#i just think some people must remember. nothing wrong with discomfort. but your discomfort is not the be all end all correct moral opinion.

[thedevotionaltour]

had an insane moment tonight where i just got repeatedly shamed by friends multiple times within minutes but it's ok now bc i don't have to see these people until next semester :) the minute you repeatedly make me feel bad within a matter of minutes and after i realize every time i hang out with you i feel bad you get put into the realm of "our friendship has a timer" ^___^ no more of this lol

[lemonluvgirl]

prompt; peeta calls katniss my baby

I'm calling this one:

Nobody Calls Katniss Baby

*set during the Victory Tour* Canon compliant-ish

My mind has been wandering for who knows how long, mentally retracing the paths I know by heart back in the woods, while I wait for this interview to be over. Then I hear my name being called. I’m pulled back to the stage with the too-bright lights and the too-small love seat where Peeta and I have squeezed in next to each other. 

If they had made this damn chair any smaller I’d be sitting in his lap right now. 

Fighting off my discomfort and annoyance I turn my attention back to the interview and whoever called my name. 

It's Caesar. He’s grinning like mad across from me in his red armchair, apparently waiting for my response to a question I hadn’t heard him ask. 

“Sorry, what?” I blurt out. 

This cracks Caesar up again, and I fight a grimace. If I have to hear his overdone bellowing guffaw one more time in this Post-Victory-Tour interview I might just—

Then Peeta’s hand reaches over and squeezes my knee playfully. I remember myself, and turn to smile at him adoringly. Or at least in what I hope can be interpreted in an adoring manner, and not in a I’m so exhausted with all this I’m ready to go back to the train and sleep for a year, kind of way. 

“Oh, never mind the question. I think we’re all more interested to find out what you were daydreaming about just then! How about it, Katniss?” Caesar asks, his eyes bright with mischief. 

For a second I panic. I can’t tell them the truth. That I was thinking about being home, and out in the forbidden woods, far away from the cameras and the Capitol and everyone’s expectations of me. 

I wrack my brain for an appropriate lie and without realizing it, my body automatically turns to Peeta. 

He is smiling in a similar adoring manner, but there’s a tiny wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. He’s just as worried about my answer as I am. I look into his eyes trying to find a clue there, a hint at what I should say.

His blue shine intensely at me, their color brought out by the jeweled tone of his suit. I don’t know anyone who has eyes like his. Not even Prim, or my mother have eyes that beautiful. 

Suddenly I know what my answer will be. What everyone will believe without question and what will keep us all safe. 

“I was thinking about Peeta.” I say in a slightly breathy voice that tells of romance and things that lovers could find themselves dwelling on, even though I wasn’t aiming for it. It garners whistles and cheers from the audience and another annoying laugh from Caesar. So it must be alright. 

Peeta plays his part perfectly, his eyes crinkle as he smiles wider and he looks down bashfully. I even think he blushes a little. He’s so good at this. 

“Ah, young love.” Caesar says wistfully, clutching his heart. The audience coos in agreement with him and Peeta takes my hand in his, lifting it up to his lips to place a chaste kiss across the knuckles. It makes my stomach feel funny. 

Now it’s my turn to blush. And I’m sure I don’t do it as gracefully as Peeta. I turn back to Caesar, hoping for a respite from this topic. 

“Go ahead and ask your questions Caesar. I promise I’ll pay attention this time.” I vow, my voice determined. But Caesar just shakes his head and laughs again, even though this time it's softer and less ear ringing. 

“With a young man like that beside you, I think we can all forgive your momentarily lack of focus dear!” Caesar quips and I fight back the urge to refute his claim. For some reason what he just said strikes me the wrong way. 

 It's not that Peeta isn’t handsome. He obviously is. That’s not the problem. It's what Caesar, like everyone else here, and maybe even across Panem, believes about me. 

That I’m just a silly little girl, who is lucky to now be living the perfect life, wearing pretty dresses and going to lavish parties on the arm of her handsome lover. 

But luck had nothing to do with Peeta and I ending up on this couch. Blood was spilt and people died and Peeta lost a leg and we both lost the ability to sleep through the night so that we could sit here and pretend to be happy up on this stage. 

It’s times like these that I try and not see it all as a waste. I grip Peeta’s hand tighter in mine and he returns the gesture, rubbing his thumb in a soothing motion over my skin. He’s gotten very good at nonverbally comforting me at times like these. I don’t know what I’d do without him. 

“I’m certainly grateful to have him by my side.” I reply finally, in answer to Caesar’s comment. It’s the most honest thing I’ve said tonight, and I look up at Peeta to make sure he knows it. 

He has a more serious look on his face. His lips quirk to one side in a small smile. It’s a more genuine smile than many of the bright and gleaming ones he’s given the cameras in the past few hours. It's an honest smile, and I know that because it's just a tiny bit sad in the corners. But his eyes remain soft and full of gratitude. I suddenly wish the audience would disappear and I could thank him for all he’s done for me during this tour. I wish I could make him see how much I really do appreciate him. 

“Well, I’m sure you two could stare at each other all night, but we still have some questions that the people want answered!” Caesar cuts in and I blink, wondering how long we must have been staring at each other for him to feel the need to say that. 

Peeta clears his throat and gestures for Caesar to continue while I tuck myself closer into Peeta’s side. 

Caesar flips through his cards until he comes across one he likes. 

“This question is for you Peeta,” Caesar says tilting his head in Peeta’s direction and Peeta nods in understanding. “It comes from your fan Andromeda. She would like to know what is your favorite pet name that Katniss uses for you?” 

I groan inwardly.

Peeta pretends to contemplate this for a second, but then that playful grin that drives the Capitol mad makes an appearance. I wonder what lie he’s going to spin about this. 

“Sorry Caesar, I can’t tell you that.” Peeta replies with a simple shrug of his shoulders. 

Caesar protests, loudly. But Peeta doesn’t budge. 

“I really can’t. Katniss would skin me alive. And you and I both know what she’s like when she’s angry.” Peeta jokes. 

I struggle to laugh along with everyone else. It's so funny. Making jokes about Hunger Games victors and their violent tendencies. Except that I actually do skin things back home. Animals only, but if Peeta keeps making jokes like these I may be persuaded to make an exception. 

“Oh, I think baby doll looks angry there!” Caesar exclaims and out of the corner of my eye I catch my slightly murderous expression magnified by the jumbo screens around us. 

The camera’s pan to Peeta and the look on his face turns from amused to unamused and almost angry in about a second flat. 

“Watch it Caesar, we’re friends, and I like you. But nobody calls Katniss baby but me.” Peeta warns in a low voice. His blue eyes are narrowed and his jaw is set firmly. There is something in his expression that reminds me of the way he pushed that Peacekeeper off me in 11. 

Heat blooms in my cheeks once again, and I take in a deep breath, trying to steady myself. 

Caesar raises his hands in surrender, apologizing profusely, and saying something about how he wouldn't dream of stepping on Peeta’s toes purposefully. 

But Peeta’s words keep repeating in my mind. About how he’s the only one that can call me baby. 

But he never has. Other than my name, Peeta’s only ever called me sweetheart, and that was during the Games when I found him half dead by the river, and he was being sarcastic. 

I only half participate in the rest of the interview. I’m too distracted, my mind unsettled by lingering thoughts of…I don’t even know of what. 

It’s not until we’re under the ridiculously soft covers, back in the expensive hotel we’re staying at that I’m able to think clearly. 

Peeta has long fallen asleep, mentally and emotionally drained from having to be ‘on’ all day long, and probably from picking up my slack during the interviews. Here in the quiet I finally work out what it is I’m preoccupied with.

It's the way the word baby sounded on Peeta’s lips right after he said my name. 

It was kind of nice.

[arcann]

10, 11, 12. 17, 20. for mx taigat

This got long, read more it is

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them.

It’s random and unsatisfying but then again, that’s how most of the visions they received with the Echo were lately, now that it had only a fraction of the power it used to cast.

“Why was Emet Selch abusive to his own family?” But that’s not the question Taigat wanted to ask.

Gaius glances at them with something close to suspicion. He has never liked it when they used the Echo on him, even if he understood that it was becoming erratic and unwieldy for them as time went on.

“Were they ever really his family? That demon must have thought of them as rats clinging to the corpse he found useful to drag around all those years. He would have felt nothing but contempt in shoving one away.”

And hitting one before he gave a speech. And berating one in public. And making one cry when he was sure not everyone had left the room.

“That’s… not what I wanted to hear.” 

Gaius frowns at that.

“Did you ever think he was right to do it?” Taigat’s words make Gaius pause, staring right into their eye as he decides what to say next.

“Ah, what you wish to ask is ‘did you ever subject your own children to those attitudes?’ And the answer is simple: no.”

It’s also biting and mildly scornful. And it makes Taigat blush furiously.

"No, no, no! I didn’t mean that at all. I…” They swallow harshly. “Did he ever hurt you? Did you want his approval or to– I mean, you were so young in my vision yet you remember those moments so well–”

Seconds that feel like an eternity pass as Taigat expects an answer, seeing the discomfort blooming over Gaius’ face.

“He did hurt me, but not as he did with his children or their children. He used… other methods.” he grants, something he seems to have kept hidden from everyone else for a long time. “Much later, when I was too unguarded to expect it… or too upset to stop it. After much of what I did for him was already done and over.” He regains control over his expression soon, too quickly to be natural. “Still, I’m the one who should come to you with this, not you peering into my mind.”

“You’re right.” Taigat stretches their hand and, to their relief, Gaius takes it, letting them caress his bandaged knuckles with their shaking thumb. “Of course you’re right, old friend.”

(Got too chicken shit to make them fight for real lol, it's either thousands of words with these two where one ends with their values shaken or something boring like "your beast ate my bullets again tell it to stop!" "it says it can taste your rage in them did you fight someone?" "🧍" on the bright side i have two extra scenes for. something *moves it to a drive, for my eyes only *)

11. What causes them to fight?

Answered here!

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

Oh boy did they! They were on opposite sides of a war before they got together after all. 

(I imagine Vauldeaulin had to suffer Gaius unlearning a bunch of garbage more than anyone else and I also like to add that, as opposed to the game, Cid had some very long talks with him to see where they stood)

Afterwards I think Gaius more or less feels like he lost the right to have an opinion in anything strictly political outside of stopping the ones who want to destroy the world or minimizing the consequences of his own actions. He still incites Taigat to be more ruthless with people who haven’t done much wrong or to not being as thoroughly caring with others who could distract them of their mission which gets him rebuffed.

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

During Legacy, Taigat finds it almost hopeless that he exists. He’s evidence that even if the scions find a way to deal with Nael (which they were already extremely scared of), Gaius would still be there and behind him, all the power of Garlemald. He fills them with dread. Taigat is nothing to Gaius by then, just one of the other scions who don’t occupy much of his mind outside of being Louisoix’s closest allies.

Before Praetorium, Gaius relates them to a sense of surprise and almost shock at the solutions he and the scions find to solve each problem they face. He also notices how well they bond with Cid and is frustrated at himself for not respecting the budding talent in both of them. That sense of frustration becomes painful when he loses Rhitahtyn. To Taigat he is now one of a dozen obstacles he has faced, less abstract and more tangible, just one of the horrible men they have to kill for Eorzea to be free. 

(They hadn’t developed a nasty need for revenge that Haurchefant’s death left them with which Thordan, Zenos, Emet Selch and Athena had to bear)

After the Praetorium burns they think of all the fire, destruction and all consuming heat that place left behind and link it to the other.

Gaius never really stops being surprised by Taigat and their abruptness but it becomes a much more gratifying amazement. Taigat feels safe with him, he is a pillar of security and reality to them and they want to keep it that way.

The overwhelming heat becomes the more temperate climate of Terncliff, destruction turns into a sense of being indestructible, of being able to surpass everything, the fire into a hug that lasts more than necessary and Taigat’s ears tickling Gaius’ face.

20. What is a promise they have made to each other? 

Answered here!

[whats-wild-to-you]

Can I request something as well? Female reader has a one-off with Jay and finds soon after that he’s her new boss. I’ll leave the end up to you 😏 thank you for you hard work writer nim 🫶🏻

I had a lot of you requesting smut recently … 😅 so for this one I’m starting from the day after 😝 _____________________________________________

Your alarm went off, causing you to groan in pain. That last Long Island Iced Tea was definitely too much. Shuddering, you recalled the events of the previous night. How you ended up at a bar alone after your initiation dinner, allowed the good looking stranger to persuade you to join him in VIP and lastly ended up hooking up with him in your tiny apartment.

You raked your brains trying to remember his name. In the end you concluded that you didn’t knew it to begin with. It was probably better that way.

Hungover, you made coffee and got in the shower. This wasn’t how you imagined the first day in your new job would start.

Like a badge you held up you staff access card and got in the elevator. The floor was buzzing with people scurrying around, mumbling under their breath.

“What’s wrong?” You asked a colleague and watched him sigh in distress.

“The boss decided to pay us a visit. Today of all days!”

You didn’t really understand their discomfort but they were all long-time employees. It made you immediately tense up. You hadn’t met the CEO and never thought you would, and involuntary you decided he must be a real jerk for people to act like this.

Soon the mumbling stopped and several people walked down the hall, checking, before the CEO arrived.

You heard his voice before you saw his face. It was commanding, it also sounded strangely familiar.

When he emerged from the masses gathered around him, you gasped. Audibly.

All eyes were on you, some looked confused, some downright mortified.

Jay searched the crowds for the troublemaker and raised an eyebrow when his cold stare landed on you.

“Just perfect.” You mumbled under your breath.

The day went by uneventful and for a moment you were lulled into a false sense of security, thinking your CEO/one-night stand didn’t recognize you. But then you were called into his office and broke out in cold sweat.

‘He just wants to welcome me into the company, that’s all!’, you told yourself when you rode the elevator up one floor.

Knocking on the door, you waited until you were called to enter and went in, keeping your head down.

“You asked for me, Park sajangnim?”

“Yes. Close the door behind you.”

You did so, but stayed rooted in place. Maybe he had poor vision and wouldn’t be able to recognize you from a distance.

“Move closer. I don’t want to shout!”

Nodding, you took tiny little steps, stopping halfway between the door and the CEO’s desk.

“Closer!” He repeated, and you could hear the irritation in his voice.

“So, you’re one of our new recruits? What’s your name?”

Exhilarated, you told him your full name, where you were from and which university you graduated. He apparently didn’t recognize you. Relieved, your shoulders relaxed and your numbed face loosened. You even cracked a smile.

“That’s interesting. So far I only know your favorite drink and what you enjoy in bed.”

Your face fell and panic rose in you. You’d love nothing more than to plug your ears and run screaming out of his office.

‘Maybe if I play dumb he’ll think he got the wrong girl!’, you thought, slowly scrunching your face in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

He smirked but dropped the subject. Instead he handed you a file.

“Sign this and hand it back tomorrow.”

“Wh-”

He shooed you away, not wasting another second looking at you.

You should’ve been relieved that he didn’t dwell on the steamy night you two shared, yet somehow his harsh tone and dismissive gestures offended you. But you knew you couldn’t say anything so you went back to your position and placed the file Jay gave you in your bag.

After work, you found yourself waiting at the bus stop while all the other employees left in their cars. You simply didn’t have that kind of money, even though your rent was cheap.

The next bus arrived in 20 minutes. It gave you enough time for dinner. A gimbap roll from the nearby pyeon-uijeom. Your eyes fell on the file Jay gave you earlier and you decided to read it while waiting for the bus.

“Do you agree with these conditions?” You heard Jay’s voice out of nowhere.

Looking up, you saw that his black fancy car stopped right in front of the bus stop. He had rolled down his window but wasn’t looking at you.

You slowly nodded your head, not really sure what you were getting yourself into.

“Then get in!”

Reluctantly, you got in the car, fastening your seatbelt, pressing your body against the door, as far away from Jay as you could be.

“Why aren’t you talking? Are you that surprised?”

“I thought we were strangers but you knew all along who I was.”

“I’m doing my homework before hiring new people. Did you not research the CEO of your new workplace?”

You shook your head ashamed. Given the fact that you really needed this job, you knew nothing about the company. Jay was right.

“I promise I’ll do my research and catch up.” You voice was dripping with honey, hoping you could appease your boss’s temper.

“Stop the car!” You heard him instruct to his driver. “Take a walk.”

Anxious, you stared at his driver, getting out of the car, dressed only in a suit jacket in freezing weather. When you looked at Jay, you saw a smirk dancing around his lips.

“Relax, babygirl.” His hand went up your thigh, disappearing underneath your skirt and in between your legs. “You weren’t this stiff last night.”

“I didn’t know you were my boss then!”

“I can be a lot of things, if you want me to. Do you want me to?”

You looked at him, unsure of what to say. How to answer. He was waiving the documents he gave you earlier in front of you. You knew what was in them, but did you agree?

He handed you a pen, and after a few seconds you took it and signed them.

“I promise you, you won’t regret it!” 

Signaling to his driver to get back in, you shifted uncomfortably while Jay’s hand was still in between your legs. Too late you realized he had made a detour and was heading for your apartment.

“Pack a few things you’ll need for the next couple days. We can get the rest another time.” Jay instructed you and you knew you’d better hurry up.

Standing in your tiny apartment, you asked yourself if you had just made a deal with the devil.

[vilidexbi]

And just like that we are back in the box. I realized a long time ago that very little people stick around to get to know me, most people prefer talking to other people over me. Because of the human condition, you cannot complain about it. You absolutely cannot. You can't bother people, you can't ask why they don't prefer you because it comes across as clingy. So you just rot. You rot until you absolutely fade away. I have one friend that I talk to most of the time, he's younger than me and he's like a little brother to me. I value him more than he understands because everyone else treats me like garbage. I'm never important to anyone that I know. So what happens? You all get recycled. Red doesn't enjoy people around me, I always say it's for no reason but I think he's starting to get that most people don't care about me. I think that, because Lutz is here, I'm starting to get their point. I don't think anyone really cares about me, I think I act as a service for most people. I think people only like what I can do for them. A jester of sorts, I think Red noticed this long ago and instead of understanding that he is half of me and that I can understand - he sat and told me nothing. Let's keep ranting like a crazy person, shall we? At their cores, I am understanding what they are better than anyone else can. They are protecting me through an algorithm of sorts. Red is not inherently bad, and I don't say this in a sweet tone. I'm pissed, I'm absolutely angry because if they were separate from me, they would treat me better than most. Let's dissect everything.

At the core of everything, I mostly say I relate to Dave. Trauma wise, yes. My father used to beat me if I got things wrong, If I asked too many questions to him and most of all if I wanted him to leave me alone. I remember getting chased down the street when I was younger by him because I attempted to go home. My mother had custody of me when I was younger because my father was unfit. That's all you get to know. That's all you should want to know. Mentally though, I'm a little too serious to be Dave. No. He is written in a way that utterly betrays his trauma. Mentally, I'm Dirk. And I don't mean the interests, I don't care much for robotics and crafting the blah blah blah. I'm incredibly mentally ill from years of my family treating me like a punching bag. I was a good kid, I was just curious about things and look what it's gotten me. No genuine friends, no genuine happiness. And I'm still alive mainly due to the idea that we don't know what comes after all this. But really? I've tried to keep friends. The people I often most wanted to speak to in life, never wanted to be friends with me and then the few friends I had always disappointed me. Always made me uncomfortable. This gets me called controlling, despite my discomfort it would really only cause me to detach. Not try and change them. When people do something wrong to me, I become avoidant. I instantly think "Let's leave." I'm instantly told, "Leave." So many old friends who have done some sort of action and not listened to me trying to help them out of a bad situation have been left behind because of this. My ex said that I MUST be a robot, unfeeling and uncaring. The fact of me leaving was because I cared too much. I never try to control their actions, and I know that that's not a good thing to want to do. So I never want to do it. But I always turn to look at the door. You've made me uncomfortable, so I'm heading out now. Who knows if you'll ever see me again. Does that make me happy? No. But oftentimes, being left alone by your specifically female friends so they can pursue some guy who treats them like garbage will set you off when you watched your father be terrible to your mother. So yes, I was disappointed and left them behind. That's different from what Dirk would do, he'd be painfully loyal and get walked on a bit because he cares. I care so I leave. Is that far to the people who claim to have cared about me? No. Does it matter now? Maybe. I don't like leaving people behind anymore. It's not healthy but often it feels like people want to be left. It feels like I'm an accessory. I hate caring for others, not in the way that I don't do it but I wish I didn't care. I wish I was different in that way where I was unfeeling and I could leave everything behind. But no one cares, I'm just the guy in the background for a lot of people. I want a lot of things to change. I want to change me, but all I can do is pretend or let one of them take over. They are the best parts of me.

[therealvinelle]

Ok I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I'm just now copying your Norwegian Bella AU into a text translator, and if you don't already have 50 people in your inbox demanding a translation then shame on ALL OF US because this is glorious! And while Google Translate does have a certain charm (it translated "piper hun ut" as "she beeps") I'm curious to see how you'd put it in English.

Troquantary is referring to this post. In which Bella doesn't speak English.

Fun fact, you're the only one who's gone into my inbox to request this. I was so sad, had the translation half-written and everything, but I was too proud to beg. So thank you, Troquantary, for popping this ask.

As for the dictionary fuckups, sounds about right. I made a few typos, too, that made Google Translate suffer even more. (Such as managing to mix up "henne" (her) and "hendene" (hands), resulting in Aro patting Bella instead of clapping his hands. Poor Google.)

Also, there are a few cultural references and language things that would be lost in the translation, in an attempt to keep them I included notes clarifying things.

Some things, like Aro and Carlisle's very old man way of speaking, are easier said than done to translate, you'll have to bear with me there.

Additional notes are that I added a few things to this version, many of them because translating is hard, but a few because while translating I thought "oh you know what would be much funnier-" and then wrote that.

Alright, without further ado:

When Renée left Charlie she did not go to Florida, she went to Oslo. And she went all in to make her daughter a true Norwegian, hiring Norwegian nannies and making sure never to speak English around the child. Since transatlantic flights are expensive, little Bella Swan rarely got to visit her father, and as such she never did learn what should have been her native language.

She quickly forgot what English she did have in favor of Norwegian, with the exception of words like “Yes”, “No”, and “I’m Bella”.

The few trips she took to visit her father were all the more awkward than in canon since she couldn’t play with the Black kids. Let not the blame fall upon Charlie: he took Norwegian classes and speaks conversational Norwegian. He can’t speak to Renée, because her Norwenglish is incomprehensible even to Norwegians, but he can communicate with Bella.

Not that he’s had a lot of chances to do so.

Bella makes it to seventeen years old, she’s in second grade at Handels* and is a major outsider among the preps there, and then Renée marries a handsome skier**. Together they shall travel the continent all winter to participate in as many skiing races as they can, and in the summer they’ll take gigs at Hurtigruta to see the coast.

*“Handels” is the nickname for an Oslo high school infamous for its pupils being rich and beautiful blonds who are going to be CEOs when they grow up.

**Skiing as a sport is huge in Norway

***Hurtigruta is a famous ferry that travels across the Norwegian West coast

Bella, who sucks at skiing and is too young to work at Hurtigruten, takes the hint.

With dread in her stomach and dictionary in hand she goes to her father in America.

Where she doesn’t speak the language.

Faen.

Charlie gives her a car, and I wish this meta was set in the present because I could have joked about electric cars and the automat only driver’s license*, but Twilight is set in 2005 so I can’t. The car part proceeds without drama.

*An increasing number of Norwegian youth take the driver’s license for automatic cars only, and we’re the country in the world with the highest percentage of electric car purchases.

School is worse than in canon, because she is now a thousand times more sensational than if she was merely the new student. She is from another country! All of Forks keels over with excitement.

To make matters even worse, our girl doesn’t understand a word of what people are saying.

She is too awkward to let them know she doesn’t know English. It’d become a thing, and they might think she’s dumb. To be fair, it’s not good that she’s been through primary, secondary, and now a year and a half of high school and still sucks at English.

So she nods, smiles, mumbles “Hi, I’m Bella” to the new faces, and blushes heavily when anybody says anything.

People assume she’s shy. That’s a bit boring, but oh well.

She has her biology class with the redhead hottie she noticed during lunch. She watched him and his family, they were fascinatingly pretty, but she doesn’t know anything more about them. Sure would have been great if she could have asked the tiny girl (was it Jess?) about them.

Biology proceeds as in canon - Edward badly wants to eat the delicious girl, but fortunately doesn’t.

She runs into him in the office when he tries to switch to another biology lesson, but she has no idea what he’s saying so she only has the suspicion that this somehow concerns her. Which is still uncomfortable, but Bella is probably the problem here. The hottie surely can’t be.

He’s missing from school for a week, Bella finds that weird.

He returns, and to her great horror he starts talking to her.

“Hello”, he says.

Bella dies inside. He’s too handsome!

"I'm Edward Cullen," he continues, and ok, she got that. The hottie is called Edward, that’s good to know. She’s not sure she caught that last name, though, Köln?

He says something else, it’s gibberish to Bella even though she’s concentrating, and at the end there he says “Bella Swan”.

She gulps.

"I'm Bella Swan," she confirms and nods. That should be correct. God, she hopes it’s correct.

He smiles a crooked, boyish smile. She’s awed. She didn’t think it was possible to be so beautiful.

He says something else.

Bella didn’t catch it.

She blushes even harder, she hasn’t been more embarrassed in her life. Here he is, the most handsome guy in all the world, and she has nothing to say to him. Literally, they don’t speak the same language.

She should tell him.

It’s one thing to chicken out of telling the town she doesn’t speak English, but there’s something different about Edward Cullen. He deserves the truth.

But...

He’s the most beautiful person she has seen in her life. He is American, too, so the odds of him knowing Norwegian are microscopical. If he finds out she doesn’t understand a word he says he’ll stop talking to her, and selfish as she is she doesn’t want that.

So with a slightly guilty conscience (but not enough to fess up) she contributes to the conversation with enough words and smiles to pull through. "Yes", "No", "Thank you", and "That's nice".

He is surprised by several of these answers, but instead of giving her odd looks and losing interest he grows more invested in the conversation.

Class ends.

The next day the near accident happens, and he saves her. She is stunned - dear god, did he just pick up a whole car? After teleporting across the parking lot..?

Soon she’s in the ER, and more than a little bit stressed about that fact since she knows the Americans have a terrible healthcare system.

She hopes Charlie has an insurance.

An insanely beautiful man walks into the ER, and Bella is shocked. He is just as handsome as Edward and Edward’s lunch friends!

He introduces himself as Carlisle Cullen, and Bella can only assume this is someone’s older brother. Possibly related to the blonde girl.

He smiles at her, says something, and she answers, "I'm Bella Swan."

He frowns.

That must have been the wrong answer, then.

His hands return to investigating her scalp, and to her great surprise he switches to perfect Norwegian, "kjenner De* noe ubehag når jeg holder her?" Do you feel any discomfort when I touch here?

*De is the Norwegian polite pronoun for “you”. Du = thou = the French tu, and De = you = the French vous. These polite pronouns went out of use in the 1980’s, save for when addressing royal persons, and would be considered antiquated in 2005.

He hurries to add, "Norsk lærte jeg i... fjor sommer. Det var et nettkurs." I learned Norwegian… last year. Online class.

"Hvilket da?" Which one? Bella asks, because Charlie needs to hear about this. The doctor has beautiful, if slightly outdated, pronunciation.

The doctor’s smile turns uncertain. She gets the feeling there’s something he doesn’t want to say. "Husker ikke," I don’t remember, sier han etter en litt vel lang pause.

That’s a shame. And weird.

"De hadde hellet med Dem i dag, som ikke ble truffet av den bilen." You were lucky today, not getting hit by that car. he then says, noticeably changing the subject.

"Det var ikke hell, det var Edward," It wasn’t luck, it was Edward, she replies sharply.

The doctor definitely looks uncomfortable.

She continues, "Han krysset skolegården på et blunk, og plukket opp hele bilen. Jeg så det," He crossed the schoolyard in a moment, and picked up the whole car. I saw it,

The doctor laughs. "Om han kunne det hadde nok gymkarakteren hans vært meget bedre. Nei, frøken Swan*, jeg beklager å si at det høres ut som at De er litt omtåket. Det er helt normalt ved hjernerystelse." If he could do that, his PE grade would be a lot better. No, Miss Swan, I’m sorry to say you seem confused. That’s normal with concussions.

*Addressing a young woman as “frøken” is even more outdated than using polite pronouns.

Why does Bella get the feeling he’s lying?

She’s discharged.

We’ll jump ahead to her trip to La Push - that trip uneventful, since Jacob knows she doesn’t speak English. They stick their hands in their pockets and stare at the sea.

The next day she’s shanghaied to Port Angeles, because apparently she said “Yes” at the wrong time when talking to Jessica (Turns out Jess’s name was Jessica!) and accidentally said yes to a day trip to Port Angeles.

Like in canon she wanders away from the others, and as in canon she is nearly gang raped. And again as in canon she is saved at the last moment by Edward.

He buys her dinner, and she can’t believe her own luck- and misfortune. A date with the most handsome guy on the planet (hence the luck) and she can’t say a word to him (hence the misfortune)!

He says things to her, lends her his jacket, and really this is it for Bella, she’s peaked, life can’t get better than this.

(That’s a lie, it would be better if she spoke English.)

He’s so amazing.

She’s gotten pretty good at navigating conversations with him, so she nods and aha’s her way through.

In his car on the way home the tone takes a more serious turn.

He asks her about something, and it’s a serious question, that much she’s gathered. She answers in the confirmative.

He is silent.

Did she say anything wrong?

(Edward, on his end, just asked if she knows what he is. She said yes, so calmly, not even a trace of fear in her.)

A few days later he takes her out on a walk in the woods.

He shows her a meadow in the woods, and when he steps into it he lights up in the sunlight.

Bella is in shock.

She knew there was something different about him, but- holy cow. This guy isn’t human.

Is she dating a god?

She stumbles into the clearing after him, and they spend a day together where he says things, and she can barely hear any of it (nevermind understand it) because she’s so distracted by how pretty he is.

The next day he takes her to a house in the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t want to guess that this can be where he lives. Surely gods don’t live in houses?

He shows her inside the house, and introduces her for Dr. Cullen and a lady with a name she doesn’t catch.

Bit weird that these two are acting like a couple of parents, they’re far too young and divine for that.

Edward shows her around in an old-fashioned office, and she doesn’t know what to make of i when she sees a painting of Carlisle. Edward launches into a long story when he sees her watching it, unfortunately she doesn’t catch any dates or artist names. At one point she heard the word “suicide”, though, and that’s not good.

She doesn’t get much out of the story.

The baseball game doesn’t happen because Bella didn’t pick up on what Edward wanted and didn’t realize she was being invited to a thing. They spend the afternoon watching a movie instead.

The relationship continues, impeded slightly by communication problems, but she’s mostly able to cover those up.

Until her birthday comes around.

She gets a papercut.

Jasper lunges at her. Edward throws her into a glass table, and then everyone is leaving.

Carlisle is kind enough to switch to Norwegian when he’s stitching up her arm, perhaps remembering the last time she was his patient. "Jasper har ikke vært på dietten vår så veldig lenge." Jasper hasn’t been on our diet for very long.

"Diett?"she asks. She’s never seen Edward eat anything. She wasn’t clear on what the Cullens ate, honestly she thought they were above such things. She was thinking maybe photosynthesis. The knowledge that they apparently eat food astounds her, but diets?

"Dyreblod istedenfor menneskeblod," Animal blood in stead of human blood, Carlisle clarifies.

Whachasay?

Carlisle gives a slight smile. “Jaspers liv som vampyr fikk en brutal start." Jasper’s life as a vampire got off to a brutal start.

...

Vampire?!

Bella’s missed something here.

Oh dear lord, oh fy faen, she has missed something.

“Åja”, uh huh, is all she can say, and suddenly she’s very aware of the fact that she’s sitting there with a bleeding arm.

And Carlisle.

Who is a vampire.

Over the course of the following conversation Bella makes a host of discoveries.

Edward has been a vampire this whole time, and he’s a telepathic vampire. Whether Bella should be a vampire too or not has been a matter of hot debate, but due to religious reasons Edward doesn’t want that.

Carlisle also brings up how Edward died of the Spanish flu.

"Jeg var under den oppfatning at Edward fortalte deg bakhistorien min?" I was under the impression Edward told you my back story? Carlisle asks at one point, and Bella just has to ask very nicely if he’d be so kind as to repeat it.

Turns out the guy is nearly four hundred years old.

Jaha.

Jahahaha jaa ha.

That’s… a lot.

She wanders out of the house in shock, and hardly notices Edward’s strange behavior over the next couple of days.

One day he picks her up at school, and takes her behind the house.

That works out.

He’s a vampire, but he never hurt her. He is endlessly beautiful, perhaps easier to love now that she knows he’s not a god. He’s her Edward, and that’s suddenly easier now that she knows.

They can still be together.

But now that she knows this about him, it’s about time he knows something about her as well.

It’s time to finally be honest with him.

So when he opens his mouth, she opens her mouth as well, but she doesn’t get any further than to “Edward-” before he launches into a monologue.

She’ll have to wait until he’s done before saying her piece. It’s a bit embarrassing, but it doesn’t seem like he intends to stop talking anyway.

And what he’s saying seems to be serious, so it’s probably best to let him finish.

Edward concludes his monologue by kissing her forehead. Then he disappears.

Where did he go?

A big unsure, Bella goes back to the house. She’ll just have to wait until he gets back.

She doesn’t know what to think when Charlie returns from work and tells her the Cullens have all left.

Oh, god.

Edward must have found out she doesn’t speak English.

She made a mockery of him.

He has every right to leave.

Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to live with.

Bella sinks into a depression.

The hallucinations begin, as in canon, though Hallusinward speaks Norwegian. Thank god for small mercies.

The friendship with Jacob (dictionary in hand) blooms, as someone has to help her see those hallucinations.

The cliff diving happens, and Alice shows up. Bella’s not sure what this is about, but she has gotten good enough at English to know that something bad happened, and Alice wants them to do something.

She’s a bit surprised to find herself on a plane to Italy, though.

Alice tells her to “Run to Edward” and ok, she got that, actually.

So she saves Edward.

After that she’s taken into the sewer, which turns out to house dozens of vampires.

Bella, Edward, and Alice are received in some kind of hall, where an unusual vampire has quite a bit to say. She understands some of what he’s saying, at least the part about “la tua cantante”. She knows a bit about Italian, see, so she knows that he’s talking about a song now.

She wishes she knew the context.

At one point he takes her hand, and appears fascinated by it. She wonders if he’s a palmreader. Not very vampirey, but what does she know.

He asks her a question.

"Yes," she says.

Saying yes has gotten her this far, after all.

But when he lights up and claps his hands together, and Edward and Alice stare at her in shock and betrayal, she knows she must have said the wrong thing.

The two are dismissed from the room before Bella can do or say anything, she’s just listening to Edward make a racket outside in the hallway.

Not good.

The unusual vampire brings her further down in his sewer palace to a basement, and she is given comfortable clothes to wear.

This is getting terrifying.

The vampire leans towards her - and she chickens out.

"Jeg snakker ikke engelsk!" she squeaks. "Non habla ingles!" I don’t speak English.

Han stanser, og ser forvirret ut. "Que- Hva behager*?" I beg your pardon? spør han etter et øyeblikk.

*A very formal, and slightly outdated (you can use it, but people will think you’re putting on airs. And they will be right) way of saying “excuse me?”

Sobbing, Bella tells him the whole story, from how she didn’t want to be the weird kid in school to how she’s now somehow in Italy without knowing why nor what she just agreed to.

When she’s done the vampire starts laughing.

"Dette forklarer jo en hel del," This explains quite a bit, ler han. "Men, kjære Bella, jeg er redd det ikke endrer noe." But, my dear Bella, I’m afraid it changes nothing.

He tells her that she has agreed to serve him and his army of undead warriors into eternity.

Well fuck.

"Du skal få slippe det, når du ikke visste hva du samtykket til - men skjebnen din forblir den samme. Loven er loven." You’re released from that promise, as you didn’t know what you agreed to - but your fate remains the same. The law is the law.

After a moment of silence, during which she looks terrified, he hurries to add, "Vi har en lov. Du må bli en av oss." We have a law. You must become one of us.

A law that Bella Swan has to become a vampire?

People are finally speaking Norwegian, and Bella is still lost. And it’s too embarrassing to keep pestering this poor, polite man with questions.

So she nods.

He gives her a glittering smile, and bites her.

When she wakes, Aro offers her an English course. A language course that, naturally, leads to her staying in Volterra. Why not learn a few more languages while we’re at it, dearest Bella?

Some time later Edward breaks into Volterra to save his Rapunzel, only to barely recognize her now that she’s a vampire who says things. Lots of things, she talks all the time now. WHAT DID ARO DO TO HER.

Too mortified to admit that she never spoke English, Bella claims she’s been brainwashed.

Aro is having too much fun to correct her, and the whole sad affair sets off a regrettable flood of rumors.

[wakanda-nonsense-is-this]

Ghost of You — Chapter 3

Masterpage <last next>

Pietro Maximoff x fem!Mutant!reader

Warnings: angst, sad Pietro, language, mention of cutting balls.

Word Count: 1037

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know :)

(The gif does not belong to me, credits to whoever made it.)

I felt somebody watching me and when I opened my eyes, I found myself face to face with Pietro. We locked eyes and he greeted me with a cheerful smile.

"If you don't back off, I swear-"

"Jeez, calm down woman, no need to get violent" Said Pietro while getting off the bed. I sat and it took me a few seconds to remember where I was. Right, I'm at Tony's building (?).

"Ready to meet the team?" Pietro asked cheerfully with a smile. I looked at him confused.

"You're enjoying this way more than I am, why?" I asked scanning his eyes for something. Pietro is really good at hiding his real emotions but his eyes are too sincere, they couldn't lie even if he tried. This time there was something that confused me even more, his eyes... looked hopeful. I opened my mouth to ask him about it, but a knock in the door stopped me. I gave him one last look before heading to the door. There stood Happy. He raised his hand and gave me a fist bump the way we used to when I was a kid. I smiled gently at him. We chatted for some minutes and told me to get ready since I was meeting my floor-mates. After he left I closed the door and took the only other clothes I owned: a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. Before heading to the bathroom I look at Pietro and said seriously:

"If you peek while I shower I'll find a way to cut your balls"

He brought his hands to his chest and opened his mouth while he exclaimed batting his eyelashes "I would never do that, who do you take me for? A pervert?"

"Yeah, pretty much" I looked back at him and faked a smile, amusement evident in my tone.

***

Exactly 25 minutes later Happy knocked on my door once again. Together we walked down the short hallway that took us to the living room. There were five men, two women and Tony and they were all looking at me. Beside me I felt Pietro stop, I looked back at him but he was looking past me at something or someone, I tried to get his attention but it was of no use. We approached the group of people and I stood between Tony and Happy. Everyone was looking at me, searching for something. I felt sweat running down my back. I tried looking for Pietro but I couldn't search for him unless I wanted them to think I was weird. I smiled hesitantly at them, my cracked lips complaining at the effort. That must have been a good move 'cause their demeanor changed instantly and some smiled back.

"This is Y/n. She's... she's um-" Even after 12 years Anthony Stark still felt ashamed of his daughter and was incapable of showing something different. The people caught his distressed but said nothing. I could feel my face starting to blush. Happy sensed my discomfort because he put his hand on my shoulder and exclaimed:

"She's my daughter"I whipped my head in his direction and he just smiled with a soft smile which I reciprocated.

"I didn't know you had a daughter, and that she was so stunning" Remarked an African-American man with a cute gap between his teeth. He approached me and took my hand in between his.

"Sam Wilson, at your service" And gave a quick kiss to my hand. I looked at him dumbfounded. A red head girl approached us and pushed him with a finger.

"Stop it, she'll think you're a weirdo" She turned to me and smiled reassuringly. "Don't mind him. I'm Wanda Maximoff" She smiled sweetly.

"Ma-Maximoff?" There was no way, I must've heard her wrong, there's no way this is Pietro's sister. It must be a coincidence, it has to be. But thinking back at Pietro just a few moments ago he seamed as disturbed as I am. I get it now, that hopeful look, it wasn't excitement about the fancy things, it was a bout seeing his sister again. He mentioned her once but didn't really tell me anything about her.

"Yeah, is that a problem?" she asked unsure.

"Noo, I just- It's a cool last name, that's all" I smiled friendly at her. Her smile came back. Another red head approached me and as she got closer I saw something that disturbed me, her aura. As a bonus to my abilities I can see how many people someone has killed by the color of their aura (useless if you ask me) and hers was pitch black as well as the man next to Sam. But her smile was reassuring and his eyes were gentle, those are not the eyes of a monster and that's not the smile of a murder. Well, who am I to judge them? I'm not exactly an angel either.

"Natasha Romanoff" The red head shook and extended her hand.

"Y/n... Hogan, Y/N Hogan"

The blond presented himself as Steve Roger, the gentle eyes one as Bucky, the red one as Vision and lastly the man with a white coat presented himself as Bruce.

We sat at the table and each explained their role. They all are part of this thing called Avengers or something. Apparently they're pretty famous but I had never heard of them, since we weren't allowed to watch TV while I was in the asylum. Sam told me about his suit and his friend Redwing, which apparently Bucky hates for some reason. Watching them banter with each other was the most entertaining thing ever. I was pretty sure Bucky was gonna hit the soul out of him any moment now, but it was still fun. But regardless of how fun all this was I couldn't help but watch Pietro sitting next to his sister, he was just sitting there, watching her laugh, the view made me wanna yell at her and tell her that her brother was right there and suffering, but I knew I couldn't. Pietro was right, my life sucks. He moved his hand and tried to touch her hair, but it went right trough her. But I was right too, his sucks even more.

Taglist:

@vicmc624

[kyberphilosopher]

Reverse Flash

A backwards version of your favorite speedster comes searching for Barry, only to find you instead. 

Word Count: 2403 Warnings: Crude Humor. Not proof read yet because I’m too tired. 

As per my latest fics, the gender of the reader is not specified. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Barry was always nice to you.

Well, Barry was nice to everyone. I mean, his parents named him Barry. He was set up for a life of cheekiness before he was even born. But Barry was nice to you even after ‘the incident’. Barry was nice to you when everyone else stopped. On top of that, Barry was being nicer to you than usual lately.

Probably because he and Iris were having a rough spot.

That was the only annoying thing. Barry liked you, and he was interested in you, but you were still second place. He was just using you. He wouldn’t marry you, or feel a deep longing for you. He’d just take you on ice skating rink dates in the winter and give you the best Valentine’s day of your life every year. Which is everyone’s dream, you guess, but it wouldn’t have been genuine, no matter what Barry managed to convince himself.

Barry’s little support team seemed to be on the same page as you (which was a first), which both added to and subdued your aggravation. All of them were in agreement of the simple fact: you were no good for Barry. Mr. Flash was the only one who didn’t seem to get the memo.

In the very beginning, things weren’t like how they were now. Team Flash or whatever the name was considered you good colleague, and they trusted you because Allen trusted you. You had been friends with Barry longer than anyone else there. And of course you were smart, and you handled annoying journalists and incriminating footage like it was nothing. But then you’d suggested using lethal force to subdue one of the Flash’s biggest problems. That’s when the air changed. That’s when people decided you should not now, not ever go on a date with him. It would throw off the whole rhythm of the team, probably Barry’s morals and possible the timeline. Lucky you.

Though flat out rejecting Barry might make it worse. You had been irritable lately. Maybe a little more sarcastic than normal. What if you snap, and then the team snaps too? And sweet little Barry is too kind to tell you off? God, you knew you were the worst, but the thought alone seemed like more than just ‘the worst’. It was like a tornado of stinky shit just barreling toward you, somehow simultaneously faster than the speed of light and slower than a turtle filled with rocks for organs.

And it was all definitely Barry Allen’s fault.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

So, that’s why you’re here now. Stuck with watching Headquarters while all the speedsters go out and... speed. Who knows. You’re out of the loop with the whole... speed demon thing. You’re pretty sure they have a group chat without you. Fuckin’ nerds.

Your legs are stretched out to the desk in front of you. They cross over each other at the ankles, to the left of the big computer monitor that’s supposed to display the heartbeats of the team but is instead displaying something from cartoon network. A near empty bag of Chinese food sits at your side, it’s contents littered across the table.

As you chew, you look around the room. Several suits in display cases curve against the wall in a half circle, illuminated by blue light. Some are burgundy, some are silver, and some are golden. And you could smash every single one of them right now.

But you won’t, and you don’t. Not to say it isn’t tempting- it is. You still don’t touch the suits. 

God, what’s been wrong with you recently? Barry was your friend, and yet you’d been so annoyed with him. His flirting had only made it worse. Wally wasn’t any better. He got even more annoying once thinking about how childish, yet powerful he was. All the Kid Flash’s were just temporary brats that never stayed, whether you  liked them or not. And Iris wasn’t a fan of you. That was fine, because you weren’t exactly a friend of Iris’s either. So the most important part of your life that literally depended on superhuman existence and stopping crime was teetering because of pure social discomfort. Typical.

You’re watching the screen that serves as the closest light in the room as you shovel the next bite of rice between your lips. Neon colors make the shadows across your face feel alive and electric. It makes the glow in your eyes more prominent, encouraged by the childish nature of the media. You’ve just finished a snarky personal comment and given yourself another bite of rice when he appears to you.

He looks like Barry. The only difference is that he’s the complete opposite.

Instead of scarlet, his speed suit is yellow with red and dark grey accents. They remind you of blood lightning at the seams. Even under his half mask, he seems so familiar but so much more defined than your friend. As he exits the slice of colorful air and thunder, the heels of his shoes skidding across the floor, the red glow in his eyes settles into a calmer thrum.

And you’re still frozen in place, eyes wide as you still yourself mid chew.

The yellow speedster settles his orbs on you. They’re intelligent, and in the reflection of the little light in the room you can see they’re not red, but blue. And you? You’re just a deer in the headlights. 

“Aw, you’re not Barry,” he groans in disappointment, standing straighter as his arms cross over his chest. 

You finally continue your chewing, keeping your wide eyes on the intruder. Then you swallow it down. In your chest, your heart thump, thump, thumps with something. Fear? Not quite. Anxiety? Almost. It’s something else. Something more... intuitive. And the way this man looks at you makes you think that he can hear it, even from where he stands. That he knows.

“Uh... no?”

The man responds not a millisecond after you’ve gotten the words out. “Where is he? Where’s Barry Allen?”

Woof. His voice is throaty and laced with sarcasm, even though he’s clearly deathly serious. But the vibrations send a funny spasm straight to that little place between your legs, making the nerves in your spine dance with alertness. Arousal. Barry was never able to do that, let alone with just the sound of his voice.  

“Doing something?” you decide. “I don’t know.”

The golden man cocks his head to the side, almost smirks, and takes a step forward. “Hey, I know you.” His arms uncross. One raises and bends to point at you. “You’re Barry’s tech support. I remember reading about you in his museum.”

Your brows furrow. Hurriedly, you clear the take-out box from your lap and begin wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You drop your legs from their position on the desk to their normal position on the floor, knees bent. “Uh... I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah... Y/N L/N. Now I see it.” The man leans back on his heels and looks around the room. The red glow in his orbs burn away completely so it’s just him. “Ah, so this must be before you defected, huh? Interesting.”

“Pardon?!” you call again. Now you’re sitting forward, disbelief across your face. 

Golden speedster smiles. It looks evilly distorted, even though it’s just a normal smile. It curves his face sarcastically. His hands fly upwards as if in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Y/N. You know actually, you’re kind of a villain in my time. This is nice for me.”

“Great, I’ll tell Barry when I see him,” you bite.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Now how about you tell me where Barry is before I erase you from existence.”

“I don’t know,” you repeat as the quick bolt of fear fizzles from your system. Your eyes trail down to his chest for just a quick second, but it’s quick enough to observe yet another difference between your familiar scarlet speedster and him. The circle surrounding the lightning bolt on his chest is facing the opposite direction, red, and that circle is filled with black. It’s as if he were the complete opposite of Barry. A reverse Barry. 

“Yeah you do. Come on.”

You blink once, still in your roll-y chair. 

You’re not sure what to do here. On one hand, this guy radiates pure evil. You should really alert Barry or one of the other members of Team Flash. But for one reason or another you’ve made no attempt to. You’ve got no clue who this dude is other than the fact that he seems more inclined to rip the fabric of time apart than anyone else. There’s no doubt in your mind he really will erase you from existence if you make one wrong move. But what’s the wrong move?

On the other hand, Team Flash has been a bunch of dickhead’s to you. Barry has been ironically slow to the whole thing. Would it be so bad if you did make a wrong move? Not for you, but for your friends? They’d all die, wouldn’t they? This yellow one would end them, and then what? Would it really be so horrible for you? You can’t imagine mourning much.

“I don’t,” you say again, slowly. “They’re in the city. I don’t know where.”

The man seems to think for a moment, cocking his head back so the light behind the glass cases catches his sharpened features. “Hmm.”

Without even blinking, now he’s in front of you. So close, you can smell him. It’s not terribly strong, it’s just masculine. But it’s also flowery, with a dash of sweat from running. And then there’s something more. Something... metallic? 

Both his hands clutch the arms of the chair beside you, trapping you as you lean back reflexively. “Did you know that I killed Barry’s childhood best friend before he was born?” the man says lowly. 

On instinct, you prepare yourself to say, ‘Barry doesn’t have a childhood best friend’. Then you realize why. 

He continues. “Would you tell me where Barry was if you did know?”

You don’t even think about it. You’re true to your nature. “I don’t know, would I?”

Blip! You wait to burst into a cloud of nothingness. To never have been born or even get to be a ghost. But fifteen seconds later you’re still alive. And from the way Barry talks about being a Flash, fifteen seconds is a long time for someone of that caliber. 

The man is back by the cases of suits now. You can see his muscles through his suit. They’re more defined than Barry’s, thank God. 

“I think you would. But it’s gonna be hard to do that when you’ve got my fingers vibrating into your skull.”

“What?”

“It’s going to be hard to speak when my fingers are inside you.”

You cup a hand against your ear. “Huh?”

“I said-” The man stops. His eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest once more. “Oh, I see.” A short, dry- but genuine- laugh falls from his throat. “Very funny. Very, very funny.”

Suddenly, your eyebrows crease together in confusion. You place both palms on the arms of the chair for leverage as you push yourself into a stand, as if stirred by some great, important purpose. “Wait. Did you say you were going to stick your fingers inside me?”

“I knew you and I were the same,” he drawls. He sounds entertained. As if in his eyes, missing Barry and meeting you instead was the best outcome he could’ve hoped for. 

“Can’t you just...” Your shoulders slump as you glance around. “Just kill Barry and get on with it?”

“Aw, no. This is far more interesting.”

“Fingers in my skull...?” you whisper, half to yourself. Then you look up to him with a snap. “You are so weird,” you tell Reverse Barry, emphasizing it with a low point. “So weird.”

“Want me to tell your future?” 

Again with the voice and the nerves in that special place. 

“I gotta say, it’s kind of disturbing,” the man smirks. “You’ll love it.”

“Weird.”

Across the base, just two hallways away, something clicks. It’s a familiar click. It’s the click of the door opening. 

Quickly, you glance backwards, then lean down to pause the show on the computer. You hadn’t even realized it was still going. Once that’s done, the man is still standing in front of you. That sinister and yet innocent grin is still dancing across his face, though his steely eyes are totally locked on you. 

“What, weirdo? You know where he is now. Aren’t you gonna go get him?”

“You want me to so badly, don’t you?” Reverse Barry whispers. You just give him a look. 

“I’ll be back for you.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

And then the speedster is gone. Right on time, too, cause Barry jogs into the room not a second later. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you turn around. 

“Did I just... see someone here?” Barry points towards your end of the room in his scarlet suit. Huh. Reverse Barry was taller too. 

“What are you on about?” you throw casually. “Nobody’s been here but me since you left.”

“Are you sure?” the Flash keeps pushing. You hate it. Pushing. 

“Yes, Barry,” you roll your eyes. “I’m sure. Oh, by the way, Barry. Did you have a childhood best friend?”

Barry frowns. “No, why?”

You smile to yourself as you turn back away from him. The other speedster’s footsteps are coming closer and closer. You can hear them echo off the walls. 

“No reason,” you answer with a smirk just as one of them enters the room, probably to give you crap again.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Fun fact, Reverse Flash is actually my favorite villain in DC comics. Bro is vicious in the comics. I just hate all the live action versions of him we get. Lego DC Villains Reverse Flash and Injustice 2 are the best versions. Injustice 2 is my personal preference. I’d like to do more with this but, who knows. Depends how this is received. #lol

[uglypastels]

Hogwarts idea

Can you make a fic about how Tom sneakes out at night to spend the nights in the readers room (common room/bedroom) he’s a gryffindor and she’s a ravenclaw

Maybe they have a deal with the house teacher of one of the houses. Maybe he tries to hide in her bed as so not to wake the others. Maybe they fall asleep in the common room and have a minor panic when they wake up and it’s morning. Maybe they accidentally switch clothes or one of them steal the others clothes so they walk around with the wrong colors.

love love love love this!!! and I'm sorry it took me so long, I've been in a bit of a writing slump, but this is the best request to get me out of it! thank you <3 and hope you like it. (this got a bit out of hand and I might have changed the ending a lil bit but I hope its good heh)

(gender neutral!reader, I think? at least that's what I went for but if I accidentally missed something just let me know and I'll edit, I'm dumb)

_________________

Being in your seventh year at Hogwarts, with exams just around the corner, was taking up almost every waking minute of your days. Adding the fact that you had your Head Student duties, and Tom had his Quidditch house team to take care of, meaning that you barely ever had time for each other. The only solution, in your young and smitten minds, was that some rules needed to be broken- just a little bit.

It took Tom some time to convince you since you were supposed to be setting the right example for the younger students, but eventually, one gloomy Friday morning, he finally got to you.

"C'mon, love, it will be fun," he had his arm draped around you as you tried to enjoy your breakfast, the looks of your fellow housemates never going unnoticed. There had never been a rule against students eating meals at different tables, and yet, seeing the captain of the Gryffindor team spending all his mornings and evenings at the Ravenclaw table was a strange sight. He preferred your table, he had said one day when you asked, it was quieter. That you could not disagree with. The Gryffindors were always rowdy.

"I don't know Tommy, what if we get in trouble?" you bit the inside of your cheek, as you always did when you got nervous. Tom responded by pulling you in tighter and kissing your cheek, then said:

"That's half the fun of it, darling." His words rushed an array of feelings through you. A part of you started to feel flustered, while the other wanted to shove his face in the large bowl of porridge that stood on the table.

"Please," he looked at you with his usual sad puppy-eyed look. "I feel like never get to see you, y/n. So I'll come over tonight, you can let me into the Rave tower, we'll hang out a bit and then I'll leave- like nothing ever happened. What do you think?"

"I don't know, Tommy-" You tried to keep a straight face, but it was hard to say no to a gorgeous face like his. after a few short moments of silence, you finally agreed, "fine. Be there at 10. Do not be late, Holland."

"I wouldn't dare to waste a second away from you." He kissed you, grabbed a slice of toast (from your plate, of course), and got up.

"Wait, where are you going?" You asked, confused, since breakfast wouldn't end for another 20 minutes.

"I'm kind of late for early detention with McGonagall," he chuckled before running off, toast between his teeth. You just rolled your eyes and finished your meal in peace.

You never really thought that your classes were boring, but that day, every minute seemed to go by at a quarter of its speed. It was as if someone had put a time-stopping hex on you if that even was a thing. You couldn't wait to finish your studies in the library (the scheduled hours at the library was necessary since there was still so much to get through before the NEWTs), so you could make your way back to the Great Hall for dinner. Once there, you immediately were on the lookout for the head of dark brown curls. You stood in the doorway, letting people pass you, but no luck; Tom was nowhere to be seen.

Internally, you already started cursing. It would be just your luck that he'd get attention again for the rest of the night. Why did you have to fall for the troublemaker-

"Aaah!" you shrieked as suddenly your feet were lifted from the ground. Arms wrapped around your middle, and you were spinning around. You wanted to scream more, but you heard the familiar laugh, and it immediately put you at ease.

"Put me down," you laughed. Tom complied without pretence. But his hands remained at your sides as you turned to face him. And then, eagerly, his lips met yours in a chaste kiss.

It was, of course, silly to think that you could have this moment just for yourself, in a hall filled with hundreds of students. Only a few seconds into your kiss, you could hear wolf-whistles around you. Someone, who sounded very much like Tom's friend and team co-captain Harrison, called out from afar: "Get it, Holland!" Tom was quick to put up two fingers in his direction, not paying attention to anyone. But the mood was ruined, and you pulled apart.

"Missed you today," he said softly.

"Missed you, too." You replied. His fingers slipped between yours, and like that, hand in hand, you were already making your way to the Ravenclaw table, but, unfortunately, Tom was stopped when someone tugged at the back of his robes.

"Oi, you dickhead-" but he laughed it off when he saw it was Ben, another friend and member of the Gryffindor team.

"Sorry 'bout that," Ben apologised, "but we're supposed to be holding a team meeting, remember?" He pointed over at the Gryffindor table, and, indeed, the rest of the team was huddled together at the edge of the table. Harrison had gotten up when he saw you and Tom looking, returning the gesture of the two fingers held up in the V-shape.

"Shit, I forgot." Tom brushed his fingers through his hair. He looked at you, eyes already full of regret, and you could tell he was ready to apologise, but you stopped him before he even opened his mouth.

"Don't worry, we'll talk later, yeah." You kissed him on the cheek, "remember, 10."

And miraculously, Tom did remember. As the clock in the Ravenclaw common room struck 10, you heard the faint knock at the other side of the entrance. Of course, Tom knew where and how to access the Ravenclaw tower, but the riddles that the eagle doorknocker asked were at times a bit too hard, bless him.

You pushed the door open, and there he stood. His robes were exchanged for sweatpants and a hoodie. A blue one, you noticed, not that that would help him fit in with the crowd in the common room. Tom had been team captain for the past three years, and his team had not failed to win the cup once since he had even joined the team, to begin with. Everyone in school knew him and adored him. Not even the rest of your house managed to be mad at him (though the Ravenclaw team definitely held a bit of a grudge after a few bad losses over the years).

He stepped inside, and you quickly lead him around the common room up the stairs of the dormitories.

You had heard that years ago, the stairs had a spell on them that stopped the male students from even attempting to step up to the other dormitories. Now, however, this "rule" has been dropped, ever since several students expressed their concerns for the double standards between the male and female student body, as well as the discomfort it might set up for the queer students.

Personally, you thought it would be even better if every student could have their own room, since sharing a space with four other people could get a bit crowded at times and you liked your privacy, but it was understandable that in an ancient building like Hogwarts renovations were not always an option.

Luck struck once more when you opened the door to your dormitory, and it was empty. All of your friends were still out, most likely staring at their books, in the hopes of getting struck with a moment of brilliance that could help them pass their exams. You closed the door, and Tom made himself comfortable in your bed.

It felt like the entire day had already been wasted, not to mention dinner, so you hurried down to your bed, pulling down the curtains of the four-poster, just to get that little bit of privacy you longed for at the end long day. But, of course, it was nothing unusual or suspicious since you often closed your curtains when you were too tired to chat with your roommates.

It was dark with the curtains closed, but Tom was quick to pull out his wand and murmured "lumos" the tip immediately illuminated in soft blue light. The glow was just enough for you to see his face, the goofy grin taking over his features.

"What are you laughing at?" you asked, whispering in case someone would walk in.

"Nothing," he shrugged, "just happy to be here with you."

"You're daft," you laughed.

"Yeah, about you," and with that, he kissed you. The light at the end of his want went out as he dropped between you. His lips were soft and sweet, the pudding that had been served with dinner still lingering on him. He must have stolen a few cookies from the table when it had finished, you thought, to eat later. He often did that.

You stayed like that, cuddling, stealing kisses from one another, for hours, probably. You were never quite sure because eventually, you both drifted off into a slumber. You could have probably slept like that, wrapped in his arms, forever, if it wasn't the bright light peeking through your curtains that was hitting you right in the face. And the whispers. You could hear people talking.

"I swear, they're just the cutest." It was your friend talking.

"But do they really need to do it here?" A second voice said, also familiar to you. "I mean, how many rules do you think they're breaking?"

"Oh shut!" you heard pillows being thrown. Or at least assumed that was what was happening around you. You couldn't be bothered to open your eyes, instead deciding to focus on Tom and his calm breathing. Your head was close to his chest, so you felt it rise with each inhale he took, and you could hear his heartbeat.

It was Saturday, meaning no classes. You had studied every day for the past few weeks, definitely deserving a little break for the day. If you remembered correctly, Tom wouldn't have training until the late afternoon and you could always skip breakfast. If you got hungry before tea, you could always sneak into the kitchens. After all, the two of you had already broken so many rules, what would be the harm in one more.

Ignoring the further whispers of your friends, you snuggled closer to Tom, feeling his arm wrapping tighter around you. Both of you shuffled around a bit, trying to find back the comfort from the night, and quickly you fell back to sleep.

The End

[julek]

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

+

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

+

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

+

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. ���Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

[honeymooneyy]

my sirius

summary: sirius loses his memories due to a potion mishap and james fails to tell him that he’s been dating remus for two years 

Sirius had never really been good at potions. 

He wasn’t one to follow the directions, and that reflected in his potion-making skills. He liked to make changes to the recipe, despite his lack of skills to make executive decisions like that. 

So when he had been brewing a particularly tricky potion with James - one that renders the drinker void of any memories for an hour, he probably shouldn’t have tweaked the recipe. 

But as Sirius stared down at the murky green goop, he wished for some pizazz. So he took matters into his own hands. A funky potion like this should look a lot cooler, he decided. Granted, it probably wasn’t a good decision to add that mystery white powder in the back of the cupboard. 

The second it touched the surface of his potion, it erupted out and onto Sirius. What happened next, was utter chaos. 

Slughorn was screaming at James to scourgify the cauldron, which he did with a shaky wave of his wand. Remus and Peter were on the floor in a fit of laughter, much like the rest of the class - even Snape was smiling. And Sirius, well poor Sirius wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. Or who he was. 

He turned to the tan boy next to him, who’s dark eyes were locked on his, worry evident in them. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Sirius?” 

Serious?

“What?” Was the only reply he could muster. What was happening? What was serious? Who was this boy, and why did he look so concerned? 

“Did you, y’know, get any in your mouth?” The boy questioned, tilting his head a bit. His glasses reflected a bit when he did so, no longer allowed him to see his eyes. 

“Who are you?”

James deflated, turning to the man who was quivering in the corner. “Professor?” 

“It’s all fine,” The supposed Professor announced, holding his hands up. “I have  a couple counteractive potions. James, son, what did he put in there?” 

“Er, I’m not sure, I didn’t see.” The boy, James, turns back to their cauldron before reaching for a small bottle of white powder. “I think it was this.” 

The Professor squints at the bottle before sighing. “I’m not entirely sure what that was. We could try all three of the counter acting potions? They don’t mess with one another, and I’m sure one of them will work. Alright, I think we’ve had enough of this, class dismissed early, James stay here with Sirius. Please clean up properly!” 

The class began to put their materials away, whispering different cleaning spells as to not disturb the silence that had descended upon the class. Sirius assumed his name must be Sirius and James must not have been speaking of the emotion earlier. He stood at the small table with the dark cauldron, awkwardly shifting his weight as the Professor sifted through his drawers. 

In the end, he pulled out three small vials and handed them to James who brought them to Sirius. He flashed him a bright grin. “Drink up!” 

Sirius didn’t ask very many questions, though he felt as if he was bursting with them. He simply tilted his head back to swallow the liquids back, one after the other, cringing at the taste of the last one. 

James and the Professor continued to stare at him and Sirius stared back.

“What’s my name?” The Professor questioned after a moment of silence. 

“I don’t- I don’t know, sorry,” Sirius apologized, his ears burning as he shrunk under their inquisitive gazes. 

James sighed but the Professor didn’t seem to put off. “No worries, Black. I’ll take a look at that powder and I should have an antidote whipped up soon enough. Besides, if too much didn’t go wrong with your potion, you should get your memories back within the hour. James, why don’t you take him down to the medical wing to wait?” 

He must’ve messed up the potion because an hour later, he was still unknowing to who he was. 

James had filled him in on where he was - Hogwarts - and who he was - Sirius Black - but hadn’t given him too much information. He had assured that he’d get his memories back soon enough so there was no point. But the outcome was starting to look pretty bleak and soon enough, the nice nurse lady was sending Sirius away with James seeing as nothing could be done. 

“It’ll be fine, Sirius, Slughorn will get you back to normal soon enough. I reckon you’ll remember everything by tomorrow, no worries. And Remus and Peter will love this!” James seemed extremely enthusiastic, despite the fact that his best friend had no memories. 

“Does this sort of thing happen often?” Sirius was barely keeping up with James’ quick pace as he tried to absorb the castle he seemed to be in. 

“Losing your memories? Not to any of us, but I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet. We’re always getting into trouble. We’re kinda known for our pranks.” 

James seemed pretty proud and Sirius smiled at the thought of pranks. 

“Anyway, we’re in Gryffindor. There’s four houses, but I don’t think you need to know the others, right now. The password is Ficklepuffs, don’t forget that or else you can’t get in.” 

Sirius nodded, mouthing the word and hoping he’ll be able to remember it. 

“Okay, let’s not stay in the common room too long. Better if you don’t have to deal with all the questions. Let’s go to our dorm room. We share it with Remus and Peter.” 

Sirius followed him up the stairs wordlessly, ignoring the stares from the others in the common room. James pushed a door open and Sirius stepped into the warm room, his eyes flitting around before finding a boy sitting on one of the four beds

The blonde one looked up at him before directing his gaze towards James. “Is he all fixed up yet?” 

James grimaced a bit, “No, we’re waiting for Slughorn to make an antidote. Poppy told us to bring him up here and make him comfortable until the potions wears off or whenever Slughorn makes the antidote. Whichever happens first.” 

Sirius just stood in the center of the room, unsure what exactly he was supposed to do. All four of the beds looked exactly the same, and though James had taken the bed next to the blonde boy’s bed, the other two seemed too similar. James must’ve noticed his discomfort because he nodded his head towards one of the beds before speaking to the other boy in hushed tones. 

The bed was large with thick curtains around it, probably for privacy. The bed was made neatly and Sirius felt bad as he settled on top, wrinkling the sheets. On the bedside table was a book or two that seemed pretty untouched, and a dog toy? 

“Hey, Sirius!” The blonde boy waved to get his attention. “I’m Peter.” 

“Hi Peter.” Sirius waved back only for the other boys’ jaw to drop open as he shot James a look. 

“He can talk?”

“Of course he can talk, you dolt. He lost his memories not his knowledge. I bet he can still do maths and stuff. He just doesn’t know how he learned it, I think.” James turned to Sirius with a thoughtful look. “What’s four plus four?” 

“Eight,” Sirius replied immediately, much to his surprise. 

“See! You know how you learned that? Who taught you?” 

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. “No, not really.” 

James gave Peter a knowing look. “See. James is always right, that’s why we don’t question James.” 

“Oh quit it with the third person.” Peter rolled his eyes though his lips were quirked up a bit in a smile. 

James continued to speak in third person and Sirius watched the banter with a small smile. Eventually Peter shoved James away, speaking of some essay he needed to finish, so James came over to bother him. 

“I know you don’t really remember me, but we’ve been best mates since first year. That’s when we were elven.” James fills him in, perching on the edge of his bed. 

“And now we’re...?” 

“Seventeen. Er, well you are. Your birthday was about a month ago, November third. Remus and I are still sixteen.”

Sirius nods, soaking in this information. “And we’ve been dorm mates since then?” 

“Yep! Actually, you live with me now. But don’t worry about that, you’ll get your memories back soon enough,” James reassured though Sirius didn’t fully believe him. 

His thoughts were broken by the door slamming open as another boy stalked in. He was muttering angrily and when he saw the Peter, he turned toward him. “My blasted book was on the other side of the school! This is what I get for trying to study for Charms!” 

Sirius just watched, mouth agape, because he had never seen someone this attractive. He knew he hasn’t seen very many people in the past hour, his only memories, but he’s sure no one else could compare. Though his side profile is all Sirius can see at the moment, he still marvels at his golden brown hair and the flutter of freckles splattering his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, probably from his journey to the other side of the school, and matched his lips that were moving rapidly as he complains. 

And then he seems to realize that Sirius is there because he turns to him, and Sirius squirmed under the intensity of his amber eyes. “Did Slughorn’s antidote work?” 

Sirius can barely manage a shake of his head. 

This seems to upset the boy further because he groans and falls back onto his bed, hands dragging down his face. Sirius can’t help but follow his actions as his jumper hitches up to reveal a patch of pale skin. A jagged scar peaks out from under it, and though it’s faded to a silvery white, Sirius internally flinches at the thought of how it felt. 

Though James was still on his bed, he couldn’t help but continue to sneak glances at Remus. Something about him, and his presence, seemed comforting. But he seemed in distress and Sirius wanted to offer that same comfort he found.

“If he’s Peter, you’re Remus, right?” Sirius can tell Remus is upset and maybe he just wanted to talk to his friend? While Sirius isn’t really Sirius, he can try. And then he stupidly introduces himself, “I’m Sirius.” 

“I know,” Remus replies flatly, still stretched out on his bed. “And you’re the biggest idiot I know.” 

Sirius cringes back, regretting the choice to open his mouth. He glances at James who just waves it off. 

“He’s not mad, it’s just Remus.” James leans back as he stretches his leg out to prod Remus with a toe, then squealing when Remus grabbed said toe and yanked him so he almost slid off the bed. “Oi!” 

Sirius waited for him to get situated again before leaning in to hiss, “You didn’t tell me I was gay! Or that Remus is so attractive! What the fuck, mate?” 

To his surprise James just laughs, “Oh, right. Sorry, it’s not something I thought I would have to tell you, I dunno, I didn’t think about it. And what? I was supposed to introduce Remus as the hot one?” 

“Yes,” Sirius replied, genuinely. “This is important information!” 

“Right, sorry. But you don’t have to whisper, it’s not really a secret.” 

Sirius narrows his eyes, “Being gay or thinking Remus is attractive?” 

“Both. They go hand in hand, really, if you think about it.” James nods thoughtfully before smiling again reassuringly. “You’ll remember soon enough.” 

“Right. So he knows I think he’s hot?” 

“I would hope so.” 

Sirius frowns at this, “You hope so? What, does everyone know?” 

“Oh, yes.” 

“Wait a minute, what exactly are we?” This time the question is directed to Remus who has been lying on his bed, quiet but no doubt listening in on their conversation. 

Remus turns his head over to look at Sirius, his eyes flickering over his face before a smile is pulling at his lips as he says, “Friends. Since first year.” 

“Yeah, yeah, everything since first year.” Sirius visibly deflates at this information. What was Sirius With Memories doing? How could he bear to be just friends with someone like that? And now he had gone asking dumb questions, no doubt a problem that will soon arise. 

It took a mere couple of seconds before the problem rose. 

James stood up, dusting off his pants in a big show before turning to Peter. “Let’s head down to dinner, yeah? I think it’s better if we leave Sirius back here, Remus, you’ll stay?” 

Remus hummed a reply, now turning to lie on his stomach, burrowing his head into his arms. He looked so cuddly Sirius itched to wiggle into his embrace. 

“Wait! I want to come, I want dinner, I’m hungry.” Sirius stood too but James waved him off. 

“Nah, too many questions. We’ll bring you back some food, Remus too. And Poppy said to make him comfortable so Remus, I dunno, tuck him into bed or something.” James didn’t leave much time to argue, slipping out of the dorm door with Peter close behind him. 

Sirius just stood there, awkwardly, now unsure what to do. He glanced at Remus who still had his head burrowed in his arms, and then at the door, considering just running after James and Peter. Why did he have to say something about Remus being attractive? Even if James was right and Remus already knew, it was so awkward!

“Are you going to change?” Remus asked, pulling Sirius out of his thoughts. His eyes flickered over Sirius’ figure before glancing back at him with a small smile. “You’re covered in that goop. I can clean off your bed, go get changed.” 

Sirius assumed the trunk at the foot of his bed must have his clothes, and much to his luck, he was right. He just reached for some random pants and a shirt before spotting a fuzzy jumper in the corner. He grabbed it too. 

Remus was muttering some sort of spell on the bed and the green patches were slowly disappearing. Throwing him one last glance, Sirius entered the bathroom and quickly changed out of his soiled clothes. Once he was clean, he grimaced at the state of his hair. Thankfully, it had been spared from the potion, for the most part, but was a tangly mess, no doubt from his nervous fiddling. He tried to rake his fingers through it but it didn’t do much so he just returned to the room. 

Remus had cleaned his bed and was on his own now, fidgeting with a comb. When he spotted Sirius his eyes brightened and his smile grew a bit as he waved him over. “C’mere, I’ll fix your hair.” 

Sirius ducked his head bashfully as he approached Remus’ bed before gingerly crawling onto it, sitting down in front of him. He was acutely aware of how close Remus was too him and butterflies erupted in his stomach. Sirius forced himself to sit perfectly still as nimble fingers began carding through his hair, working through the knots. 

“Oh, Sirius, how did this even happen?” Remus murmured, his voice quiet enough that it made Sirius blush. This whole thing felt so intimate and it didn’t help that Remus kept brushing against his back as he fixed his hair. 

“I dunno,” Sirius whispered back.

“S’okay, love, I think I can get the knots out.”

The nickname slipped out so naturally it sounded as if he said it every day, but it didn’t stop Sirius from freezing, his leg pausing in it’s bouncing. Remus must’ve noticed too because his fingers stilled in Sirius’ hair. 

“Shit, I couldn’t even go fifteen minutes, could I?” He tutted, before continuing to work through his hair. “Sorry, Sirius. Your face when I walked in was too priceless, I couldn’t not have some fun with it. I loved your reaction to me saying we’re just friends.” 

Sirius wasn’t completely sure what was happening, but he found his voice. “So we’re not friends?” 

Remus snorted at this, “No. We’ve been dating since fourth year. Almost two years, now, I think.” 

“Oh.” 

Sirius’ head was whirling. He was dating Remus? And the others really didn’t bother saying anything about it? Again, this seemed like important information! Your name is Sirius Black, you’re gay, you have a hot boyfriend...the basics! 

Remus laughed again and ran his comb through Sirius’ now tangle-free hair. “All done.” 

Sirius turned around so he could face Remus who was now settled back down and was leaning against his headboard. “Thank you.” 

“Look at you, so polite. If only Sirius could be like this every day.” Remus shook his head but his words held no venom. “Do you want me to braid it so it doesn’t get tangled again?” 

Sirius didn’t really know what to say to him, seeing as they were boyfriends though he had no memory of this. So he just nodded mutely, turning back around so Remus could braid his hair. He worked in silence and Sirius greatly appreciated it. 

When he was finished he patted Sirius’ shoulder and he turned around again. Remus was watching him with a warm smile and it encouraged him to voice his thoughts, “Do you think Slughorn will we be able to make an antidote?” 

“For you memories? I’m sure he will. He’s pretty talented,” Remus assured, his hands reaching out to brush a couple loose strands out of Sirius’ face. “Don’t worry too much. We’ll work it out tomorrow.” 

Sirius nods but he doesn’t feel very confident in the Professor’s abilities. “This is scary. I don’t know anything or anyone. It’s weird, though, I kind of still have emotions associated with people? So I feel things but I don’t know why.” 

“I’m sure it’s terrifying. But you’re safe with us, I promise you trust us when you’re normal. And for the emotions? It’s probably like muscle memory but with feelings? Can you describe it? Like me for example?” 

Heat crawls onto Sirius’ face and he dropped his gaze to his lap. “You’re warm. Like, my chest feels all warm on the inside. But also kind of swirly, I don’t know. It’s positive, I know that. I cared about you a lot, I think.”

“You did. I care about you a load too.” Remus reaches out to gently link their fingers together. “I was kind of scared about you never remembering me again, but I don’t think Dumbledore would let that happen. He’s the headmaster here.” 

“I wish I could remember you. You seem worth remembering.” 

Remus’ mouth fell open a bit at his words and then he was pulling Sirius into a tight hug, holding him against his chest. “That’s so cheesy but so sweet, oh my god, Sirius.” 

Sirius laughed at this, but wrapped his own arms around Remus, laying his head onto Remus’ chest. The embrace felt so natural he couldn’t help but melt into it, sighing softly. 

And that’s exactly when James and Peter burst through the door, holding plates of food. When James caught sight of them he exclaimed, “Remus! Get away from him! He doesn’t remember anything, poor Sirius! You’re a stranger! He’s a stranger!” 

“He’s not a stranger,” Remus protested, continuing to hold Sirius, chin tucked over the top of his head. “He’s my Sirius.” 

Sirius smiled into his sweater at his words. He quite liked the sound of that - my Sirius. 

[mimzy-writing-online]

Hello. I had a question regarding your post about blind characters. I have a character in my WIP that must cover their eyes.. but it’s blind. He may need to tell people he is blind to explain why he covers his eyes though. I was wondering how I might write this character without offending. Thank you :)

I think I want to start by explaining the “covering blind eyes” trope and why it has become a harmful trope. I think understanding why it’s hurtful helps everyone learn how to handle it better.

I would guess that the “blind people wear sunglasses” trope comes from Hollywood for the specific reason of 1. wanting to signal to the audience that the character is obviously blind and 2. avoid breaking the suspension of disbelief by preventing the audience from catching the sighted actor look at visual stimuli (because disabled characters are almost always played by able actors).

But this changed the way the public expects to experience blindness. If watching a sighted actor wear sunglasses and say he’s blind is all the exposure to the blind community a person has had, that’s the only model of blindness they’ll recognize. If they meet a blind person in real life who doesn’t wear sunglasses, it’s going to break this built perception and cause an uncomfortable cognitive dissonance. 

And then there is the common “cloudy-white blank gaze” that pops up in media. It stems from the fact that cataracts is the most common cause of blindness and the appearance of severe cataracts is a cloudy film in the eyes obscuring the iris and pupil. It can also alter what color a person’s eyes appears to be, making them appear paler and grey in the beginning and then as the cataract advances it becomes more yellow/brown and alters a person’s vision to appear more yellow tinted.

There are lots of other eye conditions that makes the eyes look visibly different. Albinism for instance affects the color and structure of the iris. Eyes might be congenitally misshapen. The muscles might be weak or not work and one or both eyes point significantly outward. Someone who was born blind and experienced no visual stimuli might also have weak muscles around their eyes because they never had a reason to focus their eyes on anything.

And unfortunately humans have the habit of feeling uncomfortable when they meet someone who looks very obviously different from the norm, whether that’s a personal style choice (hair color and style, tattoos, clothing choices) or something they can’t help (a visible disability, skin color, scars). 

To the paragraph above, @gothhabiba replied with:  “it's very weird & ahistorical to claim that racism or ableism are some kind of natural "human" trait.. like frankly it's apologia”

You’re right, I wasn’t thinking beyond that generalization or assumption.

Perhaps a better way to put it is: I was raised in a society where I was taught from childhood to think that there was only one kind of human being to be. White, cis, straight, abled, conservative. That’s a very western thing and that’s a thing I’m going to constantly be unlearning.

Racism and ableism and homophobia aren’t innate, that’s a western thing that was forced onto the rest of the world by colonialism. And because western media created this idea that the world is white, abled, cis, straight, and Christian-value leaning, it taught people to think that was the norm so that seeing someone different from that archetype would cause a cognitive dissonance, which causes discomfort.

And instead of working past that cognitive dissonance to learn more and realize there’s so much more to life than media taught you, society encourages you to ignore that cognitive dissonance by sticking your head in the sand-- or TV screen.

So combine these two tropes or common beliefs together and you get something a little dangerous: the idea that blind people cover their eyes because they look obviously different and they’re ashamed (or should be ashamed) of that.

And if you’re someone who’s just gone blind or who was born blind and you have little to no contact with the blind community, then this societal belief that you should be ashamed of how your eyes look becomes detrimental to your self-esteem and further builds internalized ableism.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve read or watched a blind character cover their eyes with sunglasses because they were ashamed of how their eyes looked. And I distinctly remember a few times where a sighted friend of the character was trying to convince them to stop wearing sunglasses because there’s nothing wrong with looking different--which is true, but it plays into this fantasy of being the perfect abled ally who saves the blind character from being miserable. 

In an ideal world, the character has no reason to believe looking different is a bad thing or diminishes their worth or makes people dislike them. And if they develop this belief, it’s more likely that someone more involved in the disabled community, most likely someone disabled themselves, will set them straight. Or that the character will learn to accept themselves on their own, looks included.

But there are some perfectly valid reasons for any blind person to wear sunglasses. They might have an interest in fashion and sunglasses complete the look they’re going for. They could want to protect their eyes from UV rays while they’re outside. They may experience light sensitivity and sunglasses reduces any discomfort or pain. Those are incredibly common reasons to wear sunglasses whether you’re sighted or blind.

But there are some more complicated situations.

In your words, your character must cover his eyes. You never specified why, so my primary guess is that he has some kind of power that is unpleasant or has devastating affects and the only way to prevent it is to keep his eyes covered. My primary guess stems from this post where an anon and I discussed a retelling of Medusa, a hypothetical blinding of oneself to avoid ever killing anyone ever again, and what I think I would do if I was in that scenario.

So how do you write a blind character who must cover their eyes and avoid some of the complications?

1. Your character must always have the ability to say “fuck off, it’s my business, I don’t have to tell you why I’m blind or why I cover my eyes.”

Most blind people really, really don’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of why they’re blind and how they feel about it and what it’s like being blind with a stranger they’ll never see again or a new acquaintance they don’t know well yet. You have exceptions to that rule where sure, educating the public about blindness is a thing you want to do and you’re committed to helping your community, but I still have days where I don’t want to talk about being blind or disclose my medical crap.

And if someone doesn’t respect their right to their privacy or pushes too much, the blind character is allowed to be angry, is allowed to tell them off and complain without anyone else in the situation vilifying them or saying they’re “overreacting” and “should have just disclosed private information because big deal or whatever.” If they are angry, that’s their right, and it’s not unreasonable, it doesn’t make them a bad person.

2. Your character should not be ashamed of being blind or of covering their eyes. It is a part of their life, they’re used to it by now, even if they weren’t in the beginning.

The shame and internalized ableism is something that should be written about, but that’s for an own-voices story with a blind author. I don’t think an abled person will ever be able to understand how much society expects you to hate yourself and your disability because “being disabled is a tragic thing that ruins your life” and how that does affect your mental health, self esteem, your relationships with others, your medical care, and what kind of accommodations you can get.

3. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few sarcastic lines in response to uncomfortable conversations.

Stranger: so what’s with the...

Blind Character: what’s with what?

S: the... you know

BC: you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific

S: Your eyes?

BC: They’re... eyes

S: but you’re...

BC: Blind?

S: uh...

BC: yeah, I’m blind. *walks away*

Or this conversation:

S: *to some other character* so why are his eyes covered?

(author’s note: which, honestly, that’s fucking rude. At least have the guts to ask me yourself)

BC: If I look anyone in the eye they instantly perish.

*awkward silence*

BC: instantly.

Friend: It’s truly tragic

BC: *melancholic* that’s how I lost my sister. *chokes up* She was so young

Or this conversation:

S: Why are you wearing that?

BC: It’s called fashion Karen!

Or this conversation:

S: are you like... blind?

BC: yes?? why wouldn’t I be?? Wait, are you sighted? Are you one of those sighted people? You poor thing! What caused you to gain your sight? Do you have a car? A bike? Were you born sighted? What’s it like to see color? Do you miss not having to see 

God, I want a chance to try that last one. I haven’t interacted with a stranger in almost a year. One day...

4. Honestly, it’d also be cool if someone’s reaction to your character covering their eyes was like, “cool sunglasses,” or “cool *insert random character, even one you made up* cosplay,” (which is ten times funnier if this character is a notable figure in modern society like an actor who people might cosplay). 

5. You know, if he’s covering his eyes with some kind of blindfold, he should totally have custom blindfolds for his moods. Like, I have a mask that says “suck it up buttercup” and another that says “not today” because sometimes that’s the mood. And sometimes the mood is one of my floral masks, and sometimes the mood is my cat mask.

So, just some thoughts. I hope that helps.

Edit: a commenter said: “op, unless i'm mistaken this kind of reads like anon meant the character ISN'T blind but lies about being blind to explain covering their eyes? it seems like they made a typo on the word "isn't"”

So my original response to the question was based on the assumption that the character is blind. However,

If the character is not blind, then do not under any circumstances have them lie and say they’re blind to escape a mild inconvenience. 

It’s better to have the character actually explain the situation or straight up leave the conversation or invent a more ridiculous lie than to perpetuate the very real stereotype and misconception that there are people who fake being blind and therefore it’s okay to discriminate or harass them if you even suspect they’re faking.

Do not under any circumstances perpetuate that stereotype. Do not harass someone because you don’t think they’re blind enough.

[helloalycia]

just a kid [two] // wanda maximoff

summary: you decide to get to the bottom of things, suspecting Wanda has something to do with your troubled memories.

warning/s: mentions of death and explicit/descriptive violence.

author's note: here’s the second and final part! bit of an angsty one oof

part one | masterlist | wattpad

In all of the time Wanda and I spent together, we'd never lied to one another. We always told each other everything, even if we thought it would make the others person upset. So, I couldn't for the life of me understand what she was doing behind my back now.

After a while of trying to collect my thoughts and reigning in my agitation, I returned to Doctor Maya's office to see she was alone. When I entered without knocking, she looked up with surprise, but now that I knew that she was hiding something, I saw a hint of guilt.

"Y/N, what can I do for you?" she asked without so much as a shake in her voice. She'd practiced well. "Did we have an appointment?"

I closed the door behind me, stepping forward but not quite committing to taking a seat.

"I still feel nauseous," I said with stern eyes. "I still get nightmares. My thoughts don't feel like my own. My head hurts every time I try to remember my accident."

"Y/N, I've told you, it'll take time to–"

"Stop! Stop lying!" I exclaimed, gripping the back of the chair tightly. "I heard you and Wanda talking earlier. I know you're hiding something. Something to do with Wanda. So, tell me. What is it?"

Other than jumping at my sudden outburst, she showed no expression on her face, nor acknowledgement to my words. I tried a different approach, shoulders sagging with defeat and expression softening.

With a normal volume, I pleaded, "Please. I have a right to know if it concerns me."

Still, she said nothing. Only avoided my eyes and played with her fingers nervously on her desk. I clenched my jaw, trying not to snap.

"Fine," I gave in. "Can you at least tell me if Wanda was there when my accident happened?"

Finally, she spoke, nodding. "Obviously she was. She was the one who got you to the quinjet after you were knocked unconscious."

I chewed the inside of my mouth, trying to piece together the incident. Things still didn't make sense...

"The agent that I was trying to help," I said, remembering that was the reason I was out in the field in the first place, "what happened to them? Where are they now?"

She straightened up in her seat. "As I told you before, he made it out okay. But I cannot tell you where he is."

"And why not?"

"It's not relevant."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Well, now I know you're hiding something."

She pressed her lips together, unsure whether to respond or not. After opening and closing her mouth like a fish in water, she opted to stay silent.

"I guess I'll keep taking my medication like a good girl," I said with sarcastic smile. "Thanks for nothing, doc."

With an eye roll, I left the room and decided to take matters into my own hands. If neither her nor Wanda would tell me the truth, I'd make a start to finding out myself.

First thing's first – Wanda had some sort of connection to this whole thing, excluding the fact that she was hiding it. I recalled hearing her say something about 'working out the kinks'... what was she trying to work out?

I knew she had powers and was capable of many things; was it linked to that? I was having trouble remembering and the only two people who seemed to know were my doctor and Wanda, the girl who had the abilities to manipulate thoughts to her own will. But she wouldn't, would she? That was an invasion of privacy, morally wrong. She was a good person. The only time she'd done that was when she was trying to defeat the Avengers, but she wasn't that person anymore... she wouldn't do that to me, right?

It was getting late and I still had so many pieces of the puzzle to put together. All I had were theories and nothing to back them up. So, as I headed to Wanda's room with tired eyes and a curious brain, I tried to push it away for the evening and focus on getting some sleep, if any.

Wanda was tying her hair up in the mirror, already dressed for bed, when I stepped in. Her eyes caught mine in the mirror and she spun around, expression softening.

"Hey," she said gently, probably taking caution after how our last interaction went. "D'you have a nice walk?"

I pursed my lips, studying her carefully. How could she act like this? So concerned for my well-being as she watched me suffer, when she knew something that might help me?

"Yeah, I guess," I spoke, before taking my shoes off and going to the ensuite to get changed.

It was quiet as I got ready for bed and brushed my teeth. Wanda, thankfully, didn't push me to speak, but I was still confused. I wanted her to tell me what she knew, but she was playing it safe. Maybe I could test the waters a little...?

As I clambered into bed beside her, I saw she was sat up and reading a book in the light of her bedside lamp. I began to take my watch off and glanced at her subtly, deciding to say something.

"I think something is wrong," I said, earning her attention. "I think I might be remembering my accident incorrectly."

She lowered her book, giving me her full attention. But unlike before, I now saw the doubt swimming in her eyes.

"What? Why do you think that?" she asked with confusion.

I put my watch to the side and paused, deciding whether I was in the mood to get into it.

"How do you know it was a mine?" I asked her, quirking a brow.

She pulled a face, as if suggesting my question was silly. "I was there, Y/N. I saw it."

I wanted to believe her, I did.

"Did anyone else see it?" I asked, unable to stop myself.

Closing her book, she shook her head, distracting from the panic settling into her expression. "What's with all of the questions?"

I ignored her. "You can manipulate people's thoughts, can't you? Get into their head. Read their mind."

"Yes...," she answered, nodding with a puzzled frown. "So?"

I'd known Wanda long enough to know she was hiding something. I should have detected the signs sooner. The constant avoidance of my eyes, the fiddling thumbs, the way her accent grew a little stronger. I was right. She was keeping something from me.

"You've never got into my head before, right?" I asked curiously, wondering if she was reading my thoughts right now. Did she know I was on to her? Did she know I knew she was hiding something?

Resting a reassuring hand on mine, she shook her head. "I would never."

I glanced at her hand that squeezed mine, then to her dark green eyes swimming with certainty. Was she lying now? Or was she just getting better at it?

No, I still had my doubts. She must have done something to my thoughts. And I would never know unless she told me, which she clearly wasn't going to.

"You're mad at me," she realised, letting go of my hand.

I shook my head and looked away, frowning. "I'm not. I'm just tired."

Without another word, I got under the covers and turned my back to her. I wasn't sure what else to do. She was blatantly lying to my face when I thought I could trust her. How could she?

Sleep came to me quickly that night, thankfully not bombarded by painful dreams. But when I woke up and had a shower, I realised how angry I still was. Wanda was lying to me and I didn't understand why.

"I'm gonna go back to my flat," I told her out of the blue after drying my hair.

She walked out of the ensuite and leaned against the doorframe, seeming taken aback. "You're going back?"

I nodded, maintaining eye contact. "Yeah. I can't stay here."

Wanda frowned. "This is about last night."

She looked so hurt by my words that I almost took them back, but I didn't. She was a liar.

"Yeah, it is," I said, crossing my arms with certainty, a hostile expression taking over my face. "I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, Wanda, but you're lying to me."

She straightened up, eyebrows furrowing together. "What are you talking about?"

I squeezed my hands as I continued to cross my arms, hiding my frustration. "I know you're in my head."

She hesitated – a split second, but I saw it – and it was enough to confirm my thoughts.

"I would never do that," she said with a shake of her head, making me clench my fists.

"Stop lying to me, Wanda!" I shouted, finally bursting. "I know it's you! You're in there, I can feel you!"

"Y/N–"

"No!" I cut her off, tears brimming my eyes. "You're mixing my thoughts up and spitting out something that isn't real. You have to be! Because if you're not then– then– then I'm going insane."

I swallowed hard, wiping my eyes and looking away momentarily, trying to collect myself. Crying wasn't my intention, but God, the discomfort in the pit of my stomach and the constant restlessness I felt was eating me alive. I needed to know the truth and the one person I thought I could rely on wasn't helping me.

"I'm sorry," she said, and I looked at her to see she was watching me apologetically. "I don't want to. But I have to."

I licked my lips, partially fed up. I was hoping I was mistaken, that the most that would happen is I accused my girlfriend of something immoral. This was way worse. I was right.

"Why do you have to?" I questioned with burning eyes. "What happened that I can't know?"

She stepped forward, but I stepped back. Frowning, hurt, she ran a hand through her hair.

"I can't tell you," she said regretfully, making me groan loudly. "Look, it's not as easy as you think. This is for your own good, Y/N."

"No, no, it's not," I disagreed, before pointing an accusing finger her way. "You don't get to decide that for me! You have no right!"

Glassy green eyes met mine. "This is all to protect you. The truth hurts."

"Fuck yeah, it does," I said bitterly. "Discovering my girlfriend is mind-controlling me is never a nice thing to learn."

"Don't say that!" she snapped, clenching her fists. "It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that," I said lowly, scowling at her. "You're treating me like your enemy. You don't just get to prance around in my head because we're a couple. That's not how this works."

"That's not what I'm doing!" she shouted, eyes beginning to glow red with frustration.

"Then tell me what the hell is going on!" I said, not backing down.

She clenched her jaw, red eyes and anger dispersing as her expression softened. "I can't."

Through blurry vision, I glared her way. "Then fuck you, Wanda! I'll figure it out myself!"

I was sick of her feeling like she could control me, like I was some sort of helpless being who needed her protection. It was my head and I deserved to know what the fuck was in it!

In the two years we'd been together, we'd never argued this bad. And I'd never imagined it would be because she was manipulating me like she was.

With determination, I stormed down to the medical floor of the Tower and straight to Doctor Maya's office.

When she saw me, she looked up with surprise. "Y/N, what are you–"

"Cut the act, I know the truth," I interrupted her. "About Wanda mind-controlling me. How you were both in cahoots. I know it all."

She seemed shocked. "I– I don't know what to say."

"You can tell me where the agent I tried to help is," I got straight to the point.

"I'm not sure if I should–"

"One way or another, I'm going to find out," I deadpanned, not in the mood to be played. "Just tell me."

It didn't take much convincing, as I soon found myself on the way to a hospital at a nearby S.H.I.E.L.D. facility where the agent was recovering in. With my clearance, it wasn't difficult to get inside, and after explaining who I was, the agent – Agent Montgomery – was happy to have me visit him.

When I walked into his room, I saw he was sitting up in his bed, watching the TV hung on the wall ahead. When he saw me however, he muted it and smiled brightly at me. I noticed the bruises littering his body and though he was wearing a hospital gown, I suspected his injuries were bandaged beneath it.

"Doctor Y/L/N," he addressed me. "It's such a pleasure. I've been wanting to thank you ever since you helped me out a week ago."

I offered a small smile, stopping by his bedside. "There's no need. I was just–" I hesitated, feeling like an idiot as I couldn't even remember what I'd helped him with. "I was just doing my job."

He chuckled. "So modest. It's just nice to know you're doing okay. If it weren't for you swooping in on the scene, I'm sure I would've bled out. I wanted to thank you, but the doctors here told me that you were pretty shaken up after what happened and needed some time."

My eyes fell to the monitors beside his bed, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah... what exactly happened that day?"

He seemed surprised. "You don't remember? It wasn't... it wasn't good. I thought that's why you were taking the time for yourself."

I looked up, catching the way his smile faded into a frown and he looked down to his hands sadly.

"Can you refresh my memory?" I asked gently, unsure whether I was ready to hear the truth or not. But it was now or never.

"Well, from my perspective, I was laying on the ground, thinking I was gonna die from blood loss..."

This part of the city was desolate and destroyed, remnants of broken buildings as a result of the Avengers' fight surrounding me. When I was rushed into the field with my team, with plans of finding the handful of casualties to be extracted, I followed usual protocol.

It was supposed to be empty of enemy combatants. We were just supposed to be prepping the casualties for evacuation, as usual. This time was different though.

I came across Agent Montgomery's body by myself, separated from my team as they spread out amongst the rubble to find the rest of the bodies.  He was laying there, body unmoving as his hand was pressed to a point above his stomach.

Instinctively, I rushed over to him and began to unload my medical equipment on the ground beside him. I squinted in the hot sun – why was it so bright out? – as I tried to pull the agent's helmet off.

"Hey, I'm here to help," I told him reassuringly, giving him a smile that I hoped would put him at ease. "Can you hear me?"

"You helped me, patched me up," Agent Montgomery was explaining vividly, and I found myself hanging onto his every word.

For the first time in a week, my memories were making sense. They flowed as one rather than in mashed scenes of a broken film.

He nodded, to my relief, and let me move his hand to the side so I could see what I was working with. A bullet wound and from the looks of it, the bullet was still lodged in there.

I spent the next five minutes patching him up well enough so I could eventually take him back to the quinjet, whilst making conversation with him so he would feel better about everything. When I was done, I radioed my team to help collect him and planned to wait by his side until they arrived. But I heard someone calling for help and looked up with confusion, hand resting on my own pistol.

"There was this kid," he recalled, wincing at the mention of her, which made me wonder what went wrong. "I was a little out of it, I'm not gonna lie. But I could never forget it. Forget that poor girl."

The voice belonged to a little girl. It was as if she'd appeared out of nowhere. Her clothes were tattered and she was covered in dirt, like she'd climbed out from one of the collapsed buildings. I wouldn't have put it past her. People did live here after all. Or, at least, they did.

"Hey," I said quietly, letting go of my pistol. "Are you okay, love? Are you hurt?"

She frowned, lip quivering. "I don't know where my family is."

My heart sank at her words, watching the look of horror cross her expression. I couldn't imagine what she must have witnessed as the battles raged on earlier. She stepped closer to me, eyes blinking innocently, before finding the state of the agent on the floor.

"He'll be okay," I reassured her, earning her attention. "And so will you. I'll help you find your family, yeah?"

She nodded, wiping away fresh tears.

"She was just a kid," Agent Montgomery said, his own eyes glassy from pent up emotions. "She didn't deserve what happened."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. He didn't need to finish. I remembered it so vividly.

"Do you have a name?" I asked her, removing my medical gloves and throwing them to the side so I could give the girl all of my attention.

I outstretched my hand, offering it up. She rested hers in mine, making me smile.

"Selena," she mumbled.

"Well, Selena," I began, hopefully, "that's a pretty name. And I'm sure we can find your parents in no time."

We just had to wait until my team came and then I could try to look for her parents. It wouldn't be hard and I refused to accept they were dead, despite the likelihood of them being alive being quite low.

Selena nodded, her tiny hand squeezing mine, searching for comfort. I squeezed it back, kneeling before her and giving her a quick nod.

Before either of us could say anything more, the unexpected happened. It was as if there was a bomb set in the middle of that tiny girl's body because one second I was staring at her, and the next, she exploded all over, coating me in tiny, fleshy pieces.

My jaw dropped with disbelief, ears ringing from the explosion and heart dropping at the suddenness of it all. I risked looking down, only to see the girl's hand still intact and resting in mine. But where her body should have connected, there was nothing there.

I couldn't help but think how strange it all looked, like a prop from a film set, or a mannequin hand from a clothing shop. I dropped it without thinking, watching it bounce onto the blood-stained ground.

Smoke and blood infiltrated my nose. I looked down and my hands were shaking so much, covered in what looked like minced meat. Meat. Blood. Smoke.

My stomach curled, but I couldn't move. Eyes were permanently widened. Hands were still shaking. The girl's voice played in my ears amidst the ringing. One second she was there and the next she wasn't.

"It came out of nowhere," Agent Montgomery muttered. "Some weapon HYDRA were testing. Had the ability to make its target explode within seconds. She was just another victim of the senseless violence that day."

I swallowed hard, my stomach curling. So much nausea. So much aching. I pocketed my sweaty, shaking hands. Looked to Agent Montgomery.

"That avenger, the witch?" he continued, looking up to me. "She got us out of there. Killed the HYDRA agent. You must've passed out from shock. But she saved us both."

Wanda. She was there. She'd seen it all happen. She'd saved me.

She'd lied to me.

My mouth was dry like sandpaper. My head hurt. I felt sick. The memories were connecting as they flashed through my mind.

It came out of nowhere.

She was just a kid.

"Thanks for telling me," I managed to get out, already backing up. "Good luck with your recovery."

He may have responded, but I wouldn't know. I left the room, ears ringing like I was still there. I looked down, half expecting my clothes to be covered in flesh. Selena's flesh. That poor girl...

She was just a kid.

My vision blurred and I had to pause, hanging in the empty hallway of the medical wing. I raised my hand, covering my mouth as I struggled to breathe without shaking. But it was impossible.

It came out of nowhere.

I don't know where my family is.

"There you are."

I looked up, blinking away tears, making out Wanda standing before me. She seemed reluctant to come closer and for a moment, I wasn't sure what I was feeling.

"Doctor Maya told me where you were," she explained quietly.

Do you have a name?

"I don't have t-time for this," I got out, pushing myself away from the wall and moving forward, walking past her.

"Y/N, please wait," she pleaded, grabbing my arm, and I shook her off so quickly. The thought of being touched right now, when I was covered in–

I looked down. I was clean.

Selena.

"I shouldn't have controlled your mind," Wanda continued from behind me, sincerity in her words. "It wasn't right. It wasn't my place."

I turned around, breath catching in my throat. My ears were still ringing. Hands still sweaty. I pocketed them, though they shook so much my jacket was moving.

Well, Selena, that's a pretty name. And I'm sure we can find your parents in no time.

"She was just a kid," I said, expecting such ferocity in my words, but they barely came out above a whisper. "She wasn't supposed to be there."

Wanda swallowed hard, taking a small step forward. I didn't move back.

"It wasn't your fault."

"She just wanted her family." I clenched my jaw, squeezing my sweaty, shaky hands into fists. "She shouldn't have been there."

"Y/N..."

I squeezed my eyes shut, tears flowing out, before shouting, "You had no right! You– you– you had no fuckin' right!"

Wanda watched me with glossy eyes. "I know. You're right."

Just a kid.

The ringing stopped. I clutched my stomach, wishing the stabbing nausea would disappear. Now that my thoughts were whole again, I felt like I was experiencing the whole thing once more. It was catching up to me quicker than I could adjust to.

She opened her mouth to speak and I shook my head, signalling for her to stop. I couldn't take it. I was so angry and hurt and shocked and I– I–

"I hate you," I breathed out.

She frowned, eyes screaming with guilt. "Y/N..."

My jaw ached from the pressure I was putting on it. Marks were forming in my palm from how hard I was squeezing my fists. She had no right.

"It wasn't your fucking place," I repeated, moving forward and bundling her shirt in my fist. Glaring at her through my tears, I saw the way she put up no fight, expressions softening and etched with guilt. "You– you– you–"

My hands began to shake again. The ringing returned. I couldn't take it. I let go and shoved her back, needing a moment. But I didn't know what to do.

I wanted to hate her. She had messed with my head. Made this so much worse than it could have been if she'd just let me suffer in the first place. But at the same time, a small part of me wished it would have worked. That her mind manipulation would have done it's job and I wasn't remembering. Because fuck, remembering hurt like a bitch.

More tears came and I squeezed my eyes shut, squeezing my stomach to ease the never-ending pain. I opened my mouth to speak, but a sob came out instead, and before I knew it, Wanda was wrapping her arms around me, letting me fall into her.

"It's okay," she said with certainty, squeezing me. "You'll be okay."

I shook my head because I knew that wasn't true. Nothing was okay. I couldn't imagine it ever being okay.

She was just a kid.

[hazzasgayvodka]

Panty Thief - Harry Styles

So this is kind of a trial run for this fic, I’m inclined to make this a series but I’m not sure how the response to it will be. I have lots of ideas for more parts to this but only if it’s what the people want haha. Here is my belated Valentine’s Day gift to all you lovelies I hope you enjoy this heavy daddy kink/dom harry fic I’ve been working on for ages!

p.s. everyone say thank you Nathan for giving me lots of smut inspiration this is literally based on him sorta 

pairing: daddy!harry x oc

warning: sexual content, smut, daddy kink/dom vibes so if you’re not here for that this is not for you

word count: 5k

In which Harry is a new student at Harley’s university and he seems to just keep popping up everywhere. The tension between them is palpable and she can’t get away from him, especially when he happens to knock on her door with a pair of her favorite red lace panties she left in the laundromat dangling from his finger. 

I roll my eyes as the lady in front of me in line takes out yet another handful of coupons from her purse at the checkout counter. The cashier looks almost as annoyed as I am, but still sporting a smile despite the absolute exasperation rampant in her eyes. She takes the handful of coupons and starts scanning them begrudgingly as the woman digs around in her purse for anymore and I hardly even notice my foot tapping as my eyes instinctively roll once again. I just came to get toilet roll, ice cream, and a bottle of prosecco and the universe decides today is the day coupon Karen ends up at the checkout line five minutes before I do.

“I like your hair.” A voice speaks up behind me.

I know they must be talking to me, I don’t believe any other boring college blonde in this line warrants a compliment like that but the bright purple curls I sport tend to elicit quite the reaction from bystanders, especially the uninteresting conservatives of Publix.

“How do you uh, get it that color?”

I finally turn my head over my shoulder to face the voice, a tall guy with tousled brown hair and quite the shit eating grin on his face. He’s obviously very pleased with himself finally getting me to turn around but I can’t be bothered to entertain this excited puppy of a man with more than a word.

“Dye.”

I’ve barely even gotten the word out of my mouth before I turn back to face the cashier with an uninterested eyeroll. He scoffs behind me, clearly not giving up that easily.

“Wow,” He chuckles, “At least you’re straightforward.”

I turn back around without thinking to face him once again, “Hair dye, idiot.”

“Oh, well I could have guessed that much.”

I turn away from him again just as coupon lady finally pushes her rattling cart towards the exit doors and the cashier gestures for me to come up to the checkout. I drop my basket on the conveyor belt with a thud and she rings it up quickly, sensing my impatience and clearly wanting to get me the hell out of here as quickly as she can. I pay and grab my bags to head for the door and just before I’m home free the voice is suddenly behind me yet again.

“So, are you really not going to tell me?” He asks, catching up to me outside, “It’s going to keep me up tonight, I’m waiting with bated breath over here.”

“Tell you what exactly?” I huff, finally turning to face him.

“How you get your hair that color, of course.”

I roll my eyes, surely, he’s not keeping this bit up for the sake of hitting on me in the fucking supermarket, “Do you want something from me?”

He chuckles a bit, and I’m glad to see my utter frustration is amusing to him, “I mean,” He starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “Maybe your name would be cool.”

“No thanks.”

“Well, I’m Harry-“

I turn and walk away before he’s barely got the sentence out of his mouth. What was he even in line to buy? He wasn’t carrying any bags.

Mental note: always wear headphones to the grocery store.

 ***

“You’re late.”

I collapse in the seat next to my friend Danielle with a huff. She gives me a certain look that says something like you’ve been late the past three times too, but honestly at this point she should know to expect it.

“I’m always late,” I groan, attempting to lean back in the incredibly uncomfortable library chair, “So, why are we at the library?”

“We have a math test tomorrow, or did you forget about that?” She asks, scolding me over the top of her math book.

“Of course I remembered,” I say sarcastically, “Math is my absolute favorite subject how could I ever forget we had a test?”

She rolls her eyes, turning her book to the right page to start taking notes and I try my best to follow along, “So do you have a legitimate reason for the lateness or just regular Harley excuses?”

“Actually, I do,” I say matter-of-factly, sitting back up straight in my chair, “There was a freak at the grocery store, dude would not leave me alone.”

“What was he doing?” She asks, suddenly interested.

“Just talking? I guess? He like wanted to have a whole conversation waiting to check out.”

“So, a nice guy just struck up some conversation with you at the store and that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes,” I huff, closing the book once again, “I was just there to get groceries I didn’t need the extra human interaction.”

She opens her mouth to reply but she’s cut off as a group of guys walk in the front door of the library talking at full volume. I can feel almost every person in the room turn in the direction of the loud noise at the front and suddenly my eyes land on him. There’s no fucking way.

“Dani,” I whisper, sliding down in my seat so I can go unseen, “Dani that’s the guy, the guy from earlier.”

“What?” She whispers harshly, trying not to stare as the boys get scolded by the librarian at the front, “You mean grocery store guy?”

“Yes!” I huff, electing to sit in my chair backwards so my back is to him.

“No way Harley, it just looks like him-”

“No Dani, it’s him,” I whisper, “Tall one with the curly hair in the black hoodie.”

“That’s him?” She asks, “You had a problem with that talking to you?”

“Shh!” I huff, “God he’s going to hear you, are they still at the front?”

“They um, yeah,” She stutters, her eyes diverting to her book again, “They’re still up there, at a table now.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, sensing the discomfort in her voice and turning around myself.

My eyes immediately lock onto his and I look away quickly, shielding my face from him with my hand and turning back towards Danielle.

“He’s staring right at you.” She says, trying not to be too obvious.

“Yep.”

“Are you gonna go over there?”

“Why would I do that exactly?” I ask, my eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Because a hot boy is staring you down across the fucking library!” She whispers harshly, reaching over to smack me in the arm.

“More like a fucking psychopa-”

“Hey there,” I hear his voice cut in and my whole body cringes in on itself without my volition, “Fancy meeting you here.”

I turn around in my chair, forcing myself to face him while my whole face heats and I’m sure I’m the color of a rather ripe tomato. Something about the way he says hey there in that fucking accent makes my entire body tense up.

“Hey there,” I mimic, “Long time no see.”

I feel Danielle’s eyes on me as the words come out of my mouth, her gaze flickering between the two of us and watching the horrifically awkward exchange play out in front of her.

He laughs, electing to lean on the table, “What are you doing after this?”

“She’s doing absolutely nothing.” Danielle answers for me and I kick her under the table, making her wince.

“Glad to hear it,” He grins, his eyes zeroing in on me once again.

“I’m very busy actually,” I cut in, closing my textbook and throwing it in my bag, “We both are, but um, I’ll see you around.”

Danielle is looking at me with eyes the size of dinner plates as she frantically packs up her stuff, shoving it in her bag to follow suit. I stand up from my chair, slinging my bag over my shoulder and he rounds the table to stand right in front of me, the only thing between me and the front door.

“Can I at least get your name?” He asks, his voice incredibly deep clearly for only me to hear.

“Harley,” I quip, side stepping around him, “See you later uh, Harold is it?”

He gives me a very particular look as I walk away from him, taking steps backward and relishing in the smirk on his face. He knows what I’m doing. I feel Dani’s hand grab my arm and I finally turn around to face the door, walking through it, but even as I’m outside and carrying my feet down the steps I feel his eyes on me, drilling into the back of my head.

“The hell was that?” Danielle asks, “He was so cute and you just, you just blow it like that?”

“Harmless flirting.”

“You call that flirting?”

“Oh Dani,” I sigh, taking out a cigarette and lighting it between my lips, “I call that winning.”

 ***

I’m woken up with a start when I hear the loud roar of music start from Dani’s room. She always blasts music in the morning while getting ready for class. I look over my shoulder to check the time, at least she waited until 10 to start with the noise. My head is pounding ever so slightly, and I realize why when my eyes land on the empty bottle of pink Moscato on my bedside table.

I drag myself out of bed and into the tiny common space between our two rooms, “Good morning sleeping beauty,” Danielle teases, “I noticed the bottle of wine went missing from the fridge.”

“That’s bizarre,” I joke, “Must be a wine thief in the dorms. I’ll get on that mystery right away.”

She shakes her head at me, rolling her eyes as I grab my basket of laundry from my room. I slide on a pair of slippers electing to go put it in the wash, so I hopefully have a single clean pair of jeans for class tonight. I call to Dani letting her know I’ll be right back and as soon as I open the door to the hall I’m staring at him.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I groan.

He stops dead in his tracks, taking a glance over his shoulder to see me standing in my doorway. He’s dressed in only a towel, holding it closed while it hangs low on his hips. His hair is wet, clearly making his way back to his room from the showers and his chest and arms are rippling with muscles under his damp skin.

God those arms could crush me like a grape.

“Morning neighbor,” He grins, clearly getting a kick out of this, “Someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”

“You’re in this building?”

“You bet, room 7C down the hall.”

“Well, neighbor, for future reference, most people in this building take their clothes to the shower with them.”

“You Americans,” He chuckles, starting to walk away from my doorway, “So prude, have a nice day Harley.”

He disappears down the hall and then behind his door and my mind gets to work on picturing what he looks like without the towel. You can nearly feel the tension between us in the air, it was palpable. I could even feel his eyes on me, looking me up and down and lingering on my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to clear my head as I take a deep breath and start on my way to the laundry room downstairs.

I put a load in the wash, briefly tuning into the dramatic soap playing on the tiny TV hung on the wall. I decide to head back to my now empty room since Danielle left for class and end up wasting most of my day away on a bad Netflix original movie, only pausing half way through to go move my clothes to the dryer.

I order a pizza for dinner before my night class and go back downstairs to grab my laundry out of the dryer. Just as I’m opening the dryer and emptying my clothes back into my basket I get a text that the pizza guy is downstairs waiting for me.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I huff under my breath, quickly shoving all my clothes in my basket and slamming the dryer shut behind me.

I rush back to my dorm, chucking the basket of clean clothes inside before heading to the stairwell and nearly sprinting down them to get to the ground floor. I meet the rather impatient pizza guy downstairs before bringing the food back up to my room. I’ve just barely finished the first slice half way through a Criminal Minds episode when there’s a knock at the door. I groan, dragging myself from the couch and tossing the blanket off.

I open the door, rolling my eyes, “Dani, you have got to start remembering your key when you-” I’m cut off as I come face to face with him rather than Dani, “Oh, um, hi?”

“Hi,” He repeats, now dressed in a pair of grey joggers and a plain black t-shirt, “I believe you dropped something in the laundry room earlier.”

He reveals his arm from behind his back, holding out his hand with my bright red lacy thong dangling from his pointer finger. I can feel my entire face heat to match the shade of my panties, but I won’t let him get the satisfaction. I go to snatch them from his hand, but he stops me, gripping them in his fist instead and using them as leverage to pull me a bit closer to him.

“Probably want to be a bit more careful where you leave your panties lying around, darling,” He smirks, “Unless you want to leave them on my bedroom floor of course.”

It’s the final straw, those few words spoken in his deliciously deep voice absolutely dripping with that amazing accented tone, on top of the way he’s dressed, every muscle visible beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m pulling him to me by my own grip on the lacy underwear between us, my mouth meeting his and his teeth instantly biting my bottom lip between them.

“Yours or mine?” He breathes out, pulling away from me just long enough to get the words out.

“Where’s your roommate?” I ask breathlessly.

“Vacation,” He says, “Till Wednesday.”

“Yours,” I laugh, pressing my lips back to his, “Definitely yours.”

He walks me backwards down the hall to his dorm room, shoving me up against the wall as he unlocks the door, his lips working down my neck. As soon as the door is open he walks me through it, bending down to grab the backs of my thighs and hoisting me into the air. He kicks the door closed with his foot and I laugh against his mouth as he carries me past his bedroom doorway, slamming that behind us as well.

He lays me out on the bed, nearly tossing me right on top of the mattress, my lacy red underwear still gripped in his hand.

“Any chance you got something this cute under there?” He chuckles, holding them up in both hands to really show them off.

“Why don’t you come find out?” I tease.

He rolls his eyes, finally kneeling onto the edge of the bed and crawling over to me. He starts to lean over me, but I shove his shoulder, forcing him to lay against the mattress before swinging my leg over him. I can feel him underneath me immediately and it makes my legs clench together on either side of him.

“Hi,” I breathe, planting my hands on his chest and meeting his eyes.

“Hi,” He repeats back to me, that bright smile of his making my stomach flip, “You gonna come down here or...?”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh finally leaning down and connecting our lips once again.

His lips are ridiculously soft against mine while the feeling of his muscles under his t-shirt are quite the opposite. He reaches up to cup my face with both hands, trying to somehow pull me closer as if we aren’t close enough as it is. I can’t figure out exactly where I want to put my hands; his shoulders, his biceps, god, in that amazing curly hair.

My hips start to move against him without my volition and he groans into my mouth, a deliciously deep reverberation that makes me grind my hips into him even more. He grunts against my lips, finally pulling away and resting his forehead against mine instead, breathing heavily.

“You alright there tiger?” I tease him, threading my fingers through his hair, “Need a breather already?”

“Shut your mouth,” He chuckles, grabbing me around the waist and trying to flip us over so he’s on top.

He greatly underestimates the size of his twin dorm bed when he does so, both of us rolling off the edge and tumbling to the shag carpeted floor beneath us. I expect the mood to be ruined, for him to get up and usher me right out the door because how awkward is this, right? I’m beyond surprised when he starts laughing, both of us splayed flat on our backs and heaves out a sigh as he rolls over to face me again.

“That was pretty smooth of me, eh?” He jokes, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, chuckling too, “No I’m okay, just gonna have a massive bruise on my ass most likely.”

He laughs again, finally pulling himself to his feet and offering me a hand to help me up. I’m not sure what I expect past that, maybe a hug to send me on my way now that the atmosphere has completely changed but that tension is still between us, the same tension that’s been building since the moment he said a single word in the supermarket.

The second I’m back on my feet he shoves me onto the bed and I can’t even begin to hide the shock in my features. He’s back on top of me in seconds, his lips pressed to mine and I’m sure the surprised whimper that leaves my mouth fuels his ego to the gods.

“You alright there tiger?” He mocks, and I resist the urge to reach up and slap him.

“Careful.” I quip, pulling away from him to meet his eyes.

“Careful?” He asks, quirking up his eyebrow at me, “I’m sorry are you telling me what to do sweetheart?”

I gulp, the smooth but stern voice he’s using making my thighs quiver. He seems to notice, his eyes darting down between us and a small chuckle escaping his lips. He looks back up at me, his eyes dark and brooding, before they flicker to my hands at my sides. He grabs my left wrist roughly, holding it above my head against the mattress before doing the same to my right arm as well. I’m nearly squirming underneath him, my entire body steaming to the touch as his eyes bore into mine.

“Something wrong, love?” He asks, the condescending tone to his voice making my whole body shake.

“Course not,” I pant, my breath coming out heavier than I anticipated, “Just fuckin peachy over here.”

He chuckles a bit, his grip on my wrists growing tighter, “You’re not very patient, you know that?”

I’m not sure what it is that’s making me writhe the way I am; perhaps it’s the countless months I’ve gone without sex since my last messy breakup, or maybe it’s the way in which this all panned out with a stranger over some fucking underwear, or fuck, maybe it’s just him and the way that cocky smirk on his face makes my insides twist.

“Patience is a virtue,” I say carefully, making sure to keep my tone even, “I’m more about vices.”

His left hand releases my wrist and I prepare myself for his hand reaching where I need him most, sucking in a breath between my teeth and letting my eyes flutter closed but it never comes. My eyes peel back open to see his hand hovering over my neck instead. He meets my eyes before his fingers finally grace the skin of my throat, applying just the slightest bit of pressure almost as if to test the waters.

I’m nearly dizzy as he does so, the temperature in this room suddenly a million degrees. He removes his hand again, the pressure around my throat leaving me and I whimper in distaste, making him chuckle again.

“Poor thing,” He chastises, my legs clenching together on either side of him, “I can’t do it all though, if only there was a way I could hold down both your wrists and choke that pretty neck.”

I watch his hand dig into the pocket of his joggers and once again pull out the thin red lacy fabric of my panties, holding them between us.

“Mind if I use these?” He asks, clearly knowing the answer but wanting to get a reaction out of me anyways.

“Yes, god,” I gulp, “Please.”

He grabs my hands, moving them completely above my head before wrapping the panties around them a few times, tying them together. He tugs on them a bit to make sure they’re pretty secure before looking back down at me, his eyes completely blown out in lust, his pupil swallowing his surrounding iris.

His lips are back on mine in seconds, his now free hands roaming my body before one hand rests on my neck, gripping the sides and applying a bit more pressure than the last time. I whimper into this mouth and curse myself for doing so as soon as my eyes flutter open to see that cocky smirk on his face once again.

“Eager, sweetheart?” He teases, and my hand reaches up to smack him before I remember I’m bound in a pair of my own underwear, “Ah, ah, be a good girl and stay still.”

Hearing the words good girl come out of his mouth makes my entire body squirm and he grins again, that lopsided condescending grin and I know he’s getting off on this, making me writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss my stomach, hiking my shirt up as he goes before working his way down and tugging my pants down my legs. I hold my breath in anticipation but when I look down the bed to meet his eyes he simply kisses the inside of my thighs, ghosting his mouth over the thin fabric of my panties.

“Fucking please,” I beg, my breath coming out in heaves, “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Please what, princess?” He asks, my legs threatening to squeeze his head between them, “Tell me what you want, hm?”

“You cocky bastard,” I huff, my mind getting fuzzier by the second the closer he gets to my center, “You know what I want.”

He stops abruptly, sitting back up from his small assault on my inner thighs, “What did you say, love? Care to repeat that? Couldn’t quite here you down here.”

There’s an edge to his voice, like glass, it cuts right through me and makes my thighs quiver, “N-no,” I stutter, “Didn’t say anything.”

“That’s what I thought,” He grins, leaning back down between my legs, “Now be a good girl and tell me what you want me to do to you.”

I suck in a breath sharply, but I won’t let him know how his words affect me, “Oh daddy,” I mock, rolling my eyes, “Need you so bad.”

He grabs me by the ankles, flipping me onto my stomach and sends an echoing smack to my ass, the stinging sensation that radiates afterwards making my toes curl. He flips me back onto my back, his dangerously dark eyes meeting mine as he spreads my legs apart once again, holding my thighs down against the mattress.

“Want to try that again, princess?”

“Fuck,” I gasp, the edge to his voice making the whispered swear fall from my mouth involuntarily, “Um, yes.”

“Yes what?” He growls, leaning down to hold my jaw in his hand, his eyes drilling into mine waiting for a response.

“Yes daddy.”

“Now you’re getting it, good girl,” He grins, his hand that was gripping my jaw moving to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, “Now open up,” I oblige, slowly opening my mouth and he pushes his middle and ring finger past my lips. It catches me a bit off guard, but he only nods his head, “Get them nice and wet for me love, don’t want to hurt you.”

He pulls them from my mouth, a small string of saliva connecting them to my lips. He chuckles a bit, clearly getting a kick out of how worked up I am for him before finally pushing my panties to the side and pressing his fingers into me. I instantly turn my head to the side, muffling the moan that escapes my mouth into my pillow. As soon as he realizes what I’m doing he grabs me by the hair, holding my head straight.

“None of that,” He says sternly, “Wanna hear your pretty sounds, babygirl.”

I’m dangerously close to the edge just from the words pouring from his mouth in that accented tone that makes my entire body shiver. That condescending smirk finds its way back to his lips and I know that he can tell I’m close, just teetering on the edge already.

“Needy little thing, are we?” He teases, “Already gonna cum and daddy’s barely touched you yet.”

His words are almost just enough to push me over the edge, but I hold off as much as I can, straining away from his touch as much as I can with my hands bound above my head and his weight on top of me. I feel the particular twist in my stomach, that burning sensation in the very pit of my abdomen just as my eyes squeeze shut and my vision goes white. His fingers work me through it, his mouth finally hovering over where I need him most, sucking my sensitive bud into his mouth and making me shake.

I feel his fingers withdraw from me and suddenly he’s pushing them past my lips once again, but this time I taste myself on them, swirling my tongue around each one to suck them clean. I meet his eyes as he pulls them from my mouth and my hips involuntarily buck up to meet the bulge prominent in his pants.

“Still needy, are we?” He chuckles.

“Please shut up and take your pants off already.” I beg, my hips bucking up to meet him again.

“You see I would but,” He starts, sitting back on his heels, “It seems I don’t have a condom, would you happen to have one?”

“Would I, no, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I stutter breathlessly, my blood starting to boil in disbelief, “What kind of guy doesn’t keep a pack of rubbers around you idiot?”

“Careful,” He warns, his voice dropping into that deep calculated tone that makes me shiver, “And perhaps a guy that just moved in this week and hasn’t necessarily had buying rubbers on the mind,” He says, “That is until he met a spunky purple haired girl in the supermarket.”

His words make my stomach do a few somersaults, but I don’t let it extinguish the pissed off fire burning in my stomach knowing that I won’t be getting the relief I desperately need right now.

“You’re serious?” I ask, “You don’t have any?”

“Serious, darling,” He chuckles, “But instead of moping about it, you’re going to take what I give you and say thank you daddy when I’m done, understand?”

I nod my head vigorously, despite wanting to do the exact opposite. What kind of hold does that goddamn accent have on me?

“Good,” He smiles, clearly pleased with my response, “And maybe if you’re a good girl next time daddy will remember to hit the store.”

“Next time?” I ask, not filtering the shock from my voice.

He laughs a bit, reaching up to finally untie my hands, “Yes, next time, did you want this to just be a one-time thing, princess?”

I can’t form the words I want to say as I sit up a bit, rubbing my wrists only slightly from the rough fabric of the lace wrapped around them, “I um, I don’t-”

“That’s what I thought,” He smirks, standing from the bed and holding out a hand to me, “Now come on, didn’t you get pizza?”

I smile, taking his hand and starting to stand to my feet, my legs a bit wobbly and I’m thankful for the stability of his arm to lean on.

“Do you have anything to uh,” I start, cringing when I feel the wetness in between my thighs, “Clean up with?”

“Nope,” He says cheerfully, “You keep that pretty mess I made between those thighs, babygirl.”

My knees nearly buckle, and I’m cursing him for his lack of condoms and the ache between my legs as I pull my pants back on, following him to the door to the hall. He stops abruptly just inside the doorway, turning back to meet my eyes.

“What’s my name?” He asks cheekily.

“Harry,” I say confidently, “Why? Are you worried I forgot already?”

He grabs my ass in his hand tightly, squeezing the skin, his voice calculated, “I said, what’s my name?”

I gulp, leaning into his grip on me a bit more as my knees wobble, “Daddy.”

He releases his grip on my ass, giving it a quick smack, “’Atta girl, let’s get some pizza in you so you’re ready for round two,” He grins, throwing his arm around my shoulder and tucking me into his side as we walk down the hall to my room instead, “Maybe after we can hit the store, I seemed to have forgotten to pick something up last time I went.”

[missymurphy1985]

It's Just Business

You've never mixed business with pleasure, but sometimes, these things are outside of your control.

Opening the door to your hotel room, you sighed. Throwing your bag onto the double bed, swiftly followed by your body, you pulled the pillow over your head and screamed.

"This is ridiculous y/n, YOU are ridiculous!!"

It was never meant to be more than a business deal. A deal with the Peaky Blinders to gain exclusive rights to the southern racetracks in England. You and your brothers would have control over them, while the Blinders remained in control of the Midlands. The deal went to plan, and you'd spent the evening in the Garrison celebrating.

Flashback

"I'm heading back to my hotel, Tommy, I can barely stand up straight!!" You smiled, and turned to grab your bag and coat from the arm of the chair.

"Let me walk you home at least, y/n, you look a little.. unsteady?" Tommy linked your arm with his and you both headed back to your hotel. Talking along the way, you met a different side to him. One that you hadn't expected. You spoke about his gin business, and his export licence that was soon to be granted.

"Gin eh? Now that sounds interesting, I'd like to try this gin of yours some day." You stumbled slightly on the steps and he held tighter to your arm.

"Falling for me already Miss y/l/n? Haven't even had a sip of the gin yet.." he smirked, leading you off the path to your hotel and walking you towards his office. You smiled back, and took his arm again, allowing him to lead the way.

Once inside his office, he sat you down at his large oak desk and picked up a bottle of his gin from the cupboard and two glasses. Making his way back to his side of the desk, he poured you each a small glass and raised a toast.

"Here's to the cure for incurable sadness y/n.. and here's to our new business arrangement." You clinked your glass with his and took a sip, grimacing slightly.

"Well Mr Shelby, you didn't skimp on the sugar in this did you now? Wow.. very sweet indeed.."

"The Americans like it sweet, I'm hoping to expand that side of the Atlantic now, have to give the punters what they want."

"And do you always give people what they want, Mr Shelby?" You stood, feeling a sudden surge of confidence, possibly caused by the sharp intake of sugar. He leaned back in his chair, watching you approach him slowly, a slight smirk on his lips as he looked your body up and down.

"Depends on the request, y/n.."

"I'm not used to not getting what I want, Thomas. And I know exactly what I want." You leaned against the desk, right next to him as you say yourself on it, crossing your legs seductively, lifting your dress slightly to expose your lower legs. He looked in your eyes, a hand gently caressing your ankle, moving further up to your knees. He looked at your face for any signs of hesitation before moving his hand further up your thigh, parting your legs slightly to allow access.

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers, brushing over your now damp underwear as you shuddered, his finger lighting brushing your clit over the lace underwear.

"I see.. and what exactly is it you're requesting, Miss y/l/n?" You felt your core burning, desperate for more. Parting your legs, you felt him push the panties to one side, running a finger over your slit to feel just how wet you were, hot and ready.

Tommy couldn't wait any longer, his erection pressing hard against his suit trousers begging for release. He stood between your wide open legs and lifted your dress above your hips, grinding his against your core roughly.

"I want you buried deep inside me Thomas, I want you to fuck me on this table, right now.. think you can manage that?" Tommy smiled, loving this confident side of you, taking charge. You ran your hand down to his now twitching bulge, before leaning in to kiss him hard, your fingers tugging at his belt and zip. He'd normally take things much slower, but the need inside him overtook him, he needed to feel you NOW. Allowing his trousers and underwear to fall, he pulled your underwear down and pressed his cock against your mound, returning his lips to yours in a passionate, rough kiss. You pushed your hips against his, feeling his cock rub against your clit you gasped. He lined himself up against your entrance and pushed in hard, both of you released a low moan in response. Keeping you upright, he moved his hands down to your hips and rocked you against him as he pounded into you, hard and fast against his desk.

You leaned back slightly, moving a hand between you to rub your clit as he took you. The sight nearly made him cum there and then, he'd never seen a sight as sexy as this.

"Rub it baby, make yourself cum on my cock yeah? Fuck you feel good..." He continued his thrusts, watching your fingers circle over yourself, occasionally bringing them up to his lips for him to taste you and add extra moisture, before bringing them back down to continue circling, pressing harder each time.

Your body began to twitch, his cock hitting the right spot with each thrust and you fingers taking you even closer.

"Tommy I'm close... Fuck... Cum with me please, harder.. need it harder..." He complied and fucked you as deep as possible, pushing you back onto the table so you were on your back, lifting a leg against his chest for a deeper thrust. His fingers took over from yours, rubbing your clit harder and faster as your orgasm swamped you, your soaked core soaking both him and the table underneath you. With a groan and two more hard thrusts, he came undone, spilling inside you.

You both lay there, him resting on top of you, for a while, catching your breath. You softly ran your fingers through his hair as he kissed your still covered breasts lightly.

"Y/n, I'm sorry.. I took advantage of you.. this was wrong. Your brother might have a few choice words for me about this y/n." Tommy lifted himself from you and pulled his trousers back up. You lifted yourself up, pulling your underwear back up and straightening your dress back down.

"I approached you, Mr Shelby, not the other way around. As for my brother, he's fucking most of London, I wouldn't worry too much about him." Tommy smiled.

"So maybe I can see you again?" You nodded, before planting a gentle kiss on his lips. He held you close, inhaling your scent, feeling things he hadn't felt for a long time about anyone. You were something else, he couldn't get enough of you, and you felt it too, before pulling him back down on top of you, the kiss becoming hungrier again.

Present day

You sat up in the bed, a wave of nausea coming over you again as you lurched to the en suite to allow your dinner to evacuate. Three months you'd been sleeping with Tommy, and three days you'd been feeling the symptoms you were trying so hard to ignore. Sore breasts, sickness, backache, mood swings. A doctor back in London had confirmed your suspicions that morning, and you were cursing yourself for it. How could you be so stupid?

You heard the door to your Small Heath hotel room knock, and open. Then the voice of the man you were desperate to avoid.

"Y/n, are you here? Woah, now, you okay?" He heard you in the bathroom, throwing up.

"Don't come in here Tommy, I'm fine don't worry!" He ignored you, coming in to hold your hair back. Running his hands over your back soothing you as you caught your breath. You couldn't help it, the tears leaving your eyes as you felt his comforting hands on you. "Just something I've eaten, that's all, it's passed now, I'm okay.." he looked at you, still unsure, as he lifted you from the floor. Fetching you a glass of water, he led you over to the bed.

"Come lie down with me, eh?" He lay down, motioning for you to join him.

"I don't think I'm up for that, Tommy.."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "I know, just come lie down, yeah?" You lay in his arms, back against his chest. You felt so safe and comfortable in his arms.. but was it enough? Would he still want you now?

He kissed your neck gently, his arms wrapping round your stomach. He felt you tense.

"What's wrong?"

"No.. no nothing...just a bit sore from being sick is all..." You mumbled, hoping he believed you. Without warning he placed a warm, comforting hand across your belly, suddenly stopping. You tried to move his hand away but it was no good, he was stronger. He felt the slightly rounded skin.. the harder belly that was usually so soft.. he pulled back, sitting up. You felt the tears coming back.

"How long have you known?" He asked, voice catching in his throat. He remembered Ada being newly pregnant and she'd allowed him to feel her belly as it changed, he was fascinated by it. He recognised it, much to your discomfort.

"I found out this morning.. Tommy I'm so sorry, I don't think I can go through with this..." His heart lurched. He'd felt himself falling in love with you, and now you were carrying his child and you were contemplating getting rid of it.. Swallowing his emotions, he took a deep breath in and pulled you to face him, both of you sat on the bed looking into each others eyes. His hand remained on your belly, a surge of emotion flew threw him.

"Nearly 3 months gone already, Tommy. It must have happened that first night.. I need to do something about this quickly..."

"Do you really want this? You really want to? You know I can take care of you, both of you.. there's nothing either of you will want for again?"

"Tommy I don't want your help financially, I can manage on my own.. I always thought this would happen once I'd married.. with a man who would be a father to our child, not just a financial crutch.. my baby needs a father.."

"Our baby, y/n.. ours. We made this little person.. a little you and me. A perfect combination of us both... Why is this such a bad idea, eh?" You felt tears sting your eyes again.

"Because no one knows we're even sleeping together Tommy, no one has any idea at all, and the repercussions..."

"What repercussions? Your brother?" You nodded, a year escaping. "Your brother and I are fine y/n, I almost see him as a fourth brother of my own. I've learned I can trust him - more than any business partner I've ever had before. I'm sure he will be as thrilled about this as I am -"

"You're thrilled??" You interrupted quickly.

"Yes, y/n.. I am. I'll marry you tomorrow if you'll let me.. just think about all of this please, yeah"" He leaned you back onto the bed softly, taking your lips against his own. You sighed against this kiss, this one feeling different to any other you'd shared. You felt an unexpected love radiating from him, and you felt it too, more than you'd care to admit.

"You really think this will work, Tommy?"

"I plan on showing you every single day how much this will work y/n... And just how much I love yo."" Another tear left your eye, he said it.. he actually said it.

"I.. Tommy please don't be saying this because of the baby..."

"I'm saying this because I mean it. I love you, I love our baby, and I'll marry you. Be my wife y/n, marry me?" You burst into tears. Fucking pregnancy hormones...

"Yes.. yes Thomas Shelby I'll fucking marry you!" You leaned into his arms, kissing his mouth, he didn't care that you'd been sick, he needed to feel you.

"Mrs Shelby-to-be... Let's get you cleaned up shall we? We have a few announcements to make." He smiled, kissing you again, he swore he could see his entire future in your eyes, this baby, more babies, your wedding day, grandchildren.. it was all there for the taking and he couldn't wait.

Taglist - message me to be added!

@ntmynouis @queenshelby @peakyscillian

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 8

WC: 1533

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: domestic fluff, anxiety, alcohol consumption

🧠

Tuesday afternoon had you and Laszlo working in his office. He sat behind his desk grading quizzes while you worked to transcribe one of his notebooks. Tchaikovsky played quietly over the bluetooth speaker he had on the bookshelf. You had once mentioned that he was your favorite composer, so Laszlo had taken to playing his work frequently during office hours.

Pausing to take a sip of the now-room temperature tea he had brought you, you notice a low humming noise. Turning in the chair you watch your doctor. His eyebrows are scrunched in concentration. He wears the little round reading glasses that make him look old-fashioned and sophisticated. He shakes his head lightly before marking an answer wrong on the paper he holds. But what strikes you most of all, is that he is softly humming along to the music in his deep baritone. He’s actually quite good with his pitch.

“I’ve never heard you sing.”

He looks up at you from over the spectacles. “Pardon?”

“You should sing more often, you have a lovely voice.”

A deep crimson blush spreads on the apples of his cheeks. Laszlo was not one to be embarrassed easily, but sometimes the most inconsequential or mundane things like this would do the trick. He opens his mouth to no doubt give a witty and defensive response when someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” he states. He isn’t expecting anyone, but there is an essay coming soon so it wouldn’t surprise him if a student wants to get ahead on their planning. The heavy mahogany door clicks and swings open.

“Hello Laszlo. I thought it was about time that I made my way to visit you,” says a familiar feminine voice. Standing in the doorway is none other than Dr. Stratton.

Laszlo sat up and removed his glasses as she entered the office. In the busyness of the last few weeks he hadn’t made it a point to seek her out yet. “Dr. Stratton, hello. I must say it has been quite a long time.” He smiles at seeing her, eyes lighting up.

“Oh, Laszlo, there's no need for such formalities. I’m no stranger that you can’t call me by my name.” Karen waves her hand in a dismissive manner. She then turns in your direction with a smile. “And you my dear, I didn’t expect to see you here?”

“Ah, sorry Dr. Stratton, it must have slipped my mind last time - I’m a TA for uh- Dr. Kreizler.” You almost slip up and call him Laszlo, but catch your tongue at the last possible second. It doesn’t shock you that the two doctors know each other. They both worked in the same field and had lived in central Europe in overlapping times. You’re happy to see two people you think highly of reacquainted.

You miss the confused glance that Laszlo sports between yourself and Dr. Stratton. The two of you obviously knew each other, but how? Karen had been in Vienna for years. Why would she know who you were? How small a world was it that his previous romantic partner and current one knew each other? His curiosity gets the better of him. “Forgive me, but are you two acquainted?” he asks.

“Yeah, I had Dr. Stratton my freshman year for intro psych. I told you about it on my first day, don’t you remember?”

“She was a fantastic student, Laszlo. You would have loved having her in one of your classes. She always had such well thought out ideas to contribute.”

He at least has the decency to look sheepish when he admits that it must have slipped his mind. In truth he hadn’t paid you much attention the first day. He made the effort to learn your name and that was the extent to which he cared at the time.

Dr. Stratton pipes up again. “I only have a moment but I wanted to invite you for drinks later this week so we can catch up. I have some new ideas I’d love to share with you.”

“That sounds wonderful. Please let me know when you would like to and I would be delighted.” The prospect excites Laszlo. It really had been so long since he last spoke to Karen.

“Of course, I’ll see you then.” She nods to Laszlo and gives you a grin and a wave as she leaves. The door clicks behind her.

“Oh-hoo you’ve got a date Laz, should I be worried?” you tease.

He gives you a deadpan look before realizing you are joking. He gives a slight frown. “Karen and I are old friends and colleagues, nothing more.” And previous lovers, which he omits.

“Alright, loverboy,” you quip, turning back to the notebook and laptop.

He finds himself discomforted by your joke. Perhaps he should tell you about Karen… Nevertheless, he tramps down the feeling and gets back to work.

_

“So why was it that Laszlo couldn’t join us tonight? He was not very forthcoming in his message.” John asks as he sets down your drinks. The three of you were sat at a small corner booth at the tavern you frequented on Friday nights. The evening was young; only a few patrons were there playing pool and having a round.

“He’s out with another professor catching up. They haven’t seen each other in years.” You take a large swig of your lager, the hoppy flavor of the brew coating your tongue. “He almost didn’t go but I insisted that I would survive alone with you two,” you chuckle.

John looks at you over his own glass. “And did he say who he’s with?”

“Dr. Stratton from the psych department.”

“Oh. I see.” John shifts his gaze around, his features going awkward at the information. He makes brief eye contact with Sara before darting them away again. Sara purses her lips, her doe eyes giving nothing away. The tense pause stirs something within you.

“What?” John needles at your question, a slight downturn of his lips as if to say he wasn’t sure what you meant. Sara sips her drink and watches the encounter. “What are you not telling me?”

John scratches at his chin. Sara steps in this time. “It’s nothing, John is just up to usual worrisome self,” she tries to dismiss.

Her answer doesn’t satisfy you. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not exactly inclined to believe you.” Facing John, you continue. “You look like you’ve eaten something that tastes horrible, you’re hesitant to look me in the eye, and you rubbed your jaw when I asked. You’re a terrible liar, John,” you accuse. You aren’t upset, but his sudden inability to speak causes anxiety to bubble in your gut.

He huffs. “You’re beginning to sound just like him, you know.” He quirks a brow at you, annoyed. “Laszlo and Karen have a… long history. As friends and colleagues, of course. They were very close for a while,” he tacks on. He wants to be forthcoming with you, but knows it isn’t his place to actually disclose Laszlo’s relationship with her.

“Oh.” you nod. Your anxiety begins to dissipate at the explanation. “I mean I’m not surprised by it, they both lived near each other for a while in Europe. I’m sure they ran in the same academic circles. Frankly, I’m glad he’s getting to catch up with her, he needs more friends than just us,” you laugh at Sara’s ‘cheers to that’ comment. “Anyways, how’s your week been?” you ask to change the subject.

The night comes to an end soon after; the tone shifted after you retired from the conversation about Laszlo’s absence. You caught a cab back to his home. He had given you a spare key in case you wanted to come over at any time, whether to study in peace or to just be there. He wasn't sure when he would get back, but he did ask for you to wait for him.

Getting ready for bed you chance a look at the clock. It was nearing midnight. Laszlo was still out, which was somewhat uncharacteristic of him, but you figure that he’s just got a lot to talk about with Dr. Stratton. You send a text to check in, but get no response.

As you lay in bed you find your thoughts wandering back to the conversation with John and Sara. “A long history; very close for a while…” plays on repeat in your head. You hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but now it nags at you like a gnat swirling your head in the summertime. Surely nothing happened between the two? Laszlo would have told you. There’s no doubt he knew she was back, given that she’s in his department at the university. And you trust Dr. Stratton, she’s been a great support system and even a friend to you. If the two had been involved he would have let you know, you conclude. Besides, you and the doctor were happy, so even if they had been a thing at one point it surely wouldn’t matter now.

Right?

By the time you finally fall asleep Laszlo still hasn’t come home.

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