he held the note out and jumped off the couch.

“Really. I have to study.” You protested, shaking your textbook in front of his face.

“No one in the world could stop me from not moving on, baby even if I wanted to.” He got on his knees next to you and cupped your face before singing the final line. “Nobody compares to you.”

“Tom.” You whined, ignoring the way your heart pounded in your chest at his touch.

“Come on, darling. Sing along.” Tom tugged on your hand before letting it drop.

“No. You’re being a bad boyfriend.” The words flew out of you mouth before you had a chance to stop them. You clamped a hand over your mouth and your eyes widened in shock at your own words. Tom stopped singing and looked at you in bewilderment. You made eye contact with him and gave him an embarrassed smile. He gave you an over dramatic surprised face in return and touched a hand to his chest.

“I’m being a bad what?” Tom asked, his voice dripping in accusation. You could hear the smile on his face and shrank down further in your seat.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.” You waved your hands in dismissal and looked back down at your book.

“Did I hear that correctly?” He continued, getting even closer than he was before. He hugged the back of the chair and leaned his chin on it.

“No, you didn’t.” You said bluntly. He did. He definitely did.

“Oh I think I did, love.” Tom laughed wickedly. “I’m nearly positive.”

“Best friend.” You stammered. “I said best friend.”

“Nope. Don’t even try.” Tom put a finger in your face, tilting your chin to look at him. You pleaded with your eyes, silently begging him to let it go. Tom, being Tom, gave you a grin that told you he would never let it go.

“You called me your boyfriend.” Tom said in a sing song voice. You groaned and he softened his eyes. “You called me your boyfriend.” He said again, like he finally grasped what you said. He looked at you inquisitively.

“Did you mean to?” He asked in a serious tone, taking you by surprise.

“Obviously I didn’t mean to.” You finally looked at him in the eyes. His playful eyes were soft now, and genuine.

“No, but, did you want to?” Tom continued. You searched his face for signs of him joking, but he wasn’t.

“What?” You asked him.

“Do you want to? That’s what I’m trying to ask. That’s what I’ve been trying to ask you for years. Is that, do you, would you, I mean…” Tom sighed when he couldn’t get the words out. You looked at him curiously. “Do you want me to be? Your boyfriend, I mean.”

“We’re best friends.” You said simply. You couldn’t read Toms emotions and didn’t want to jump the gun. Obviously you wanted him to be your boyfriend, but he didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

“Are we, though?” Tom cocked his head, making you blush. “I know that’s what we tell people, and even get annoyed at how many times we have to do so, but do you ever think maybe there’s a reason people always ask if we’re together?”

“Because we’re close? I don’t know, Tom.” You whined in frustration. “Can we just pretend this didn’t happen?”

“I can’t pretend.” Tom said, almost sadly. “Not anymore, Y/n.”

“What do you mean?” You questioned. You and Tom were in a rut. Neither of you brave enough to take the next step. You gulped as you waited for Toms answer.

“I mean that so many people ask me if you’re my girlfriend, or if I like you, or if you like me that I’m starting to have to ask myself. Even I don’t know the answers anymore. Is she my girlfriend? Do I like her?” Tom laughed at himself and then looked down at his hands. “Does, does she like me?” He asked quietly.

“I didn’t know you thought that way.” You said softly, avoiding his gaze.

“I do.” Tom confirmed, reaching out and rubbing your forearm with his thumb. He left a trail of goosebumps in his wake. “And now, now I’m wondering if you think the same. Like, why do you think you called my your boyfriend?”

“I don’t know.” You lied, keeping your voice low. Toms eyes bore into you like fire, making you squirm.

“I think you do.” Tom pressed.

“Well I don’t.” You snapped, meeting his gage with assertive eyes.

“Really?” He squinted.

“Really.” You stated.

“Alright.” Tom shrugged and backed away. Your arm felt cold where his hand used to be. “Then I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.” You said as you rubbed your arm.

You went back to silence before Tom let out a sigh. You glanced at him, then went back to your book. Tom let out another sigh, louder this time. Then another. By the forth, you’d gotten the message.

“Okay fine! I didn’t mean to call you my boyfriend, but literally everyone else does, so I guess I did too. I just got mixed up. It’s confusing, okay? We spend all this time together and it’s starting to make me question my feelings. And then that thing with your friends today…” you laughed half heartedly at the situation you’d found yourself in. “I thought I knew how I felt about you, but now I’m thinking maybe I don’t. I don’t hate it when people call me your girlfriend. And I didn’t hate calling you my boyfriend.”

“I didn’t hate it either.” Tom moved closer again, and you did too.

“Right?” You finally found him on the same page. “It’s just, we act like a couple, we look like a couple, we fight like a couple, everyone thinks we’re a couple. And I can’t help but feel like maybe, I don’t know…”

“We should be a couple?” Tom finished your sentence. His puppy dog eyes cut into you like a knife, and you found yourself nodding slowly. A small smile crept across his face. You covered your face with your hands and shrank down in your seat.

“Y/n, you don’t have to be embarrassed.” Tom chuckled as he pulled your hands away from your face. “Do you know how many times I’ve accidentally called you my girlfriend? Not only that, I’ve never once corrected someone when they referred to you as my girlfriend. I get mixed up too, okay?”

You stayed quiet and picked at your nail polish, leaving flakes of it in the dust of your friendship with Tom.

“Please say something.” He asked. You sighed and looked him apologetically in the eyes.

“I’m not good at saying something.” You said softly.

“Okay, how about this; if we were a movie, how would this end?” Tom proposed.

“What?” You said with a tiny smile.

“I’m an actor, yeah?” Tom began. “And you love those bullshit-“

“-Beautiful.” You cut in.

“Sorry, beautiful romantic comedies.” Tom said sarcastically. “So I ask again; if we were a movie, how would this conversation end?”

You thought about it for a moment, and then smirked.

“If we were a movie” You began with a shy smile, “You’d be the right guy and I'd be the best friend that you'd fall in love with. In the end, we’d be laughing, watching the sunset. Then fade to black, show the names, and play the happy song.” You recited.

“That was beautiful.” Tom said, very impressed and a little bashful. “Did you just think of it?”

“A wise poet once said it.” You told him.

“Shakespeare?” He asked.

“Hannah Montana.” You informed him. Tom smiled and let out a laugh

“So that’s how this would go if we were a movie.” He said. You nodded and went back to feeling shy.

“But we’re not a movie.” You pointed out.

“So what are we?” Tom threw the ball back into your court. You looked at Tom and smiled. You knew what you were.

Later, you and Tom walked onto set, hand in hand.

“Hey guys”, Tom announced your presence to his co-stars, “remember before when I said we weren’t dating?”

“Yeah, why?” Jacob asked before his eyes landed on your intertwined. He and Jake shared a look.

Tom didn’t say anything, he just dipped you in the most dramatic way possible and kissed you on the lips.

“Okay, okay. We get it. You’ve always been in love but couldn’t admit it. Big whoop.” Jake sighed loudly and rolled his eyes.

So yeah, you get it a lot.

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona @sunrise-shawn @meghan-8520xx @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17 @whatareyouhidingpeter @imyourliquor-youremypoison @theolwebshooter

[wannaliveattheholidayinn]

Ok, But Seriously, I Have Thoughts

I have... really mixed feelings about this episode, so I'm gonna talk about those feelings. And if my feelings about zep as a show and this season come out during that... so be it. (Seriously, this got long. I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry). Also spoilers for the new ep below the cut, but y'all should've been able to guess that

- I... Zimon seriously deserves just so much better. We saw them as a couple together for three episodes, and they honestly weren't explored enough. Zimon... and this is a very personal opinion, but they really do strike me as a couple who never fully leave the honeymoon phase... like ever. Like, of course, they'll fight and disagree on a lot of things, but they also can have adult children, and just kind of act like newlyweds even if they've been married for over twenty years. And again, I know that's a very personal opinion, but I mean... we all knew c/arkeman was gonna be endgame, and it just feels like zimon was never given an actual chance.

- However, I do very much appreciate that their breakup was not messy, there's still clearly a ton of respect for the other on both of their sides, and that Simon is okay.

- "We didn't belong together." No, you fucking did.

- I am not going to stop writing Zimon fanfic either. In fact, this might spur me to write more and work harder on writing Zimon fanfic.

- Rose. Fucking. Deserves. Better. I'm not even gonna elaborate on this one. We all know it.

- Despite the fact that I fucking hate c/arkeman and that it was very, very rushed... I'm giving acting and singing props to Jane. I Melt With You is a song that's extremely personal to me. It helped get me through a point in my life where... I was constantly feeling at war with others, myself, and even felt unsafe in my own home (something I still feel today, no matter how irrational I know it is). I just generally feel a strong connection to every version of the song bc of that, whether it's the original or the Bowling for Soup cover (that was in Sky High!), and... Jane just has a way of making me feel safe when she sings. So, I really, really loved her cover.

- Um... yeah, I'm gonna be real, I don't like the idea of Max having powers. I don't know, I just think it kinda changes the whole original concept of the show, and I'm not a big fan of that...

- Simon! Simon working on changing SPRQ Point!!!!

- I do not really like how they handled Simon's racial bias/systemic racism in coding storyline *after* episode six (aka it only really being mentioned in passing, not being further explored, etc.), but,,, credits due where it's due I guess? I like how they handled him going to Danny Michael Davis, and how DMD listened.

- Sidenote, I kinda find it weird we as a fandom don't refer to him as Danny... it's Danny Michael Davis, DMD, or fucking Willy Wonka jokes. Makes sense I guess.

- Um... the writing was just... so lazy. Yeah. It's... really sad, I think that the show would've benefitted from even one less ep. But on the other hand... lazy writing is lazy writing.

- I think it would've been better - honestly - if Zoey's feelings of loss hadn't been connected to Max in a romantic way, but in a platonic/familial way. We didn't see a ton of their friendship, and yeah,, I hate Max, but there are a few moments there where you can see a legitimate friendship that's really sweet. I also think if they had maybe explored Zoey's fear of losing Simon as well as Max and centered the finale more on Zoey telling Simon about her power, it would've just been a lot better.

- But... honestly, after I just aired out all my issues with this episode (and the season too kinda),,, I honestly liked it. I hate that Zimon broke up and I just generally hate cl*arkeman but... this ep had some really great moments. Zoey and Mitch were beautiful to see again. Mctobin, Davidemily, and Mo x Perry were all absolutely my favorite parts of the episode. Hell, I'll even admit I... well I don't wanna say laughed considering I was so close to crying, but I let out a weird, breathy noise resembling a laugh when Zoey just blurted out she and Simon had broken up.

I don't want to say it was a bad episode, because I did honestly, enjoy ~parts~ of it... but... it wasn't even that cl/arkeman happened, I knew it would, but how it did... it just honestly (my g.od i need to stop writing that word) seemed like they were trying to kill off or like... fucking quash *any* hope Zimon shippers may have had,,, and the writing was just so fucking lazy, I just...

I started the show after dance one night because my teacher showed us the Help! number bc he was an extra in it. And I had already been intrigued by the few ads I had seen for it. So, my mom and I watched it, and we loved it. So we kept watching. And it was good! It was really good! Sure it could be cheesy, but... that didn't matter. I latched on...

I don't know if, ZEP is gonna get renewed, and if it is, I don't know if I'll watch it if/when it does. I latch on to shows really fucking hard when I do latch on. It's why I keep rewatching The Good Place and why I'll never forgive Freeform/Disney/Marvel for canceling Cloak and Dagger. The way I latch onto things is probably a bit unhealthy. And the fact of the matter is, despite everything, my overwhelming feelings about ZEP are positive. And I latched on. I'd honestly do it all over again.

I have a lot of feelings about this fandom and this show, both positive and negative. Still, I love it. Unconditionally. Ultimately, I don't care if Zoey ends up with Max or Simon (though, seriously, she and Simon are made for each other). It's a good fucking show, ships shouldn't be everything that matters.

I began lurking in this fandom when I was fifteen. I began posting fanfic for it when I was sixteen. I'm almost seventeen now. I was planning to get Tumblr when I was seventeen. I also knew I wouldn't forgive myself if I hadn't made my presence here known if it didn't get renewed.

I want to thank @simon-haynes because, uh, holy fuck, I adore you. Running a blog for fandom is something I couldn't even fathom, especially when a large portion of the fandom doesn't like your ship. I legitimately can't believe you followed me.

Thank you to @jennakang. You are, honestly, one of the best writers I've ever read from. You were so incredibly supportive of my writing on ao3, despite the fact you didn't know who I was, and that really meant the world to me. Thank you so much for your contributions to the fandom. Also, uh, fun fact, I was the anon who, after you expressed the want to write the quarantined Zimon fic, sent in that ask that was like "please do!" and also "hope I'm not being pushy about this". I don't know if you remember that at all, but your response meant the world to me.

And uh, lastly @myheartissetinmotion. Um, wow. I know we barely know each other, but I can honestly say, you have been my anchor for this whole show. I love both your Tori content on TikTok as well as just zep content you do on there, and how you wrote her into zep on ao3. I personally like to think of you as the pioneer of Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist Tok. You were pretty unbiased when it came to ships on there, and that made me feel safe in a place where there were virtually no zimon shippers. Your content was funny, and I always found myself laughing or screaming "accurate" at it. I know, I'm the nuisance who every few months DMs you about something zep related, but I hope you know, you made me feel both seen and somewhat appreciated in this fandom. I cannot thank you enough, Isabella 💗

I know Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist may not be ending. But this still oddly feels like the end of an era. I'm not leaving the fandom, I plan to keep posting fanfic for it and everything. I just want everyone who may be reading this to know I love this fandom and I would not take any moment here back.

Also, this is me formally asking for a link to a Discord group chat since I know it exists but I'm too scared to actually ask any of you for it directly.

[petrichoravellichor]

Begin and End There (Part 2)

For Day 6 of the Supernatural Deserved Better Creative Challenge (prompt: Destiel).

Note: This is Chapter 2 of 2; you can find the post with Chapter 1 here, or you can read the entire work on Ao3.

Rating: T

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, minor Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, minor Castiel & Sam Winchester, background Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Warnings: Brief, non-graphic mentions of canon violence; reference to Dean’s suicidal ideation/decision to temporarily kill himself in 13x05; references to repeated major character death that didn’t stick - to be clear, this fic has a happy ending and is basically everything Dean needed to say and Cas needed to hear.

Summary: After the Empty takes him, Castiel wakes up in the last place he expected (Chapter 1), with a second chance at happiness when he reunites with Dean and the latter finally gets to speak his truth (Chapter 2).

-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Love him, and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?” —James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

********************

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was imploring, gentle, just like it had been the first two times he’d tried. “Come on, sit down.”

Dean ignored him and continued pacing, the cramped stillness of the motel room a vicious sounding board for his thoughts. Among them all, he clung to one thought in particular, the only one keeping him sane: Jack’s gonna get him back. He said he would. He has to...

He could feel Sam’s worried gaze on him from where his brother sat in a chair by the door. It had been Sam who had insisted they grab the motel room after Jack had gone, having intuited, rightly, that Dean was a mess even if he was trying to hide it and that he needed somewhere private where he didn’t have to. The only problem was that, for Dean, privacy in the sense of space to break down meant an audience of zero, not one, and Dean didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself together.

“Damn it, Sam,” he growled a minute later, “don’t you and Eileen have stuff to talk about? You don’t gotta hang around like a damn babysitter.”

If Sam was annoyed by Dean’s tone, he didn’t show it; instead, he just leaned forward, folding his hands in his lap. “We do, but it can wait,” he said calmly. "Besides, you heard her: someone had to go back to the silo and make sure all the Apocalypse-world hunters made it back okay. She said she’d text me when she got there.”

Dean huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, well...Still. You could’ve gone with her, is all I’m sayin’.”

“No. Not until I know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dean, enough.” Sam was frowning now, and there was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “You think I don’t know what Cas means to you?” He scoffed and shook his head. “Because if so, I’m sorry, but you’re not as hard to read as you think you are, not for me.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, stunned, and as he wilted under Sam’s knowing gaze, the full force of his exhaustion hit him all at once and damn near brought him to his knees. “I can’t lose him,” he heard himself admit in a hoarse whisper. He swallowed and shook his head. “Not again.”

Sam’s expression softened. “I know. We’ll get him back; if Jack can’t save him, we’ll find another way. We always do.”

Dean sighed, then nodded. Sam was right; of course he was. They’d get Cas back even if Dean had to storm into the Empty and grab him himself, grip Cas’s formerly feathered ass and raise him from perdition for a change. Cas, you idiot, what the hell’s the matter with you? he imagined himself demanding. You don’t think you deserve to be saved?

Suddenly, there was a shuffling sound outside, and before Sam could even begin to stand, Dean had bolted across the room and yanked open the door, determined to hear whatever news Jack was bringing them so that he could actually do something instead of just waiting, only...only it wasn’t Jack standing on the other side of the threshold.

Cas gazed back at him as though in a daze, hand raised in an aborted knock; after a beat, he lowered it and cleared his throat. “I—Hello, Dean.” He nodded past Dean toward the interior of the room. “May I come in?”

Dean nodded wordlessly, feet suddenly like lead as he stepped aside so Cas could brush past him. He closed the door and sank down on the edge of the nearest bed as Sam let out an exclamation of relief and stood to pull Cas into a hug.

“It’s good to have you back, man,” Sam said warmly, clapping Cas on the back. As they drew apart, he added, “How’s Jack? Did you have a chance to talk with him?”

Cas nodded, smiling. “I did. He told me everything that’s happened since…” Cas’s smile faltered, and his eyes darted over to land on Dean, who suddenly felt as though his face were on fire. Before Dean could say anything, though, Cas looked away, as though he were the one who’d been burned. “He told me everything,” he said instead. “He also said that he’ll be home as soon as he’s able, once he and Amara have finished remaking Heaven.”

Sam raised a brow, glancing curiously from Cas to Dean and back again; clearly, he’d clearly picked up on the weirdness between them. For a moment, Dean thought he was going to call them out on it and started casting about for something innocuous to say; however, Sam just smiled and nodded. “That’s great, Cas. Thanks for the update. And for saving Dean. If you hadn’t gone with him…” Sam swallowed, a more sober expression settling on his face. He reached out and clasped Cas’s shoulder. “Just...thank you. For everything.”

The genuineness of Sam’s words seemed to catch Cas off guard; then, after a moment, his lips quirked in a timid sort of smile, and he nodded. “Of course.”

Sam beamed at him, then took a step back and gestured toward the door. “Okay, I’m gonna go grab lunch while I wait to hear from Eileen, so I’ll see you guys later.” Then, with a poorly concealed smirk, he looked over at Dean and added, “Text me if I should steer clear of the Bunker for a few days.”

Dean glared daggers at him. Sammy, I swear to our kid who is now God...“How ’bout you just get a move on before I kick your ass? Bitch.”

But Sam just chuckled. “Good luck, jerk,” he replied, fondly; then, with a wave, he turned and headed for the door.

A moment later, he was gone, and the room was unbearably silent. Dean glanced up at Cas to find the latter regarding him almost shyly, as though any words uttered between them would bring the walls crashing down. For his part, Dean would have almost welcomed it. A quick death sounded pretty good right about now; at the very least, it’d absolve him from having to speak.

In the end, it was Cas who cleared his throat and broke the silence. “Jack said you wanted to see me?”

“Uh.” Dean sucked in a shaky breath, then nodded. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.” Then, feeling his face grow warm at Cas’s continued stare, he coughed and looked away. “Cas, have a seat. We, uh, we need to talk.”

He’d expected Cas to sit opposite him, in the chair Sam had vacated; but before he realized what was going on, Cas had crossed over to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, less than a foot of mattress between their thighs. The heat on Dean’s face licked down his neck and back, almost overwhelming him, and if his legs hadn’t suddenly turned to jelly, he probably would have bolted.

Instead, he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “So...Jack was able to get you back, huh?” He immediately wanted to kick himself, because of course Jack had been able to get Cas back, that much was obvious. Way to go, dumbass...

Thankfully, Cas just nodded. “He promised the Empty a future of noninterference within Its realm in exchange for my life, and It accepted.”

“Huh.” Dean chewed his tongue thoughtfully. “Sounds like one of us actually made a good deal for a change.”

Cas gave him a tentative smile. “I hope so.” A pause; then: “Dean, I need you to know that I don’t regret my choice, because that’s what it was: my choice; and there’s nothing you could have said or done that would have made me choose differently.” Cas was speaking quickly, urgently, looking at Dean as though afraid Dean would interrupt. “And I also need you to know that I meant every word that I said about how I see you. Now that Chuck is gone, you can finally be happy, and...if it’s possible, I would like to be part of that happiness.” He looked up at Dean sadly, adding, “but if that’s not what you want, if you want me to leave, I promise I understand.”

Dean, who up to this point had only been able to listen in stunned silence, finally managed to unstick his voice. “If that’s not what I...What are you...You think I don’t want you to be a part of it?”

“I...” Cas looked down at his hands. “I’m aware that my connection to Heaven is no longer of particular value, and more than that, I don’t wish the knowledge of what you mean to me to make you uncomfortable.” He smiled sadly. “You don’t owe me anything, Dean; I recognize that. I—”

“Stop,” Dean interrupted, because every word out of Cas’s mouth was landing like a knife in his heart. He reached out and gripped Cas’s shoulder tightly, causing the latter to look up in startled surprise. “Damn it, Cas, stop talking like I’d only want you in my life if you were a goddamn tool I could use. You’re not a hammer, remember? Not mine or anyone else’s.”

Cas’s stunned expression melted into one of soft wonder. He nodded slowly, gazing back at Dean with eyes so earnest and hopeful that Dean had to look away lest he fall right into them. With a nervous swallow, Dean licked his lips and dropped his hand from Cas’s shoulder, determined to keep going now that he’d gotten started. “And..and about me not owing you anything...Cas, I owe you everything.” He made himself meet Cas’s gaze again, because damn it, this was apparently something Cas had doubts on, and Dean needed him to understand. “You pulled me out of Hell, and you helped me and Sam stop the Apocalypse and saved both our asses more times than I can count, and Jack’s alive because of you and so is everyone else in the world. And you think what, that I’m just gonna forget about all that?” he demanded, just barely managing to keep his voice from breaking. He shook his head. “Fuck that, Cas; you’re not disposable.”

Cas, whose expression had become increasingly anguished the longer Dean spoke, now looked dangerously close to tears. “Then what am I, Dean? I...please, I need to know, I need you to tell me, because I don’t...I can’t...”

Everything, Dean thought fiercely; you’re everything. Fuck, he just needed to find some way to actually say it…

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him: maybe, if saying it out loud was too much...He closed his eyes and started praying. Cas?

He felt a slight shift of the mattress as Cas stiffened in attention. “Dean?” he asked, hesitantly.

Yeah. Yeah, I can hear you. Dean kept his eyes closed, responding in his head. Question is, can you hear me?

A beat of silence; then: “Yes. I can hear you.”

Dean let out a steady breath. Okay. Okay, good. ’Cause there’s something I need you know, but...He tried to finish the thought; damn it, he tried, but even like this, he just couldn’t fucking seem to—

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder; his eyes fluttered open to see Cas leaning forward into his space, looking at him with soft understanding. “There’s something you need me to know,” Cas repeated slowly, “but you’re not sure how to say it.”

Dean blinked in surprise. “You...you got that part, too?”

Cas nodded. “The way it works...It’s difficult to explain in human terms. Prayers are something I hear and see and feel, all at once, and they don’t have to be words. They can be feelings or images or—”

“Memories?” Dean sat up straight, an idea forming. “Does it work with memories?”

Cas’s brow furrowed in apparent confusion, but eventually, he nodded. “Yes. If you show them to me.”

Dean didn’t waste another moment—he couldn’t, or he might lose his nerve. He closed his eyes and resumed his prayer. Okay, Cas, listen up...

He was pulling Cas’s trench coat out of the reservoir after the Leviathans had walked Cas into it, and the feeling in his gut...Dean knew it was grief. He’d lost friends before; hell, he’d lost Sam before, but this...this felt different...

But the Leviathans were on the loose, and the wall blocking out Sam’s Hell trauma had crumbled, and Dean didn’t have time to let himself stop and think. He folded the trench coat and stowed it in Baby’s trunk.

Months later, he was talking to Cas in an abandoned hangar the night before they stormed Sucrocorp and went after Dick Roman. Cas was saying he should stay behind, told Dean he wasn’t good luck and would just get in the way, but Dean wasn't having it. He’d done life without Cas, and it had sucked. Now, he knew he’d rather have him, cursed or not, friend or...He’d rather have him.

He only told Cas the first part, though.

Then, after, when he was tearing through Purgatory for over a year, Dean realized it wasn’t that he’d rather have Cas—it was that he couldn’t imagine not having him. He was going to find Cas no matter the cost, wasn’t leaving Purgatory without him. Cas was...he wasn’t something Dean couldn’t stand to lose.

And then Dean lost him anyway.

Dean was back topside, and Cas was still in Purgatory because Dean had failed to save him. The knowledge haunted Dean; he saw Cas everywhere, was sure he was hallucinating...until it turned out he wasn’t. And then he learned that Cas had made the conscious choice to stay behind, because apparently, Dean was something he could stand to lose, and that knowledge hurt in a way Dean didn’t have words for.

So they didn’t talk about it.

Then Dean was kneeling, bloodied, in Lucifer’s crypt, Cas standing over him with his angel blade raised. And Dean didn’t know what was going on, but he knew, he knew, that this wasn’t his Cas. His Cas. The words were loud in his mind, and he was both awed and terrified of how right they felt. He needed Cas, and he told him so...and Cas’s angel blade fell to the floor.

They didn’t talk about that much, either.

Years went by, and now Dean was the one standing over a bloodied, crumpled Cas, the Mark of Cain burning on his arm and Cas’s stolen blade in hand. He needed to hurt Cas, or for Cas to hurt him, to fight back and end the goddamn constant screaming in Dean’s head that was all blood and rage and hate and—Cas’s hand came up to gently clasp Dean’s wrist. “No, Dean...please.” And for a second, just a second, the hate in Dean’s mind was quiet, and in its place, strong, surging, and undeniable, was—

Dean stabbed the book next to Cas’s head and walked away.

Next, he was standing in a barn with his mom and Sam and Crowley, watching in terrified helplessness as Cas writhed in agony on an old couch. Ramiel could come for them at any moment, and yet all Dean could think about was the intensity in Cas’s eyes as Cas told him, told all of them, that he loved them, and fuck, Dean loved him, too, but not the familial sort of love that Cas seemed to be getting at, no. Dean loved him in a raw, real sense that he felt in his bones and that scared him half out of his mind, and he wanted to say it; but then Cas was convulsing, and it was too late…

Then Crowley snapped Ramiel’s spear, and Cas was saved, and Dean told himself that enough was enough, he needed to get his shit together and find some way to tell Cas what he felt before—

He was kneeling, silent, on the shore of a lake. The sky was starless overhead, and Cas was dead on the ground in front of him, wings scorched against the sand. And Dean was aching and empty, hollowed out by grief and regret, because he’d waited too long, and now it was too late…

And then he was dead, or something like it. He was in Death’s library and Billie was showing him the shelf of books with his name on the cover, detailing all the possible ways he could die, and Dean should have felt fear, should have felt fight, but instead, all he felt was finally. He hadn’t been able to save the people he loved, hadn’t been able to save Cas, so what was the point of going back? Sam would be better off without him, would get a shot at the normal life he’d always wanted. Billie could toss Dean in the Empty; he didn’t care anymore. Hell, he wanted it, anything to end all his goddamn regret—

But Billie sent him back anyway, and later that night, Dean’s phone rang.

Cas was back. He was alive and he was back, and fuck, he was so much more than Dean deserved. And Dean told himself that he was okay with that, with not having Cas in the way that he wanted, as long as he had him in some way, shape, or form. But then Jack killed Mary, and Dean...he was so angry and hurt that he lashed out at Cas, said horrible things he didn’t mean but didn’t know how to take back once they were out, and he couldn’t even look at Cas without wanting to scream and break and beg for forgiveness. He watched as Cas left him after they fought, left him like everyone else did, and Dean let him, because he knew now that needing someone wasn’t the same as deserving them.

Then they were back in Purgatory after a botched attempt at securing a Leviathan Blossom. They’d been ambushed, and Dean had been knocked out, had woken up alone with Cas nowhere in sight and limited time to make it back. And Dean knew he still didn’t deserve Cas, but he prayed to him anyway. He told Cas about the hurt and the anger and the helplessness he felt when it took hold of him, and he was sorry, God, he was so fucking sorry…

When he found Cas at the last moment at the base of a tree, he wanted...he needed to tell Cas what he hadn’t had the nerve to say in his prayer, because it was so much more than of course I forgive you; it was please forgive me, I know I don’t fucking deserve you but I want you, I need you, I love you…

But they had to go, because as always, there was never enough fucking time.

And then they were trapped in the Bunker’s interrogation room as Billie pounded on the door. Cas was going to die, and it was Dean’s fault, again it was his fault, because he’d screwed up, because he’d been stupid and angry and that was all he knew how to be—

But then Cas was talking with tears in his eyes, and each word was its own revelation, because Cas was looking at him the way Dean had never in a million years thought to be worthy of. And Dean forgot how to breathe, because suddenly, Cas was saying it, he said it: “I love you…”

And then the Empty took him, and Billie, and Dean was left alone on the floor. He was dimly aware of the way Sam’s name flashed on his phone, but he couldn’t answer, because then he’d have to explain, and…and...

Dean cradled his head in his hands and sobbed. He felt like his entire soul had been lit on fire and that every word he’d ever known had been ripped out of him by the roots, all except for the two he murmured, strangled and broken, into the silence: “Me too...”

Dean gasped and ended the prayer. He opened his eyes and felt tears roll down his cheeks; he hadn’t noticed them forming while he’d been praying, and he was about to reach up to dash them away when he saw that Cas’s face was wet with tears of his own; he looked more wrecked than Dean had ever seen him, and the hand he’d kept on Dean’s shoulder throughout the prayer had started to tremble. “Dean, I—”

“Look,” Dean said shakily, because if he didn’t say this now, he didn’t know if he ever could. “I...I know you said happiness isn't really in the having and all that, but...well, I think maybe it is. For me, anyway. Because Cas, if there’s one thing I’ve learned after all the crap we’ve been through, it’s that my life ain’t happy if it doesn’t have you in it.” He swallowed a lump in his throat and pushed on: “You said you thought you couldn’t have me, but the thing is, you’ve had me for years. And I just...I need you to hear me, I need you to know…” He almost stopped then, almost couldn’t go on, because the look of absolute love in Cas’s eyes was overwhelming, and Dean could no more deny it than he could give up breathing. He raised his hand, placed it firmly on top of the one on his shoulder, and squeezed. “You changed me too, Cas.”

Then Cas was kissing him, and Dean let out a muffled sob of relief as he felt Cas’s hands wrap around his middle and pull them flush against one another. His grip was hot and desperate on Dean’s back, and the way his mouth moved against Dean’s made Dean feel as though he were going to burst into millions of joyous pieces. He tangled his hands in Cas’s hair and kissed him hard, tugging him backward until Cas was straddling him on the mattress, his solid, unyielding weight a blissful, dizzying contrast to the lightness Dean felt in his mind as Cas’s tongue slid surely over his own, ravishing and reverent and real. They were real, and they always had been.

And Dean would never, ever doubt that again.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 38

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers

The pale cheek was rubbery and cold under your finger. You poked it again. "Are you sure he's dead?" 

Loki looked at the severed, and a little chewed, bottom half of the ambassador. "Pretty much."

The body had been laid out on top of a desk, with all the books and documents previously occupying it put on the ground. It didn't really matter in the ways of making things messy, because the suite belonging to the recently deceased ambassador was already a dusty, chaotic mess. The room was dark and narrow and made even smaller by the bookshelves lined along one wall, stealing even more space. The carpet used to be gold and thick, but now it looked just worn and tired. 

"Do we even have a plan? Like, anything in particular to look out for?" 

Loki scratched his chin, looking around next to you. "Plans are for the weak of heart. We've got something better, love—a suspicion. Now we only have to find the evidence for or against it." 

You looked at the shelves filled with old tomes to the point of almost breaking the wood. And then at the loose papers piled carelessly along two of the walls and also in the bedroom. The notes were haphazardly scribbled and left in places where a thought must've struck the man, and then left forgotten or lost. Ink was spilled on the less fortunate ones. 

"...right."

You couldn't say you were happy about it, but there was little to do about it. Whatever the ambassador was working on before he died could shed some light on his death. Now you only had to find it. 

With a deep sigh, you braced yourself and got to work. 

It soon turned out you didn’t understand a single word of it. 

"You said your spell would work and I would understand everything." You focused really hard on the wall of text in a language you'd never seen before. "And it works fine when I'm talking to the lords here, but not on this." 

Loki leaned over your shoulder to peek a glance at the text. "I have no idea. Maybe it works differently on humans? Or maybe you're just a particularly weird individual of your species." 

"Thanks." 

"Welcome, love." 

With nothing you could read, your job there was crippled. Even when Loki assured you he didn't mind doing everything himself and that it wasn't your fault, there was still a sour feeling you couldn't quite shake off. 

"I'm going to see if I can find the kitchens and get us something edible." You decided to pass the time on something at least vaguely helpful. 

Loki looked up from the notes he'd gathered from the windowsill. He’d made himself comfortable in one of the cleaner parts of the room, although unfortunately it just happened to be near the corpse. "Be careful. And please, don't kill anyone without me." 

"I'd never," you promised with a wink and left. 

The castle was huge, but empty. At first, you put in on the murder that must've shaken the people living there, but the longer you looked around, it struck you as odd. Everything was clean, even if touched by time. There must be people taking care of it, but you couldn't find any. 

Or maybe they were avoiding the outsiders. Technically, you were an alien here. 

You walked the empty corridors, enjoying the silent breeze passing through the open panels. It was strange not to see any glass in the windows, but with the weather so mild, there probably wasn't any temperature drop to worry about anyway. 

There were shadows sneaking in the corners of your vision. They could be figments of your imagination and sense of wrongness of this place. They could be the things howling in the dark. 

No. Thinking about that probably wasn't the wisest idea. In a place where thoughts apparently could shape reality, thinking merry, happy thoughts seemed like a much more rational option if one planned to survive and not be eaten by their own fears embodied. You had such plans, and even if Loki was convinced that you had absolutely no connection to magic unless it hit you in the face, it was better to stay cautious. And happy. What a lovely day it was, after all, with the creeping light avoiding particular parts of your vision, and something definitely following you. How nice would it be to meet someone. Anyone. 

Your eyes wandered off into the gardens below, where the everlasting night was laying thick. A fountain shimmered in bluish speckles of water. And behind it, the night opened its eyes. 

You might've jumped a little. Just the tiniest bit. 

But there was no denying that, just for the briefest moment, your eyes met the Queen's, posed unnaturally still among the statues. 

…and people said wishful thinking wouldn't get you anywhere. 

You hopped over the railing, and onto the moss-covered ground. The guard you'd seen before was nowhere to be found. You stared around as hard as you could, trying to pierce the shadows and strange light. It took a moment to find what you were looking for. 

From up close, the stars overhead and the stars shimmering on her skin looked like mirror images. For a moment, the night sky felt within a hand's reach. 

Not one muscle betrayed the Queen had she noticed your arrival. Her eyes were dull and completely blank—to the point where you wondered if you hadn't imagined everything. 

You stood right next to her and still weren't decapitated, which was a comfort and a good sign. You bowed stiffly, even if she didn't see it. 

"Hi," you said quietly, looking for any sign of comprehension. "I'm one of the people who came here to explain the recent murder." 

Nothing. Just the vast expanse of the night enclosed in a fading body and crumbled into a vaguely humanoid shape. The Queen only had one horn intact, white as a bone, and sharp like the crescent moon—the only one to ever be seen on the edge of the universe. 

"I wondered if you knew anything about it," you tried again. "We're doing well so far, and I'm sure we'll find the murderer eventually, so don't worry about that, but… We'd still appreciate any and all help." 

Birds chirped somewhere in the trees. Shimmering pollen flew on the light breeze squeezing through the thicket. The night turned her eyes toward you. 

It'd been a while since you cowered under the sheets, afraid of the darkness. It was a common fear among children, and one that only a few grew out of. Those eyes reminded you of those sleepless nights. 

Not a word left the bloodless lips. Not a muscle twitched. The edges of the woman blurred into the night. 

"...right. Sorry to interrupt you, Your Majesty." 

You backed away a few steps before turning your back to her. A shiver ran down your spine. If that was what fading was, you preferred death. 

*

Loki enjoyed reading, he really did. Even as a child, he'd often been found buried among the old tomes in the palace's library, or smuggling particularly interesting ones to his rooms. There was something in the way of the written word that captured his attention way better than whatever training he was forced to participate in for the sake of Odin's misplaced ambition. There was a certain rush in learning facts previously unknown and in understanding the world or the forces in it better. 

Loki felt absolutely none of that while going through the ambassador's notes. 

Most of them were full of incomprehensible babble of half-finished ideas or references that led nowhere without the books they'd been taken from. Some seemed to be copied pages, which led Loki to the conclusion that the books were not to be taken off the library grounds. 

There were a lot of dates and numbers that made little sense to him, so he put them down on the pile of things he deemed irrelevant to the investigation. The pile was growing and now consisted of several piles, forming the majority of the room's contents. 

The doors opened. Loki was relieved to see you; the dagger disappeared back up his sleeve. 

"That took you awhile," he noticed, throwing the crumbled papers to the right, onto the pile of nonsense. "I was getting worried." 

"I'm good. I got you some apples." 

The apples were a dusted orange, but tasted sweet enough to justify the unusual color. Loki leaned back in his chair and let you settle on his lap. The feeling of your body pressed into his made you share the warmth and comfort, and made some of the stress building up since morning fade away. 

"I met the Queen," you said around a mouth full of apple, and the other hand buried in Loki's hair. "She seemed nice enough. The creepiness definitely runs in the family, though." 

Some of the stress came back. "Did she… say anything?"

"Nope. I don't think she’s… aware of things. Which is a shame, because I seriously hoped she could help us." 

Loki brushed your back in wide, soothing strokes. "There is a chance she'll regain her senses one day, just for long enough to answer some questions. Fading is a complicated process." 

"You know a lot about it." 

Loki's eyes dropped to the few remaining apples. "Gods fade too sometimes." 

"Will you? One day?" 

"I am a Frost Giant, love, even if I was raised on Asgard. I'm not sure how much that complicates my case, and there is no one to ask about it anymore." 

"I'm sorry." 

Loki closed his eyes and breathed in your scent as he felt you kiss his temple, gently and with enough unfiltered love to make his heart throb almost painfully. He was lucky, even despite the mess politics brought onto him. He was luckier than he ever thought he'd be. And luckier than he thought he deserved. 

"Did you find anything interesting?" you asked with a face burrowed into the crook of his neck. 

"There was quite a lot of nonsense, but the rest highlights the ambassador's interest in the wars and mass deaths that always follow them." 

You froze. The corpse laid on the desk next to you no longer felt like something you could forget about. "...what an interesting guy. "

"Most definitely, but it's too early to judge just yet. I made a list of the books he mentioned most often. I think it'd be worth our time to pay a visit to the library to check them out and maybe ask a few questions to the people working there. They should know something about him and the dead assistant."

"We could get some more apples on our way," you offered, standing up. Loki already missed you. 

"Sure, why not. It's not like you'd take the fruit of the sacred trees from the very clearly separated part of the gardens, right?" 

"...of course. I'd never overlook that." 

You did overlook that in the end, and Loki just happened to overlook it too. Overlooking things was always more fun in good company. 

The gardens were a beautiful, lush place, bursting with colors and leaves that danced on the wind instead of falling. Some of the branches were covered in flowers so tiny they looked like ants, traveling up and down the bark. Birds too shy to leave the shadows chirped and sung. 

It was a strange change to witness, especially having in mind what the gardens were like in the morning. Whatever put them in a good mood had clearly done a good job. It made the winding paths easier to follow, and the water passing through the fountain shimmer like starlight. 

Loki shrugged when you voiced your thoughts. 

"In your world, the weather changes just as rapidly," he said, looking at his mirrored image. "Here, it's the very essence of the Edge that's capable of changing." 

It was poetic, like most things on the Edge. And just like them, the forest suddenly decided to hate you. 

First, the birds vanished, their voices cut short. 

Then, something else moved between the curled, twisted trees. Loki noticed too, and handed you one of his knives. The knives had a habit of appearing around him in just the right moments, and you loved them for it. 

And finally, the Edge decided how to make your lives difficult this time. 

The monstrosity that circled the fountain was a terror of thin legs and bulky torso, armed with too many teeth.

"Is it a spider?" you asked in a voice too high because of your heart leaping into your throat. 

"It could be, if someone really hated spiders," Loki said, but there was a smile on his face. "And it might present a problem, if we were still on Earth—but now I'm free and ready to deal with this the old-fashioned way." 

You blinked when golden light enveloped him in a flash. The green armor poured onto his body while magic danced around his fingers. The golden helmet you'd seen only once in the battle of New York, now returned in its full glory. 

You cheered as Loki stepped out, swinging a spear with a nonchalant ease only available to children forced to learn something for years against their will. 

"Kick its ass, babe!" 

Loki winked. 

The creature didn't want to have its ass kicked. It charged on its eight legs reaching far and fast. Loki striked, gutting its belly and cutting two legs off. It should've died, but it didn't. The cuts should've killed it, but they healed. 

Loki's magic should've blocked the furious mass hurtling itself at him. It didn't. 

The spell flashed a blinding yellow before it cracked like glass and shattered. The legs that were no longer cut, they hit and didn't miss. 

A gold-and-green body flew through the air with a very surprised face. The fountain crashed in a rain of water and marble, covering everything in a thin layer of dust and a thick one of mud quickly forming under your feet. 

"...Loki?"

Loki didn't answer, half buried under the stone. 

The spider turned its too big head to you. Its legs were black and covered in thick stubble. 

"Shit," you whispered. 

The spider agreed. 

You ran. 

[seeing-the-light]

New Dream Appreciation Week Day 4: AU

@gleamful-lanterns @autumn-ravenclaw

A View Like This Read on AO3 “Excuse me... sir? Are you okay?”  Eugene blinked, startled at the sudden address. He’d spaced out a bit, and must’ve been scowling thinking about his stupid father, and this stupid train ride in the snow to get to him, because of stupid reunions or whatever, and-  “Fine.” He muttered, before he looked up from his seat to see who was addressing him- and froze.   The emerald eyes of a woman - younger than him, but not by much, he guessed - stared back at him, brimming with concern. He cursed, internally - this wasn’t the place to let himself slip like that - and straightened, abruptly, “Sorry. That was terribly rude of me, I-“  “Oh, no it’s fine!” She said, hurriedly. Her gaze darted up and down the train corridor as the man behind her coughed, impatiently. “In fact, I’m... sorry for disturbing you, actually, it’s just that... you’re sorta in my seat?” 

The words were delivered in the most apologetic way, but Eugene’s brow furrowed. “Oh? No, I’m pretty sure this is my- ah, drat.” He realized, looking over his ticket. “You’re right.” Stupid window seats.  Why would he want those, all there was to look at was- 

 “... You don’t want the window.” She guessed, tentatively, breaking him out of his thought spiral again. There was something... bubbling underneath her tone, now, and Eugene looked up at her again, from gathering his belongings to shift to the inner seat. 

 “Not particularly. What’s there to se-“ 

 “Can I have it please, then? I’d love to look outside and see all the people and lights and sheep and-“ She cut herself off, abruptly, and gave an awkward laugh, trying to compose herself. “Sorry. But. Would you mind if I took it, then?”

 Something of a smile had begun to cross his face at her enthusiasm, and he found himself rising to let her in and gestured as if he’d just opened a door for her. “Be my guest.” 

 This made her give a tiny giggle, as she squeezed in past him. The man behind her was practically glaring daggers at her for holding up the line at this point, and something made Eugene decide he disliked him instantly. 

 He sat back down as she moved to arrange her belongings. Mostly, he just stared at his hands, and the rest of car- for some reason it felt like watching her do that would be awkward, which was weird, because awkward wasn’t a feeling Eugene Fitzherbert felt very often. 

 ... correction. Awkward wasn’t a feeling Flynn Rider felt very often, and Flynn was all that mattered to most everyone, because he was far more exciting and charming, without any of the fears and insecurities. In short, Flynn was the much better option. 

 “So, Blondie-“ 

 “Rapunzel.”

 “Gesudenheit.”

 She gave him a slightly annoyed look, and Eugene raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “My name is Rapunzel.”

 “Rapunzel.” He tried it around in his mouth. “Rolls off the tongue, surprisingly.” His brow furrowed in thought, thinking back to his attempted university days. “Say, isn’t that some kind of flower?” 

 “It is!” All at once, her animation was back. Eugene was just relieved he hadn’t made another misstep - for some reason, he was already beginning to care what she thought. 

 That’s dangerous, Rider. He told himself, internally. Letting people in was dangerous. Pretty soon they’d find the cracks in your armor, and stab, hard, when the moment was just right. 

 But he wasn’t going to think about Stalyan, right now, and how she was why he was on this stupid train ride to begin with. 

 “I can’t believe you know that! Most people just think it’s... weird. Or random.” She shrugged, playing with her braid instead of looking at him 

 “I don’t think it’s weird or random, it’s kinda pretty.” He responded, before he could stop himself. Dangerous, Flynn, he thought, as her face flushed lightly because of it. “Well,” He amended, trying to recover. “It’s a little weird. But in the unique way, not the bad way.”

“Pretty and unique, huh…” She gave him a small smile. “I think I’ll take it.”

 “Great, because I regret to inform you I don’t offer refunds.” He quipped. Wasn’t his best work, but it made her laugh, so he counted it as a success. Not that he quite knew what he was trying to succeed at.

“So, Mr I-Hate-Window-Seats, you have my name, it’s only fair that I learn yours.” “Now that’s just not fair-“

 “You called me Blondie.”

“Because you actually have blonde hair!” Some of the passengers nearby turned to look over at them, so Eugene lowered his voice, though it did nothing to diminish his indignation. “I don’t hate window seats.”

“You seemed awfully keen to give yours up.” “Yeah, well, that’s because-“ Eugene gave a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “I hate snow.”

 “How could you hate snow?” The look she gave him was borderline horrified. “It’s so white, and pretty, and it makes everything sparkle, and you can go sledding and make snowmen and snow angels and have snowball fights and then later on when you’re tired out you can go inside and wrap yourself up in cozy blankets and sit by the fire- snow is magical.”

“Some of us don’t have much cause for magic, Blondie.” Eugene said, in a much more subdued tone, staring at his hands. Stalyan used to make a show of being cold, sometimes, so he’d be obligated to give her his jacket. In retrospect, he thought she just liked watching him shiver.

 But his comment had left the conversation at an awkward pause- he had to save it, somehow. “It’s just cold, and wet, and it gets everywhere…”

 “…did you just use your hatred for snow to make a Star Wars reference?”

The small smile Eugene gave her could only best be described as dorky. “…maybe.”

 “Oh my god.” She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “You know, you still haven’t told me what your name is.”

 “Hm….” Flynn Rider or Eugene Fitzherbert. Eugene Fitzherbert or Flynn Rider. It should’ve been an easy choice. It should’ve been easy, second nature, Hey, the name’s Flynn Rider, rinse and repeat.

 So why did he have this overwhelming, annoying urge to tell her the truth?

 “Flynn.” He said, before he could second guess himself, though if anything the answer he’d chosen just made him feel more like a coward. “Call me Flynn.”

“Flynn.” Rapunzel’s eyes twinkled as she said it, and somehow in that moment it sounded better than any time anyone else had ever said that name. “I like it.”

                                                          * * *

 Eugene – no, Flynn, he supposed, because of that split-second decision – had a big problem.

 He was trapped.

 Now, most traps weren’t really enough to hold him down for long. He’d been in and out of enough cells and vaults to know a thing or two about breaking out.

 His current predicament, however, was … rather more delicate.

 You see, he and Rapunzel had chatted about things for about an hour or so in fits and starts, when she’d decided to put her headphones in and journal for a bit. Flynn, being the gentlemen that he always was, had pulled out a book, to give her some privacy and  make it obvious that he wouldn’t be reading over her shoulder.

 But somewhere in there, she’d fallen asleep. Fallen asleep, and now she was resting her head on his shoulder.

This is dangerous, Flynn, He reminded himself, again. If he knew what was best for him, he'd wake her up right now. But he didn't. Honestly, more than any personal discomfort, he just... wasn’t sure how she’d react when she woke up. But she’d whimpered in protest when he’d tried to move her off, and he didn’t have the heart (funny, really, that he still had one of those) to try that again.

 And he’d picked up a few things from their conversation – she was an art major, at university, who was somehow trying to cram as many additional majors and minors into her degree as humanly possible. She truly seemed to enjoy learning, just for learning’s sake, and that outlook… well, it was refreshing. It wasn’t an attitude he came across often in his own circles.  But this was her first big trip on her own, without anyone – hence the pent-up excitement that’d released in sporadic outbursts, earlier. She was juggling a lot, and she had a lot ahead of her, so maybe it was best to let her rest.

 She’d tried to turn some of his questions on him, too. Not in an intrusive way – he didn’t know how to explain it, but he didn’t think she was manipulating him. It seemed more like she was just… genuinely interested in learning more about him of all people, which was bizarre.

 So he’d told her a few things. How he’d recently had a bad breakup [leaving out the altar part]. How she’d retaliated by exposing his whereabouts to the father who’d abandoned him as an infant out of some misplaced desire to protect him.

 You know, just the light material.

Her eyes had grown round and wide, even at that much. “Maybe you should give him a chance, though. What if he really was trying to protect you?”

Flynn’s eyes grew harder, but Eugene could only think about hungry nights and always being on the run. “If he was,” He found himself saying, in a low tone. “Then he was just as shitty at that as he is at being a father.” Rapunzel had gone quiet at that. From what he’d gleaned, her parents were a shade overprotective – her father, in particular, seemed borderline stifling – but on the whole they were fairly supportive of her interests. There was something darker hiding behind that, he thought, something in her past that cast shadows over everything she said if you squinted for long enough – but she never alluded to it, and he wasn’t going to pry.

 His thoughts were cut off by the train jolting, abruptly. Rapunzel gave a startled yelp, looking around frantically, before slowly coming to rest on him. She glanced at his shoulder, then back at him. “Was I-“

 “Don’t mention it.” Eu – Flynn said, moving to stand slowly to see if he could glean any information on why they’d stopped.

 As if on cue, a voice came crackling over the intercom. “Good evening, passengers. It appears our passage forward has been blocked by a fallen tree. We’re going to do our best to resolve this as quickly as possible, but in the meantime, please sit tight. We appreciate your patience.”

“Great.” He muttered, aloud. “Just great. As if the snow wasn’t enough when it was rushing past us, now we’re –“

 “Flynn, look!” Rapunzel said, giving a tiny gasp. She pointed out the darkened window, and at first he was confused about what she was even seeing out there.

 But when he carefully leaned over to peer through it, and look up at the sky, his eyes widened, too.

 “Whoa…” He said, softly. Aurora Borealis lit up the night sky – he remembered that from when he’d tried a few university classes, too. The ribbons of green and blue and purple light danced across the atmosphere, and for a moment it was easy to feel like this was a private show, meant just for the two of them.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Rapunzel’s voice was filled to the brim with excitement, and despite the circumstances and not knowing what’d come after this, he couldn’t help smiling. Maybe it was okay not to think about names, or plans, and just live in this, brilliant moment for once. “The stars are coming out too, in the background –  I could probably point out some of the constellations, too –”

 “And I could tell you the stories about some of them.” He found himself responding. Maybe being stuck wouldn’t be the worst thing…

“I’d love that, Flynn.” Something about the way that she said it so earnestly twisted something in him, and he felt compelled to-

 “Eugene.”

 “What?” Rapunzel blinked at him.

 Eugene ran a hand over his hair, self-consciously. “It’s Eugene, actually. My real name.”

 He braced himself for accusations, questions about why he hadn’t told her the truth to begin with… but she just smiled at him, softly. “I like it.“

 “But-“ He said, baffled. “But that’s exactly what you said when I said my name was Flynn.”

 “It’s not about what your name is, Eugene,” she said, turning back to the window to begin sketching a rendition of the lights still visible through the window. “It’s about liking what I know about the person behind it.”

She said it so casually, as if it was a fact, and he wanted to protest. He wanted to insist that there were demons in his past she didn’t know the first thing about, wanted to tell her that she was better off attempting to befriend practically anyone else. Most of all, he wanted to tell her that he was decidedly not a good person.

 But maybe there was such a thing as magic, because something about the train car and leaning out the window to look up at the sky together, as she drew, with the prospect of sharing the stars and stories long after the northern lights died down stilled any words to that effect that he might utter.

Instead, he let himself accept what she said, for the time being. He let himself smile, a little, and relax. “You know,” He said, quietly. “I could get used to a view like this.”

[azucanela]

DIVINE INTERVENTION [PT.2] OIKAWA TOORU

DIVINE INTERVENTION MASTERLIST | HAIKYUU!! MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Maybe getting into a fight with one of Oikawa’s fangirls hadn’t been the best idea. 

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

WARNINGS: violence, injuries, bruises,

A/N: do people actually plan their series ahead of time, because i kinda just write whenever my brain has an idea

Meeting Y/N L/N had been... weird for Oikawa, to put it simply.

As conceded as it may sound, Oikawa knew that he was well-liked, he knew that there were people lining up to go out with him— especially since he got confessed to nearly daily— but it wasn’t just that. Teachers had placed Oikawa on a pedestal for balancing athletics and good grades, along with simply being a ‘joy to have in class’ because he was respectful and offered his help often. Other students adored him because he was actually a rather kind person when he wanted to be; and he was well known in his school. 

He’d been singled out for as long as he could remember, that now both Oikawa and his own classmates felt as though they were simply on two different worlds.

Which is why Y/N L/N had been weird. Most of the time his natural charisma charmed almost everyone he’d met, his skill in volleyball and academic prowess were something that had also earned him respect in the school. And yet Y/N L/N simply extended her hand to him like he didn’t matter, offering her name only momentarily before retuning her attention to Iwaizumi. She’d simply treated him like just another person; and it had been a while since Oikawa felt normal.

So he began to pester her, whenever she was around—most of the time with Iwaizumi— he’d started talking to her more in their shared classes, even inviting her to his volleyball classes. 

Talking to Y/N had been like a breath of fresh air, as stupid as it sounded. He would never admit this to her, of course. Though he was fairly close to when their last year of middle school had come upon them and they were all deciding on which school they’d be attending.

Thankfully, the entire trio ended up going to Aoba Johsai. Even now, Oikawa didn’t know what he would’ve done had Iwaizumi and Y/N attended different school, though he’s happy he doesn’t know. Blissful ignorance.

Despite their years of friendship, Oikawa had never actually been annoyed by Y/N, he enjoyed her presence if he was honest. She was good company. She’d always put up with his ‘nonsense’ as Iwaizumi put it, and she’d supported him throughout his life— though she’d also threatened him for taking things to far and endangering his well-being, Oikawa had a feeling that was something he was supposed to appreciated. Yet, Oikawa had a feeling that today would be the day Y/N truly annoyed him. 

Rumors spread fast in Aoba Johsai, especially when they were about Oikawa and his love life, it had always been an issue. He hadn’t been in many relationships, much less committed ones. People tended to talk, his fans tended to act out, and after about two weeks any relationships he had were over. Which is why Oikawa was shocked to discover that he was in a relationship with his best friend, and had been for a while. And his apparent girlfriend had gotten into a fight with another girl earlier today in class. 

If Y/N was honest, she just hoped that Oikawa went with the little story she’d made up— otherwise she’d seem like an idiot who was just as obsessed with him as the girl she now sat beside in the principal’s office. And honestly, there was no real explanation for why she’d lie, not without her seeming crazy. 

Was fighting her the best idea? No, not at all. Did the girl deserve every hit? Definitely. Was Iwaizumi struggling to pull Y/N off of her? Possibly, we don’t discuss that. Now you might be wondering, why would the lovely, kind, amazing and beautiful Y/N L/N ever get into a fight? 

Well the girl started talking and wouldn’t stop. Speaking like Oikawa was an object, a trophy to be won, a game like the one he played. She spoke like she knew Oikawa personally, as though he owed her a relationship, a chance. But if Y/N was honest it was the threats that set her off.

She wasn’t sure if Iwaizumi was more shocked by the girl’s words or Y/N’s fist ramming against her face after this girl tried to smack her. 

“Oikawa doesn’t find out about this.”

That was all Y/N said when he finally pulled her off the girl, just for her to get escorted by the school’s security guards, down to the office. Though Iwaizumi wasn’t necessarily sure was she was referring to seeing as the fight had been the talk of the school now, and Oikawa was headed Iwaizumi’s way. He’d been seated outside of the office for some time now, awaiting Y/N’s inevitable return, suspension, or expulsion. 

This was going to be bad. In all their time as friends, Iwaizumi had never expected something like this to happen. If we was honest, he wasn’t even sure if the pair was or was not dating. Perhaps they’d been hiding the relationship from him or maybe this was something Y/N had simply made up on the spot, he wasn’t sure. What he did know, was that things had never been so... messy between Y/N and Oikawa. 

Now, Y/N wasn’t considering the impacts her little plan would have on the friend group at the moent, just that she didn’t play the death threat card often but now seemed as good a time as any to allow a false tear to fall down her cheek, “and then—” A sniff, “and then she threatened me and I got so scared, Principal! She said she was going to kill me.” Getting expelled was the last thing she wanted, but if this didn’t work— well, she was running out of ideas.

Now, Y/N wasn’t the best actor, but she was friends with Oikawa, and she’d definitely picked up a few things from him. Like the fact that their principal was a lot more sympathetic towards members of their sports team; and Y/N happened to manage one of the teams. And she was fairly sure that their most noteworthy players would’ve drained themselves entirely had it not been for her, so she considered herself... kind of valuable. Especially with Oikawa’s knee injury that he insisted on disregarding, Y/N had a feeling things would’ve been far worse for the boy had she not gotten involved.

Speaking of Oikawa, even as Iwaizumi warned him not to enter, the boy simply pushed the door open, a fake smile making its way onto his face as he spoke, “Principal!” He exclaimed, arms spread open, his smile only faltering as he notices the fading red mark on Y/N’s cheek, accompanied by a few bruises on her arms and several bruises on the other girl. Oikawa quickly recovers from the shock, returning his attention to the man before him, “how are you?”

The Principal offers Oikawa a tight lipped smile as he replies, “a little busy in case you haven’t noticed.” A deep breath from the man in question, “you should see yourself out—”

“You see, Principal. I just came her to collect my lovely girlfriend, I heard about this little mix-up and got worried, you know?” His eyes meet Y/N momentarily, and the look on his face tells her that she’s going to regret this once he manages to get them out of this situation— hopefully with her clean school record being maintained. “Things can get so blown out of proportion by school gossips, right?”

The Principal doesn’t seem to buy his words as he gestures to the other girl seated across from Y/N, who’s holding a tissue to her bleeding nose as she stares up at Oikawa in shock. “This young girl was very injured and—”

“She’s just fine? Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Oikawa looks to the girl, placing a hand gently onto her shoulder as he offers a sympathetic look, and she practically swoons at the pet name he sues, eyes zeroing in on the hand placed on her shoulder. The girl is clearly in awe at the fact that the very boy she’d intended to confess to all those hours ago was now here and touching her shoulder. 

Y/N nearly rolls her eyes as the girls mumbles out, “oh my god you’re– yeah I’m fine! I really shouldn’t have disrespected Tooru’s—”

“Oikawa.” Y/N corrects quietly, first names were reserved for people close to you, and this girl just had a crush formed from basic manners and good looks, though the girl pays no mind as she continues. Y/N can’t help but feel irritated by the fact that even though she’d literally been attempting to choke Y/N earlier, she was now acting as though Oikawa was her best friend. 

“—girlfriend! I didn’t know you two were actually together, I’m so sorry but—”

Y/N can’t help but feel odd hearing those words come out of someone else’s mouth. Girlfriend. The word feels wrong in a way, and leaves her with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’d never considered being Oikawa’s girlfriend, not really, she’d heard other people’s speculations but she’d never actually considered why they might think that. 

Oikawa has already moved on from this girl, turning back to the Principal as he spreads his hands wide, “see! No harm done, now I need to be getting to Volleyball practice along with our lovely manager here, if you don’t mind that is?” Y/N nearly laughed at the fact that he was pulling the, ‘I’m literally your star athlete so you better do as I say,’ card. Though she only watched as the Principal brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose with a sigh, waving them off.

“Just don’t do it again.” He grumbled out, not sparing them another glance as he grumbled something out about young love and ‘Oikawa’s stupid fans.’

Y/N practically shot up from her seat, bowing to the man in thanks, “of course sir! Thank you, and have a nice day!” Oikawa’s hand has already come to the small of her back as he guides her out of the classroom, passing Iwaizumi who simply sighs as he watches them.

“Try to be on time to practice, idiot.”

Oikawa waves back to his friend, “of course, Iwa-chan! Anything for you!”

Iwaizumi probably would’ve started cursing had he not been standing just outside the Principal’s office, opting to glare daggers into the back of the boy’s head instead. Watching as he and Y/N made their way through the halls wordlessly. 

Y/N knows Iwaizumi’s eyes are focused on Oikawa but she has a feeling that the rest of the people in the hallway are more focused on her; seeing as she was today’s scandal. For several reasons. There was the being Oikawa’s secret girlfriend— though they weren’t actually dating, and Y/N had a feeling the gossips at her school would have a field day if they found out about thaT— and the fight with that girl and the— well, we don’t discuss that last bit. 

She doesn’t have a plan, Y/N was now wishing she’d just accepted the possibility of suspension because then she could’ve put off this conversation with Oikawa, the conversation where she’d have to explain what exactly happened. And at the moment, she didn’t have an explanation to offer him. What she’d done had been impulsive, yes, she could admit that. But stupid? Well, the girl did apologize, so maybe not.

“So... how’s your day been?” 

A sarcastic laugh escapes him as he pushes open the door of an empty classroom, eyes scanning the room once more before he’s shutting the door and bringing his hands to his head. “Care to explain?”

Y/N offers him a sheepish smile as she takes a seat on top of a desk, shrugging, “shouldn’t we get to practice like you said?” Avoiding confrontation happened to be a specialty of Y/N’s, and more often than not, Oikawa respected this. But it seems today was not one of those days. 

“Shouldn’t you have stayed out of it like you said?” Came his response, eyes narrowed at her as his eyes trailed over her figure. “What happened, Y/N?” His thoughts go to the conversation they’d had not too long ago, he’d explicitly been against this idea, for a variety of reasons.

Oikawa’s racked through his mind for reasons why she would do this even after he’d explicitly asked her not to, even more so why she’d get into a fight over him. A small thought in the back of his mind nearly made its way back to him, one he’d been struggling to bury for years as he searched for an explanation. 

Y/N doesn’t really have an explanation either, maybe it was because she had been tired of these people pretending they knew Oikawa, because of the conversation they’d had in the gym. Seeing him upset over it might have triggered something inside of her, and made her decide— why not take things into her own hands? He didn’t deserve any of it, they could be so overbearing, acting as though he belonged to them. 

Maybe it was spite, pure spite. Anger over all the ways these stupid confessions and fans had affected her. Maybe she’d wanted it all to stop and thought that this was the best way how. Maybe there was no real reason beyond that. She finds herself wishing she could offer him an answer, though nothing comes out of her mouth.

When Y/N doesn’t reply, Oikawa simply sighs, bringing a hand to the bridge of his nose before turning to Y/N, his eyes trailed along the dulling red on the edge of her cheek and the bruises evident on her arms. Frowning, Oikawa brought a hand to her arm, “well at least you won the fight.” He didn’t know much about what happened, just what he’d heard in passing and when one of his teammates had approached him to congratulate him for ‘finally getting in to a relationship with Y/N.’

A small laugh escapes Y/N as she nods along to his words. “Yeah,” she mumbles in agreement, lips pressing together to form a tight lipped smile as she struggled to find words, “so... what do we do now?”

That would be the question of the hour.

[tags] lmk if you want to be added via askbox

haikyuu!!: @shawkneecaps @therainroguefanfiction​  @iwaizoom @aquabcrry-y 

[iamdeku]

Friday (I’m In Love): Oikawa x Reader

You don’t know Oikawa Tooru. You don’t want to know Oikawa Tooru. But when fate and circumstance bring you two together, you’re forced to confront, over a series of Fridays, your worst fear. You might have been wrong. Also, you might be in love.

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: Some brief bullying from a girl I accidentally named Annoying. Pining.

Oikawa Tooru was one of the most obnoxious guys you had ever met. He thought he was the coolest guy in school, and he was not at all shy about sharing that opinion. He never stopped talking about himself in that high-pitched, whiny voice of his. You hated him. 

So why you had agreed to tutor him was beyond you.

You supposed it paid well enough, but you were dreading your first session. You had prepared yourself to bite your tongue until it bled through his mansplaining. You were probably going to want to die by the end of the experience, but at least you would have some extra cash for the holidays.

Your boots kicked through the drifts of snow, pure as a coal miner after a long day doing overtime. The cold ice crunched under your weight, and you pulled your coat closer, wishing you had a scarf to help provide protection against the biting wind from the cold flushed skin on your face. Your headphones offered some protection to your ears at least, blasting your favorite song in an effort to raise your spirits.

The warm rush of the library’s heating system slammed into you in a wall of heat as you searched for the annoying setter. It took you longer than you thought to find him, expecting the loud man you knew and instead finding someone significantly more studious. He was hunched over one of the library tables, gray cardigan wrapped around his body, glasses perched on his nose.

You hoisted your satchel more firmly up your shoulder, bracing yourself for whatever weird thing was about to happen. Was he trying to look like he knew what he was talking about? Did he want to show off? You really weren’t sure.

You were hesitant to venture forward, but you did anyway, taking a seat next to him. Oikawa immediately looked up, blinking at you a couple of times before giving one of his usual smiles.

“Oh good, you’re here! As much as I’m great at everything, I have to admit that this has been giving me a little bit of trouble. I was so happy to hear you could help me. Iwa-chan won’t anymore, that traitor.”

You couldn’t blame Iwaizume for getting frustrated with Oikawa’s behavior, even if he had chosen to befriend the disaster sitting casually in front of you. You pulled out your books, writing utensils and laptop. You were a self-professed nerd, so you had brought a surplus of pens, highlighters, and other instruments to the table. You had a reputation to keep up after all.

“Well, I guess we should get to work. What part of this are you having trouble understanding?” You asked, pulling open your textbook.

Oikawa explained his troubles to you, and you were surprised to find how intelligent he was. Everything he found difficult to understand was...well, understandable. You could see why he would struggle in those areas, and for some of them you had struggled as well, despite this being your favorite subject. 

Even more surprising, you found out he could be a good listener when he wanted to be. It was alarming, actually, how attentively he could listen. Damn it, he took notes on the things you said, writing down the important parts of your explanations.

As you started to pack up, you saw sparks of the Oikawa you knew.

“Thanks for that, cutie. You’re pretty smart, you know? Of course, you’re smart enough to already know that. Besides, I wouldn’t have asked you to tutor me if you weren’t the best.” He winked. “See you next Friday.”

He didn’t even ask if you wanted to meet him next week. Gosh, he was the worst.

 Even with Oikawa “I’m the Worst” Tooru dragging you down, you were still resolved to keep showing up to these tutoring sessions. They weren’t half as bad as you thought they would be, and you hadn’t stopped needing the money. You could have gotten a better gig, but frankly this was a pretty easy job, easier than you thought it would be. It was, loathe though you were to say it, the best option.

Besides, you were the kind of person who kept their promises, though you weren’t sure you could say the same of Oikawa.

He was late. He was a whole 3 minutes late and you were only on your second session. If he kept up this kind of behavior you were going to have to have a serious discussion with him about timeliness. Your time was valuable, and none of this had anything at all to do with you needing something to justify your dislike of him.

You were halfway through writing your future lecture on timeliness when Oikawa arrived, slightly breathless and windswept, cheeks pink from the cold. Despite looking as though he had run all the way here, he had the nerve to still look all handsome and charismatic. It irritated you.

“Sorry about being late. The guys and I were practicing volleyball and we totally lost track of time.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, recognizing his mistake, and something in the general area of your chest did a little flip. It was probably a rib rotating in disgust.

“It’s alright. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Oikawa gave you his signature charming smile as he sat next to you.

“You know, you could stand to loosen up a little. I know you’re more fun than this, somewhere deep down in that nerdy little heart of yours.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not my job to be having fun with you.”

“Ah, but it could be.”

“Just open your textbook, Oikawa-san.”

He pulled the book out of his bag, flipping it open on the desk but not bothering to look down at it.

“Come on. Seriously. I got a way better grade than usual on the pop quiz we got this week. I feel like I should thank you for everything you’re doing for me. What are you doing tomorrow?”

The truthful, sad answer was that you were doing nothing at all, actually. You had tried to make plans with your friends, but they were all “busy” with something or other. While it pained you deeply, Oikawa was right. You had no social life.

You sighed. “I’m not busy tomorrow.”

“Well, that settles it then. The guys and I have practice. You can come watch the end of it if you want, and then we’re all going out for dinner. You should come.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Oikawa’s face lit up in a way you hadn’t expected, and he smiled down at his textbook as he turned it to the relevant page.

“Good. Prove to us that you can have fun after all.”

“Watch it. You’ll remember it’s in your best interest to stay in my good graces.”

Oikawa just laughed at your threat like it was meaningless. He was right to do it. You hated to admit it, but even now he was starting to grow on you.

Oikawa started explaining what he was having trouble with, and just as you were really getting into your subject, you were interrupted by a shrill scream. You stiffened in immediate panic, swiveling in your chair to find the source of the sound. Oikawa, on the other hand, looked momentarily annoyed before pulling his Prince Charming façade into place.

“Oh my gosh!!! Tooru-kun is that you!”

You felt a wave of deep-set annoyance go through you at the girl’s tone of voice. Not only had she caused you to be genuinely alarmed, but she was clearly being way to familiar with Oikawa, unless he had a girlfriend you hadn’t heard about.

“Hey there!” Oikawa turned to face the girl headed towards you, an indulgent smile on his face.

“Oh my gosh! I saw your practice earlier and you were like, so good.” The girl gushed.

“Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.” Oikawa seemed genuinely flattered at this, if you were so bold as to assume you could tell the difference between the fake him and the real him.

The girl giggled, stars in her eyes before they turned to you, darkening dramatically. “Oh, who is this? Is she like, your girlfriend or something?”

You didn’t like the turn the girl’s tone of voice had taken. There was something distinctly catty to the way she said the world ‘girlfriend’ that made your stomach turn. You had met plenty of mean girls in your life, and now alarm bells were going off in your head.

“No, no. Just my lovely tutor. She’s helping me out in my worst class. She’s very talented.”

Oikawa seemed to have picked up on the change in tone, shifting slightly to be in front of you. Presumably, this was to block you from the daggers the girl was glaring at you.

“Remind me your name, would you?” Oikawa’s smile had grown tense.

“Oh, my name is Miko! How could you forget?” She pouted elaborately.

“Silly me!” If at all possible, Oikawa’s megawatt smile grew brighter as he caught her attention again, drawing her in once more. “I remember now. How have you been, Miko-san?”

You smirked to yourself at the honorific, so different from how she had referred to him earlier.

“I’ve been great! Way better now that I get to catch up with you. I missed you!” She stuck out her lower lip like she was trying to catch something with it.

“Well, I hope to see you at my next game, once we’re back in season. Thanks so much for stopping by!”

Oikawa’s body turned towards the table, clearly indicating that the conversation was over. Miko didn’t get the message.

“What are you studying? Maybe I can join you. I’m pretty smart, you know.”

You had officially had enough. You stood from your place, glaring at the girl in a similar fashion to how she had looked at you earlier, but for very different reasons.

“Listen, Miko-chan,” you said, purposefully pitching your voice up into an imitation of her own calling for Oikawa. “I don’t know who you think you are, but this is a tutoring session. So unless you intend to pay me for my services, I really am going to need you to find somewhere else in this rather large library to study.”

The girl turned to you, and you expected some kind of temper tantrum, maybe a few crocodile tears before she walked away, but what you got was far worse. She smiled at you sickly sweet, planting a hand on your table and leaning in.

“Pay you for your services? Oh, so I guess you’re nothing more than a common who-”

Oikawa stood from his chair, the legs loudly scraping across the floor as he grabbed her arm. He turned her to face him harshly, and you would never forget the look on his face. You had seen the prince of Aoba Johsai wear many faces, most of them some version of the charming, charismatic boy you knew. You had never before seen the look of cold rage he wore now, grip firm on her forearm as he practically snarled at her.

“You’re not going to call her that. You’re not going to call anyone that ever. If I see you at one of my games, I will make sure you are promptly escorted out. Leave. Now.”

The girl stood still for a moment, frozen in terror, before turning on her heel and bolting as Oikawa released her. You blinked in shock a few times, unaware that your classmate was capable of such emotion, let alone such anger.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said quietly, the first words to cross your mind. “She’ll go around telling everyone you’re an awful person now. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got in trouble or if she started some kind of weird hate club.”

Oikawa scowled as he sat back down, mind clearly still elsewhere.

“I don’t care. People shouldn’t talk to you like that. Nothing about what she just did was okay. Whatever repercussions I face for that, so be it.”

You stared at him in surprise. Oikawa had come to your defense, at no personal gain to himself. Sure, anyone should have done that, but you never thought he would. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Hey.” You nudged his side gently, and he softened, looking down at you. “That invitation to your practice still open? I think I’d like to see you play. I hear you’re ‘so great’ or something.”

He smiled again at your gentle teasing. “Yeah. We’d love to have you.”

  As the months went on, you began to acknowledge that Oikawa was not what you had thought he was. Reluctant as you were to admit it, you considered him a friend now. As you had grown to know him better, it became obvious that everything you had thought about Oikawa before had been a mask he put up to impress people.

“If you keep poking me with that pencil, I will stab you in the eye with it,” you mumbled, not bothering to look up from your paper until a soft spring breeze floated through the library door as it opened.

“Iwa-chan! She’s being mean again!” Oikawa whined.

Iwaizume, ready to join your Friday study session, cast a lazy gaze over the both of you, assessing the situation in half a second.

He shrugged. “It looks like you deserved it.”

“I’m wounded, Iwa!” Oikawa threw an arm over his chest, falling back in his chair.

You rolled your eyes even as a smile tugged at your mouth. You had gotten used to Oikawa misbehaving. Some might go so far as to say you liked it. Some might even go so far as to say you liked him.

You would deny it if asked, of course. The way you blushed when he complimented you was the same as the way you blushed when anyone complimented you. The warm tingle left on your skin when he touched you was just because he was warm, infecting you with it, burning you alive. And the way you couldn’t breathe around him sometimes? Well, nobody could prove that.

Nobody could prove that Oikawa Tooru was your best friend, and nobody could prove that you were in love with your best friend.

Oikawa rested his head on your shoulder, and you wish you could say you had long learned how to ignore the jump of your heart, but you were only human. You still caught your breath, still felt an ache somewhere in your chest when he did it. It was the sort of feeling you got when you saw something in a shop window you couldn’t have but amplified by a million. It was so strong that sometimes you wanted to scream it out, wanted to stomp your feet and throw a fit like a kid in the grocery aisle because you wanted something you couldn’t have but oh, how you wanted it.

It consumed you some days, the way you wanted Oikawa. The way you wanted to peel back his layers, make him reveal that real self you caught glimpses of when he was with you. The soft boy who cried during sad movies, the brave boy who fought for you when you were sad, the silly boy who made faces just to get a rise out of you. It creeped like a sickness through your bones until you wanted to throw up, wanted to lay in bed all day in your sticky sweet misery and sob taffy tears, taste them on your tongue.

“Who are you going with to the spring dance?” Oikawa asked you, breath blowing against your neck in a way he couldn’t know sent shivers through you.

“I’m not going,” you said, returning to your textbook now that Iwaizume had established his presence.

Oikawa sat up, posture stiff with his indignance.

“Not going? How can you be not going? I know for a fact there are at least 5 boys planning to ask you.”

“They asked. I said no. I’m not going.”

“Why not? It will be fun!”

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the nasty feeling in your gut. You couldn’t very well tell him that you didn’t want to go just to watch him dance with every member of his little fan club. You refused to explain how absolutely heartbreakingly awful it would be to go and watch him rotate through his carousel of girls, all of them beautiful, all of them wanting him, none of them you.

“I’m studying. You know, that thing smart people do when they want to pass their classes?”

Iwaizume snorted.

“I know what studying is.” Oikawa glared. “I thought you would want to come, though. I figured you would already have a dress picked out and a date and everything.”

For a guy trying to convince you to go to this thing, Oikawa sounded almost sad talking about it. He especially seemed rather melancholy at the prospect of your date. You wondered if maybe one of your potential dates was somebody Oikawa hated or something. Not that it mattered, since you had turned them all away.

“I don’t really want to go. These things aren’t really fun anyway. Besides, all the guys who asked me were jerks.”

“That’s true,” Iwaizume said. “Didn’t Itsuki ask you? That guy got in 4 fights just this week. Pretty sure I heard him in the bathroom bragging about…actually, never mind. Point is he’s a jerk.”

“Trust me, I know. They were all like that, too.” You groaned. “If one decent guy had asked me, maybe I would have gone, but apparently there’s something about me that draws in the Itsuki’s of the world. So, I’m not going. I’m just going to stay home and watch tacky movies and do homework.”

“Go with me.”

You froze at Oikawa’s offer. He couldn’t be serious. Didn’t he already have a date? Didn’t he already have girls lining up around the block to go to this stupid thing with him?

“Don’t you already have a date? I thought…” You trailed off, unsure what exactly you had thought.

“No. I…I heard the person I was planning to ask was rejecting everyone who asked her. Didn’t want to risk it.”

For whatever reason, Iwaizume rolled his eyes from where he sat across from you.

“Okay. Well…can’t you just go with one of your fangirls?”

You weren’t sure why exactly you were fighting this. This was what you had wanted, but not like this. You had wanted him to ask you because he liked you, not because he was too afraid to ask some other girl who was apparently too good for the student body population.

“I don’t want to go with them. I want to go with somebody I like.”

Oikawa’s soft brown eyes were too earnest staring into your face. You couldn’t say no to him when he looked at you like that, so open and vulnerable you could almost pretend it was a confession. It would have been terribly cruel of you to turn him down now.

You sighed. “I guess I have to buy a dress now.”

Oikawa smiled. “Yay! You don’t deserve to be cooped up all night in your room. I promise I’ll make this fun for you.”

“You’d better,” you teased. “I’ll tell you once I know the color of the dress. That way you can match your tie.”

“Perfect.”

If you closed your eyes and didn’t think about it too hard, you could almost pretend it was a real date.

 When the Friday night of the dance came, you really did almost believe it was a real date. Oikawa had told you he was going to pick you up, but he hadn’t told you that he was going to bring a corsage or charm the pants off your parents. He was acting like you were the girl he had wanted to take this whole time.

He opened your door for you before you got into the car, taking your hand to help you balance as you stepped into the car in your heels. You were dumbstruck when he reached over to buckle you in and make sure you were safe before heading over to the driver’s side. You tried frantically to control your breathing as he got the car started.

It was a short drive to the school, but the whole way there you could barely talk to him, trying to figure out his game. Was he doing this because he didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out? That had to be it. He was probably just trying to show you what a good date was like.

When you got to the school, he helped you out of the car, and you finally admitted it to yourself. When he escorted you in, despite everything, you sort of felt like a princess. Oikawa looked so dashing in his tux, his tie matching the shade of your dress, everything coming together perfectly for a moment before it came crashing down with the realization that you were not the person he had wanted to take to this thing.

In spite of that, though, he seemed intent to act like it. Oikawa’s fan club mobbed you as soon as you entered, but he ignored all of them entirely for once.

“Sorry ladies, but as you can see, I am escorting my date. Any other day you know you all have my attention, but I’m afraid tonight is all about us.” He flashed you a shy smile as he said it, cheeks turning pink on the word us. “Do you want to dance?”

“Uh….sure.”

He was being weird about this. You didn’t have much time to think about that though before he swung you out on the dance floor, swaying you to the beat of the music. The first few songs were fast, but eventually they played a slow song, and so you two danced a slow dance, Oikawa’s hands settled gently on your waist and yours around his neck. He had you pulled close though, enough so that his head curved over your shoulder and your ear pressed against his.

“So, I was thinking,” he said.

“Oh no. That’s always dangerous.” You laughed a little bit.

“Haha, very funny. But seriously, we’re graduating soon, and I…I don’t want to lose you.”

You couldn’t see his face with the position you were in, but you could hear the tenderness of his voice. Your heart ached with it even as he voiced the thought you had been having for a while now. You were coming to the close of your final year and you had wondered if, when you were no longer in school, you would have to face the reality of Oikawa no longer wanting to spend time with you.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you said softly.

“Yeah but…” Oikawa released a shaky sigh. “I don’t know if that means the same thing to you.”

Oikawa pulled back, far enough to look you in the eyes. You were too astonished to protest, staring up at him with your mouth fallen open in surprise.

“I want something more. I know you’ve just barely accepted me as a friend and you hardly even tolerate me and I know I’m annoying and loud and brash and obnoxious. I know all of that, but I need you to know that you’re everything I’m not. You’re gentle and smart and careful and considerate and you were the one I wanted to take to this dance. You. Not anyone else. That’s all I have to say.” He laughed bitterly. “I guess that’s my confession. I don’t expect you to accept it.”

Before you could stop him, he let go of you, starting to retreat through the crowd of dancing bodies around you.

“Tooru!” You used his first name in your excitement, forgetting any need to pretend distance.

He stopped when he heard you, a look of desperate hope on his face. You grabbed his hand, pulling him back into you.

“I wanted to come to the dance with you too. You’re my best friend, but you’re so much more than that. I’m so stupidly in love with you, but I never thought that you would feel the same. I do accept your feelings. All of them. Even the big, loud, obnoxious, dramatic ones. I love them. I love all of it. So let’s not lose each other. I was thinking that after we graduate, I’m probably going to go to college, but I don’t know if you have plans to go pro with your volleyball, or maybe-”

You were cut off when he grabbed your face between his hands, crushing your lips to his. Right there, in front of everybody, Oikawa Tooru started making out with you in the middle of the dance floor. Nobody really noticed the two extra teenagers kissing on the dance floor, but you felt your heart soar.

“We can work all of that out later. For now, I just want to dance with you.”

“And kiss me?” You teased.

“Yes. I would very much like to keep kissing you.”

You laughed, leaning into his shoulder again. The song changed, picking up pace to something more upbeat, and you changed your dance style in accordance with it. You could see Iwaizume on the side of the dance floor looking at you two approvingly, and when you made eye contact, he gave you a thumbs up.

Later, you would have to worry about college and volleyball and everything else. Eventually, it would all work out in the end, though not without some troubles. That Friday though, you danced the night away with your best friend turned boyfriend, and finally admitted to yourself that Oikawa Tooru was the best.

[pinkhairedlily]

Chapter 5 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

When Naruto let go of that pitch, Sakura knew their school had won. She hugged Hinata who was also overjoyed, and she turned to her side to give Sasuke a high five then she realized he was still not back.

As she moved along the bleachers, she rallied her schoolmates to give a resounding yell routine. Disappearing within the noise, she moved along the halls below the benches, and there she found the group.

When the fist made contact with her face, she almost blacked out. The pain came rushing in after a few seconds of numbness, her sight a complete blur, a slight disorientation, and her hearing muffled. The scuffle played out before her as her eyes refocused, Sasuke kicking and punching the goons on the stomach, but it seemed she got it wrong when Kakashi’s eyes drifted to her as a pair of glaring daggers.

His one foot was on the wrist of the guy who punched her. When the blood finally dripped from her broken nostrils, Kakashi broke the guy’s hand, thankfully echoed by the screams from the bleachers. “You’ll get expulsion and multiple restraining orders just for the hell of it.”

While Kakashi called the security, Sasuke went to Sakura’s side with a mix of an irritated but worried look on his face. Ah, he was wondering why.

“I’m okay,” she tried to say despite receiving no question, but the words came out wrong. Oh my gods, are my teeth broken? How embarrassing?

As if summoned by her thoughts, he stood before them right after the guards took away the passed-out bullies. “Let’s get you two to the clinic.”

--------------------------------

“I can’t call Naruto. I left my bag with Hinata,” she tried to say again but the words were coming out jumbled like I con kor Nar-u-o…I re ma ba wi Hina-a…

Kakashi was trying not to laugh as she communicated with Sasuke who was on the other bed, being checked by a doctor with curtains drawn. The school clinic recommended them to go directly to the hospital.

“He would have to wait for our congratulations,” Sasuke replied.

“I see you wincing in pain, young man. That’s a broken rib right there,” the doctor noted from the other side. When the curtains were swept to the side, Sakura saw her raven-haired classmate clutching at his side. When his eyes opened to find hers, he glanced away and let go of his pained expression.

“Ms. Haruno, I will be referring you to our plastics. Would be a waste if your student council president loses her pretty face.” The doctor tapped Kakashi’s shoulder as she walked out of their ward.

“Thanks, Nohara,” he called out after her.

Sakura deduced he was friends with the doctor, but she could ask him that some other time. She looked a bit older than the Math teacher so they might not be together. Regardless, shouldn’t she be more engrossed of having a crooked nose in front of Kakashi than his personal love life? When he turned her attention to her finally, she instinctively covered her face with her hands.

“Sakura, you should tilt your head upwards, just a little bit. You had a nosebleed earlier, didn’t you?” She did what he said, but gods, this was so embarrassing. She tried to look at him through her fingers, and his beauty mark moved as he chuckled. Ugh, why is he so perfect?

His phone suddenly pinged, and he took a moment to read the message. “Hmm. I need to leave and go explain things to the board. Nohara might advise bed rest and school leave for at most three weeks so get well soon, all right?” Then, he turned to Sasuke. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Sakura wondered if she should ask a favor from Kakashi. Asking him to stay was a tad too much, and asking him to contact the council would be too irresponsible. Maybe she could sneak out after his exit and find a way to contact the council. She should also call Naruto – second on the task list. He would be devastated without their congratulations.

A hand on her head stopped her thoughts. “Stop thinking at hundred miles per second, and rest. I will take care of the council and inform Uzumaki of your situation. I assume you three are friends?”

“No.” “Yes.” Sasuke and Sakura answered respectively.

Kakashi smiled, finding amusement in their dynamics. “See you soon.”

“Shi yo,” she muttered through her broken nose, unaware of her fingers already fidgeting the rubber band on her wrist.

--------------------------------

She was back in the hospital the following week. While Sasuke was advised to be confined, she was sent for home care. The mandated rest did not even last a day because she needed to show up to her shifts in the café and showed up she did in some elaborate mask to cover her bandaged nose and a sketchpad for conversations. To appease the constant nag and flood of messages from her councilmates, she stopped showing up in school for three days and turned the tables on them by doing all the nagging and demanding daily updates.

On the fourth day, she was up and running through the school halls to reach the board inquisition in time. She gladly accepted an annoyed litany of precautions and reminders from Kakashi.

“I never thought you could be this stubborn, Sakura.” He was visibly exasperated. “I can’t tail you every time and remind you that you’re injured.”

But you could. “I’m sorry, Sensei. I promise to not push myself so hard for the next days.” Sakura gave him a peace sign which he jokingly waved away.

“Pull your energy back, like 60 percent of it.” He patted her head softly, like an adult would to an unreasonable kid, and never have she felt more insulted. “If only I could take care of you.”

Like a babysitter would? She immediately put distance between them, feeling angry for no reason, and she stormed off, leaving him clueless in the middle of the hallway about her sudden rigid behavior.

Now she was back in the hospital after a week of mild recuperation. When she went to check on Sasuke, she found him asleep, probably from the sedatives. It amused her that even in slumbers, his brows would furrow, yet a part of her worried that there must be something looping him in nightmares. She left her presence with a basket of fruits and a medium-sized carton of tomato juice which Naruto mentioned was his favorite. Several juice boxes of the same flavor were stacked on the other side of his bed and a plastic bag filled with instant ramen bowls. She would ask the maintenance staff later to take out the trash.

When she finally reached the door of Dr. Aki Nohara, her assistant gestured for her to wait for a while outside. She figured she can loiter in Sasuke’s room and have one of the nurses get her until she heard Kakashi’s voice inside the room.

“I know you literally accelerated throughout school, but you need to act more like your age.” Her doctor scolded her teacher like an old friend. She was aware of her eavesdropping, but she hoped to learn more of his life. “I’m saying you should visit Rin.”

“Does she miss me?” It was and wasn’t his voice. She didn’t hear his usual nonchalance when he blurted out those words. Ah, a weird ache was forming in her chest.

“Do you even need to ask that from me when the answer is already so obvious?”

“Hmm. I’m just not ready….yet.”

“Well get on with it and put a ring on her finger or others will!”

Ah, her sensei was apparently planning to get married? So he had someone after all, someone named Rin. Sakura felt the room crowd her in, almost suffocating her, and she accidentally bumped into a passing staff and a tray cart of medical supplies.

Her small disturbance brought the occupants outside the room. “Ah, Ms. Haruno, you may come in now. You look pale, dear.”

Kakashi waved at her, his teacher persona already up in arms, then he turned to Dr. Aki. “Your medical advice for my heart is noted, but not now, maybe in the far, far, far future.”

Dr. Aki tsked at him. “Off you go Hatake. I have a patient waiting. Oh thank heavens, the color is returning to your face.”

He’s not marrying her……yet. Would it be silly to think I have a chance?

--------------------------------

A whole two weeks have gone in secluded rooms – a week alone in a hospital room because of Itachi’s connections and another week alone cooped up in his apartment. He got radio silence from his brother, and he almost wished he gave him an earful of insults instead – many of which should have called out his cowardice, especially when the clash had an avoidable casualty. He looked so stupid next to cool Kakashi, Kakashi who was only five years older than them, Kakashi who smoked and read with baseball playing on the background, Kakashi who took on all four people at once with no scratch on his body, Kakashi with his silver hair being friends with doctors and bigshots, Kakashi with his beauty mark laughing at Sakura.

If there was any further downside to this, that was also the angry flood of texts he got from Naruto the night of the game, and then nothing. He was too drugged with sedatives he didn’t have the right mind to reply and process them. He was too drugged to wake up with a clear mind even. He didn’t bother to text or call back. Whatever, whatever, whatever. He took a look again at his phone, checked the time, found no new messages, and put it back on his side table.

His past self would have enjoyed this momentary social isolation, but he couldn’t help the nagging feeling of missing company however, he can’t bring himself to admit this aloud.

The next time he opened his eyes, he scrambled out of bed in panic and cold sweat. Someone was incessantly ringing his doorbell. When his eyes tried to find the clock, he found that it was already eight in the evening. He was sure he wasn’t expecting any guests tonight.

He trudged on to his door and mustered some strength to look through the peephole. Blue irises looked back at him, moved away a few steps, and struck a pose with a pink-haired girl with bandages still on her nose. The door never opened so quickly during the length of his stay.

“Are you stalkers or something?” were the first words he spat.

“Dr. Aki Nohara said it’s okay to visit you now!” Naruto whined. “And Sakura brought food!”

Sakura presented several paper bags. “It was Naruto’s idea actually. He nagged me for a week.”

“Yeah and I couldn’t understand her in the first few days,” the blonde said, rather straightforwardly.

Sasuke held back the urge to slap his hand on his forehead, but he moved to the side as he allowed them to venture inside his apartment. On second thought, did he put his underwear on the laundry basket?

“We figured you didn’t have dinner yet,” Sakura told him as she laid out the food containers on the dining table. “Mind if we use your utensils?”

“I forgot to say please make yourself at home,” Sasuke snapped sarcastically.

“Eeew, you’re still in your pajamas.” Naruto made a face at him while he opened his fridge and scoured for water and fruit juices. “That makes the two of us who didn’t shower!”

“You idiot. I showered this morning.” Nevertheless, Sasuke sat on the seat beside Sakura, allowing her to give him a bowl of ramen and some serving of okonomiyaki. A large platter of takoyaki was placed in the center of the table, first to be consumed by impatient hands and hungry mouths. Sakura had one hell of an appetite and fast metabolism to boot.

“Anyway, congratulations idiot,” he said while munching on the last piece of takoyaki. “Aren’t you supposed to travel to Fukuoka for the semis?”

“Yeah, next week! It doesn’t start until next month, but Captain Haru said we need to train,” Naruto replied as he proceeded to open a bowl of instant ramen. “The board also granted us exemption from exams. My brains are saved.”

“Your training camp really coincided with the school field trip,” Sakura noted. “Maybe we could visit you in between?”

“That would be the best!” Naruto grinned sheepishly, but Sasuke swore there was a tinge of red in his cheeks.

Finally rid of all food and dishes, the three lounged around in his living room, browsing titles in Netflix – Sakura wanted gore, crime, and horror while Naruto wanted adventure and fantasy films.

“What genre do you want, Sasuke?” Sakura asked. She was in possession of the remote and was seated on the other end of the couch. Naruto was on the floor with an open packet of chips and soda.

“And if I said romance?” he chided, weirdly enough to catch them offguard, but Sakura landed on the Twilight series and pressed play without second thoughts. “I was joking.”

“And it’s now starting,” she said back.

“How long are you gonna stay here?” He lost track of time – not the first instance this happened but the first occurrence without the burden of something heavy. “It’s past midnight.”

“I thought I was slow but you’re actually slower,” Naruto teased. “We’re staying over, grumpy.”

“I would love for a vampire to bite me,” Sakura quipped out of context.

Sasuke figured he didn’t have the energy to refute their uninvited sleepover at his unit. By the time New Moon played on screen, Naruto was sleeping on the floor with his mouth hanging wide open, and Sakura was lying fully on the couch, her feet stretched out on his lap. He slid out of this awkward entanglement and strode quietly to his drawers where he took out spare blankets to cover them with. On his bedside table, his phone lit up with a message notification.

Happy birthday, Sasuke. – Itachi

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 6

[volturicangetit]

D.V- Mates 1/2

Summary: The reader is a human friend of the Cullens who gets taken by the volturi because they’re Demitri’s mate. 

Warnings: reader getting turned, swearing

wordcount: 1562

MASTERLIST

Why did Bella have to be such a dumb ass? You were really contemplating every choice you ever made that lead up to this point. Here you are, running after your love crazy friend, trough the herds of locals trying to celebrate their festival. You try to look behind you every so often to see if you can find Alice, knowing that she is probably taking some back allay's to stay out of the sun. But part of you still hopes that she'll come sprinting up to you to help with your lunatic friend. The fan really hit the shit when you saw Edward stepping out of the building. You know about what they are, which wasn't so hard to find out since Jacob told you the weird folktale stories and Edward can't stop talking about how his soul is damned.

" Edward! " You can hear Bella yell as she struts through the fountain. You take an easier route and just simply walk around it. Bella quickly pushes Edward inside the castle again to keep him out of the sun. You try to push your way through the people and towards the castle, to no avail however since the mass of people just pushes you in the opposite direction. That's when you feel a cold hand wrap itself around your arm and pulling you out of the mass of people. It all happens so fast and in such a blur that you can't even see who it is.

It's only when you are being pushed through the doors of the castle that you look behind you. A man with dirty blond, spiky hair is holding your arm. He's wearing a cape and a cold chain with a prominent V hanging from it make you quickly realize that he is one of them. You would think that with those clothes someone would realize that they aren't from this time. You quickly spot Bella, clinging to Edward's arm as a tall man, that has some resemblance of a bear, glares daggers at them. Alice stand next to them clutching her shawl.

" Y/n... " Bella says. You give her a quick nod to signal her that all is okay. The man who brought you here lets go of your arm and takes his place next to the tall man. " Demitri, we can leave them out of this. " Edward says. The man, Demitri, shakes his head. " They know about us. I think master Aro would like to meet them as well," he says with a smooth British accent.

Nobody who is referred to as ' master ' is to be trusted. That theory proved itself when you found yourself standing in front of Aro. Slik, raven hair is pushed behind his ears as his red eyes stare at you. " Two...humans," he says as he walks over to Bella. He slides his hand over her cheek. " Ah, young Bella. ". He drags out his vowels a bit. Everything about him makes you want to throw up. Every warning sign in your body is going off. Get out of here! Run! Get out!

But you can't just run out of a castle full of vampires, especially not one with the rulers of the vampires in it. ' And Y/n. Oh, how immortality would suit you. ". His fingertips run over your neck, stopping for a second right on top of your artery. You want to push his hand off you. You want to scream at him to keep his hands to himself but you're smarter than that. You want to make it out of this room alive and not end up as vampire dinner.

Aro finally gets if hands of you. You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in. " We do hope that Bella will get turned soon. But we can't say the same about Y/n. ". Aro says as he walks back towards his throne and sits down in it. fear runs through your body. You were deadmeat. You're going to die. Probably by the fangs of on Demitri, or that blond girl or anyone in this room. " I'm sorry? " Alice says. Fear laces her voice taking a couple of steps forward.

" We can hardly allow you to stay friends with one human. Definitely not two. " the blond king, who you learned was named Carius, says. " They'll stay. ". It all goes quick. A tall, brunette man picks you up with ease. Edward runs towards you but gets stop when he falls to the floor screaming. The blond girl's eyes are locked on him as she mutters out ' pain '. The doors open and close quickly as the man carries you out of the throne room.

" Let me go! " you scream as you claw at his arms. You flail your legs to try and wiggle out of his grasp, but his cold arms are not letting you go anytime soon. “ Let me go your fucking mosquito! “

Two months, three days and sixteen hours. That's how long the Volturi has kept you in the castle. You still don't know why they kept you, or why they kept you alive. You have started to become friends with some of the vampires in the castle. Mostly with the higher guards. They had some respect for you, even though you didn't know why. You had gotten close to Demitri in particular. He would spend his night in your room since he didn't sleep anyway. You were too afraid of him to object to it. And somewhere, deep down, you found some comfort in it as well.

" Umano? " Demitri's voice rings from behind your door. He doesn't wait for your invitation as he walks into your room. " There you are. ". You're propped up against some pillows on a small couch Aro was kind enough to place in your room, right in front of the fireplace. Sure, the summers felt like heaven but it got wickedly cold in the winters. Demitri stands in front of you, towering over you as you look up at him. He immediately felt a wave of calmness wash over him. You could always make him relax, which why he liked hanging out with you so much. " I'm sorry to interrupt your reading but the masters want to have a talk with you. ". Normally, his soft British accent calmed you down but now, it fills your body with fear. You place the book you were reading down with shaky hands and let him help you stand up. He guides you towards the throne room even though you know the castle from heart by now. The dark oak doors are open for you as you walk into the room, Demitri close at your side.

" Y/n! How glad we are that you could join us. " Aro says as he stands up from his throne and clasps his hands together. In front of him stand Jane, Alec and Felix. Demitri quickly walks over to them to join them. " We have some important news to share. ". The moment you are within arms reach of Aro, he grabs your hand and wraps his own around it. You're used to it by now, the constant mind reading. It was like he had an insecurity. Like he needed constant confinement that you didn't have any bad thoughts about him. " It looks like Demitri found his mate. " Marcus mutters out as he continues to stare blankly at the wall. " Mate? " you ask. Mates sound more like a thing that werewolves or dogs would have.

" The second half that completes his soul. " Aro explains. " Every person has one, the bond gets stronger with vampires, however. You make him feel whole. You give him purpose. ". Demitri keeps his eyes cast on you, not daring to say a word. He knew that the masters would find out. He tried his hardest to keep it a secret but that has proven to be hard when Marcus could see the bonds.

" I-Is it romantic? Because Demitri you're great, but I don't- I don't see you like that," you say as you look at him apologetically. Aro quickly interrupts you. ' Not necessarily. Platonic mates are also very common. Just having you in his life makes him feel whole again. ". He walks circles around you before he grabs your hand and lifts it up to his ear, listening to your heartbeat. Another habit that all the residents of the castle fell into. " Which is why we need to change you. You understand that, don't you, young Y/n? ". You nod. You knew this day would come. You would either get turned or killed, neither of which were preferable to you. Before you could say anything, Aro's teeth sink into your skin. White, hot pain seers through your body as you can feel the venom seeping in. Your vision starts to go black as the world moves in slow motion. The last thing you can see is Demitri running towards you with panic in his eyes.

TWILIGHT TAGS:

@scuzmunkie @thanossexual @kpopgirlbtssvt

[chipper9906]

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 4: Glimpses

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 9,907

Overall Word Count: 42,032 (In Progress)

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (4/?)

Chapter Preview: 

Loki was pretty sure Sylvie was making fun of him. Probably around ninety percent sure, if he had to give a figure. Or… or maybe more seventy-five… sixty-five… fifty-fifty? No, what was he thinking? He was just getting into his head, is all. Of course Sylvie was just joking around with him. Clearly he wasn’t supposed to take what she had said seriously.

…Right?

“Uh… so, just to be clear-,”

“Oh my God…” Sylvie’s drawn-out groan cut him off. “You’re supposed to be a master of lies, both in telling them and detecting them! You’re telling me you can’t pick up on a little sarcasm?”

Link To Fic

OR

Click Below To Keep Reading

Sylvie was glad that Loki didn’t laugh at her comment in the self-deprecating way she had partly been expecting him to. For a few seconds, he didn’t even react at all, taking the time to absorb her answer and realize that she wasn’t lying to him – or trying to make what would have been a cruel joke. He makes no effort to hide the soft smile that hitches at his lips, eyes holding a warmth directed towards her that was almost overwhelming. There were times like these in the small moments of peace they found together where Loki bared himself to her, practically holding out his heart for her to take, and she always felt that bolt of fear that she would break it the moment she reached out for it. 

Loki reaches out for her hand, and she lets him take it - lifting under her hand and pulling it up to place a tender kiss on the back of her hand. It was strange, only having used her knuckles to throw punches, and now experiencing the sensation of his lips on an area that was only used to violence. 

“Thank you,” Loki said, voice brimming with genuine gratitude. His gaze rested on hers, bearing deep with an intensity that set her already over-heated skin alight. 

Sylvie cleared her throat, forcing herself to break away from his gaze and pretend to brush away bits of sand and dirt that weren't actually on her clothes. Loki watched, partly in amusement but also in some confusion as she stood from the wall, only to drop back down on the floor directly in front of him. 

“Teaching time,” Sylvie answers his unspoken question, crossing her legs underneath her. “Since you managed to conjure up that shirt, I’m assuming you’re up for it. Or, ‘have enough focus’ for it.”

“I… I think so,” Loki replied, pushing himself up a little straighter. “Although, I have to warn you: I’ve never actually taught anyone magic before. I’ve only ever been the, uh… the student.”

“Then we’ll both teach each other,” Sylvie offered. “I can give you some more tips for enchantment, if you’d like. In return, I want to know more about your powers. It seems our mother had a lot to teach me that I never got to learn.”

“There’s a lot,” Loki warned her.

“Examples?”

“Well, there’s conjuration, for starters,” Loki began, pushing down on his pointer finger with the finger on his other hand, counting to ‘one’. “Conjuration is… tricky. There are two main methods of conjuration I use -- one being more like ‘teleportation’ than conjuration. See, with that method, I’m simply grabbing something from a location where I know it already exists - though there’s nothing simple about it - and manifesting itself where I am. Say, for example, I had a dagger stored on some shack on the other side of this planet. I can use my magic to will the dagger to rearrange its atoms to a new location - such as in my hand.”

“Sounds easy…” Sylvie says, sounding daunted by the idea. 

“Takes practice, just like any other magic,” Loki assured her. “There were a few times the item I was summoning arrived… not quite as it should. Other times I’d mess up the location completely. Ended up with the dagger materializing in my hand.”

Sylvie cringed at the image that came to her mind, still able to feel the faint sting across her palm from his dagger metaphor not long ago, knowing that doesn’t compare to the entire blade going through your palm. 

“The other form of conjuration is, unfortunately, just as difficult - perhaps even more so,” Loki continues. “I’m afraid we’re rather limited to what we can conjure. Simple object mostly, that are only compromised of a few materials.

“Like clothing, and bandages, and blankets, and daggers…” Sylvie lists the items she’d seen him create from thin air. 

Loki hums in confirmation. “Precisely. Bits of cloth, really. Simple weapons, such as my daggers, are possible as they’re not much more than… metal. Start adding too many parts and it gets too complicated, too complex to materialize. If there were no limits, well…” Loki cut himself off with a huff of laughter. “I could have just created a Tem-Pad whenever. Or an infinity stone. Anything.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Probably a good thing there are limits then,” Loki says with a knowing smirk.

“So… is that what you did back on Lamentis?” Sylvie asks, getting a confused frown in response. “Back when we trying to sneak onto that train headed towards the Ark. You changed your clothing to blend in with the guards?”

“Ah,” Loki realized what she was referring to. “No, that wasn’t conjuration. That would be a different power.”

“And you say you’re not a magician…”

“I prefer the term ‘Sorcerer’,” Loki corrects her. “You have the potential of these powers too, you know.”

“We’ll see,” Sylvie said, not sounding all that confident. “Come on, then - what else can you do?”

“Hmm… Well, there’s Astral Projection?”

“And what do you use that for?”

“Deceiving, mostly,” Sylvie nearly jumped out of her skin when his voice came from right beside her. She whipped around to face the direction of the voice, blinking in surprise at… Loki. Another duplicate of Loki, who looked identical to the one still sat against the wall, looking rather proud of himself for his magic. 

“Sometimes gets confused with Illusion Casting - which is what I did back on Lamentis to alter the appearance of my clothing,” The other Loki faded away as the real Loki waved down at himself and - with another flash of magic - he was dressed head to toe in the deep blue guard uniform from Lamentis, ridiculous helmet and all. “Which is also what I used to create the fake dagger back on the train. And is… the same power we saw us - old us - use to trick Alioth.”

“Right…” Sylvie murmured quietly. “I’m guessing you’ve never been able to recreate the entirety of our home in an illusion?”

“Not quite,” Loki admitted. “But I can use it to alter my appearance rather convincingly.”

Loki backed up his statement by seemingly shape-shifting into a man she had never seen before, dressed in a uniform of distractedly bright blues, reds, and whites. “This pretty face belongs to one Captain Steve Rodgers - more commonly referred to as ‘Captain America’. He was one of the plucky heroes that managed to bring my army down in New York.”

There was nothing on him that Sylvie could see which would give away the illusion – no haziness to his form or fuzzy edges. There was no other word for it but to call it downright impressive. Although, her answer quickly changed to ‘creepy’ as Loki altered his appearance once more, and she came face to face with… herself. It was unsettling, to say the least, to stare back into her own eyes that technically weren’t her own, getting more and more creeped out by the minor mannerisms in her movements that Loki had managed to learn and use so quickly in his replication of her. 

“Nope, too weird,” Sylvie has to look away, made all the more uncomfortable when his laughter at her discomfort comes out in her voice. “Give me back the original you.”

“As you command,” Sylvie’s grateful to hear him speak in his voice again, cautiously peeking at him out of the corner of her eye, relieved to see the face of the Loki she knows. 

“Never do that again…” Sylvie asks of him, looking almost queasy at what had just happened. “It’s bad enough I have to look myself in the eyes in reflections; I'd rather not have to stare myself directly in the face, thank you.”

“You know, there was a variant of us that looked almost exactly like me back in The Void,” Loki tells her. 

“And… is there any particular reason he wasn’t with the other versions of us you introduced me to?”

“Well, he was…” Loki tried to find the best way to put this. “…Rather an idiot, I suppose.”

“So, when you said exactly like you…?”

“Ouch,” Loki placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “I guess you could say he was me - if I’d never learned my lesson. There were… at least a dozen versions of us all congregated in one place, which went about as well as you could expect. A fight broke out; the alligator version of us bit off the other me’s arm-,”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Never even knew I could scream like that...”

Sylvie’s head reared back in surprise, wondering exactly how much mischief Loki had managed to get into in the short amount of time he was in the Void before she and Mobius had run into him. 

“What did you want to start with?” Loki asks her, experimentally stretching out to see how much pain would blossom from his wounds. The pain is still sharp and evident, enough so for him to wince and quickly stop his stretches, but it’s bearable. 

“I think it might be worth for the both of us to be able to use conjuration,” Sylvie answers. “Especially if you’re going to be insistent on throwing yourself into danger every chance you get. I’ll probably be materializing bandages in my sleep…”

“With you as my carer, I know I have nothing to worry about,” Loki counters, shooting her a cocky smile as he offers out his hand once more for her to take. She places her hand in his, though raises a brow in questioning. 

“Keeping skin-to-skin contact with you helped immensely when we were sharing our powers to enchant Alioth,” Loki answers. “Thought it might help with this, too.”

Sylvie nodded, his answer making sense in her mind - along with that annoying whisper in her mind that told her she didn’t need an excuse from him to hold his hand when she knew full well that she wanted to. 

  “Close your eyes,” Loki instructs her, and she does so. A sense of calm washes over her the second she does, keeping her grip tight around Loki as she sinks into that still, tranquil river of peace. “You can feel your control over your magic within, can’t you? Feel the opportunities it can provide? Feel the possibilities of the known Universe under your command?”

“Yes,” Sylvie answers automatically, keeping her eyes closed firmly shut. 

“Picture the object you wish to manifest. Make it as real in your mind as if it were in front of you,” Loki continues with his teaching, his voice smooth and soothing as it washes over her. “Grab hold of that magic brimming within you. Remember that it is yours to control, to bend it to your will. You need to start encouraging your magic towards that picture in your mind, manipulate it into the object you desire.”

Sylvie’s brow was creased into a deep frown as she dredged up every bit of concentration she had, focusing it all towards the task at hand. The few beads of sweat that ran down her face from her hairline were not entirely from the sweltering heat of the cave, resisting the urge to wipe the drops away. 

She heard Loki’s sharp inhale of surprise, but didn’t dare look at what he was seeing just yet. She let the sound of him fade away as background noise, doing all she could to ensure her first attempts at conjuration were at least somewhat successful. Loki’s hand in hers was not of the distraction she thought it’d be, rather acting as an anchor to keep her focused whilst simultaneously providing her with a reassurance; a way of him saying ‘I believe in you’ without him actually saying it. 

She didn’t know if it had worked. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to look. She knew that, chances are, her first attempt at conjuration was unlikely to end the way she was hoping to. But that didn’t mean she wanted to see that with her own eyes. 

“Sylvie,” Loki’s voice doesn’t give away how he’s feeling, the tight squeeze around her wrist being the only thing that snatched some of her focus away. “Sylvie, open your eyes.”

His words mirror her own from not too long ago, and she knows they hold the same pride she felt towards him on that day, as she got to witness him branching out his magic in a way he hadn’t done before. It’s this that gets her to slowly peel her eyes open, looking down to the small space between them to see if she had managed to manifest what she had envisioned.

And… there it was. It might not have been the exact same size, and maybe the color was slightly off from what she remembers, but… it was her boat; the little model that seemed a lot bigger when she was just a child. She knows that, technically, it’s not her boat - having long been pruned by the TVA along with everything else in her life. Yet… she had made it. She had willed it back into existence. 

Loki watched her silently as she gingerly picked the model boat up from the ground, cradling it in her hands as she looked to her creation. She turned the model around to get a good look from every angle, inspecting the boat thoroughly for anything that would give away it being a first-time conjurer's creation. 

“Not bad, huh?” Sylvie asks him, voice thick with emotion as she holds the boat out for him to take. Loki takes the boat from her hands with great care, knowing that - whilst it was only a replica - was the only physical thing she really had from her childhood, and from the life that had been taken from her. 

“Not bad at all,” Loki agrees with a smile so full of pride that it makes her heart hurt, holding out the boat like he’s inspecting it - except he only has eyes for her. 

"Not sure why I chose that," Sylvie says, taking back the boat when Loki carefully offers it back to her. "It just sort of... popped into my head."

She shoots him a sheepish smile, placing the toy boat down on the ground next to her. "Okay, your turn." 

"My turn?" 

"With learning," Sylvie clarifies. "Anything else you want to know about enchantment? Practice it?" 

"Well, yes but..." Loki started, confused. "...But practice on who?" 

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at him like the answer was obvious. 

"You?" Loki's voice pitched up in disbelief. "You're going to let me enchant you?" 

"I'm going to let you try," Sylvie returned with a playful smirk. 

Loki glanced down to her extended hand nervously, delicately taking hold of her wrist. Back when they had enchanted Alioth, it had felt more like... like Sylvie was doing most of the work. She was the one to make that bridge between themselves and Alioth, whilst he sort of... did what he could do in the background, extending out his magic towards both her and to Alioth. He hadn't been too sure what it was he was looking for, his magic reaching out and searching through the mess that was Alioth's thoughts and memories. 

"It's easier to search by my emotions, rather than just randomly selecting through all my memories," Sylvie tells him. "We attach our emotions to our memories; they stick out like a post-it note atop each one. It's useful when, for example with that hunter from the TVA, where I'm trying to... manipulate their memories. I sifted through the happy memories I could find, then forced myself into her memory, trying to blend in with her life."

"Why happy memories?" Loki asks. 

"Keeps them placated," Sylvie answers. "They're more likely to accept changes - such as that hunter believing she knew me back on her normal life on Earth."

"...What would happen if you used bad memories?" 

"Well... It'd be like a form of torture, I suppose," Sylvie gives him a somewhat concerned look. "Not many people want to re-live their worst memories." 

"Oh, believe me, I know..." Loki says bitterly, shuddering at the memory of his repeated cycling memory with Lady Sif. 

“If you’ll let me, I can show you,” Sylvie offers. “Afraid you’ll have to take down the walls in your mind, though. Even I can’t get through your defenses.”

What Loki found odd was that… the idea of Sylvie searching through his head didn’t worry him. He knew he had an extensive record of memories stored up there, and he knew full well that a lot of them featured his not so finest moments. But… it’s Sylvie. If anyone were to understand the things he did and the reasons he did them, it would be her. And besides, she said she would be looking through his good memories, right?

“Go ahead,” Loki gives her permission with a small nod of his head. Sylvie removes her hand from his hand, raising her fingers up to the sides of his temple, like she had tried to do in Lamentis. As her eyes slid shut, so did his, waiting for the moment he would be thrust into his own mind to relive his memories. 

He could feel her presence in his mind. She was rummaging around, carefully sorting through memory after memory. It was unsettling that he didn’t know what it was she was… feeling from him? Feeling the emotions attached to his memories? He simply didn’t know where in his life she had jumped to, and to what ‘happy memory’ she would bring to the forefront. 

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. 

Loki opened his eyes, expecting to see Sylvie sat in front of him, as she was before. Except now, he was standing upright instead of leaning against the cave wall, Sylvie stood next to him. Gone was the stifling heat, the unbearable dry air, and landscapes of nothing but sand. It had been replaced by a gentle and welcoming breeze that whistled through the trees surrounding them, soft dirt under their feet, and a perfectly reasonable temperature around them. 

“Come on, Loki!” A young boy with a mop of blonde hair yells as he runs by the two of them, some of his finest clothing having been dirtied up – which would more than likely earn him a scolding once he returned home. He held a wooden sword in his hands - no more than a child’s plaything - but he held it like it was his most trusted weapon. “We need to advance before they retreat any further!”

“Thor…” Loki whispers in disbelief, the memories of this day rushing back as he watched the… well, the memory unfold. 

“The cowards!” Another high-pitched, young child’s voice comes from somewhere within the trees. Loki watched as his younger self hurried over to his brother's side, he too holding a child’s weapon in his hand. Although, unlike his brother, his weapon was much smaller, thinner, and easier to conceal. 

His love of daggers had started at quite a young age. 

A touch against his hand distracts him for a moment, glancing down to see that Sylvie had slipped her hand into his, their fingers sliding together in a perfect fit. She watched the two children play with a warm smile, reminded of the mischief she and her Thor would get up to when not under their parent’s watchful eyes. 

“You were a cute kid,” She leans closer to tell him, and before he can say or do anything in response, she looks him up and down with a criticizing eye. “What happened?”

“Oh, very funny,” Loki deadpans with a light-hearted glare. “I grew into my looks, thank you very much -- not out of them.”

“Don’t need to tell me,” Sylvie responds slyly, appreciating the way it made him close his mouth with an audible clack of teeth, looking caught between a feeling of embarrassment at her agreement, and that overly cocky sense of ‘Damn right’. 

Whatever fake battle his younger self and younger brother had created in their imagination seemed to have reached its peak, the two boys ferociously swinging their wooden swords through the air and pretending it was slicing through the bodies of countless enemies. A part of Loki yearned to go back to those simpler times when his only worries were of what imaginary monsters needed to be slain, back when he was sure he would grow up defending Asgard until he breathed his last, ready to take arms against the Frost Giants if the need ever arose. 

Finding out that he was one really threw a wrench into the plans…

Loki blinks, and all of a sudden he’s back in the cave, like they had never left it. The sudden shift in surroundings was disorienting, and he needed to take a second to come back to himself, and back to reality. 

“That was an abrupt ending,” Loki commented, rubbing a hand against his forehead as he felt the lingering traces of Sylvie’s magic slowly dissipate. 

“It was supposed to be a happy memory, you know,” Sylvie says, much to his confusion. 

“What do you mean? It was a happy memory.”

“You didn’t look it,” Sylvie says, and he finds himself taken aback not only by how much he apparently put his emotions on display, but on how well Sylvie was able to pick up on it. “I don’t know what you were thinking about, but that memory certainly wouldn’t stay happy for long if you kept that train of thought up.”

She was right, and he knew it. Even now, he could already tell that the memory was tainted - no longer the pure and innocent moment captured in time that it had been. 

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd rather you didn't try to manipulate my memories," Sylvie says, tapping a finger to the side of her head. "We'll just go with simple enchantment for now. Just... do the same as I did for you. Enter my memories, and show them to me. Try and find a good one, if you can."

Loki swallowed nervously, slowly raising his fingers up to her head. He knew it was no small thing that she was so willingly offering her most vulnerable side to him, giving him the opportunity to view any and all memories that she has. And yet, when he placed his fingers on the sides of her head, she did not flinch away in a desperate bid to escape him. They both once again let their eyes fall shut, and like a searching hand did Loki’s magic reach out towards her mind. 

He could tell what she meant before with the whole ‘wall’ thing. Hers was just as impenetrable as his, bringing his magic to a standstill as he reaches it. There’s a moment of hesitation - although, really, it feels more like a moment where Sylvie was gathering herself together - before the wall all but crumbles away at his touch, and he delves deeper into her mind-

Too much. It was too much, all at once, surrounding him until it engulfed him. He had no idea how Sylvie was able to pick through all those different emotions when they are all just there, screaming for his attention. Disembodied voices surrounded him, and there was no chance of him making out what voices they were as they all congealed into one unidentifiable mess of noise. 

Something good. That’s all he had to find, wasn’t it? Surely he can do that. He makes an effort to filter through everything around him, and the very first thing he comes across that shows even the slightest hint of being somewhat good, he grabs hold of. 

And… immediately wishes he hadn’t. 

To say he was shocked still was an understatement. Wherever they were was almost too dark to make out, barely able to detect that they were stood in some… shack, maybe? He didn’t know. But what he did recognize were the noises, and as soon as he heard them, he knew exactly why a memory like this would fall somewhere in the ‘good’ category. Loki could feel the intense flush across his face at the needy, breathy moans he could hear from the two bodies writhing together atop what looked like a less than comfortable bed. Then again, it wasn’t like they were using the beds for sleeping...

His mind incessantly reminded him that one of those naked figures moving on the bed was Sylvie, and he was caught off guard by the bolt of lust that shot through him whilst, simultaneously, he had to deal with a whole other mess of emotions: Shame, at witnessing such a private moment; embarrassment, at knowing he had been caught witnessing said moment by the person whose privacy he was betraying, stood by his side with an equal expression of shock. But what caught him most off guard though was the burning, overwhelming feeling of jealously that over-powered all the others, irrationally hating this unknown person. It shouldn’t be them who were allowed to run their hands across her body. It shouldn’t be them who were permitted to see every inch of her skin. It shouldn’t be them who got Sylvie to make those soft sighs of pleasure that made his mouth run dry. 

He wasn’t sure if it was him or Sylvie that ripped them away from the memory. It was probably a little of both, the two of them hurriedly shoving each other out of the proverbial memory door, tripping over each other to get out. 

Loki sat wide-eyed, staring un-blinkingly at Sylvie. He had ripped his hands away from her as soon as they had come back to themselves, waiting for his racing heart to calm down. They could only gape at each other for a good few seconds, neither one knowing what to say or how to react to what had just happened. 

“I--I- I’d like to apologize…” Loki takes the first step, his words coming out in an awkward stumble of speech. 

The pure panic on his face would usually be enough to make Sylvie laugh if she wasn’t still working through her own embarrassment. She pointedly refuses to look him in the eye, staring at a particularly interesting piece of wall behind him instead. “Suppose I should have expected that might have been a possibility…” 

“I wasn’t searching for, um -- that,” Loki tries to defend himself, but it only makes his face flush brighter. “I didn’t know what memory I had found, only that it seemed to be a good one - which admittedly, it, uh… seems like it was?”

“It was… pleasant…” Sylvie forces out through the shame that wanted to keep her mouth firmly shut. “Um… how much exactly did you see?”

“Not much,” Loki answers, and it was the truth. “It was too dark to see much of anything. I mean, I knew that since it was your memory that it was… you, on that bed. But I didn’t see it was you.”

Sylvie nods, apparently accepting his answer. She clears her throat awkwardly, trying to shake off the last dregs of embarrassment that were intent on lingering. “Good. I’d rather not have that be the first time you see me like that.”

Loki’s wide-eyes stare somehow got wider, not expecting for Sylvie to bounce back from her embarrassment like… well, like that. It wasn’t exactly like he could take what she said and interpret it in any other way than what she was hinting at. 

“Okay - let’s try again,” Sylvie said, giving Loki a serious case of conversational whiplash. 

“I… what?”

“Enchant me again,” Sylvie clarifies, shuffling closer to him. “Only, this time, if you could spend a little extra time selecting the memory, I’d appreciate it.”

“Are you sure?” Loki asks, voice filled with anxiety as he places his fingers on her head again. “There’s every chance I could mess it up again.”

“I have faith in you,” Sylvie assures him, and it’s all he needs to hear to delve straight back into her mind. 

At least he was a little bit more prepared for it this time. It still felt like he was being squeezed in on all sides by every single memory her mind had procured, but now he knew what it was like, he didn’t feel the immediate panic that had him reaching for the first good memory he could sense. Loki forced his way through, letting all the different emotions attached to each individual memory wash over him. It was disheartening to see - or more accurately, feel - just how many of her memories were bad ones. The good ones, if you could even call them that, seemed few and far between, dull in comparison to all the terrible moments she’s had to endure. Still, he trudged forward, extending his magic to its limits.

There it was. Shining bright in the darkness of everything else, tucked snuggly away in a nice, safe spot away from all the bad. He wasn’t sure if she purposefully hid it here to make this more of a challenge for him, or if it was just where it already was. Loki reaches for the memory, and the memory seems to move towards him, eager to accept his touch. 

The blackness surrounding him gives way to a flash of white, momentarily blinding him. Loki raises a hand to shield his eyes, rapidly blinking as he waits for his vision to come back into focus. When it does, he can only slowly lower his hand back down, staring out to what was in front of him in disbelief. 

He recognized this memory. This bright, shining, happy memory. Because… he was in it. For most looking on the outside, the memory certainly didn’t look happy, what with the giant chunks of planet moments away from smashing into them and obliterating the moon that was under their feet. Yet, there was beauty amongst all this destruction; the purples and pinks of Lamentis’s sky created an almost dream-like atmosphere, the luminous colors reflecting in the still lake they had been sat by.

He could see himself, sat on that rock with Sylvie by his side. This had been what they both thought were going to be their last moments. It had been remarkable really that, in those last moments, Sylvie didn’t hold onto any grudges – him having admittedly been the one to doom them to this fate by accidentally crushing the TemPad. 

“Do you think that what makes a Loki a Loki… is the fact that we’re destined to lose?” He hears the words Sylvie had spoken to him, just as beaten-down sounding as he remembered.

“No,” His past self asserts with all the confidence he has. “We may lose. Sometimes painfully. But we don’t die. We survive. I mean, you did. You were just a child when the TVA took you, but you nearly took down the organization that claims to govern the order of time. You did it on your own. You ran rings around them. You’re amazing!”

Loki didn’t realize at first that the wave of emotions that crashed into him weren’t entirely his own. Somehow, he was simultaneously re-experiencing the emotions he himself had felt in that moment, combined with not only the emotions he was feeling in this very moment watching it all unfold, but also getting the full brunt of Sylvie’s emotions, from where he was witnessing all this from inside her head. 

The strength of it nearly took him off his feet. The sense of gratitude he could feel from Sylvie, just from him saying what he had said. And there was this… this sheer adoration towards him, his chest tight as it felt like his heart stumbled over a few beats. It might have been him, it might have been Sylvie, or it might have been both of them. Either way, it was… beyond reassuring to know now, that it had been the same for her. This very moment, as he watched her reach out and place a hand on his arm… it had been the moment he began to fall for her. 

Funny that it took reliving a memory for him to be slapped with the realization that right here, and right now, he had fallen completely and utterly in love with her. Deep down, he probably already knew that. In fact, it was probably obvious to many, let alone himself. 

He wondered if, by some miracle, that she felt the same in that moment. Truth be told, he doesn’t know how she feels for him now. He’s not completely blind; he knows there’s some semblance of feelings there. Question was… how far did those feelings run? Were they as deep as his? Would she ever tell him? 

Would he ever find the courage to tell her?

“Our Nexus Event…” Sylvie said quietly from next to him, eyes still transfixed on the memory of the two of them

It wouldn’t be too long before the ‘happy’ part of the memory was interrupted by the entrance of the TVA, their workers storming in to take them prisoner once again. Loki wasn’t too sure whether it was Sylvie’s influence on her own memory, but it seemed… slower, like she was savoring every second of it she could. He could almost feel the warmth of her memory self’s hand on his arm - the first genuine touch of kindness from her - the moment forever etched into his skin.

The end of this world, and the near end of their lives, was almost…. almost beautiful to behold. Especially now, with everything slowed down: the shards of broken-up planet hurtling towards them so slow you nearly couldn’t tell they were moving, the picture-perfect lake in front of them as still and calm as can be - quite the difference to the chaos and destruction just above their heads, waiting to rain down upon them. 

“You know, I spent many nights wondering what my end would be,” Sylvie tells him. “Different scenarios that could occur. Most of them were preparation, I suppose. Trying to make escape plans for every possible thing that could go wrong. I thought that, if the day came that something did wrong, and I couldn’t find a way out of it? I tried to imagine how much of a mess my mind would be. What would I think about, as my death approached? That I failed my mission? That my life had been for nothing? Would I spend those last moments thinking of my family - or at least, what of them I can remember?”

Loki watched Sylvie as she spoke, who had yet to look away from the memory versions of themselves. Although she wasn’t looking at him, she seemed to sense he was looking at her, for she gestured with a flick of her chin for him to pay attention. Loki followed her line of sight just as she blindly reached out for him, wrapping a hand around his forearm, just below the elbow. At that same moment, the memory version of himself had slipped his arm down until his hand met Sylvie’s, the two of them latching onto one another tightly as the deadly chunk of planet that had been looming ahead crashed into the surface of Lamentis, sending a blast of heat and debris towards them. 

It was then, with Sylvie’s hand still wrapped around his arm, that he heard her voice in his head. Not of her current thoughts, no, but of the thought she had in those last seconds - moments before she was certain would be the last seconds of life. What caught her off guard though, as much as it had Loki, was that she too heard his thoughts. Their last thought - or so they had thought - rang out within the memory as clearly as if they had said it out loud. And the craziest part? 

It had been the same single thought. 

‘Finally…I’m not alone.’

Their combined voices echoed in Loki’s head as the memory faded away, and he found himself opening his eyes back in reality. His fingers were still held against the side of her head, and he found he couldn’t take them away as Sylvie opened her eyes, immediately focusing in on him. There was such warmth to her gaze, and it took him a moment to remember how to breathe. There were times, such as the moment they had just visited, or when they shared a blanket in the void, where she had given him glimpses of that warmth. He had seen it, hiding behind a layer of wariness in her eyes, valiantly trying to fight to the surface. It seems that, in this moment of raw truth, that it had won its fight. 

Gods, he never wanted her to stop looking at him like that. If he wasn’t careful, she would become an addiction - one he knows full well he won’t be able to kick. 

Oh, who’s he kidding. He became hooked on every essence of her long ago. 

And he didn’t mind one bit. 

Loki let one of his hands drop away as the other softly grazed down the side of her face, coming to a stop at the bottom of her chin. It was a bit of an awkward angle from where they were sitting - even if Sylvie had gravitated towards him throughout their little enchantment training session - and the bending of his body as he leaned towards him had most definitely sent a twinge of pain shooting through his side. He was pretty sure that the movement had torn the wounds open again, but as he tilted her face up and their lips finally met, he decided that this was worth bleeding for. 

Their kiss broke for the briefest of moments as Sylvie pushed herself up onto her knees, her hands resting on his shoulders as she swooped back down to reclaim his lips with her own. The pressure of her hands on him pushed him back into the wall, the rough and cold surface of it against his back a stark contrast to the gentleness and warmth of her lips. Loki had found a way to bring out a soft side of her that she didn’t know existed, one she thought was buried down and would cause great embarrassment if she ever let herself be seen as so weak. But with Loki, it all just… came easy. She knew that he wouldn’t see her as weak - and she was completely right. From Loki’s perspective, the fact that she was able to display such a side of herself when she’s relied on nothing but toughness and cruelness to survive filled him with a sense of pride and admiration that he hoped he was able to express with every lingering tender gaze and press of lips.

Kisses had never been much of an expression of emotion for Sylvie. They had just been part of the process – a sensation that leads to more, something to distract her. Most of the time, they were rough and hard: clashes of teeth, red and puffy lips as they make haste to get on with it before the end of the world, the taste of iron in her mouth from a bite of the lip that had been a little too hard. 

It was nice, to have this with Loki. No rushing, no ‘We’re here to do a thing, so let’s get it over with’. She could just… take her time. Appreciate the way it feels to have someone touch her in a way that didn’t send her into fight or flight, savor the way he held her – not like she was fragile, but something precious. She doesn’t have to kiss him like the world's about to end. She gets to kiss him simply because she can, because it’s what she wants, because he’s what she wants, because she lo--

Whoa. That thought had almost come too easily, ready to slip into her mind like it was something of common knowledge. It’s enough of a shock that she pulls away from Loki – but then again, the burning in her lungs and the way they were both panting as they break away from one another likely meant that there would have been a pause soon anyway. Loki’s pupils were blown almost all the way out, the blue-gray of his irises nothing more than a thin ring eclipsing the black holes trapped within his eyes. Sylvie wondered if her eyes looked about the same right now – at least, if the heat searing through her veins was of any indication. 

Loki’s tongue darted out across his lips, swiping away the taste of her that lingered there. His lips had turned cherry bright and glossy, which was almost tempting enough for her to dive right back in, only for her racing thoughts to be brought to a calm as Loki spoke. 

“I know that you’ve spent nearly your entire life alone,” Loki began. “But… it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. I can promise you: I’ll make sure you never have to feel alone again.”

Sylvie could feel her face soften at his nervous offer. “You can’t promise that. And that’s not me saying that you might one day decide you’ve had enough of me - which is something I could see happening.”

Loki opened his mouth to strongly argue against her statement, but Sylvie continued before he could get a word out beyond the deep frown etched onto his face. “I’m saying it because… there’s a chance you might leave me, not of your own volition. The life I’ve dragged you into - especially now with so many new threats out there that we don’t even know about… someone could take you from me. In a blink, you could be gone, and… and I’d be alone again.”

“There’s always that risk,” Loki pointed out. “I mean, it’s us. You didn’t drag me into this life. I dragged myself into it when I picked up the Tesseract that landed by my feet. And If I hadn’t done that? Then my life would have ended at the hands of Thanos anyway. If I had to choose between that, and spending the rest of my life with you? Well, let’s just say it’d be the easiest decision of my life. Hel, you could give me the choice of living a life of luxury on the throne of Asgard, or slumming it with you in Apocalypse after Apocalypse, and I’d still choose this path. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter what path is laid before me. I’ll only choose the one where you walk down it beside me.”

Sylvie’s jaw clenched hard as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. She was almost certain that Loki was the reasoning behind around seventy percent of the number of times she’s cried in her entire life. When you’ve lived a life running from an all-powerful organization that’s chasing you for not belonging in their carefully crafted universe, it’s not all too surprising that actually feeling wanted by someone was enough to open the floodgates. 

“You’re an idiot,” She croaks out in an attempt at a joke. Although, she supposed it wasn’t much of a joke. Choosing her over a life of comfort seemed like a pretty stupid decision….

“That’s likely true,” Loki agreed with a wonky smile. “But if you’ll have me, then I’ll be your idiot.”

“Hmm… Such a tempting offer…” Sylvie says, smiling through the tears that still sat in her eyes. “I’ve only gone and spent over a thousand years of my life living completely alone, doing what I can to survive. And now, here’s someone sat in front of me who’s fought by my side, helped me outsmart the TVA to achieve the one goal I had set out to accomplish, had my best interests in mind even when I couldn’t see it myself, has thrown themselves into danger numerous times to protect me, and is now the one asking if I’ll have him?” 

Loki stared blankly back at Sylvie. “…Yes?”

Sylvie’s lips flattened into a straight line, unsure whether to laugh or sigh at his uncertainty. It had at least helped to lessen the burning in her eyes. “Hmm… Nah. I think I’ll keep going on my own, thanks.”

Loki was pretty sure Sylvie was making fun of him. Probably around ninety percent sure, if he had to give a figure. Or… or maybe more seventy-five… sixty-five… fifty-fifty? No, what was he thinking? He was just getting into his head, is all. Of course Sylvie was just joking around with him. Clearly he wasn’t supposed to take what she had said seriously.

…Right?

“Uh… so, just to be clear-,”

“Oh my God…” Sylvie’s drawn-out groan cut him off. “You’re supposed to be a master of lies, both in telling them and detecting them! You’re telling me you can’t pick up on a little sarcasm?” 

Loki’s lips pursed into an honest to God pout, crossing his arms across his chest with an in-dignified huff. He had already known, from Mobius’s little interrogation technique, that the skill-set he possesses in making him the Trickster he’s known as is often thrown completely out the window whenever Sylvie becomes involved. 

Sylvie took pity on the sulking demigod, reaching down to place a hand on his knee. Loki’s eyes darted down to her hand, then back up to her, his frown softening by just the slightest. “Listen, Loki… What I was trying to say is that...”

Sylvie stopped with a heavy sigh, shuffling around until she was side to side with him once more. She leans back against the wall as he was, letting her head fall back until it softly collided with the wall as she closed her eyes. She figured it would probably be easier to say what’s on her mind when she can’t see the way his eyes were trying to burn into her soul. 

“After everything that happened… I truly didn’t know how you’d react to seeing me. You know how I said I liked to think over different scenarios in my head? Try and prepare myself for every outcome?”

Loki nodded his head, and although she couldn’t see it, she took his silence as her cue to continue. “In nearly every scenario I envisioned… it never goes as I want. Maybe the Time Door wouldn’t take me to the same TVA I placed you in. Maybe I’d be arrested or pruned before I could find you. Maybe… maybe they had already killed you,” A lump formed in her throat at that thought. “Maybe, if I did find you, you’d refuse to go through that Time Door. Maybe, once you saw me, you’d run away. Or maybe you’d run towards me, and thrust your dagger through my chest.”

“I’d never-,” Loki tries to exclaim, but Sylvie raises a hand to stop him. Obediently, he falls quiet, though his mouth was still twisted into quite the grimace.

“I ran through the argument we’d have so many times in my head,” Sylvie continues. “A lot of shouting… a lot of tears… some of them would end in another clash of swords, others… you leave. And I find myself alone again. So when…” Sylvie forces her eyes open, glancing at Loki from her side vision. “When you ran to me, I was waiting to see which of those scenarios would unfold. But you did none of them. You wrapped your arms around me, and you were… you were happy to see me. Even with what I did to you, you were just…”

“Glad to see you were okay,” Loki finished for her. 

“And I still don’t know what I did to deserve that,” Sylvie confesses, the two of them turning their heads towards one another. “I hadn’t been expecting it, and… I thought that, if I somehow managed to find you and you didn’t want nothing to do with me, then… then I thought that I’d be the one that was asking you if you’d have me – not the other way around.”

Loki exhaled softly from his nose, averting his gaze down with the beginnings of a smile. “Communication doesn’t seem to be our strong point…”

“Really not a fan of… feelings,” Sylvie spat out the word like it burned her. “They’re rather messy, aren’t they?”

“Hmm. And confusing.”

“Way too confusing. I mean, really, they seem to be more trouble than they’re worth.”

“No doubt about it,” Loki agrees wholeheartedly. “They get in the way half the time. How am I supposed to make clear-headed decisions when they’re always there?”

“So we’re in agreement?” Sylvie asks. “Feelings are stupid?”

“Oh, definitely,” Loki answers with a sly grin that forces a near-identical one from Sylvie, the two of them smiling at each other in the steadily darkening cave as this planet’s day came to an end. Loki’s grin slowly softens into a gentle smile, matching the tenderness in his eyes as he looked to her. “Glad I have them, though.”

“Me too,” Sylvie utters gently, unable to look away from his eyes on hers, admiring the way they almost seemed to change color as the cave’s lighting had gradually changed with the passing of time.

“Guess that makes us both idiots.”

Sylvie snorts at that, giving his shoulder a flimsy shove, making sure not to touch anywhere near his wound. Although his eyes don’t once stop expressing that never-ending kindness he always seemed to direct towards her, even Sylvie could see the bone-deep exhaustion that had begun to dull them. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had slept properly herself, outside of the brief nap she had sneaked in on the train to the Ark on Lamentis. Loki probably hadn’t slept in… well, she didn’t know - and after days, weeks, perhaps even months of running both with and against the TVA, jumping in and out of apocalypses, facing the ruler of the sacred timeline, and now getting himself hurt fighting actual space lizards… It was downright shocking he wasn’t conked out right this second. 

Even demigods had their limits, after all. 

“You should get some rest,” Sylvie expresses her worry both verbally and with her expressions, her brow creasing in a frown that only a mother-hen would sport - which she certainly was not. “I’ll take first shift; keep an eye out for any more man-eating reptiles.”

“You sure that’s safe?” Loki asks. “We still don’t know whether this is an Apocalypse.”

“That’s why I’m keeping watch,” Sylvie counters. “First sign of trouble, I’ll… Well, I’ll hope that this thing still works, first of all,” She gestures to the TemPad on her hand. “Besides, there hasn’t been any evidence that this is an Apocalypse.”

“Other than the TVA not showing up,” Loki points out. “Thought they only did that when we existed within Apocalypses?”

“We still don’t know how this whole ‘multi-verse' thing works. I don’t even know what kind of universe we’re in. What if this one doesn’t even have a TVA?”

“You don’t think the other TVA’s would work out a way to jump between universes?” Loki asks. “I’m sure some of them are already getting to work on pruning all those ‘unruly timelines’…”

“Oh, just lay down and get some sleep, would you?” Sylvie all but orders him. 

“Yes, ma'am…” Loki mumbled, barely avoiding another annoyed shove.

Loki shuffled down the wall until he was flat on his back, staring up at the rocky ceiling that loomed above their heads. Now, with the once glaring sun that had been peeking through the cracks long gone - and the beginnings of the night sky now having replaced it -the temperature had slowly taken a nosedive. The hard ground under his back made it especially difficult to drift off, despite his body's desperate pleas for rest. 

Then, even from beyond his closed eyelids, Loki could sense a bright burst of light appearing above him. Naturally, it startles him, eyes popping open in preparation for potential danger. Instead, he feels the comforting weight of a soft, warm blanket being draped over his body. His eyes dart over to Sylvie still by his side, seeing her watching him with a knowing smile as she twirls her fingers, conjuring the blanket out of thin air that was now laid comfortably over him. Loki pinches the corner of the blanket between his thumb and fingers, inspecting the new creation. The blanket was of a similar dark green to the one he had made, but the material had a heavier weight to it, along with being made of more of a wool type of material than the silk of his own. 

“You looked cold,” Sylvie jokes. “Thought I’d return the favor from last time.”

“Made a few changes, I see,” Loki notes, running a hand across the blanket. “Seems we both enjoy the same type of color scheme, though.”

“Nothing wrong with the color of yours,” Sylvie said. “But c’mon - even you have to admit that it wasn’t the snuggliest of blankets.”

“And is that what you had in mind when designing this one?” Loki’s teasing grin as he looked up to her came through in his voice. “Ideal for snuggling?”

Sylvie’s glare came out weaker than she intended, trying - and failing - to ignore the heat that had rushed to her face. “Last time I do something nice for you…”

Loki’s responding laughter at least wasn’t a mocking one, the very definition of ‘I’m laughing with you, not at you’. For what felt like the umpteenth time since she’s met him, Sylvie looked away from him with a roll of her eyes, staring out into the dense darkness of the cave.

The moonlight seeping in above could only do so much to illuminate their surrounding, and her eyes could only provide her with so much information about what they could see before it became ‘nothingness’; the shadows and outlines of the cave blending together into one deep, dark, stretch of murky black. She could almost convince herself her eyes were closed if it weren’t for what felt like little weights attached to her eyelids that were trying to force them down. Sylvie hid a yawn behind her hand, as if fighting off those yawns would convince her that she wasn’t really tired. 

For once in her life, the feeling of a hand wrapping around her arm didn’t have her reaching for her sword. She glanced down to the hand, then followed the arm attached to its owner, raising an eyebrow at Loki as he peered up at her. Loki answered her questioning look by gently tugging on her arm, which… didn’t entirely answer those questions if she’s being honest. 

“What… are you doing?” She asks him, glancing between his hand and his face. 

“What does it look like?”

“Kind of like you’re trying to pull off my arm?”

“What? No, I’m-,” Loki cut himself with a sigh, eyes narrowing as he looked to her, weighing out his decisions. Or, more accurately, the consequences of said decisions. 

He seemed to make up his mind remarkably quickly, for the next second, the tug on her arm had become much stronger. Stronger enough that, with just one pull, she found herself being pulled down, all but falling into his side. She placed a hand on his chest, ready to push herself back up and ask him what the Hel he thought he was doing, when she froze at the feel of his blanket-clad arm sliding across her back to wrap around her, pulling her close to him and wrapping them both up in the blanket she had conjured. 

“You were right,” Loki’s voice rumbles in his chest under her ear. “This blanket is snugglier.”

“A little bit more warning would be appreciated,” Sylvie tries to pretend she’s annoyed by his antics, whilst at the same time tucking herself closer to his side, resting the arm that had been trapped between them on top of his chest. “I’m supposed to be keeping watch, you know.”

“And you’re more than welcome to do that,” Loki mumbled sleepily, eyes closed and sounding like he was a few seconds away from dropping off. “Just make sure you wake me up in a few hours for my shift,”

“You don’t have to-,”

“Yes, I do,” Loki asserted strongly. “You need some sleep just as much as I do. And I know you don’t like letting your guard down, but… I promise I can keep you safe.”

Not long ago, Sylvie would have scoffed at anyone that said that to her. But Loki had said he could keep her safe like he truly believed it - enough so that she believed it, too. The battle wounds he’s currently sporting from their earlier skirmish were proof of that. 

Loki’s heartbeat was calm and steady under her ear, its rhythmic thumps combined with the alluring warmth of his body heat making it particularly hard to fight off the drowsiness fogging her mind. It was with great amusement that she realized that, whenever she lightly brushed her fingers against his chest, she could both feel and hear his pulse picking up, pounding just a little harder below her head before settling back down to its usual rhythm. 

 “It’ll be your fault if I fall asleep on watch, and we’re murdered by scavengers that sneak into the cave,” Sylvie says after a few minutes, able to tell that Loki was still awake by the way his breathing had yet to slow. 

“I’ll be sure to apologize profusely in the after-life,” Loki said, his large hand covering her smaller one atop his chest. “And I’m supposed to be sleeping, you know. That’s quite difficult to do when you’re quite literally playing games with my heart.”

Sylvie chuckled gently, the weight of Loki’s hand on top of hers stopping her from continuing her little amusing experiment. “Apologies, your majesty.”

“Just you want until it’s your turn to sleep,” Loki grumbled. “We’ll see how grumpy you get when I keep interrupting your nap-time.”

“Unless you want me to spring awake with a knife to your throat, I wouldn’t advise messing with me in my sleep,” Sylvie advised him. 

“Duly noted,” Loki said with a long sigh, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “I had planned on waking you up with a morning kiss - you know, like a good prince should -  but if you say not to…”

Despite his tiredness making it difficult for him to do much else than lay with his eyes closed, Loki had to suppress his laughter at the long stretch of silence from Sylvie as she absorbed what he had just offered.

“...I suppose it’d be good to try and break me out of that habit..”

Loki did laugh that time, the deep rumbling of his laughter vibrating throughout his chest.

“Well, if all I have to risk is a knife to my throat to steal another kiss from you? Then that’s a risk I’m more than willing to take. I’ve done it before, after all.”

Next Chapter - - - >