#i think i made his head a fraction too small but that's the charm of traditional art

[gammija]

Holiday doodle fanart of the most recent chapter of @formiana 's fic, Revolving Doors!

Martin's been really going through it. 'it' being hundreds of iterations of the same November 19th. but he's fine now. Pay no attention to the spiders

[comfortless]

I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare��� and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

[junkdrawerfics]

Not So Simple Moments

Some of you requested a part 2 to "Simple Moments" so this is that! It's not what I planned, but I like it and I hope you do too!

Summary: You decide it's time to broach the topic of you being turned with Jasper. He really doesn't want to talk about it, but you're both adults and you love each other, so you talk about it.

Word Count: 1362

Warnings: nothing serious, mostly a little bit of angst and fluff

---

“Alice says you’re going to turn me,” you mention offhandedly as you run your fingers through Jasper’s hair, sectioning off a few pieces before starting a braid.

The blond stiffens where he’s sat in front of you. When you invited him over to watch Wall-e, this was certainly not what he was expecting. 

“Alice says a lot of things,” he murmurs slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the rusty, little robot on the screen.

Out of all the movies you’ve made him watch, this one seems to feel oddly familiar. It’s much like your story. Him, an old creature, obviously out of place in this world, falling irrevocably for something so sweet and fiery like the white robot, like you. Being terrified of letting you go. Terrified of you getting hurt.

Pinning the braid to the back of his head, you move to the other side of his temple and quietly ask, “What do you say about it?”

Jasper takes a deep, unnecessary breath, his next word slow, hesitant to roll off his tongue, “Darlin’...”

You press your lips together. That's a familiar tone. It’s the one he uses when he wants to avoid a conversation. You need to talk about this though. 

“Does it scare you?” You ask, voice still soft as you twist the strands together.

The blond is silent for a moment. The only sound in the room is the soft music of the movie, and you hum along as you tie off the braid and pin it with the other, forming a little crown around his head. You know he’s thinking, trying to figure out exactly what to say, he just needs the time.

Fondly, you curl your arms around Jasper’s shoulders and give him a soft squeeze. You’d wait a million years for him, if that’s what he needs, and that feeling must rub off on the vampire, because he leans into your embrace, rigidness slipping away.

“I don’t understand you, darlin’,” Jasper drawls, tilting his head a fraction to look at you. You press a gentle kiss to his lips, drawing a familiar, slanted grin from him. “I’ve lived 161 years and never met anyone like you.”

“You’re avoiding my question, Jas,” you chastise, despite the blush dusting your cheeks, “Don’t think you can distract me with your southern charm.”

“You don’t think it’ll work?” Those amber eyes gleam with mischief as he beams up at you.

“Not today, cowboy.” You carefully ruffle his hair before straightening up and letting yourself be a little more serious. “I think we should talk about this, Jas. It’s important to me.”

Jasper’s brow furrows, all too aware of how truthful you’re being. Pushing himself up from the floor, he settles down next to you on the bed. He leaves a respectful gap between you, just a handful of inches, but it feels like a chasm, so you scoot closer and take his hand. Jasper instinctively intertwines them, his thumb brushing tenderly over your knuckles, and it just feels right.

“Does it scare you?” You ask again, voice practically a whisper.

“Which part?”

“Either?” You analyze Jasper’s face, searching for any clue of what he might be thinking, but his features are carefully blank. The buzz of nerves in your chest only worsen at that. “Do you want me to turn?”

“Yes.”

You let out a heavy breath. The single word eases every sliver of doubt you’ve been carrying the past few weeks, and he can feel it.

“It would be nice to not want to kill you, darlin’,” Jasper jokes (only partially) with a small smirk as he brings your wrist to his lips, pressing them daringly to your pulse, “And I’d be a fool to not want a forever with you.”

“Well, you are no fool,” you giggle, heart racing away, and you know Jasper can hear it when he perks a teasing brow at you.

“I most certainly am not, ma’am.”

“Don’t you dare start with that.” You shoot him a glare, but the smirk never leaves his lips as the vampire presses another kiss to your knuckles.

You linger in the moment, in the feeling of his cold touch. The silence between the two of you is heavy but comfortable, like a blanket, sealing you off from the rest of the world. You don’t even remember the movie playing in the background. It’s just you and Jasper.

“So you’re scared of the “you” part,” you whisper eventually, finitely.

Jasper replies, reluctant and quiet, “I can’t hurt you, darlin’.”

“Even if it’s something I want?”

His lips draw into a tight line. You can practically see the conflict play out in his eyes, like flashing gunfire. Like a wild animal, frozen between fight or flight and fear. Fear of himself. A sad sigh slips past your lips when you realize why. He still sees himself as the monster.

“Jasper,” you start and drop his hand in favor of cupping his face gently. He needs to feel you on this. His amber eyes bore into yours, wide and uncertain. “I will never make you do something you don’t want to do, ever. What you want is important to me. We are a team, right?” He gives a slight nod, and you smile. “So I want this, and I want it to be you, not just because I love you, but because I trust you, Jasper. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

Jasper’s eyes dart between yours, edged with an unspoken desperation. It’s like he’s not 160 years old, and instead the young teenager he was when he was turned. The years slip away and he feels just as scared as he had back then.

Yet here you are, with far fewer years, only the existence of this small town behind you, looking at him, and telling him he has a choice. Telling him you trust him. And he can feel it, feel the absolute earnesty in your words, the love pouring off of you as you look at him with such gentleness and understanding. It’s like warmth pouring over him, something he hasn’t felt in such a long time.

“Now,” you hum, reassured by the way his eyes settle and how his shoulders slump, like the weight is finally falling off of them, “that was a lot, so we are going to finish this movie, okay? And you’re going to take your time to think about it, because we’re not rushing into anything.”

You lean forward and give him a kiss. It’s soft, just the barest press of your lips to his, but when you draw back, there’s that relieved grin pulling at his lips again. Jasper catches you by the waist before you can pull away, drawing you right back in. His lips press insistently to yours, though his touch remains overwhelmingly gentle, like you are the most fragile piece of porcelain. It makes something warm pool deep in your chest, leaving you breathless when you finally pull away.

“I’m afraid we might have to start to movie over,” Jasper muses after a moment, and you can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, still trying to catch your breath.

“Were you enjoying it?” You ask, eyes suddenly wide with excitement.

“I was.” The vampire presses another, fond kiss to your forehead, drawing the cutest sigh from you. “Though I enjoy your presence even more.”

“...You just liked me playing with your hair, didn’t you?”

You can feel his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin, and you swat playfully at his chest.

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t enjoying the movie” he defends himself, voice bright with concealed laughter.

“Sure, cowboy, now shush. I don’t have the energy to lecture you twice,” you declare, twisting so you can look at the tv again.

“I wouldn’t dare bring your wrath down again,” he teases as he pulls you into his lap, chin propping on your shoulder.

“If you think that was my wrath, we’re in for a bumpy road, cowboy.” 

“It’s a good thing we’ll have forever then, won’t it darlin’?”

You smile, heart fluttering at the promise behind his words.

“It certainly is.”

---

This definitely took on a life of its own when I started writing, as most of my stuff does. I'll hopefully write another part with the actually turning, because a few people wanted that, but I liked this conversation and thought it'd be important.

Also, Jasper identifying with Wall-e is something I never knew I needed in this life, but it just works so gosh dang well.

[starry-bi-sky]

thomas wayne au excerpts - things that could've been part of a grander fic except there's no grander fic

thomas wayne au - an au i made last year where danny is literally just. thomas wayne. his full name was Daniel Thomas Fenton and he started going by Thomas Nightingale after he was disowned. because of course. here is a link to the first post if anyone wants to see a more in depth view of the au (its also the start of me using the ‘danny fenton is not the ghost king’ au lmao

additional info: bruce is the result of a failed cloning attempt from vlad - vlad used a combination of danny's dna and an unnamed girl (Martha's) to make him to try and balance out the ectoplasm use. this resulted in a slightly liminal but otherwise completely human and stable baby boy. Bruce is, by all accounts, Danny's biological son. Danny named him Bruce

Danny was 24 when he died, he took in Bruce when he was 16. He is, so far, a single father in this au. (But if I WERE to add martha she wouldn't be sam or a DP character but rather a separate character on her own.)

Essentially they would go as:

Martha, 19: water does terrifying things to corpses

Danny, 19, half ghost: *heart eyes* really? tell me more they're morticia and gomez your honor

---- Like starlight -----

Bruce's father could light up a room. He was like a sun, his gravitational field could just pull you in, and before you knew it you'd be orbiting around him like one of his many planets.

He's seen it in action before, in the rare moments Thomas Wayne would allow him to accompany him to the socialite events he went to; the fundraisers; the charities. Bruce, as tall as his father's waist, would cling to his leg and watch as people drifted towards him and his star-blinding smile.

It's fitting that his father's favorite thing in the world were stars, he fit right in with them.

As an adult, Bruce has tried copious amount of times to mimic him. To try and capture a fraction of that light, that charm, in his own act - but here's the thing. Thomas Wayne wasn't made of starlight only in front of the cameras, he was made of starlight outside of it as well.

(So when older socialites laugh and tell him he's so much like his father, Bruce just thinks they are liars. They've only ever seen the Thomas Wayne his father showed them, Bruce is nothing like his father.)

In the manor, whatever room he stepped into seemed to brighten, and maybe it was just Bruce's own child-memory fuzzing it to raise his father onto a pedestal, but he stands by it. His father was a solar system, his very own galaxy. Bruce was just the lucky planet that was close enough to orbit him.

--------- arrival time ------

Ancients, ancients, what the fuck convinced Danny to ever go to Gotham of all places? Crime Capitol of the world? He's not sure, but he's been wandering around the country for the last few months, swapping between flying late at night as Phantom, and taking the busses and trains when he had the money, and was too exhausted to fly.

And of course, what convinced him to come here with his kid no less, who was just at the cusp of turning a year old? Whose curiosity of the world was growing greater by the day? Who wanted to look around and explore, and was growing tired of being held at all hours of the day by his father.

But he was going to be held, at least for as long as they were in Gotham for. He didn't trust the stuff on the sidewalks, and he didn't trust the people walking on it. Bruce was tiny, and Danny would lose his mind if he lost him in a crowd.

In his arms, Bruce whined and wriggled, pushing at his shoulders in the signature way he did when he wanted to be let down. Danny tightened his hold, and adjusted his place on his hip.

"I know, bumblebee." Danny muttered, resting his chin on Bruce's small head. His hair was still thin, but it was dark and soft, and tickled his throat a little. "But not yet, I need to find somewhere for us to stay first."

He needed to find somewhere for them to stay, permanently. He couldn't keep living like this, and he couldn't let Bruce grow up like this either. Constantly moving, homeless, unsure of when he was going to eat next? It wasn't good for him. But he needed to find a city he liked, and after that? He wasn't sure. Where did he start?

But Bruce doesn't like his answer, he whines at him, louder, and his wriggling increases. He wants down, he wants to move. They were in a new place again, he wanted to explore. He's too little to fully understand what his dad's saying. "Dada." He said, his voice thick with the accent of a child first learning to speak.

"I know," Danny repeats, stressing the word as his eyes flitted about. There was a park nearby -- maybe he and Bruce could stop there for a bit. Bruce could move around, and Danny could figure out his next move.

It was getting dark, he didn't want to be out in Gotham when it was dark. Shuffling, he moved the inside of his jacket to wrap around Bruce better. It was getting cold, too. Last winter with Bruce had been hellish - Bruce's liminality meant that Danny's immunity to the cold hadn't been passed down to him. Danny had spent all winter terrified that Bruce was going to get sick and die. He didn't want to go through that stress again, especially now that Bruce would be moving.

He hoped they could find new living arrangements soon.

---- dniwer eht klolc - clockwork's conversation ---

Laughing quietly as Bruce ran out of the room, Danny turned his attention back to the mirror, his fingers curled around the knot of his tie. They'd been planning this outing for weeks since the movie was first announced, and Danny wasn't going to let anything ruin tonight.

Humming under his breath, his hands fell from his tie and he steps back. They were leaving in half an hour, at best, but experience from the last six years has taught Danny that he wants to be ready before then.

In his reflection, the clock behind him stops ticking, and a wave of nothing washes over him, a subtle shift he's gotten used to that was the sensation of time stopping. Ticking, soft and coming from all four sides of the room, filled his ears.

Danny's smile drops. And behind him, Clockwork swirled into existence like a blackhole reversing its pull. "Don't go out tonight, Thomas." He says, his voice stern.

That wasn't happening.

He reaches up to push back a loose strand of hair out of his face. "Does something happen to Bruce, Clockwork?" He asks, his voice deceptively calm. That would be the only reason he would postpone tonight. If it endangered Bruce, then he would just have to break the news to him that they'd have to go tomorrow.

In the reflection, Clockwork's lips thinned, pressing together tersely. He looked tense, the grip on his staff was tight, tighter than Danny's seen it before in recent years. And it worried him a little.

Clockwork is silent for a few seconds, hesitant, before he finally speaks. "No, Bruce will be fine." He says, and uncharacteristic of him, he shuffles, "But--"

Ah, good then. Danny's smile returns briefly across his face. Then it could be something Danny can handle. "But nothing then, Clockwork." He says, interrupting the Ancient firmly. He leans back slightly to look over himself again in the mirror, before going to undo his tie. He's changed his mind about it.

"Boo has been looking forward to our movie all week, I'm not crushing his hopes by changing my mind last minute." In just a few seconds the tie was off his neck and tossed onto bed behind him. And Danny was reaching over the dresser beside him to grab a pearl necklace, he normally didn't wear it, it belonged to Mrs. Wayne and he inherited it after she and Mr. Wayne passed away last year. It wouldn't hurt to wear it for a special occasion like this.

Clockwork's lips tightened, and his shoulders tensed up. "Thomas," He says lowly, "Please."

...Clockwork never said please. Danny's never heard him say please in the last ten years he's known him. This... must have been pretty serious -- but, his core tugged at him. He couldn't cancel without finding the reason why. Bruce was so important to him, Danny couldn't break his heart with this without learning why. He wouldn't allow it, and neither would his core.

He hooks the necklace around his neck and turns to face Clockwork, frowning deeply. "Does something happen tonight?" If he knew the reason -- he just needed to know the reason.

Clockwork stares at him, and something that Danny can't catch appears across his face. "...I cannot tell you." He says after a long moment, his voice quiet.

That... is not the answer Danny wants. He won't cancel.

He frowns. "If something happens tonight..." He says slowly -- Clockwork said that Bruce is unharmed. That must mean Danny was able to handle it. He allows himself to smile reassuringly, and he steps forward to clap a hand on Clockwork's shoulder. "Then I will handle it, alright? I promise."

He gets no response back. Clockwork's expression unreadable as he nods silently - Danny's anxiety curls in his gut. He's being so unlike himself. But he shakes Clockwork's shoulder gently and steps around him, leaving the room.

After a minute, he feels time return to normal.

[lfghughes]

Can you write something based off of this tiktok? https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM22xdeDd/?t=1

a/n: that tiktok has me feeling things right now, gonna go watch it a few more times

You loved Jack and that’s what had made the breakup so hard. It was what was best for him right now with his career and even though the breakup hurt, it had nothing to do with any fights or betrayal. You had no contact with him though, neither of you removed each other from social media but neither of you would text one another because that just wouldn’t be fair.

However, you did support him from a distance. Here and there you’d watch a game or check in on the score to see how he was doing. Tonight you were actually doing that, watching him from your couch. He had a great game and when he got announced as the first star of the night you were not surprised. But you caught something on your television, something you were sure you were overthinking about. His eyes had scanned the section of the crowd where you would typically sit for games, almost like he was looking for someone.

Maybe he was, maybe someone from his family came out to see him. There were so many different reasons and you weren’t going to overthink it. At least that’s what you told yourself until you had watched another game and you started noticing him doing that same thing multiple times. In that moment you decided what you were going to do next. Maybe you should have left it alone and went on with your life but you couldn’t do that.

Instead you bought tickets to the next game in the section you typically sat at before. When the game day came you made it just in time as the game was starting and the fresh coldness in the air made you feel like you were back home. You missed coming out to Jacks games to watch him, missed watching him do what he did best. It felt like you were waiting for Jack to see you, to scan this section but he never did. Not until he scored a goal.

The minute he did, you saw his head lift and his eyes scan the crowd right where you were, his eyes stopping on you. You gave him a small wave and saw the smile that grew on his lips when you did. The rest of the game went just like that, he would sneak glances at you here and there. Once the game was over you found your way to the parking lot, leaning against his car until he came out.

“I have to say you got me by surprise. What are you doing here?” Jack asked as he gave you a hug. You missed these hugs, how warm he felt and welcoming. “Felt like coming to watch you play.” You shrugged with a smile. How were you going to tell him you had quickly assumed from a few clips of him that he was looking for you in the crowd? You decided to keep that information to yourself. “I’m going to be honest, every single game I look at that section hoping to see you there.”

Your heart felt like it was beating right out of your chest. There was no overthinking it. “Jack, I know we decided to end things because it was for the best but I don’t know. I think it was a mistake.” You admitted and you just hoped he maybe felt the same way or at least a fraction of it. “I think it was a mistake too. I need my good luck charm back in my life, preferably sitting in that section with my jersey on.”

[alwida10]

Writing this here to get an official time stamp so I can check in a few years if I had been right or wrong. (Technically, this theory is from November 2023, but I never posted it publicly in detail.)

So, my observations.

1. Back in October ‘23, the war in Ukraine was pretty much at a stalemate. The Russians were running out of ammunition and getting lower on soldiers. The Ukrainian offensive had run out without reaching the enormous expectations put into it.

2. It was already known that Russia had gotten drones from Iran (possibly trading methods to enrich uranium for weapons for them) even though Iran had long denied this. By now (march ‘24) it’s known that Iran, Russia and china are doing joint military exercises, implying there might be an alliance behind the scenes.

3. In October ‘23, Russia knew that the biggest factor for its losses in Ukraine were the support from NATO for Ukraine. So, how fight that? A distraction, in best case paired with a dividing influence on the western world.

4. Russia calls Iran -> iran makes the Hamas attack Israel. But not any part of it. They aimed for the people who were pro-Palestine. Young, leftist people, people who employed Palestinians and offered them shelter, people who drove Palestinian citizens to hospitals.

Second part of the plan: they flood social media with posts highlighting the Palestinian suffering. Posts that condemn Israel. They make the “kill or drive away all Jewish people from the Middle East” war chant a world wide catchphrase.

4. It works like a charm. Israel’s right-leaning head of the state does what Trump would have done, too. Aggressively attacking, not caring much for wording and not caring how his plans play into putin’s hands.

First result: Ukraine vanishes from the public eye. Help stops. The care for the indisputable war crimes there disappears.

Second result:

Since the reports about the bad things in gaza made it quicker to sm than the reports from the Jewish victims (but also for other reasons) the pro-Gaza news had been more far support online and were shared more.

On traditional news however, the pro-Israel news seemed to be more prevalent. Naturally, young people are more likely to get to know stuff from a than older people. The reverse is true for traditional media (newspapers, tv news).

A generational division appears, additional to the leftist pro-Gaza fraction and people who are either neutral or pro-Israel leaning. Most likely this division also separates Muslims and Jewish people (which in many western countries are a very small minority) plus certain subtypes of Christians.

Now why is that of importance? Because there are elections coming. Both in the US as well as in Europe.

My analysis/predictions:

When Biden got elected 2021, it had been mostly the young people who tipped the wage towards the democrats. Young people who tend to be more on sm than listen to traditional news (tv or paper).

We know now that Russia massively influenced the election that brought Trump to the White House. They leaked Hillary Clinton’s emails and using a lot of bots on sm.

Twitter is now swarming with bots, and Elon supports a lot of pro-Russia stuff. There are a lot of pro-Hamas bots, too.

——-

If this gets repeated, if Trump returns to office, he’ll cut all support for Ukraine, making Putin’s plan a full success. He won’t help Gaza. lol, he probably would tell Netanyahu to up his game. Please google “Trump Muslim ban” if you don’t remember what he thinks about the topic.

TL:DR: you’re not immune to propaganda. Learn to recognize it.

And if you care about Gaza think how YOU would solve the conflict. What YOU would tell the people getting bombed or crying for relatives who are still hostages and sex slaves of the Hamas. Go look for a compromise, for the bigger picture. Those are the posts that are most likely the only ones helpful.

[labarboteuse]

Plus one

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x f!reader

Summary: Jake finally finds a way to take his neighbor for a kind of date. Part two Part three

Warning: None

Taglist: -

"Again .. this won't never stop.. What's this obsession with getting married and all at the same time." She muttered to herself after pulling out and reading the small invitation card from its envelope.

She closed her mailbox without taking her eyes off the invitation and another small rectangular cardboard fell out of the envelope, she crouched down to pick it up.

Will you come with someone?

Yes No

"Nop, still not." She grumbled. She loved going to weddings, it was the opportunity to be surrounded by friends and family, to celebrate. But going alone constantly exposed her to questions and advices from another time and silly sayings from those around her.

"You'll see, it's when you least expect it."

"There's a lot of fish in the sea."

"You're past thirty, the clock is ticking."

She passed the palm of her hand over her face already tired of knowing what was waiting for her one more time.

Across the street Jake spotted her from his kitchen window, grabbed the cup of coffee in front of him and headed out the door.

"You've newly taken up residence in your driveway?" he said wryly from his own driveway.

She raised her head when she heard her neighbor and straightened up with a small smile.

"Seresin, that's surprising I didn't see a bimbo sneaking out of your house this morning."

"How mean you are. I am only the victim of an exceptional charisma and beauty." He said with a falsely offended look. "Still, I can't say the same about you, whether it's sneaking out or not." He replied with a teasing air. He crossed the street to come to her height.

"Why do you look like you froze outside your house?" He asked glancing at what she had in her hands to find out more about what seemed to be bothering her.

"It's just another wedding invitation."

He arched an eyebrow without really understanding what the problem was.

"Aren't weddings fun?"

"It can quickly turn into an ordeal when you go alone."

He held back a smile, so that meant she was alone, he had never been sure until now.

"I see. But you're not going to tell me that a woman like you really has no date to go with her?"

"Are you trying to flatter me Seresin?" She raised an eyebrow. Ever since she had moved in across from him, the two of them had been constantly teasing each other, a clumsy way to get the other's attention, and a game of cat and mouse had developed between the two of them.

"I'm willing to be your plus one if you ask me nicely." He finally let go with a sly smile on his lips, which made her burst out laughing. "This is serious. It would be a win-win for you, you'd finally go with someone and it would shut them up once and for all. Imagine, getting there with the most beautiful and talented pilot, we just have to pretend." In front of her doubtful face he continued. "Come on, it would be fun, we'd have fun and it wouldn't hurt you too much to take a little good time." He teased her.

She stared at him for a fraction of a second, thinking that maybe he wasn't totally wrong.

"And you what benefit would you get from it?" She questioned him.

"An evening with you."

She laughed as she felt her cheeks flush, praying to God he wouldn't notice, which he did and found absolutely charming.

"That's all I need." He displayed a serious, seductive air.

"Need for what?"

"Showing you that you and I are meant to be together."

She laughed and turned on her heels, walking up the steps to her stoop.

"Let's show them baby! " he shouted happily.

She grabbed the doorknob and turned to him still laughing.

"A navy blue tuxedo will do very well." She opened the door before rushing inside.

Jake waved a victory sign before turning on his heels and heading home with a winning smile on his face, this wedding party was going to be promising.

[thecrystalquill]

Request 6:

Long Long Lost

OUaT - Charmings x platonic!Reader

A/N: Hey hey! I’m not dead! Thank you @kpopgirlbtssvt for the request, I’m aware it’s not exactly what you asked for but I hope you like it anyway - and I’m sorry it took so long but thank you for being patient!

Masterlist  

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

         He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, his newborn daughters held carefully in one arm, and his sword in the other. How he managed to hold them so carefully he couldn’t say; perhaps it was some sort of deep-rooted fathering instinct. It pained him to no end that he couldn’t treasure their birth more. It pained him more that he wouldn’t see them grow. That he wouldn’t even know if they would be alright. But the wardrobe was their only hope.

         Bursting through the nursery doors, Charming rushed to the wardrobe, carefully placing the oldest twin down first, and then the second. As they both lay there, new to the world and unaware of what may come, he kissed them on their tiny heads for the first and last time. Tears in his eyes and fear in his heart, but he had hope. “Find us,” he whispered, before willing himself to close the doors and turn the lock. Hope; it was all they had left.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

         Henry sat in the passenger’s seat of Emma’s car, studying the final illustration of the Book intently. The strangest thing about the Book, the first thing he’d realised, was that it was incomlete – a fairytale without an ending – and it didn’t make sense. It was the first clue that put him on this little mission; all fairytales have an ending, so why didn’t this one? But the answer was obvious: the story wasn’t over. There was no happy ever after… not yet.

         The door opened and his birth-mother took her seat, handing a small box over. “I got donuts,” she stated, then sat back and took one. Sugar glazed with chocolate sprinkles, Henry’s favourite. “What did you wanna talk about?”

         Henry took a doughnut in one hand and the pages of the Book in t\he other, careful not to get any sweet stickiness on the pages. “The last page of the story.”

         “What about it?”

         Henry handed the Book over for Emma to see. “I didn’t tell you before, but you weren’t the only one your parents sent here.” He said convincingly, pointing to the illustration with his cleanest finger. “Your sister went too.”

         The woman stared at him for a moment. “My sister?” And the boy nodded eagerly in return.

         Growing up, Emma had thought about having a sister; it would have made it easier, having one constant person in her life, someone to go through it all with her. But she thought she’d grown out of that, apparently not; her heart fluttered at Henry’s words, as if it were begging to believe it was true. And for a fraction of a second, hope swayed her. But she wouldn’t admit it – it as a silly childhood fantasy.

         “Her name’s (Y/N),” Henry went on, “Charming sent you in first, then her. So she’s here too – in our world.”

         Henry deflated, picking up another doughnut. “I haven’t figured that out yet…”

         Looking back to the picture, Emma admired its beauty. The soft tones of watercolour paint and delicate brushstrokes; and the two blurry faces wrapped in blankets.

         “Where do you think she is?” Asked Henry in a quiet voice, unsure of her reaction. If only someone would remember…

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

         “Excuse me,” (Y/N) said, fiddling with the sleeves of her cardigan as she approached the barrister behind the counter, “excuse me, I’m here for an interview… about the vacancy…”

        The young man nodded and smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Oh yeah, Joyce mentioned that, she’s around the back, I’ll go get her.” He turned to leave, then hesitated and came back to her. “Er… why don’t you go sit down, you want a drink made while you’re here?”

        “Yeah, thanks… thank you, um… surprise me.” She replied before he left.

        Happily Ever After was by far her favourite place in town, a beautiful book store with a quaint cafe upstairs, and only a half-hour walk from her college. So far, everything seemed to be going perfectly; first she was accepted by her college, her professor was great, the landlord of her apartment building finally fixed the elevator, and now all she had to do was get this job. It was like finally – finally – everything was looking up. The universe was finally favouring her.

        After a couple of minutes, a woman wearing a navy suit jacket and yellow shirt took a seat in front of her. “Hi, you must be (Y/N).” This must be Joyce.

        She would’ve stood up to greet her, but the woman had already sat. Oh gods was that a bad first impression? “Hi, um… thank you for- I really appreciate you having me here…” No no, now she was nervous.

        The bell chimed at the doors downstairs as someone entered, a light twinkling noise, she used the momentary distraction to take a breath.

        “So, (Y/N) – it is (Y/N), isn’t it?” Said Joyce, just as the barrister brought them some drinks (after a sip, she realised her surprise drink was a caramel latte), and they both thanked him as he walked away with a tray. “Yes, well, why don’t you tell me about yourself, hmm? Why did you apply for this job?” She seemed like a nice woman, presumably in her fifties (though (Y/N) was never so great with ages), her hair was black and streaked with strands of grey, pulled into a salt and pepper coloured bun. The wrinkles and lines around her eyes said she smiled often, which was somewhat reassuring, and (Y/N) got the impression that she was actually quite a nice person. Hopefully that was true.

        All she had to do was give good answers, show good manners, and add a little bit of charm. “Well, I’ve been here a lot before and it’s such a nice place,” good start, “and I, er… I don’t live too far away so, that’s a plus. But I’m starting college next month so I won’t be able to keep my full-time job, and when I saw your ad for part-time work… it seemed kind of perfect.” Okay, okay, that was good. (Y/N) smiled her sweetest smile, her ‘please love me’ smile, and took a sip of her beverage. Sweet, smooth, and warm.

        “Oh, a college student are you?” Said Joyce, as if the prospect of further education was an extremely interesting topic. “What for?”

        “Writing,” (Y/N) answered as she fiddled with her sleeves again. She had always loved stories – what better place to work during her studies than a book store, a place brimming with inspiration?

        Joyce beamed and drank some of her tea. “Ah yes, a good subject – always need more writers in the world. Wouldn’t you agree? I bet your parents are proud.”

        Oof…

        The girl shrugged as she held her mug between her hands. “No I… er… I’m afraid not.”

        “Why ever not?” Frowned the manageress.

        “I never met them.” Hopefully this wouldn’t turn their conversation awkward. That’s the thing, whenever she mentioned that situation to others, they always got very awkward and quiet, like they just hit her in the face; the truth was, as sad as it was, it didn’t bother her so much any more. Well, it still bothered her, she was still plagued with questions – who were they? What where their names? Why didn’t they keep her? -- but eventually, she got used to it. She’d gone her whole life without a family, why should she start moping about it now? This was a new chapter, after all. “It’s fine, really.” She said, before the inevitable spew of apologies and such started. “I’m over it.” Change the subject… change the subject… “So, um… why don’t you tell me a little about the position?”

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

        Mary-Margaret – or rather, Snow – had been crying all day. And her husband wasn’t much better. It should have been a happy occasion. The curse was broken – finally – after years and years of torment, they finally won. Everyone was okay. Their memories had returned – but with it came pain.

        They should be celebrating the victory, like everyone else, but the floods of tears wouldn’t stop. Worry and dread weighed heavy. Their daughter was nowhere to be seen.

        Thirty years had passed and no one had the faintest idea of what happened to (Y/N). No news reports, no records, nothing. For all they knew, she never made it to this world; for all they knew she was dead.

        Emma was still processing it all. First she finds out that her parents are here, then that all of this fairytale stuff is true, her son’s adoptive mother was a murderer and sorceress, and now she has a twin sister who may or may not even be alive. It was a hell of a lot to think about.

        After a few more hours, Mary-mar-- Snow was able to pull herself together. David had sat there with her, holding her in his embrace as she wept, and sat with a vacant expression on his face, as if he was too tired to hurt any more. All he could think about was the last time he saw them, his beautiful daughters. He wondered about her – refusing to believe there was any chance she didn’t make it – what was she like? Did she have his eyes? Her mother’s hair? Did she have a family? Was she happy? But the questions plagued him, and he felt so useless.

        Henry, however, was always the positive one – he didn’t need hope if he had the determination to fix it. Which is what lead him to Mr. Gold’s Pawn Shop. The bell chimed as he entered, he always did like the sound it made, and he made his way to the desk. The shop was filled with all sorts of things, some of which he recognised from the Book, and every time he came here he spotted something new.

        “Can I help you?” Said the man – Rumpelstiltskin, it was so obvious.

        “I want to ask for your help,” said Henry, trying to seem more confident than he was. He wasn’t afraid of him, he’d known Mr. Gold his whole life, after all, but he wasn’t sure how to play this situation.

        Mr. Gold nodded and smiled down at the boy (he’d hate to admit he had a soft spot for this one). “I’m assuming your mother doesn’t know you’re here,” he started, leaning on the table.

        “No… but this is really important.”

        “I’m guessing this is about the other girl,” Replied Rumple, watching Henry closely. The child nodded. “Well, I can’t help you Henry.”

        Henry shook his head; he refused to believe that. “Of course you can – you’re Rumpelstiltskin, aren’t you? I-I’ll make a deal with you or something, I know how this works.” He was a brave lad, Gold credited him that.

        Gold sighed, the boy was as stubborn as the rest of his family; but he gathered some things anyway. “Do you have anything that belonged to her?”

        Henry frowned. “No…”

        Of course, this had to be difficult. Gold raised a finger and told Henry to wait, then exited to the back, shuffling a few things about. After a minute or so, the man returned with a small bottle filled with a clear liquid and a rather large map. “Alright, this may work. Since we have nothing that belonged to her, normally I wouldn’t be able to do it – but, we may be able to do it with blood.”

        It sounded worse than it was.

        “But we… we don’t have her blood,” Henry said, it all sounded a bit sadistic to him.

        Rumple nodded. “Perhaps. But we have the blood of her twin, don’t we?”

        Henry beamed, there it was again – the hope. All he had to do was somehow get some of Emma’s blood. It was weird, but it would be worth it.

        “Alright,” said Mr. Gold, “you go get that, I have some calls to make.”

        Nodding obediently, Henry ran to the door, but stopped just before leaving. “Um… what about that, ‘all magic comes with a price’ stuff?”

        Again, Gold smiled at the boy, thinking how much he reminded him of years long since passed. “Let’s call it a favour, hm?”

        Though, he had no real intention of charging Henry.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

        Four months of work and almost three of college, and (Y/N) was already exhausted. But it would be so worth it. It was all going fine; Joyce had offered to pay her a little extra too, ever since she found out that (Y/N) was a decent baker, her home-made cupcakes and cookies were far better than the ones they ordered in (those always left an artificial aftertaste in your mouth). And that extra money went towards her savings – granted it was only about five dollars a month, but it was better than nothing.

        It was Saturday, and (Y/N) had agreed to take a double shift; her co-worker, Ben, had begged her to take his shift today, she wanted to be selfish and say no, but how could she? After Ben explained his plans for his boyfriend’s birthday, it would be plain cruel to refuse. But Ben was so nervous and excited that she was tempted to not only take his shift, but offer to go down to the jewellers and pick up the ring for him. She didn’t, of course, because she was working, but the sentiment still counts. She wished him all the luck in the world, hugged him tight, and told him to take the whole day.

        Setting down her coffee as a customer approached, (Y/N) stood and smiled as always. “Hi, what can I get you?” Today was going to be a long day.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

         “What do you mean you found her?”

        It was a Saturday morning, and Henry had invited everyone to Granny’s Diner for ‘something important’. After a while, Gold finally told Henry the news; he was able to track the girl as far as Manchester, New Hampshire, about an hour from Boston. After a few calls, he came back with a full profile. It had taken a long time, especially since this town never seemed to be normal for a single day, but they finally had something.

        All the Charmings were sat around the booth table, accompanied by Regina and Hook, of course. Henry squeezed himself on the edge with Emma as Gold pulled up a chair. The atmosphere around them was strange – tense and confusing – but Henry brushed it off and took a sip of his lemonade.

        “He means” Mr. Gold answered “that, after extensive research and several spells, I’ve managed to locate the whereabouts of your daughter.” He said, in a rather matter-of-fact manner.

         There was a heavy silence for a moment. “What?” Muttered Snow, already feeling emotional – if this was some kind of trick, she was going to lose it.

        Rumple took out from his suit jacket a thin folder, which he placed at the centre of the table. “(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/S/N).” He quoted as David unfolded the profile, completely stunned as he took out a photo – of his daughter, whom he’d convinced himself he would never see. “First name found on her baby blanket, and other names given by the couple who first raised her. Found at the side of a road in New Hampshire eighteen years ago, placed in the foster system and moved about between nine homes. Good grades, no arrest records, no expulsions, a few detentions here and there but otherwise a good student. I made a few calls, put in some favours, possibly the odd threat, and I’ve found out she lives in Manchester now. Got her own place a few months ago, just started University for a literature course, and working in a cafe part time--”

        “--Wait wait wait,” Emma interrupted after being handed the file, “did you say eighteen? She’s eighteen? How is that possible?”

        Gold shrugged. “That, I haven’t yet figured out. My best guess is that the wardrobe sent her to another time, perhaps it couldn’t take both of you at once.”

        There was another silence, no one knew quite what to say; all of this information at once about a girl they’d wondered about since they first started to remember. The last time she was seen was when she was barely an hour old – and now they were looking at pictures of a young girl becoming a young woman. School photos and chess club photos and basketball photos, photos with friends and foster siblings, photos at home and at the park and in the city. Her whole life in a small collection of pictures, her personality shining through each one.

        “Well…” breathed Gillian, inspecting a photograph on the table, “when do we leave?”

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

        It had been a busy morning, and now as barely a handful of customers roamed the shop and cafe, (Y/N) finally had a chance to catch up on her reading assignment. She sat at the counter with her book in her lap and a mocha beside her, labelling and annotating wherever she needed (in pencil, of course). She truly loved working there; it was always warm and peaceful, the smells of coffee and pastry hung in the air, and she got a ten percent discount on any of the books she wanted – it was like a library, but better.

        She kept an eye on the few customers sat at the tables, reading their newly purchased books while enjoying a snack and beverage, checking if anyone needed a refill. The bell above the doors downstairs informed her of someone coming or going, and the swing of the doors a moment later blew a light breeze throughout, it had been raining lightly.

        (Y/N) was too engrossed in her chapter of ‘A Long Long way’ by Sebastian Barry to notice the somewhat large group of people slowly making their way over.

        “Um… excuse me…” came a soft voice from the other side of the counter.

        Looking up quickly, (Y/N) stood and smiled, putting her book back on the shelf by her knee. “Oh sorry,” she said, realising that she had quite a few orders to fill, “what can I get you?”

        The woman seemed stunned for a minute, staring at her like she saw a ghost. She was pretty, (Y/N) thought.

        Upon noticing her stunned friend, a ravenette woman slid up and made herself known. “Can we have four regular coffees, two black teas, and a cocoa with cinnamon, please.” Then she beckoned her friends quickly to a table on the left, which overlooked the street.

        A boy, possibly in his early teens (as mentioned, she wasn’t very good with ages) who she hadn’t seen before tailed behind them and flashed her a grin. “And some cookies, please.”

        They all gathered at the far end of the room as (Y/N) began to prepare their order, the sound of the machines filling the room as she made each one. She set out several different mugs and cups, each one completely different depending on who each cup was for.

        They watched her cautiously, not that she noticed. Mary-Margaret looked as if she were trying to keep herself together, and David held her hand tightly under the table. She was beautiful, they thought, but that could be parental bias. Emma couldn’t look away either, picking out different things about the girl; similarities in their features, the way she was dressed, the jewellery she decorated herself with, putting her detective skills to work. Regina and Hook were more curious than anything. And Henry, well, the boy was more eager than anything else, excited and happy.

        “I can’t believe it’s her…” David whispered, his last words to her stuck on a loop in his head.

        Regina tapped her nails on the table, glancing out of the window. “I understand that this is probably emotional for you but have you taken a minute to think about what the hell you’re going to say? And stop staring.”

        “You’re right,” Snow groaned, it wasn’t like they could just go up and say ‘hi, we’re your parents! Don’t worry, we’re not as young as we seem, we’ve been under a spell for the last thirty years!’

        “Well, you might want to figure it out soon,” said Mr. Gold, “she’s coming over.”

        All heads snapped her way as (Y/N) came over with a tray, setting down their drinks and the cookies at the centre of the table. “Here you go,” she smiled, setting down the cocoa for Henry (who was more than pleased to find it topped with cream and marshmallows). “Can I get you anything else?”

        There was a beat.

        “When do you get off work?” Henry suddenly asked.

        (Y/N) blinked in surprise. Was this thirteen year old flirting with her something? “Er--”

        “No- um- sorry,” said the woman in the red jacket, looking startled, “I… er… I’m a private investigator, and- well, we’ve come all this way to… talk to you.”

        Well… this certainly wasn’t how she thought today would go. Was she in some kind of trouble? Because that would be horribly inconvenient. “Oh… I can uh… I don’t- my shift ends at six but… I can stop for a few minutes?” Oh gods, she’d never been in a situation like this before.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

        This was confusing. It was all so confusing.

        It was a lot to take in. Her heart was pounding, palms clammy, mouth dry, and her brain was either completely frozen or calculating at lightspeed.

        After the strangers invited her to sit with them, they explained first where they were from (which sounded very made up, by the way) and introduced themselves, and went on to tell her that they had been looking for her for a very long time. That they were her family; that Mary-Margaret and David were her parents, and the investigator was her sister, and the boy was her nephew. They explained that they never really wanted to give her up, that they wanted her to have her best chance.

        It was a lot to take in. This morning she’d woken up as a solitary person, as she always had, alone in the world and determined to get by on her own just fine. But now, she apparently had more family than she had ever expected. They showed her some proof, of course, as much as they could; but, for some reason, she didn’t feel that she needed the evidence; she picked up on their similarities, how a strange familiarity came over her. She read somewhere once that a child never forgets their mother’s smell (or was it her voice) – she desperately hoped that was true, that that was this strange feeling.

        After their explanation, there was a stillness about them. The cafe was empty, given the time, most people were back at work, except for a young man studying at the other side of the room (where he’d been all day). It seemed, none of them knew where to go from there, she figured they probably hadn’t had time to think this meeting through.

        “I…” (Y/N) started, playing with the ring on her finger, “I don’t really know what to say…”

        “We were hoping,” said Mary-Margaret in a gentle, motherly voice, “that you might want to come home with us… for a few days maybe.”

        Oh hell her hands were shaking on her lap. “I…” Does she want to go with them? Could she? At this point they were still perfect strangers – not to mention how it all seemed to be going too fast. “Thank you, I appreciate the offer – really. But um… I have to work… and I have a paper due on Monday.”

        The group’s faces fell in poorly hidden disappointment.

        “But we can stay in touch… maybe I could visit for winter break?”

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

        It was the strangest day she’d had, by far. But by the time they took their leave, and (Y/N) got back to work, she had the most unusual feeling in her chest which she couldn’t describe.

        “I wish she was coming back with us,” said Henry as they made their way downstairs.

        David laid an arm across his shoulders as he took a final look back at his youngest daughter, watching her serve the dark haired boy a fresh drink while he studied, blushing up at her as he thanked her and smiled nervously. “It’s alright, we’ll see her again.” He said, seeing (Y/N) making small talk with the obviously smitten student, “She’s made a life here, I’m glad.”

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

The End

[kohanayaki]

.:Time And Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 1

Old habits die hard— and so do feelings, apparently. Relive moments high and low from your life with the Marauders and co. as you tell your godson, Harry, about all the mischief you got up to back in your school days. Takes place mainly in the Marauders era but also has content congruent with the Order of the Phoenix timeline, with some cannon divergence, of course~

- Main pairings: Sirius Black x Reader, Severus Snape x Reader, James Potter x Reader, Remus Lupin x Reader, slight Regulus Black x Reader, and a bunch of friendships! Gender neutral pronouns :)

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2   CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

____________________________________________________________

Ch 1 .:Memories And First Meetings:.

12 Grimmauld Place was cold.

Not in the temperature sense of the word, especially in the heat of London summer, but something about it felt distant. Perhaps it was the cookie cutter exterior, dreadfully drab, although you knew its true nature was anything but. Despite its grandeur, the interior was as ornate as it was dull and unsaturated, like a black and white photograph in all its monochromatic glory. Maybe it was the fact that you knew what had happened here in the past, or the fact that you knew who was waiting here for you in the present.

You felt the strange sensation of stepping through the thick blanket of protection charms surrounding the house, as if your body were moving through molasses for a fraction of a second. The moment you were fully inside, you began to hear the hushed bits of a conversation echoing through the entrance hall from the dining room whose door was slightly ajar. The words became clearer as you neared the door.

“Harry's not ready! Have you gone completely mad?”

You found yourself grinning at the first voice, Molly Weasley's stern tone unmistakable.

“He's not a child, Molly.”

You froze as you heard the second one; you'd know it anywhere.

A heavy wave of emotion surged through you as you got near enough to the entrance to see the face of Sirius Black through the gap in the door. His time in Azkaban had taken a toll on him, you could tell. Heavy bags hung from his face, his cheeks hollow; although his gray eyes still held that spark in them. His hair was longer, somehow even more wild and unruly than before, but it suited him.

“Well he's not an adult either! He's not James.”

You caught a flash of ginger as Molly crossed the room, using her wand to aggressively clear away the plates on the table as she made her point.

“I know he isn't, but he can handle himself,” Sirius said, “and I'll be there to protect him.”

“How touching, Black. Perhaps the boy will grow up to be a felon just like his godfather.”

Your stomach dropped at the third voice. Shit.

Your presence remained unannounced, but as you peaked your head around the corner of the door frame you were met with Severus' stoic face, an imperceptible crease of distaste in his brow as he regarded Sirius. As your view widened you saw that Lupin sat to his left, a human wall between the two former foes.

You stilled at the door, taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle your irrationally rioting nerves. It's not as if you didn't know they would be there, but it had been so long since you'd seen any of them. So much has changed. . .

“You stay out of this, Snivelus. I don't care what Dumbledore has to say about your supposed reformation, but I know better.”

“Don't you have to go play fetch elsewhere?”

“Oh come on, you two,” Remus sighed.

Well, maybe not much has changed after all. 

“Still resorting to playground bickering, are we?”

Several heads snapped in your direction at your words, and you were met with various reactions. Molly's face immediately split into a smile and she rushed around to table to greet you.

“(Y/n), dear! So nice to see you again,” she pulled you into a surprisingly strong hug and you couldn't help but join in her laughter.

“It's good to be back,” you admitted, “Charlie says hello, by the way.”

“Oh, I'm going to give give that boy a talking to,” Molly huffed, “you aren't his owl, dear. The least he could do is write home and say so himself.”

“Romanian mountain ranges keep a wizard busy,” you grinned, “He says he tries to keep in touch.”

“Sending home a bag of petrified dragon scales with a note that says 'look at this!!' is hardly keeping in touch,” she retorted, fussing about with your jacket's collar that had become wrinkled from her embrace.

Even from across the table you could feel Sirius' eyes on you, grateful that you had Molly's whirlwind greeting as a scapegoat for your flushed face.

“(Y/n). . .” he said softly, getting up from his seat.

“Hey,” you smiled, fighting the lump in your throat as he wrapped his arms around you. He was so warm, still wearing that damn leather jacket he'd somehow been reunited with after his imprisonment.

“What are you doing here? They told me you were out working in America,” Sirius said, eyes twinkling as he held you at arm's length.

“Well, I suppose I'm sort of working everywhere these days,” you said. As his words registered in your brain you turned to Molly with narrowed eyes. “You didn't tell him I was coming?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” she said coyly.

You shook your head, turning back to Sirius.

“I'm so sorry, Molly said I could stay here so I thought she already ran it by you—”

“No, no, of course you can stay!” he said enthusiastically, “I'm glad you're here.”

He seemed gentler than he was before, certainly more mellow than in his youth, but that energy that was so quintessentially him remained buzzing beneath his skin, and Merlin, you'd missed it.

After realizing how long the two of you had spent practically holding each other you coughed awkwardly, slowly drifting apart. As you looked around the table your eyes caught Severus' and you thought your heart stopped for a moment. To the untrained eye he probably seemed just as uninterested as ever, but the look of shock in his eyes was so blatantly apparent to you that it threw you off guard. You managed to cast a small smile in his direction, but his expression remained unchanged while yours dropped. You felt your stomach twist up in knots as you thought about what had happened the last time you saw each other.

Lupin looked between the pair of you before getting up from his own seat and coming to your rescue. He extended his arms with a kind smile, and you happily shifted your attention to him.

“It's about time London had its best auror back in town,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Moony,” you said playfully, hugging him tight, “It's good to see you too.”

“Are you hungry?” Molly asked, pulling a chair out for you.

“Oh no, I had something on the way here,” you said, taking a seat, “thank you, though.”

It felt surreal to be back here, where it all started. The faces were different—some new, some missing—but the same determined feeling remained.

“Now, where were we,” Sirius said, his confidence returning to his shoulders as he addressed the table.

“We were just talking about how Harry isn't ready to be tangled up in all this,” Molly said sternly.

“I think he should decide that for himself,” Sirius said adamantly.

“Well of course the boy would say he wants to fight, he's—”

“Listening in right now,” you pointed out, jutting your head in the direction of the open door where Harry stood, half obscured by the shadow of the stairway.

The boy flushed, backing away slightly as he was caught. But his eyes lit up as they landed on you, and you felt a tug at your heart as you saw your best friend in their bright green hues.

“(Y/n), you're back,” he said in disbelief.

“And here to stay for a bit, apparently,” you said with a smile.

Molly looked between the two of you before letting out a sigh.

“You know what, we should stop for the night anyways,” she said with a wave of her hand, “We've kept the children up long enough with our chatter, and (Y/n) ought to get some rest as well. Off to bed, the lot of you.”

Some of the other adults exchanged some knowing smiles as she shooed them out of the room. People slowly trickled out through the doorway, goodbyes exchanged, and before long it was just you and your godson left.

You had been lucky enough to meet Harry at the end of his third year, and he'd broken the news about Sirius' innocence to you. You so badly wanted to be there for Harry sooner, but between your strained relationship with the Ministry and cleaning up the mess with MACUSA in the States, you always seemed to be called away from the boy. You wanted nothing more than to take him away from that horrid house—you knew how nasty Petunia could be firsthand. Nonetheless, he seemed to be doing well, and you were happy that you'd grown closer over the last few years even if you couldn't be there in person all the time.

“I've got another little souvenir for you, by the way,” you said, having migrated to the living room.

Harry seemed to perk up at that. Since your visits had been so sparse, you began to make it a tradition to bring him back something magical from whatever part of the world you'd been working in.

“You mentioned you were struggling in Potions the last time we spoke,” you said, rummaging through your bag, eventually producing a small, gold-rimmed vial full of a deep maroon liquid. Small black clouds seemed to tumble in a miniature cyclone inside the glass.

“Dragon's breath essence,” you grinned, “nicked it off of Charlie before I left Romania. Put a few drops of this in your salamander blood the next time you brew a Wiggenweld potion and you're set to pass with flying colors.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, eyes wide, “that's on our O.W.L.S. this year.”

“I know,” you said cheekily, “you didn't hear it from me. Personally, I think an Outstanding in Potions as a requirement to become an auror is utter rubbish. Don't get me wrong, it's important to know your way around a cauldron, but to hold someone back who excels at Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms just because they can't cook up a sleeping draught? I don't know, it doesn't sit right with me. And I've heard Severus is hard enough on you guys as it is.”

Harry seemed surprised at your casual address of his professor but shook it off quickly.

“But you're ace at Potions, and it seems like you really like it,” he said.

“Yeah, well I—” you faltered a bit, “I learned from the best. . .”

“Professor Slughorn, you mean?” Harry questioned.

Your eyes widened at that.

“Yeah,” you lied, recovering fast, “Well, Slughorn was a great teacher but terrible at throwing parties. He had this thing called the Slug Club and the dinners were just awful. Your mother was the first of us to join and she ended up roping me into it, and before we knew it we were all standing around in these ridiculous outfits taking swigs of the firewhiskey your dad snuck in just to get through the night.”

You smiled fondly at the memory, and you could see Harry living vicariously through the emotions on your face. You were grateful for this moment; this was the longest you'd actually gotten to sit down and talk together in a long time.

“Were you always friends?” Harry asked, “with my parents, I mean.”

You had to laugh at that question.

“With your mum, yes. Your father, well, not exactly. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1971    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your body swayed gently with the movement of the Hogwarts Express as you walked up and down the isles, looking for someplace to sit. Most of the carriages were packed tight with large groups made up of upperclassmen not exactly looking to expand their circle.

As you approached the back of the train a mostly empty car caught your eye, occupied only by two children your age, or at least that's what you guessed from their black ties and basic robes that marked them as unsorted first-years like yourself.

One of them was a brooding looking boy with messy, shoulder length black hair and shockingly pale skin, leaning against the wall of the train and halfway through a book that seemed well beyond his years. Sitting across from him was a pretty red-headed girl who was admiring the rapidly passing scenery through the window.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you?” you asked, sliding the screen door open.

The boy's brow furrowed, clearly about refuse when the young girl beat him to it.

“Of course not!” she beamed, her smile infectious. You didn't miss the sharp look she shot over to the boy who simply rolled his eyes in response. After you muttered a small 'thanks' she scooted over closer to the window so you could sit next to her.

“My name is Lily,” she said, extending a hand, “Lily Evans.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, “I'm (Y/n) (L/n).”

The boy quirked a brow at your last name, his expression shifting to something unreadable as he blatantly studied you over the spine of his book. After letting this go on for some time, you glanced over at Lily.

“Does he speak?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” the boy said coldly.

Lily sent a disappointed look his way and his heart fell slightly, but he didn't need to be friends with anyone else, and he certainly didn't want other people becoming friends with Lily either. An irrational thought, he knew, but it was how his stubborn little brain worked at the time. They didn't need anyone but each other. Wasn't that enough?

In any case, he expected his behavior would be enough to scare you off (it usually worked on other people), but to his complete and utter surprise, you began to laugh. It started off as a light giggle, soon growing into full on laughter. He stared at you in open confusion as you were nearly brought to tears from your fit.

“You're funny,” you stated honestly, managing to speak through your chortles.

The boy was taken completely aback by your candor, actually at a loss for words. Lily joined in the laughter at your simple remark.

“So you do talk, I guess you must have a name too, then,” you said teasingly.

He blinked once. Twice.

“. . . Severus Snape.”

“That's a cool name.”

The heat that crept onto the boy's face surprised no one more than himself, and he buried himself in his book quickly to hide it. Another surprisingly frank statement from you, and not one he'd ever heard before.

If he thought you were full of surprises then, he had no idea what was coming to him.

_____________________________________________________________

The minute the Sorting Hat was placed on your head, it was immediately intrigued.

“Now here's an odd one,” it chuckled, “loyal, compassionate, empathetic, and yet a razor wit. A calculating, ambitious mind, and yet a relentless sense of adventure. All this, and with your bloodline to take into account as well. Your family has quite the history here, (L/n).”

Hushed whispers fell across the Great Hall among the older students and even some of the faculty at the hat's words, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Though, I sense a different sort of mentality in you,” the hat continued, “you desire to challenge the old ways,” it paused for some time before going on, “do you truly have no preference, child?”

You were surprised at the question. You knew your family's reputation— it had been ingrained in you from a young age— but that didn't sway you, nor did it scare you. When you really thought about what house you wanted to be in, you truly couldn't think of an answer. It wouldn't change who you were, after all. Whether you donned red, yellow, blue, or green, you stood firmly in the knowledge that you would always be (Y/n) (L/n). Having made up your mind, you shook your head at the hat's question, and although its face was obscured from your view, you could almost sense its grin as it knew you were telling the truth.

“Well then,” it chuckled, “It is truly rare that I get an opportunity such as this. Let's make it interesting, then, shall we? Better be. . . Slytherin!”

Snape sat, slack-jawed, as you bounded over to the applauding Slytherin table and plopped down next to him. You rested your chin atop your folded hands, looking largely unbothered, a glint in your (e/c) eyes. He chuckled under his breath despite himself.

Full of surprises indeed.

___________________________________________________________

Your first encounter with James Potter was of a different sort.

It was the very beginning of your third year when you'd first met him properly. You had a few classes together, and Lily would rant about him constantly pestering her; occasionally you'd see the Gryffindor, along with another unfamiliar boy in his house, sprinting through the corridors, Professor McGonagall not far behind and demanding them to stop. But other than that, you'd never really interacted with him.

Ever since you'd met on the train you and Lily started to hang out more and more, with Snape “begrudgingly” tagging along. The Slytherin had been slow to warm up to you, but you were relentlessly kind and infuriatingly persistent, and eventually he found himself enjoying your little quips and comparatively sunny disposition. By the end of your first year, the three of you were nearly inseparable, and your bond only strengthened throughout your second. But third year is when things started changing.

Snape sat in the shade among the thick, overgrown roots of the old oak tree by the Black Lake, nose deep in an advanced Potions textbook he'd swiped from a fifth year as he waited for you and Lily to return from Transfiguration, the only class you didn't have together. This became your usual spot, with Lily sitting in the grass beside him and you on the branch above him, legs swinging as you absentmindedly sketched in your notebook. A comfortable silence would settle between you, something you'd all grown to enjoy; there was no need for constant conversation, it was enough sometimes to just enjoy each others' presence.

The silence he was reveling in alone, however, was promptly interrupted as rowdy laughter reached Snape's ears. Sure enough, a few figures emerged from the curve of the hill, revealing none other than James Potter, flanked by the curly haired boy he'd been seen running around with earlier along with two other Gryffindors: a short-statured boy with dirty blonde hair and another, taller and leaner, with long scars that ran along his face.

Snape didn't pay them much mind until he realized that they were heading straight for the tree— straight for him. Snape had noticed right away how the Potter boy had tried to befriend Lily as soon as she was sorted into Gryffindor, and it was safe to say he was less than fond of him despite having never really spoken to him before.

“You've got to be joking,” James snickered as he walked up to the tree, looking Snape up and down, “This is the guy Evans has been ditching us to see?”

Severus' eyes narrowed. So now he had a reason not to like him.

“Get lost,” he said, turning back to his book.

“What, you think you're too good to talk to us, huh?” James scoffed at him, clearly miffed.

As if on cue, the curly haired boy snatched the book out of Snape's hands, holding it out of his reach as he fumbled to get it back.

“Toss it, Sirius!” James called out. The boy, who he now knew as Sirius, threw the textbook like a frisbee, and Potter caught it easily.

As Snape angrily rose from his seat to get it back, the two boys continued to throw it between themselves so he couldn't grab it. Fed up, the Slytherin drew his wand but was quickly outmatched.

“Expelliarmus!”

Snape's wand flew out of his hands and straight into Sirius', who held it above his head. Just as the black haired boy jumped up for it, another spell flew towards him, this time from James.

“Winguardium Leviosa!”

Snape grit his teeth, staring helplessly at his wand as it hovered higher and higher out of his reach.

“James, come on, I think that's enough,” the taller boy near the back said.

“Don't be a bore, Remus, we're just having some fun.”

“I-I think he's right, guys.”

“Shut up, Peter.”

While his gaze was trained on his wand a harsh shove threw Snape to the ground, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes.

“No way, is he really crying?” James taunted.

“He is,” Sirius goaded on, “just look at him snivel.”

“You're right, maybe we should call him Snivelus, it suits him better.”

“Nice one, James.”

Snape winced as he was harshly pulled to his feet by James who sneered at him.

“Come on then, Snivelous. What are you gonna do?”

“Relashio!”

James' eyes widened as he suddenly felt himself repulsed back by some invisible force, his grip on Snape's robes forced to loosen as he was flung backwards. You stared the shocked Gryffindors down, wand at the ready for another spell as you ran to stand between Severus and them.

“Accio!” another voice called out, Snape's book and wand whizzing past their faces and into Lily's hands.

James staggered to his feet, trying to look unbothered by the fact that he'd just been knocked down, and by a spell that he hadn't even heard of yet.

“Look at that, boys,” he said, feigning confidence, “guess Snivelus needs a couple of girls to come to his rescue. You should ditch this loser, Evans.”

Before Lily could lash back, you stepped between them.

“What's that supposed to mean?” you scoffed.

“I'm sorry, who are you?”

You felt your forehead twitch, itching to smack that smug grin off his face.

It was Sirius who spoke next, recognition filling his gaze.

“Wait, you're the (L/n) kid, aren't you? Well that's just perfect, you two freaks can go study the Unforgivable Curses together.”

That struck a nerve in you.

“You don't know anything,” you said, not lowering your wand, “now get out of here before I knock you down too.”

“Aw, I don't know, Sirius, they're kind of cute all flustered like this,” James smirked.

You felt anger flare up in your chest, and it was Lily's turn to step in for you.

“Leave us alone, James,” she ordered.

When none of them moved you exhaled sharply, taking another step forward.

“Or I can just turn you into a flobberworm instead,” you said, “might be more fitting.”

Sirius laughed off your threat, but you could have sworn you saw a twinge of concern in his eyes as he looked over to the rest of his friends for backup.

“Let's just go, James. Come on,” the one named Remus said, trying to be the voice of reason.

The bespectacled boy frowned, shoving his wand back in his robes.

“Fine,” he said, “they aren't worth it anyways.”

He turned promptly on his heels, Sirius right behind him and Peter scampering after. Remus stayed behind for a moment, regarding you three.

“I'm sorry about them,” he said, “really.”

Your brow creased in suspicion, but you nodded, not quite smiling but offering up a neutral expression at least before he turned to catch up with the rest of his group.

“You were kidding about (L/n) being cute, right?” Sirius said as they headed back to the common room. When he was met with silence instead of a clear 'of course I was' he nearly had a stroke.

“Are you kidding, James?” Sirius said incredulously, “They're a Slytherin! They're just another dark arts dabbler who doesn't care about anything but their blood status.”

James only shrugged.

“Normally I'd agree, but they seem different,” he said. When he turned to see Sirius' unwavering expression he sighed, “I was just saying that to get a rise out of 'em. Don't worry, this won't be the last time we mess with them and Snivelus.”

Meanwhile, you were still out sitting by the tree, brushing the grass out of Severus' hair.

“That was amazing, (Y/n),” Lily said, wide-eyed, “How did you manage to learn that spell? And you already learned the worm-morphing jinx too?”

“Sev isn't the only one who's been learning ahead,” you said, “but that worm thing was a total bluff.”

“I didn't need your help,” Snape muttered.

You blinked down at him, shaking your head and unable to fight the smirk that crept onto your face.

“Sure you didn't,” you huffed, helping him up to his feet despite his protests, “don't be so dramatic, we won't tell anyone if that's what you're so worried about. Now come on, we're gonna be late for dinner. If Wilkes hogs all the Yorkshire puddings I'm blaming you entirely.”

Severus said nothing, only taking his book and wand back from Lily before you three walked back to the castle arm in arm, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

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

“It seems like so long ago,” you said, reminiscing, “Although I suppose it was, but I don't want to think about that too hard— I'll start to feel old, Merlin forbid.”

Harry's eyes were full of disbelief at your story.

“So you, my mum, and. . . Snape were friends?”

“Believe it or not,” you grinned, “unlikely trio as we were, it just sort of worked somehow.”

Until it didn't, you thought grimly, but forced the thought aside. You could tell by how quiet Harry had gotten that something was bothering him.

“My dad really did that?” he asked quietly.

Your gaze softened and you turned to fully face him.

“He was dumb and immature at the time,” you said, “we all were. There's not much else to be when you're thirteen. Each of us made plenty of mistakes, too many to count. And your mum. . . she was good for him. He always told me that she made him want to be a better person. People can change. In my opinion, there are few things someone can do that makes them truly irredeemable, and your father never came close to doing any of those things.”

You thought it better to mention that Snape probably didn't feel the same way.

“In any case, we should be getting to bed,” you said, getting up from the couch, “if you ever want to hear any other stories about your parents, I've got plenty of them.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smile brightening his whole face, “yeah, definitely. Thank you.”

As Harry walked off to his room you sighed, making your way as quietly as you could up the creaky stairs. Just as you were about to retreat into your own guest room, your eyes snagged on the slightly ajar door at the top of the stairwell.

You stalled in front of it for a moment, wondering if you were out of your mind or not. When you had unapologetically settled on 'yes', you moved to knock on the door when it suddenly swung open. You practically leaped back at the proximity as you were met with Sirius standing in the doorway, stormy eyes wide. He'd shed his leather jacket for the night, leaving him in a dark maroon button up with the top few undone. Your senses were draped with the heady scent of his cologne, and you found yourself grasping at words to say.

When Sirius got over his initial shock he laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his curls out of habit.

“I was about to see if you were awake,” he admitted with a small grin, “Seems we both had the same idea.”

Read chapter 2 here !

[watchmegetobsessed]

Tastes Like Strawberries - Harry Styles

a/n: oh this one is a long boi and might not be the end??? i’ve been working on this fic for days and i have an idea for a possible second part, but i wrote this one so it has a fulfilling ending so it can stand as a oneshot as well! i barely just started working on the sequel, we’ll se how it’ll turn out, maybe it goes to shit lmao but whatever, it’s still a nice and whole story without a second part! this is my V-day gift to you all, have this nice professor!harry fic as if it was a box of chocolate! 🍓 🍫 🍬

special thanks to @pastequeharry​ who put up with my constant rambling and whining while i was writing this, you are a hero, his is dedicated to you!!

pairing: professor!Harry x Reader

warning: sexual content, abusing relationship, it’s got smut, angst, lot’s of banter and all that jazz!

word count: 21.4k

masterlist

There’s just a handful of things to know about Professor Harry Styles and that’s because of one of those very few known facts, the first one being that he is a highly private person. He rarely talks about himself or any aspects of his life, he always makes sure to keep it as professional as possible whenever he is teaching.

Second, he is easily the smartest professor to ever walk on campus, but he doesn’t like to brag about it. You never catch him showing off how much he knows, how big of a genius he is, you’ll just start to realize from the way he teaches and approaches certain topics, how he interacts with others and tries to pass his knowledge down to his students. He is brilliant and he should have all the credits for it, yet he still chooses to keep it to himself.

Third, and it’s the most well-known fact because to see this you just need to have a pair of eyes, he is undeniably the most handsome man to ever teach or if you’re being more precise, walk the hallways of the university. No football crazy, alcoholic fratboy or dreamy looking indie guy from the library can live up to what Professor Harry Styles is. With a face clearly carved by the angels, a nicely built but not too muscular frame, and occasionally displayed tattooed arm that makes you wonder what other artworks his stylish outfits are hiding, there’s no man like him and every female on campus agrees with that.

His lectures and courses are jampacked with sighing and heart-eyed college girls, daydreaming about the man who is solemnly just trying to teach the things he is so passionate about. But it’s not just the students, Professor Styles has managed to charm the female professors of all faculties, you can see them wander by his office way too often, they take any opportunity to talk to the man and try to seduce him. It’s unknown if he is oblivious to the effect he has on women or he chooses to ignore every and any attempts, but this is what leads us to the fourth fact.

Despite all the effort and energy that’s been put into his case by every single woman on campus to break the walls the professor has built around himself, he never let any of his students or colleagues to even think they could be romantically linked for real. Professor Styles keeps his distance and turns down any offer that could be mistaken to anything that doesn’t fit in the professional boundaries.

Anytime a student puts on the slightest flirtatious act towards the professor, he either rejects it straight away or ignores it completely and blatantly, making it his clear answer that he is not interested and then he goes back to teaching. You’ve seen it yourself, having him as one of your professors first year of uni, you fell for him just like every other girl in the lecture hall, dreaming about him in ways you probably shouldn’t think of a teacher while he was just casually talking about his grading system and how he is going to build up the lectures throughout the semester. Some brave girls who you assume were highly celebrated by boys in high school took the courage to openly flirt with him, but he didn’t even flinch before shutting all attempts down, not even a blush appeared on his perfectly cut cheekbones.

You thought of ways you’d try to seduce him yourself, but you never actually tried. You never had the balls to actually give it a go and then suffer from the worst embarrassment of your life when he rejects you. So you kept it all to yourself, only entertaining yourself with your elaborate plans about the seduction of your professor.

Second year passed without any classes with Professor Styles, you had only occasionally seen him come and go, rushing down the hallways holding his notebooks to his chest, a steaming cup of coffee in his other hand as he was heading to his lecture hall that you just knew was filled with girls. You always took a moment to yourself to admire his outfit. He has a tendency to pair odd items and make them look like the most put together fit ever that only he can pull off. However, you and your girlfriends always loved to tease him between each other for his grandpa-like sweaters and vests he seemed to love dearly.

“He confuses me, because I want him to fuck me on his desk but also, I feel like he is about to ask me what periodt means because he is too old to understand slang these days,” your friend, Nat said once when your little group was lounging under the huge oak tree between classes and the professor rushed past you, disappearing in the building without paying any of you a look. He wore a pair of beige slacks and a striped sweater, a wrinkly grey shirt peeking from under it at the bottom. The colors and the style overall once again gave you that old people feeling, but then you looked at his handsome face and couldn’t care any less about whatever he was wearing.

The most intimate way you ever saw him was a few days after your twenty-first birthday the summer before your last year of uni started. You just got back from your hometown, the first person to arrive back to your shared flat with Nat and Eden, so you had a few days on your own. You decided to redecorate your room so you took a trip to IKEA, taking your time looking through the set up rooms, just wandering around as you try to figure out what you really want to buy. Walking through the living room section you spotted the professor and first, you didn’t even recognize him.

He was wearing a pair of bright yellow shorts and a short sleeved shirt with floral prints on it, a pair of white framed sunglass on top of his head, keeping his unruly strands out of his face as he was eyeing a couch, seemingly deep in his thoughts. You stopped in your tracks, seeing him in such a casual and everyday setting. For some reason, he seemed like a completely different person.

A woman was there with him and as you walked closer you could hear a fraction of their discussion.

“I don’t know, Gems. Do I need a couch this big?”

“Looks comfy and I like the color. It would also fit in the space just right, I think you should get the bigger one if you have the space for it,” the woman put her two cents in and you wondered who she could be. Girlfriend? Just a casual friend? Maybe fiancé? She did have a ring that could easily go as an engagement ring so you couldn’t tell for sure.

As you were about to walk past you suddenly took the courage to say hi.

“Hello, Professor Styles!” you greeted him with a warm smile and his eyes flickered over to you from the couch in question. One thing you always admired about him is that he never forgot the faces of his students and as he looked at you, you knew he recognized you even if he didn’t know your name specifically.

“Oh, hello,” he nodded in your way.

“I like the couch,” you commented before slowly moving on. “Have a nice rest of your summer!”

“You too, Y/N,” he called after you and it took you by surprise that he remembered your name. Your lecture he taught had almost over a hundred students in it and you weren’t the most active one to stand out that easily, yet he still remembered you more than you were expecting.

That small encounter kept you thinking about him for way longer than you probably should have, especially because you knew you’d have a lecture with him again in the upcoming semester. Your daydreams about him made their way back into your mind as you spent the last days of your summer mostly with your friends. It got you thinking that if you managed to get him to remember your name, maybe you would give one of your plans a go and shoot your shot. He wouldn’t be teaching you in your last semester so you wouldn’t have to face him after he rejects you.

And this is how you came up with your little scheme.

On your last Sunday evening before school starts, you, Nat and Eden sit in the floor of your living room, drinking some white wine as a way of saying goodbye to the carefree summer moments and getting back to the working days of being a senior at uni. Professor Styles came up completely randomly and you let it slip that you’ve just seen him recently at IKEA with a woman and it all led to you admitting that you’ll finally shoot your shot at the professor. Nat and Eden both did the same already, however their attempts were completely ignored and they always bugged you to give it a try yourself, being the only one in your group who hasn’t tried to seduce the professor yet.

“I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell me it’s stupid because I actually think it’ll be funny and a little bit genius,” you tell them before you start sharing the details on your plan.

“Just spill the beans already!” Eden pokes you before she reaches for the bottle and refills her glass.

“Okay, so you both know I took this psychology class last semester for extra credits, right?” The nod and you continue. “The teacher told us about this thing called classical conditioning or they call it pavlovian response too. The guy, Pavlov, did an experiment where he paired the feeding of dogs with a bell ring and after a certain amount of time the dogs started salivating at just the sound of the bell, because they remembered that it’s connected to food. The teacher said this is literally one of the easiest tricks to pull on people.”

“Oh, isn’t this one of the things Jim did on Dwight in The Office?” Nat asks furrowing her eyebrows.

“It is!” you nod, glad that they are understanding the base of your plan. “So, I’ve heard that Professor Styles loves strawberry flavored candies. I thought that I would bring some every day when I see him and offer him some. Slowly, he’ll pair the candy with the thought of me and he’ll get excited when he sees me because he’ll think I have candy for him and it will hopefully work the other way around and he’ll think of me when he is eating strawberry flavored candy that’s not from me.”

Your friends blink at you for a moment, processing what you just shared with them before Eden takes a huge sip of her drink.

“This is the most ridiculous but also the most genius thing I’ve ever heard,” she nods holding her glass up towards you.

“I can’t believe you will pull a psychological experiment on Professor Styles,” Nat shakes her head with a soft chuckle.

“It’s not a blunt way to get closer to him and if he accuses me of trying to flirt I can just say that I’ve been only sharing candy with him, I literally did nothing,” you point out, pretty proud of your solution to your deep fear of having to take his rejection publicly.

“If you get a Noble for this shit, make sure to thank us in your speech,” Eden laughs and you promise to do so when the big moment comes.

Monday morning you make a quick trip to Target and buy a big bag of strawberry flavored candies, probably enough to last for the whole semester, and then you make your way to campus. Following your first lecture you meet up with Eden who also signed up for Professor Styles’ lecture this semester, so the two of you make your way towards the lecture hall together.

“I really can’t believe you are doing this,” she chuckles when you get the candy ready as you near the room. The professor is always the first one in the lecture hall so you know you’ll find him there already.

“You can’t tell me it’s not a funny plan,” you smirk at her. And just as you walk in, you immediately spot the professor sitting at the desk at the front, going over the syllabus before the start. “Save a seat for me,” you tell Eden who just laughs and makes her way up the stairs along the desks.

Grabbing the pack of sweets from your bag you walk up to the professor, feeling confident with your plan. He lifts his head up when he notices your arrival and your eyes meet with his green ones.

“Hello, professor. Would you like some candy?” you simply ask with an innocent smile.

Professor Styles stares at you for a moment before his eyes move down to the candy in your hand, the opening of the bag facing him in a welcoming manner.

“I, uhh… what flavor?” he curiously asks and you can barely push down your smirk.

“Strawberry.”

“Oh. I’ll… take one, thank you,” he nods, hand reaching into the bag as he grabs just one single candy, unwrapping the package before he pops it into his mouth. “Thank you,” he nods again with a delightful smile.

“Of course. Did you buy the couch?” you ask, taking slow steps away from the desk as he keeps his eyes on you.

“I… did not. Bought another one,” he admits shortly and you know you’ve reached the limit. If you ask more, he’ll get suspicious, so you just nod smiling before walking up to the spot Eden has reserved for you. When you sit down, you catch the professor paying you one last glance before he returns to what he was previously doing.

“You are a genius, because now we can watch him suck on a fucking candy for the next few minutes,” Eden mumbles quietly, making you laugh.

“I knew this would be a good plan,” you sigh, satisfied with the work you’ve done. Now it’s just a matter of time.

Every Monday and Wednesday, you arrive with the same bag of candy to the lecture hall, walk up to Professor Styles and offer him one. And he always takes one. The first few times he seems hesitant when he spots you approaching him, but he slowly grows used to your tiny act of kindness that occurs every time you see him. On week three you expand the plan. You usually have lunch with Nat on Thursdays since you both have a break between one and two pm. The two of you try to take advantage of the warm early autumn days and sit under the pergola that’s near the building where Professor Styles’ office is as well. It’s mere coincidence, you only like that place because it’s close to the lecture hall you have to go to after lunch, but you notice that the professor emerges from Building C around one thirty, walking back to his office probably after one of his classes. The sidewalk runs directly next to the pergola so it gives you a chance to bring the candy out one more time every week. You nicely greet him when he is nearing the two of you and then hold out the bag, asking if he wants some. He always takes one and thanks you with a sweet smile that leaves you a tad bit blushed.

“I can’t fucking believe your plan is working,” Nat chuckles in disbelief on one occasion when the professor just disappeared in the building, probably happily unwrapping his candy of the day.

“It’s funny, innit?” you grin at her proudly.

Frankly, this is just a fun experiment for you. You don’t actually think that the professor will think of you differently even the slightest. You might be able to plant the thought of you in his head, but that doesn’t instantly mean that he’ll start fancying you and actually do something about it. It would be ridiculously naïve to think it’s going to be you who breaks through the wall that hundreds of women had already tried to knock down.

Week six is what brings the breakthrough. After long consideration and discussion with Nat and Eden, you decide to test if the experiment has been successful. You offer one last candy on Monday, but Wednesday brings the change. You go to lecture without candy. Well, you have it on you, but you decide not to ask him if he wants some.

Walking into the lecture hall, as always, he is already sitting at his desk, flipping through the pages of a book when you walk up to him with the intention of asking him a question on the paper that’s due next week.

“Professor Styles?” you softly speak up, catching his attention. “Can I have a question about the paper?”

“Of course,” he nods and you can’t tell just yet if he was expecting the candy or not.

“I was wondering if I can use a diagram to visualize my results at the end. I have a brilliant idea to summarize the data with one.”

“Sure, just make sure to give credit wherever it’s due, if you are using someone else’s work for the diagram.”

“Definitely,” you smile at him and wait a moment. That’s where you see the anticipation in his eyes.

His gaze flickers down to your hands and then to your bag where you always carry the candy and when his eyes meet yours again, you see him swallow hard.

He was expecting the candy. Not only expecting, but he started salivating when he saw you, thinking that he would get the candy from you as always.

“Is… that all?” he asks, the slightest hint of hope appearing in his tone, probably waiting for you to pull the bag of candy out of your bag and offer him one. But it’s not happening today.

“Yes, thank you very much,” you nod smiling widely before you turn around and walk away, a shocked and triumphant look appearing on your face once he can’t see it anymore and when Eden sees you, she gasps.

“He fucking expected the candy, didn’t he?!” she whispers at you in shock and you nod frantically, still not believing your plan worked.

“You should have seen the anticipation in his eyes, he really thought I was gonna offer him some!”

“Oh my God, this is hilarious!” Eden laughs covering her mouth as the lecture hall starts to fill up slowly.

Turning forward, you see that the professor is sitting behind his desk, the book that had his attention before your arrival is long forgotten in front of him, now he is staring ahead of him with slightly furrowed eyebrows, deep in his thoughts.

Is he thinking about you? Or why he was expecting candy from you?

You see him reach for his water bottle and he takes two big gulps probably to wash away his need for the candy before he narrows his eyes and at last they find you in the auditorium. You tilt your head to the side innocently smiling, as if you know absolutely nothing about anything. You keep eye-contact, forcing you not to be the one who breaks it and he is intimidating. You feel like he can read your mind as he stares at you and when he finally turns his gaze back at the book, you exhale sharply.

The lecture goes down just as usual and when the professor dismisses the class you decide to put the cherry to the top. Walking down between the desks you grab a candy from your bag and while the professor is talking to a girl who also had a question about the paper, you place the candy to his desk next to his book. He doesn’t see you walk out and you don’t see him when he finds it, but something is telling you he figured you out. No way a man as smart as him doesn’t realize what game you’ve been playing with him.

Sitting under the pergola on Thursday you are deep in discussion with Nat, helping her with a task sheet she has to turn in after lunch but she completely forgot about it. As the two of you are trying to do the seemingly endless sheet, you don’t even notice the professor walking from Building C, as always, but he spots you.

“No, I don’t think that’s even a thing, you can’t write that,” you tell Nat, but she shakes her head.

“I don’t care if it’s a thing, I just want to fill in the whole thing so the teacher doesn’t think I finished it in twenty minutes before class,” she mumbles, scribbling down her answer as you just chuckle at her.

Suddenly, you see a pair of dusty Vans appear in your sight and as your eyes move up, you are facing none other than Professor Styles, standing right in front of you, holding out his hand with his hand turned upwards, a cheeky smile tugging on his lips. His appearance takes you by surprise and for a moment you just dumbly stare down at his palm, then up at his eyes.

“Very smart. Pulling a pavlovian on me with my favorite candy,” he speaks up, dropping his hand as he cocks his head to the side. Nat looks up from her sheet with wide eyes as you stare at the professor with blushing cheeks.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, professor,” you tell him with a knowing smirk.

“Of course. You know, it took me a moment to realize yesterday, but I wanted to let you know that… I think it was clever.”

“If I knew anything about what you’re talking about… I would say thank you. But I stand up for my innocence.”

“Surely,” he chuckles softy. “Have a great rest of your week,” he then nods before turning around to walk away, but you quickly reach into your bag and grab a candy.

“Professor Styles!” you call out and he turns back just in time to catch the candy you throw in his way. He glances at it in his palm before his eyes snap up to you again, smirking at you shortly before he disappears in the building.

“Okay, call me stupid, but I could feel the sexual tension between the two of you,” Nat says as soon as the professor is out of sight.

“Don’t be silly, it was just… a joke and he liked it.”

“He called you clever, Y/N!”

“No, he called my trick clever.”

“But you came up with it so you’re clever too. Say whatever you want, but I actually think you have a shot at him.”

“I definitely don’t,” you laugh shaking your head and you genuinely believe it. Nat scoffs before she gets back to her sheet, but not without having one last thought about the situation.

“We’ll be laughing at how you brainwashed him into liking you when you’ll be dating for years, living together and all that shit.”

You’ve made some very questionable choices in your dating life prior. Like when you dated a boy in high school and let him take your virginity at the back of his mom’s minivan just to break up with your right after that, or when you briefly dated the guy you met at the mall, but it later turned out he was gay and he used you as his cover up in front of his family. But the worst decision of all was dating an egoistic forty years old loser who just freshly got divorced and went after you at some tacky bar you were at with your friends.

The time you spent dating Victor is way less than the time he has been bothering you, trying to make you go back to him when you’ve actually told him you don’t want anything to do with him anymore. You broke up with him just before you went home for the summer and he didn’t take it well, even drove up to your hometown and showed up at your parents’ house drunk, begging for you to take him back. He never stood a chance, not after that one time he slapped you across the face during a fight the two of you had. You tolerate a lot of things but not violence and you don’t believe him when he says it was just a onetime thing. There’s no guarantee he won’t hit you ever again and you are definitely not waiting around to see if he told you the truth.

On this particular late October evening you are searching through your whole room looking for a book you know you have, but can’t seem to find anywhere. It’s your holy bible about research methodology and you need it for your thesis work, but it seems like the small apartment has completely swallowed it.

“Didn’t you leave it at Victor’s? You were working on that long essay when you were dating him, saw you use the book all the time,” Eden tells you when you ask her if she’s seen it anywhere and then it clicks.

She is right, now you remember leaving the book at his once and you completely forgot to pick it up after things got nasty between the two of you.

“Damn it,” you growl in annoyance.

Not feeling like calling him, you send him a quick text, hoping he still has it and hasn’t burned it after one of your fights.

Y/N: Hey, I think I left my research methodology book at yours. You still have it?

Victor: I do.

Y/N: Cool, can I drop by to pick it up?

Victor: I’m leaving for work, you can come to the bar if you want it.

You sigh in defeat. Victor is a bartender at a place that’s all the way across town, takes almost an entire hour to get there, but you are left with no other choice.

Y/N: Okay, I’ll see you there.

The raining has finally stopped this morning so you feel better leaving the house than you would have if it was still pouring. You take the bus and travel across town, feeling anxious to see Victor again. Last time you met him he cursed you out and threw his phone at you, barely missing your head. You promised yourself you wouldn’t go near him again after that, but it seems like you can never get completely rid of him.

Students rarely come to this part of the town, it’s way too far from campus and has nothing to offer that can’t be found closer to the dormitories or the school’s buildings. It’s not entirely your scene either, the bars around here are liked by older generations, not by people your age, this is another reason why you don’t like coming around here.

The bar where Victor works is a place where they have different local bands perform every Friday and Saturday. It’s not a tacky nook with creepy dudes, they actually have prices on the higher end, not something you can necessarily afford with your part time job’s paycheck from the small accounting office near your apartment where you work as an assistant on your free afternoons.

Walking into the place you immediately spot Victor behind the bar and you take a deep breath before you walk up to him.

“Hey,” you call out for him, taking one of the stools along the bar.

“Hey. Long time no see.”

“Happens when you break up with someone,” you respond with a little spice and he frowns at your words. “Can you give me the book?”

“I’ll have a break in ten, can you wait for that or you have something extra urgent shit to do, as always?” You can tell he is still bitter from how things ended between the two of you, but you’ve learned not to care about it. His way of dealing with the breakup is not your responsibility, no matter how hard he is trying to prove it wrong.

You roll your eyes but nod, knowing well there’s no use to fight him. Ten minutes is not the end of the world. Busying yourself on your phone, you try to stay unnoticed and luckily, Victor can’t keep chatting with you, because customers keep coming up to him and ordering drinks. When he finally has his break he tells you to follow him to the back.

“So how have you been?” he asks as you walk down the hallway that leads to the small break room, there’s an office at the end and some kind of changing room you guess for the bands, along with a storage.

“Fine.”

“You really gonna be a bitter bitch and not talk to me?” he asks you, giving you a disgusted look, but you know it’s just the anger talking from him.

“Victor, I didn’t come here to talk, I just need my book!”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t answer my question.”

“I answered it! I’ve been fine, now give me the damn book!” you growl, losing your patience with him, but he is seemingly in the same shoes.

“When will you stop being a bitch and just drop this ridiculous act, Y/N? I’ve been after you for months yet you keep ignoring me!”

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m ignoring you because I don’t want anything to do with you? Victor, it’s been months, just… move the fuck on! Go cry to your ex-wife or something, I don’t care!”

You didn’t mean to snap, but he always brings the worst out of you. From the corner of your eyes you can see movement at the other end of the hallway where the changing room is, but you don’t get to pay much attention to it, because the next moment Victor grabs you by your arm and yanks you towards him.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that! You ungrateful slut, I swear…”

There’s little you can do, he is twice as big as you are, his grip on your arm so strong there’s no doubt it will leave a mark. Your heart is racing as you try to pull yourself out of his hold, but he doesn’t even bat an eye at your attempt.

However, before he could drag you into the empty breakroom to do god knows what, he is stopped by a voice.

“Hey! Let her go!”

If you weren’t shocked enough at his violent reaction, now you are definitely think you’re going nuts, because it’s none other than Professor Styles who is now nearing you with a hard expression on his face, two other guys following right behind him and though none of them are bigger than Victor, he knows he can’t just start a fight with three men.

Your chest is heaving when the professor finally reaches you and Victor’s hold lets go of you, making you fall back a little.

“You perform here twice and think you’re some kind of rockstar?” Victor spats at the professor, but you’re a little lost in what’s really going on. Professor Styles gently grabs your wrist and pulls you behind him, eyes never leaving Victor’s burning gaze.

“You alright?” one of the other two men asks and you nod, not finding your voice to actually speak.

“Get the hell out of my sight before I call the police on you,” the professor answers in a calm yet threatening voice

Victor takes a second to himself, thinking about the choices he has before he turns around and disappears in the breakroom, slamming the door behind him, leaving you in complete shock about what just happened.

Professor Styles then turns around, his eyes soften at seeing how shaken you are and quite frankly, you feel like you are in a bad and quite weird dream.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” he asks, clearly worried about you and you just shake your head no.

“I-I’m fine, I think,” you mumble out of breath.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” the guy who asked if you’re alright suggests and you nod in agreement, following them kind of blindly, the three of them keeping you in their little circle as you walk out to the bar and they don’t stop until you are out of the place in the cold night air. You slowly come back to reality and process that Professor Styles just saved you out of fucking nowhere from your abusive asshole ex. That’s what you call a plot twist.

You finally take a moment to look at the other two guys, they both look the same age as the professor, or maybe a little older, both of them are rocking some facial hair, the one that asked you seems a little more open while the other one quite reserved but friendly looking.

“What… What were you doing back there?” you ask, turning to face the professor. He clearly seems upset, but you’re not sure if it’s entirely because of what happened with Victor back then or because you are standing outside some random bar on a Saturday night, definitely crossing his personal boundaries he keeps so high at school.

“We played here tonight, was just about to leave when I saw you.”

“You have a band?” you ask, shocked at the detail.

“A pretty good one,” the talkative guy chuckles. “I’m Adam, nice to meet you. This is Mitch.”

You shake hands with them introducing yourself as well.

“Y/N is… my student,” the professor adds as if he is clearing the air for his bandmates, a kind of warning for them.

From the direction of the parking lot two women emerge, laughing on something as they walk up to the four of you, both of them eyeing you curiously.

“Hey boys, who is this pretty girl?”

“Sarah, Charlotte, this is Y/N, she is my student. Y/N, these are my other band mates, Sarah and Charlotte,” the professor introduces you as you shake hands with them quickly.

“I-I’m sorry I interrupted your time with your friends, professor,” you shyly apologize, feeling like a complete intruder all of a sudden with all his bandmates around you.

“Interrupt? Sweetheart, that dude was about to do some unforgivable things to you, don’t apologize for needing help,” Adam snorts. “You’re lucky we were there.”

“What? What happened?” Sarah asks in confusion.

“Just… my asshole ex got a little too violent when I didn’t want to chit-chat with him,” you admit with a defeated sigh.

“Oh shit, but are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you smile faintly, though you still can feel his grip on your upper arm. “I, um… I better get going, I guess. Thank you for… the saving,” you say, a little lost about what should be said in this situation.

“You’re leaving? We were just about to go to a much better place, why don’t you come with us, forget about your ex a little?” Charlotte offers and you catch the professor’s panicked look for a split second.

“I, um… I don’t think I should, but thank you.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Sarah questions.

“Because I know how Professor Styles hates to mingle with students outside of lectures and I don’t want to cross any lines,” you truthfully admit. The professor furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t hate mingling with students,” he states.

“Well, you are surely not the most reachable professor on campus,” you chuckle lightly. “But it’s fine, I understand it. So I’ll just head home.”

“Come on, Harry. Let her tag along for just one drink!” Sarah begs and seemingly everyone would be happy to have you join for a little. The professor’s eyes meet yours, as if he is contemplating whether he should say yes or let you go home. When he finally speaks up you’re more surprised than when you realized it was him saving you from Victor.

“I guess you could use a drink after what happened in there,” he says, the tiniest smirk showing on his lips as your eyes shoot up.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, come on,” he nods and your little group heads down the street.

Turns out the place they were heading to was just two corners down, so they left all their stuff at the minivan at the parking lot for the time being. You slide into an empty booth, Adam and Mitch go to get the first round, so it’s just the three of you girls and the professor.

“So you’re in one of Harry’s lectures?” Charlotte asks with a warm smile.

“Yeah, for the second time, actually. Had him in first year, now it’s my fifth semester and I had no doubt I have to take his class if I have the chance.” You pay a glance at him, but he is staring at his hands on his lap, you can’t tell if it’s because he is uncomfortable with you there or if it’s something else.

“It’s so funny, because we’ve heard that he is known to be a good teacher but we never actually heard it from one of his students,” Sarah chuckles. “What’s he like?”

“Sarah, you enjoy talking about me when I’m very much present?” he scoffs, giving her a look, but she just shrugs innocently.

“Come on, I bet even you’re curious about what your students think of you. Now is your time to find it out!”

“I think Professor Styles knows very well that he is one of the best, if not the actual best,” you truthfully say and see him raise his eyebrows a little.

“What makes him so good?” Charlotte questions.

You glance at him again, as a way of asking for permission if you can answer. You definitely don’t want to make him even more uncomfortable by talking about him when he is right next to you. He looks into your eyes, and his expression tells you that he wants to hear your answer as well, but he quickly adds:

“You don’t have to answer, Y/N.”

“It’s not a secret,” you admit it with a smile. “Professor Styles’ lectures always leave you with a question to think about until next week, he is great at getting into your head without you even noticing. He explains the most complicated things in so simple ways, it should be taught,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I think his enormous knowledge about many different fields in science and just life in general is amusing, anyone can learn something from him, it’s guaranteed.”

“Wow, where is this academic genius side of yours when you’re around us, or we only get to see the dad joke version of you?” Sarah teases him and you can’t push down a laugh, imagining him cracking dad jokes feels so alien but still kind of fitting for him.

“That’s what you get when you’re a nosy little thing,” he retorts with a small smirk. He then turns to you, and as Sarah and Charlotte are laughing on something, he lowly tells you: “You can call me Harry outside of school. Feels weird that you call me professor when my friends are around.”

“You sure?”

He nods and you spot a small smile on his lips. He must be getting used to the feel of you being there, but you still don’t want to push his limits too much.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions, leaning back in his seat.

“Of course.”

“If your ex is this aggressive, why were you there with him?”

His question is surprising, you didn’t think he would ask you something personal, but you guess it’s a valid question after he just saved you from Victor.

“I wanted to get a book back that I left at his place. Didn’t even get to the point where he could have given it back,” you mumble under your breath.

“What book?”

“Just this… research methodology book, wanted it back for my thesis work, but I guess I’ll have to buy a new one,” you huff bitterly.

“Is it the one written by William Scott?”

“Y-Yeah, it is. You know it?” you ask, but then realize it’s a bit of a dumb question. He probably knows every academically important book you will ever come across.

“I actually have it myself,” he nods. Just then, Mitch and Adam return with the drinks and you thank them for the beer, already reaching for your money to pay, but Adam shakes his head.

“It’s on me, don’t worry.”

You watch as Mitch sits beside Sarah, curling an arm around her shoulders and though you couldn’t have guessed that they are a couple, seeing them like this it actually makes sense, they look cute together.

You take a sip from your beer, trying to join the conversation Sarah and Charlotte are having, when your attention is pulled back by Harry.

“I can… lend you the book, if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. I’ll just get a new one.”

“No, really. I think I even have two copies, I can give one to you.”

“I couldn’t ask you that, prof—I mean Harry.”

“You’re not asking,” he smiles at you softly. “I probably won’t need both, so why not put the extra into use?”

“Okay, but I’ll pay for it,” you insist, but Harry shakes his head.

“No need, one of them was a gift so I didn’t pay for it either.”

“Well… if you’re sure about it, I would love to have that extra copy, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So Y/N, what do you study exactly?” Adam questions, pulling you out of your little discussion with Harry.

“I’m majoring in anthropology, but I’ve been taking some psychology classes on the side just because I’m interested in the topics.”

“And what is Harry teaching you?”

“Had him for intro Sociology lecture first year, now I’m in his Methodology of Cultural Anthropology class.”

“All these subjects with their GY endings, I don’t know how you two put up with science on this level,” Sarah huffs in amusement.

“The names sometimes sound fancier than the subject itself,” you tell her smiling.

“But I bet you need to be quite smart to study these stuff on this level you are at.”

“Oh, it’s just a bachelorette degree, I wouldn’t say I’m that smart,” you chuckle shyly.

“She is totally toning it down,” Harry speaks up, catching everyone’s attention. “I know students tend to take my into Sociology class for just some extra credits so I always give them two options for the semester. They can either write a two pages long review of any article related to the topics talked about at lecture and get their strong C with the bare minimum, or actually participate and do a research of their own and turn in an at least seven pages long essay about their chosen topic. Y/N turned in an eleven pages long paper on the history of death sentences in the U.S. in the last fifty years and how society is thinking about it nowadays. It was easily one of the best works I’ve ever read and it was just an intro class.”

“You remember my essay?” you ask in complete shock.

“Of course. As I said, one of the bests I’ve read,” he nods confidently.

“So you’re like… on Harry’s smart level, actually?” Sarah asks, tilting her head to the side and you can feel yourself blushing.

You’ve always been said to be the smart kid at school, but you never thought it to be true yourself. In your book, you were just doing your absolute best, soaking in whatever knowledge was thrown in your way. You never actually understood how someone could just not study for an exam or not do an assignment, because you always felt like it was your duty to do the best you can. You thought yourself to be more of a hard-working student rather than a smart one.

“She is definitely a bright one,” Harry agrees, his eyes meeting yours as a small smile appears on his lips and you think that this is the biggest compliment you’ve ever gotten. “She actually tricked me with a psychological experiment and I didn’t even realize it,” he laughs and you can’t hold your smirk back.

“What? What did you do?” Charlotte asks, dying to know how you played Harry.

“Have you heard of the Pavlovian response?” you ask looking around and you can tell it rings a bell for all of them.

“The one with the dogs and the bell?” Mitch asks and you nod.

“Wait you did that on Harry?” Adam laughs with wide eyes and you just nod with a sly smile.

“I just offered him strawberry flavored candies every time I saw him. Took me six weeks to build up the response but he actually started expecting it whenever he saw me,” you tell them chuckling to yourself.

“And I only realized it when she stopped with the candy and I felt this massive feeling that something was missing,” Harry adds shaking his head with a soft laugh.

“Okay, that’s hilarious,” Sarah snorts clapping her hands together. “Y/N, I adore you, you’re brilliant!”

“It was just… an experiment,” you shrug shyly.

The night carries much faster than you realize. One drink turns into three and before you could realize, it’s already past midnight. Eden texts you, asking where you are since you said you’d just get the book and go home right away, but it’s been hours.

Y/N: Don’t freak out, but I’m at a bar with Prof. Styles and his friends. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow!

Eden: HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME NOT TO FREAK OUT AFTER READING THIS???!?!

Y/N: Lol, chill. Nothing extra is happening.

Eden: It’s already extra that you’re out with him.

Realizing how late it is, you decide you better get going, since it’s a long way back home. When you tell the little group that you’re about to head out, they all agree that it’s time to part ways and leave, so you all slowly make your way back to the parking lot.

“Do you know where the bus stop is back?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, trying to spot where you should be heading.

“You want to go home by bus at this time?” Harry asks.

“Well, I surely won’t pay for a ride, I live almost an hour away from here.”

“An hour?” he frowns. “I’ll take you home, come on,” he tells you, heading towards the minivan.

“What? No need. The bus is fine,” you protest, but he shakes his head.

“You are not taking the bus at this hour, not under my watch,” he simply states and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Didn’t realize I was under your watch,” you tease him and it seems like your comment caught him off-guard. “Don’t piss your pants, I was just joking,” you tell him, and thought for a second you feel like you are being way too comfortable around him, his smile quickly smashes your doubts.

Sarah, Mitch and Charlotte all take an Uber since they live near each other and Adam is picked up by his wife, so when everyone is off to their own way, you and Harry get in the van and head to your place.

“How long have you had the band?” you ask, in need to break the silence that’s been weighing down on the two of you. “If you don’t mind me asking,” you add quickly when you see him.

“About four years. Used to have another one, but we parted ways.”

“And what do you do in the band?”

“I, uhh… Well I mostly sing but I also play the guitar.”

“You know, I’m not that surprised you can sing,” you chuckle to yourself sinking further down in your seat.

“How come?”

“You have a voice that’s great to listen to at lectures, makes sense that you can sing as well.”

You take a moment to look at his hand that’s gripping the steering wheel, he is the kind that drives with one hand on the wheel, the other one on the shifting gear. He makes it look so easy as he steers the wheel whenever he is turning a corner while his other one easily moves around the shifting gear, his tattoos are peeking from under his rolled up shirt sleeve. He catches you staring and you feel a blush burning on your cheeks as you turn your head to the other side. Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk that third beer…

“Am I really seen that rigid by the students?” he speaks up after a while and you turn back to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“You said I’m known about not mingling with students.”

“Well, you don’t mingle, do you? But it doesn’t mean you come off as rigid. More like… closed-off. Private.”

“I know I should be a little friendlier, but I just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, I think everyone gets it why you’re like that.”

“Do they?” he arches an eyebrow.

“Well, you’re obviously a ladies’ favorite, but it doesn’t sit well with you being a person of some sort of power. It’s clear that you don’t want anyone to get the wrong picture about you. I’ve seen how bluntly girls are flirting with you, some of them are quite scandalous if you ask me,” you huff to yourself. “I totally get it that you don’t want even just a rumor to spread about you.”

“Didn’t think I was that obvious,” he admits, running his tongue over his lips.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re still a highly fancied professor, in all means,” you tell him with a warm smile.

“Does this mean you also fancy me?” he suddenly questions and your lips part at his words. He quickly realizes how ambiguous he just sounded. “I mean, am I one of your favorites? Where do I stand in your chart of professors?”

You can’t tell for sure because of the lack of lighting, but you could have sworn there’s a light blush on his cheeks as he corrects himself. Because of this, you don’t know for sure if he really meant it academically. Either way, the answer is the same.

“You’re my favorite,” you confidently state and your eyes meet for a moment before he turns back to face the road.

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet, you keep giving him directions to your place until you finally arrive a little before one am.

“Well, thank you for the ride,” you smile at him, grabbing the door handle.

“See you on Monday,” he nods shortly and watches as you get out of the can.

“Yeah, see you, professor,” you smirk before shutting the door and walking up the stairs and disappearing in your building.

“Was that Professor Styles in the fucking minivan?!” Nat throws the question at you the moment you open the front door.

“Jesus, why are you still up?” you sigh, shutting the door and shimmying yourself out of your coat.

“Because we were waiting for you!” Eden rolls her eyes. “So, care to tell us what the fuck just happened?” The three of you get comfortable on the couch and you give them a quick rundown of your evening from meeting Victor through being saved by Harry right to him offering to drive you home and they listen to you with wide eyes in complete shock that you just spent your entire evening with the most handsome professor on campus who also happens to be the most private as well.

“If I didn’t see him sitting in that van with my own eyes I would straight up think you’re lying, but I saw his tattooed hand over the windshield,” Nat gasps, processing the story.

“I know, I still feel like it didn’t happen, but it did.”

“And what is he like around his friends? What are his friends like?” Eden questions, hugging her knees to her chest.

“He is pretty much just like in lecture, just jokes a little more and he has a looser vocab. His friends are hilarious, I really got along with Sarah.”

“I know you still think it won’t happen, but I actually think you have a shot at him, Y/N,” Eden points it out and you just chuckle.

“Why, because he saved me from my douche ex?”

“No, because he let you stay for the night with him and his friends. This is literally the first ever time a student hung out with him.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Harry is a reserved and private person—“

“Harry?!” they gasp at the same time.

“You are now just casually calling him Harry?” Nat asks with ogling eyes.

“Well, yes, he asked me to, because it felt weird that I was calling him Professor Styles with his friends around.”

“Okay, I’m giving it… let’s say, he seems to be moving pretty slow, but y’all will be fucking in about six months,” Nat bluntly tells you and it makes you laugh.

“Oh, sure, whatever. I’m gonna shower and head to bed, you two don’t get too crazy with your fairytales,” you wave at them before disappearing in the bathroom.

The rest of the weekend goes by uneventfully, outside of the pathetic attempt from Victor to get you to talk to him, but you’ve had enough of him for a life so you finally block his number and hope you won’t ever see him again.

Both you and Eden oversleep on Monday morning, skipping your early morning lecture and already being late for Harry’s class as well, so you barely make it to Harry’s class in time, just sprinting up the rows, flopping down to your usual seats when Harry starts the lecture. It all goes as usual as if nothing really happened during the weekend, Harry doesn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. Glancing over at his desk you spot the book he promised you and you can’t hold your smile back. Still grinning, your eyes accidentally meet with his gaze and he stops for a heartbeat as if he is questioning why you are so smiley, but you just shake your head and he carries on before anyone could suspect a thing.

“I gotta run, my favorite TA is having his office hours now and I have a few questions for him. See you at home?” Eden asks once the lecture is over and you are getting ready to leave.

“Sure, have a good day!” you call after her and she sings a ‘you too!’ before running out of the room.

You pack up and head down between the rows, Harry spotting you right away and you go up to him without him even asking you to.

“Hey, sorry we were a little late to class this morning,” you tell him and he just shakes his head kindly.

“No worries. How… is your arm?” He furrows his eyebrows, his gaze wandering down to your forearm where Victor grabbed you on Saturday.

“Oh, it’s fine. I just have a little bruise,” you shrug, because it really isn’t that big deal, but you can tell Harry is still outraged by what happened.

“M’sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. Would be worse if you weren’t there,” you smile at him kindly and he nods to himself before turning to his desk.

“I, uhh, I brought the book we talked about,” he shyly says grabbing it from the desk. As people are exiting the room you can feel the glares on yourself, most of them are probably trying to figure out why Harry is talking to you for so long, but you don’t pay much attention to them as you take the book he hands you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay for it?”

“No need, keep it, it’s yours,” he shakes his head with a small smile.

“Thank you then.” You slide the book into your bag before looking back up at him. “Well, I’ll see you on Wednesday, professor,” you smile warmly before heading out.

“See you!” he calls after you before you close the door behind you.

The week carries on as usual, you are working on papers that needs to be turned in before the fall break so you spend some extra time at the library, using every bit of free time you have so you finish everything on time.

Things go back to kind of normal with Harry, he greets you in the mornings when you walk into the lecture hall and other than the warm smile he occasionally gives you, nothing has changed.

Friday however brings a surprise, but not from Harry. You’re sitting at work in the afternoon, typing away on your computer, filling in some sheets when you get a notification on your phone from Instagram.

Sarah Jones is now following you!

You tap on her profile but see that it’s private so without a second thought you request following. Luckily, she approves you only a few seconds later and you gain access to her posts, quite a few of them featuring Harry on them.

Photos of birthdays, weekend getaways, band practices and performances, Harry makes a lot of appearances on her feed and you find yourself scrolling all the way down until you reach the first few posts from 2016. Just as you are about to leave her profile you get a message from her.

Sarah: Hey Y/N! Charlotte and I’ve been talking about you recently, loved having you with us last Saturday! Want to grab a drink with the two of us this weekend?

Y/N: Would love to, but I’m not sure Harry would like the idea…

Sarah: He won’t be there and besides, who is he to tell you who you can and can’t hang out with?

She is right. You enjoyed spending time with them as well and Harry has little to no word in if you want to meet up with his friends or not. This invitation has no connection to him being your professor.

Y/N: Alright, I’m down!

 This is how your friendship with Sarah and Charlotte starts. You meet up with them on Saturday and have an amazing time, they are definitely fun people to spend time with and though at first you feel hesitant to get closer to them, you soon forget about your doubts and just enjoy your time with them.

Your little girls night goes so well that they invite you out for dinner on Wednesday with Mitch joining the little trio. You learn that he is a quiet but hilarious guy, he and Sarah make a great couple, you think.

“We have a gig this Saturday at Green Light, want to come?” Charlotte asks at the end of the dinner.

“Okay, I really don’t think Harry would be a fan of that idea,” you point out, feeling like it’s surely over the lines. He still doesn’t know about you meeting some of his friends without him and you’re not sure how he would react if he did.

“Harry can fuck off, not everything is about him. We are inviting you as our friends, he just happens to be in the band as well,” Sarah rolls her eyes, clearly not as bothered by the situation as you are.

“I just don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“He is a big boy, he’ll get himself over it, don’t worry. So, are you coming?”

“I guess, alright,” you nod with a soft chuckle.

 Next week you contemplate telling Harry that Sarah invited you out for their gig, but at last you decide against it, something is telling you he would try to talk you down and now you’re pretty hyped to see them perform. So you keep quiet and just brace yourself for the worst when Saturday comes.

You don’t overdress for the occasion, decide to wear some light washed mom jeans and a simple sweater tucked into it, a casual look for a night out.

Even when you’re on your way to the place you are having second guesses whether it’s a good idea or not, but you tell yourself it’s not that big of a deal and if Harry flips, you’ll just tell him you came for Sarah and Charlotte.

As you get off the bus and walk towards the place, you immediately spot the little group of three next to Harry’s minivan, Sarah waving in your way as you become visible in the streetlights.

“There she is!” she beams happily and you just chuckle at her.

Harry is standing with his back facing your way but seeing Sarah’s reaction he turns around and you swear for a moment you think he is about to faint when he spots you.

“Hey everyone,” you smile as Sarah pulls you into a hug and Charlotte does the same.

“Hey, if it isn’t our little trouble seeker!” Adam teases you and you just roll your eyes at him before shyly glancing at Harry who is standing on your left, awfully quiet and deep in his thoughts since your arrival. He feels your eyes on him and his gaze meets yours and just by one look you can tell he is pissed.

Just as you thought.

The group chats a little longer outside before Adam suggests they head inside and get ready for their start and you are just about to follow them, but Harry keeps you back.

“Y/N, can we have a word?”

Staying back you nod, hiding your hands in your coat’s pockets as you look at him, lips curled into your mouth.

“What are you doing here?” he questions, eyebrows knitted together and he looks so damn intimidating, the neon lights from the front of the building tinting part of his face green, but you think red would suit him better with this look.

“I… came to see the band playing, what do you mean?”

“Is this your sneaky way of trying to come after me? Because I thought we had a very clear discussion about my thoughts regarding situations like this and you seemed to understand it.”

He comes off way angrier than you think he should be. Yes, it might be uncomfortable for him to see you here, but the tone he just hit is way too harsh for your liking and professor or not, you are not letting anyone talk to you like that when it’s completely not relevant.

“Okay, calm down. First of all, I was invited here.”

“By who?” he spats.

“Sarah and Charlotte, we met last weekend and had dinner this week as well. Had a great time and they asked me to come tonight as well, so get off of your high horse, I’m not here for you.” You can see the change on his face as the information sinks in and he realizes he accused you wrongly, but you’re not quite done with him. “But if I was here to see you, why does that bother you so much? You can’t avoid meeting students every minute when you’re off-campus. If I came here because of you, it shouldn’t affect you this much if you weren’t worried about something else than me just being here,” you point out and he furrows his eyebrows at you. “If I didn’t know better I would think you’re afraid to be around me because you actually like me, huh!” you tell him with an innocent yet suggesting look. His eyes widen and the confidence in himself quickly vanishes from him, replaced by anxiety and nervous looks as he realizes the meaning behind your words.

“I-I, that’s not—I’m not—“

“Take a breath before you pass out, Harry,” you sigh, dropping the hard act. “I didn’t come here for you and if you want to know I actually thought a lot about canceling because of you. But I genuinely like spending time with Sarah and Charlotte so I’m here as their friend.”

Harry stares back at you, completely defeated, regret filling his green eyes. You feel a little guilty for snapping so hard at him, after all you do understand his point of view, but you genuinely don’t think it’s as big of a deal as he makes it to be.

“I-I’m…”

“It’s fine, okay? Let’s just… move past it, alright?” you suggest and he nods as the two of you head inside, joining the rest of the group.

You stay behind while they are waiting for their time to perform, keeping some distance from Harry so he can’t accuse you again, but you occasionally look his way, catching him already looking at you, but you just can’t tell what could be possibly going on in his head. When it’s time for them to go on stage, you go out to the actual bar area and sit by the counter, not too much at the front but close enough to see everything that happens on the stage.

When they start playing you can’t take your eyes off Harry. His energy behind the microphone just knocks you off the stool and you watch him completely mesmerized as if he has put a spell on you. It feels like he turns into an entirely different person on stage, nothing like the man you see at lectures every Monday and Wednesday. He sings perfectly on key, putting some extra charm into the songs with his little additional tunes whenever he is not singing a line.

But what makes it absolutely impossible to look away from him is because he keeps staring at you, eyes locking with yours for way too long every time he catches your gaze. You try to ignore it, but it’s quite hard when his eyes are basically burning into you, it leaves you breathless.

Once the concert is over you order yourself two tequila shots quickly, because something is telling you that you’ll need the boosting if you want to face Harry after his little performance.

But for your surprise, when you join the band again and get near him, nothing really happens. It seems like Harry has come to peace with your presence in his little group of friends and he actually treats you like you’re part of the circle.

The six of you occupy a table at the back of the bar to spend there the rest of the evening and it’s all good, it seems. A harmless night out with a bunch of friends, nothing extra. Harry actually strikes up conversations with you involved and you feel like you’ve overcome a banter finally.

“Do you need a ride home?” Harry asks at the end of the night when everyone is about to head home.

“Only if it’s fine by you.”

“Wouldn’t offer it if it wasn’t,” he smiles shortly before the two of you say goodbye to the rest of the group and head to his van that was previously loaded with their stuff.

The ride back to your place is now much shorter, it takes less than ten minutes to arrive and you are just about to say goodbye when he speaks up.

“I want to apologize for the way I reacted to your arrival earlier tonight. It was… unnecessary.”

“It’s fine, I’m sorry for what I said after that too.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he shakes his head, staring down at his hands in his lap.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you shouldn’t be sorry for saying something that’s true.”

It feels like all air is knocked out of you as his words process and you stare at him with parted lips and raised eyebrows. When he finally looks up at you, he looks so lost and tortured, you feel the urge to hug him, but you stay still as he continues talking.

“I got mad because I do like you and seeing you outside of school is very… confusing for me. And this is why I’m gonna be very straightforward with you now. I can tell Sarah and Charlotte like you a lot and they are stubborn, they won’t see the situation from my point of view and I’m no one to tell you if you can hang out with us or not. But what I can most certainly tell you is that nothing will happen between us. I’m very serious about this, Y/N. You are very much welcomed to spend more time with us, but I want you to know that it won’t go further than this.”

For a couple of moments you’re only able to stare back at him, blinking completely frozen at his sudden confession. You could tell tonight has been a turning point of some kind, but you were not expecting this speech from him at all and now you are at a complete loss of words. It takes some time before you actually find your voice.

“Okay,” is all you can breathe out, nothing more, but it’s pretty much all you have to tell him. You won’t go against his will and force him to do something he doesn’t want. He deserves the respect.

He nods shortly, seemingly still very torn about the situation and you figure it’s better if you just leave now.

“Thank you for the ride,” you quietly tell him opening the door. “Good night.”

“Good night, Y/N,” you hear him before you shut the door and walk into your building, feeling like you’ve been just hit by a pile of bricks.

Unlike the last time when Harry brought you home, Nat and Eden are not waiting for you in the living room. Nat is probably already asleep and Eden went out for a date earlier and she hasn’t been back. You don’t bother to turn the lights on as you walk inside, just kick your boots off and hang your coat before collapsing onto the couch, just staring into the darkness, Harry’s words repeating in your head again and again.

“… I do like you and seeing you outside of school is very confusing for me.”

“… nothing will happen between us. I’m very serious about this, Y/N.”

“… but I want you to know that it won’t go further than this.”

Harry, your professor, The Harry Styles admitted that he likes you but also told you pretty forward that nothing is ever going to happen between the two of you. It still feels like a fever dream and you’re not sure how you are feeling about it just yet. Hanging out with him was already quite overwhelming, but you were not expecting this confession from him at all.

What are you supposed to do with this information? If he is so set on not taking any further steps, why did he even share it with you? He could have just easily keep his thoughts and feelings to himself and get away with it without you ever figuring it out. It doesn’t make sense.

For the first time in your life, something Harry Styles said doesn’t make sense. That’s new.

Following Harry’s confession you truly have no idea what to do, so you just go with the flow. He seemingly stays the same when it comes to you, friendly, but still keeping his distance. Nothing changes in the lecture hall, he just occasionally asks if you’re alright and you are guessing he only wants to know if you are having any trouble with Victor, but you haven’t even heard from him since you’ve blocked his number and you hope it’s going to stay like that.

You meet up with him and the band a few times outside of school and it’s not necessarily awkward, but you can tell he is keeping his distance from you, he never sits next to you or has one-on-one conversations with you, only if it’s necessary. The only time he dares to be alone with you is when he sometimes offers you to drive you home. You usually say no at first, but he insists, so you end up sitting in silence in the car until you arrive home, say goodbye and end of story.

No one in school even suspects that you’ve made your way into Harry’s group of friends, only Nat and Eden knows about it but they swore to keep it a secret, but you didn’t tell them about Harry’s confession. Whatever it is that’s happening between you and Harry, you would never put him into a situation he is trying to avoid so badly. You sit in his classes like everyone else, but while all the other girls are drooling over him, trying to get just slightly closer to him in any way possible, you sit in silence and think about the precious times when you get to see him outside of school.

Even with him being so distant towards you, you can’t help but slowly start falling for him. He doesn’t have to talk to you or be direct to you, it’s enough that you see him as himself, you see him with his friends, how he acts whenever he is not teaching, standing on the podium. And he is an amazing person, there’s no doubt about that.

The semester is gradually moving forward, once you get back from fall break, you basically move into the library, studying for your exams and finishing up all your papers. December arrives pretty fast and before you realize, the whole town is decorated with lights and Christmas trees everywhere, the shops are trying to lure customers in with all the sales and the Christmas shopping officially starts.

One weekend, when there’s only two weeks left of school before everyone heads home for the holidays, you and Nat go for a shopping trip, trying to buy every gift in time so you don’t have to worry about that at least last minute.

Wandering around the mall you naturally take a trip to the bookstore, always ready to buy something new to read. Nat dives into the cooking books wanting to get one for her mother while you’re just aimlessly looking through the shelves. As your eyes are running through the titles in the psychology department, you stop at one particular book, pulling it off the shelf as you can’t help but smile to yourself.

The secrets of Classical Conditioning.

You flip through the pages and though it doesn’t seem to be a groundbreaking work, it’s just explaining Pavlov’s experiment and further uses of it, you still decide to buy it.

That evening you sit at your desk, the book open in front of you, a pen next to it as you try to think of something to write into it. At first you just wanted to give it to Harry as it is, but you figured it would be a nice gesture to write a few words into it he could always read when he opens the book. After some consideration, you finally grab the pen and start writing.

-

Dear Harry,

I will always think of you whenever I hear of Mr. Ivan Petrovics Pavlov or Classical Conditioning. Thank you for another amazing semester and I’m happy I got to see you without standing on a podium. You are an amazing man, never change.

Happy holidays,

Y/N

-

Last week of school, you go to the Wednesday lecture, the last one of the semester with the book sitting in your bag. All through the 90 minutes class as Harry is having an open discussion about the lecture with the students, you keep debating whether you should give him the book or not. When the lecture is over and Harry wishes everyone happy holidays, you grab it from your bag and holding it to your chest you wait until there’s only a few people in the room. Eden has already left to hand in a paper so you walk down the rows on your own, eyes on the man behind his desk who is now packing up his papers and notes, getting ready to leave.

“Harry?” you faintly speak his name, grabbing his attention as he looks up at you from behind the desk. You glance down at the book in your hands and before you could change your mind, you place it down in front of him. “This is… for you.”

His gaze wanders down to the book, then back at you as he stares at you in awe, obviously surprised by the gesture.

“What’s this for?”

“Christmas gift?” you answer unsurely with a nervous chuckle. “I just saw it at the store and… thought of you.”

“Y/N, I can’t—“

“Yes you can and you will,” you roll your eyes at him, tired of hearing all these negations from him. He can’t, he won’t, he shouldn’t… for once, he definitely will if it’s on you. “Take it as my payment for the book you gave me.”

His eyes soften at you before he looks down at the book again, reading the title before he chuckles to himself.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he then finally says, accepting that you won’t let him return the gift under any circumstances.

“Have a nice Christmas, Harry,” you smile at him shyly, hands holding onto the strap of your bag as you start walking away.

“You too,” he faintly says and turning around you start walking, but then he stops you. “Y/N, wait!”

You stop in your track and face him curiously. He seems hesitant, stepping away from the desk, walking closer to you but still keeping some distance between the two of you.

“Do you… have plans for New Year’s Eve?”

“I, uhh—No, not yet.”

“If you happen to be back in town by then… Sarah is having this little get together. I have a feeling she already invited you, but if you said no because of me, I want you to know that it’s fine by me. Would be nice if you could come.”

He is right, Sarah did invite you over, but you kindly declined thinking Harry wouldn’t appreciate if you spent it with them. You wanted to give him a breather, have a night with his friends without having to avoid you all the time, but it seems like the situation has changed for him.

“You don’t have to invite me just because I gave you a gift, Harry.”

“It’s not about that,” he shakes his head softly. “I can tell you are getting along well with Sarah and all the others. I want you to know that I would never stand in the way and you are very much welcomed at any and all events.”

He seems and sounds genuine, you don’t see any sign of him just saying it because Sarah asked him to or something. No, this definitely came from him.

“Okay, I’ll… think about it,” you tell him with a warm smile. “See you around,” you wave at him before walking out of the room.

You don’t get to see his reaction to the words you wrote into the book and for a while, you’re not even sure he saw it. Maybe he took it home and put it on his shelf without even having a look into it, but two days later, when you’re already packing, getting ready to go home for Christmas, you get a notification that at first confuses you.

Breakfast is now following you!

You open Instagram with furrowed eyebrows as you go to the profile that just followed you. It’s a small account and private, of course and you almost close it thinking it’s just someone random when you see that it’s followed by both Sarah and Charlotte.

Could this be Harry’s profile?

The username is colazione8, it doesn’t give away much but now that you are thinking about it, it’s perfect if he wanted to stay unnoticed by his students that surely can use Instagram way better than him.

You tap on the follow request button and anxiously wait for an approval, hoping that the person behind the account is still online. You wait and wait, slowly losing hope but then the notification finally arrives. Your request has been approved.

You tap on the profile vigorously and three pictures appear in front of you. One is a picture of some random building, the first ever posted is a plate of nicely served breakfast of some sort and then there’s one that features the person you were desperately hoping to see.

It’s a picture of Harry sitting at a big dining table, a glass of wine in front of him as he is squinting his eyes towards the camera. You zoom into the picture just to make sure it’s him, but his features are clearer than daylight, it really is Harry that just followed you.

You’re still stalking his very private and not too eventful profile when you get a message from him, making your heart skip a beat.

Harry: Hey! Just wanted to thank you again for the gift, it’s really thoughtful. Read what you wrote in it… thank you, Y/N.

Y/N: I meant every word. Thank you for everything you did this semester!

It takes a few minutes for a response to arrive from him.

Harry: Are you already on your way home?

Y/N: Not yet, leaving tomorrow morning.

Harry: If I drop by your place in 20, can you come down for a sec?

Y/N: Sure!

Though your response seemed totally cool, you started panicking right away. What does this mean? Why is he coming here? Are you in trouble? You couldn’t be, you didn’t do anything wrong.

You quickly change out of your worn-out sweats and stained shirt, putting on a pair of jeans and a black hoodie, not wanting to see him looking like a total wreck. You sit on your bed, anxiously checking your phone every ten seconds to see if he has messaged you and those twenty minutes never seem to pass.

Then your phone finally chimes again.

Harry: I’m here.

Y/N: Be there in a sec.

You jump into a pair of trainers and grabbing your keys from the little sidetable you have in the hallway you storm out of the apartment, running down the stairs. As you walk out you stop in your track for a second, for some reason you were expecting the minivan, but this time, it’s a black Range Rover that’s parked in front of your building and Harry emerges from it the moment you step outside.

“Hey!” he smiles at you, shutting the door before he jogs around and you notice the little gift bag in his hands.

“Harry, is this what I think it is? Because you shouldn’t have, really,” you tell him right away as he stands in front of you, glancing down at the little bag in his hands.

“What? So you are allowed to give me a gift, but I’m not allowed to do the same?” he asks with a cheeky smile.

“But you already gave me one!”

“That wasn’t a real gift, so no,” he shakes his head, too stubborn to let it go. So instead, he nervously glances down at the little bag before handing it to you. “Here. Happy Christmas. But you can only open it when I’m gone, alright?”

“Why?”

“Just… please,” he breathes out and you not, keeping your curious hands to yourself.

“Alright. Well, thank you, Harry.”

“Sure. Um, have a great winter break and… I’ll see you around,” he smiles, walking around the car back to the side of the driving seat.

“You too, Harry. See you!”

You see him drive away as you walk back into the building, basically running up the stairs to your apartment, dying to see what’s in the little bag. Once you are locked in the safe haven of your room, you throw yourself to the bed and reach into the bag, finding a small box. One that’s usually used for jewelry. You pull it out with shaky fingers and take a deep breath before opening it.

Inside sits the cutest little silver ring you’ve literally ever seen. It’s thin and very detailed, tiny little strawberries lining next to each other and that’s the whole ring. Just the little strawberries, but it’s still the cutest you’ve ever seen. You put it on and it fits perfectly on your ring finger, holding up your hand you take a good look at how it sits on your finger. You’re in love with it.

Rolling to your back on the bed you stare up at the ceiling with a heavy heart aching for a man you know will never be yours, but you just can’t help it. The heart wants what it wants, right?

Reaching for your phone you type him a quick message

Y/N: Harry, thank you so much! It’s beautiful! But you shouldn’t have bought me anything!

Harry: I’m glad you like it :)

Y/N: I love it.

He doesn’t respond, just likes your message.

Christmas is always the same, especially because your family just never had those juicy dramas that could ruin any family events. Holidays have always been quiet and loving, pretty predictable. It’s good to be home again and spend quality time with your loved one, though your mind keeps wandering to a particular someone.

Sarah mentioned that Harry has traveled home to his mom and sister and from time to time you catch yourself thinking about what he could be possibly doing at the moment.

The only interaction between the two of you is when you post a photo with your sister and brother at Christmas dinner and he likes the photo, but nothing more. He doesn’t post or add to his story so you are left with your own elaborate fantasies of what he could possiblybe doing at home.

Sarah convinces you to spend the New Year’s Eve at hers and you are accepting the invitation a lot easier now that Harry has told you he is fine with you joining.

Just one day before the 31st you get back to your apartment and spend the second to last night of the year spiraling about the whole situation with Harry. Where are you two standing as of right now? Was his gift a gesture with a deeper meaning behind it?

You can’t step over the fact that you are not his student anymore. He has officially graded you and you’ve received your credits for his class, the ties are off, but he situation might still be risky and you doubt Harry is willing to change his mind about what he told you earlier. He made it clear that nothing will ever happen between the two of you, however you can’t help but feel a little hopeful that the new semester might bring a change into that.

After two hours spent in front of your closet and at least three mental breakdowns you finally decide to wear a black turtleneck dress which is just the perfect mixture of modest and sexy at the same time. You feel anxious to see Harry again, not sure how to act around him following your little gift exchange. There’s a chance he’ll just shut himself off once again and avoid you all night, you can’t tell.

Sarah’s place is already buzzing by the time you arrive, several guests are lounging in the living room and kitchen, some soft music is playing and it appears that everyone is enjoying the evening so far, judging from the laughter you hear from time to time.

“I’m so glad you came!” Sarah envelopes in a tight hug when you arrive.

“Thank you for inviting me. Here, brought some snacks,” you hand her the grocery bag you picked up on your way, not wanting to arrive empty-handed.

“Oh, you are an angel, some on in, make yourself home, take whatever you want to eat or drink!” she gestures around before bringing the bag into the kitchen.

The cozy home is already filled with a lot of people you don’t know, but you also spot Charlotte and Mitch right away so you take the safe spot in their little circle. You try your best to stay present in the conversation but you keep glancing around, looking for one particular person.

And then you finally see him. Harry emerges from the little hallway that leads to the bedroom and bathroom with Adam, seemingly deep in conversation as he nurses a beer in his hand. His checkered slacks and vintage printed t-shirt makes him appear so casual, if you didn’t know him you wouldn’t even guess that he is actually a professor.

Harry laughs at something Adam just told him and his eyes glide around the room until they find you standing near the kitchen. He stops in his track, gaze running down your figure before it returns to your eyes and he seems to be in awe, like he doesn’t entirely believe it’s you he is seeing even though he knew you’d be coming. There’s nothing you want more than to run across the room and throw yourself into his arms. You spent way too much time thinking about him during Christmas and seeing him in the flesh now is a mixture of feelings you can’t really describe just now.

Neither of you leaves the conversation you are in the middle, but you keep glancing towards each other. You’re nervously moving the strawberry ring around your finger, feeling his burning gaze on your figure all the time. You haven’t taken it down since he has given it to you, it partially made it harder for you to stop thinking about him, because the jewelry was quite a loud reminder every time you glanced down at your hands.

Two drinks later your sister calls you, as always she wants to say happy new year before the lines get hectic at midnight, so you move out to the small balcony facing the street as you talk to your sister. The spicy night air feels amazing on your heated up skin, the turtleneck dress was a good choice, but it’s definitely getting hotter with each drink, especially with Harry’s lingering eyes as well. When you end the call you decide to stay outside a little longer, take a few moments to yourself.

You jump a little when you hear the sliding door open and you’re surprised to see Harry walk out.

“Hey, thought you might need this,” he smiles softly, holding a blanket in his hands.

“Oh, thank you,” you mumble and let him wrap it around your shoulders. It provides just enough heat that your lips are not shaking anymore from the cold.

“What are you doing out here alone? Not enjoying the evening?”

“I am, I was just on the phone with my sister.”

“She’s older than you, right?” he asks and you tilt your head a little looking at him.

“How do you know that?”

“I, uhh… You have a lot of pictures with her on your Instagram,” he admits with a nervous chuckle.

“Have you been stalking my profile?” you tease him, but he clearly takes it way more serious than you intended it to be.

“No, I swear it’s not like that, I just—“ he stammers but you cut him off placing a hand on his arms that are crossed over his chest.

“Harry, I was just teasing you. It’s fine,” you assure him, giving him a gentle squeeze before you are about to pull your hand back, but his hold stops you. He takes your hand in his, gently bringing it closer to his face as he examines the ring sitting on your finger.

“You’re wearing it,” he breathes out, a small cloud emitting from his pink lips as his thumb softly runs over the ring.

“Of course. I told you I love it.”

You can’t ignore the shiver that runs down your spine at the feeling of his warm palm against yours, his thumb delicately running over not just the ring, but down your finger as well before he lets go of your hand. You already miss his touch.

“So, how was Christmas?” he asks clearing his throat.

“Good, nothing extra. What about yours?”

“Same, went home to the family.”

“Do you often visit them?”

“Not as often as I would want to, but I’m trying to go every couple of months.” Harry turns towards the street, eyes running along the not too busy road that stretches past Sarah’s building. His hand comes up to the railing, fingers slightly drumming on it. “How come you didn’t bring anyone tonight?”

“Well, my roommates are still home and I also didn’t think you’d like the idea to have another student of yours around.”

“Right, yeah,” he nods, but you can tell something else is still on his mind. “So… no boyfriend to bring?”

You give him a puzzled look. Is this his way of asking if you are seeing anyone at the moment? Because if it is, it’s kind of ridiculous.

“No, not really. I guess you can say I’m not looking for one actively.”

“How come?” he asks with raised eyebrows, his body turning towards you as he leans against the railing. You give him a ‘really?’ look. You think about getting a little sassy and teasing with him, but then decide to just be straightforward instead.

“Because I’m kind of into my Methodology of Cultural Anthropology professor.”

Harry’s lips part as his eyes pierce into yours and for a moment you really think that he is about to flip, tell me how dare you say such thing to him and curse you out, but a second passes and his gaze softens as he lets out a shaky breath.

“Y/N…”

“What? I just answered your question,” you innocently shrug, looking away from him. Despite this long and weird game the two of have been playing these past months, this is the first time you openly admitted that you have a thing for him.

“You know how complicated it is and I told you that nothing can happen.” He shakes his head in defeat, a hint of disappointment in his tone, but it just grinds your gears.

“What, so you can ask about my dating life but I can’t say that I’m into you? How is that fair?”

“That’s not the same.”

“Well I think it is. Both are highly inappropriate to bring up in our situation, don’t you think? Yet you’re trying to put all the blame on me.”

“Alright, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Let’s just… forget about it. I really don’t want to fight with you.”

“Because you’re afraid I might actually win?” you sassily reply, crossing your arms on your chest.

“I’m just trying to do the right thing, okay? Would you… let me?”

“If you haven’t realized it yet, I’m trying really hard to stay in my lane, but you’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m trying too, okay?” he growls, clearly losing his calmness at this point. “I’m really fucking trying, Y/N, but it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do!”

“You’re the one making it hard!”

“It’s not my fucking fault I can’t stop thinking about you!”

“Well it’s not my fault either!” you snap at him, both of you raising your voice, the rest of the party oblivious about the screaming match the two of you are having on the balcony. “If you’re so set on not letting anything happen, why do you come to me and act the opposite?”

“The opposite?!”

“Yes! It’s not quite appropriate to gift your student with a ring or ask them about their dating life. Or is it all new information to you?”

“You started with the gifting!”

“So what? You could have just left it there, but you didn’t. It’s not that it didn’t make me happy, but don’t try to put all the blame on me for saying something when you’re already crossing the lines.”

Harry stares at you with a hard look and you’d pay great amounts to actually read his thoughts at this moment. His jaw clenches as he exhales sharply, eyes turning away from you, as if he couldn’t even bear to look at you.

“Make up your fucking mind,” you growl under your breath as you push your way past him and walk inside before he could get a word out.

For a well-respected, educated and smart man, Harry can act pretty fucking stupid, you think. He is not being fair and you will not apologize for anything you’ve said. If he doesn’t want anything to do with you, he needs to stay in his lane and not dance on the line, poking the sleeping lion. He doesn’t get to fuck around and then put all the blame on you, that’s just not how it works and he needs to learn that.

In the last hour that’s left until midnight you mingle with the guests and try to keep your thoughts of Harry at bay, though it’s quite the challenge since he lingers around you, keeping his eyes on you all the time, as if he is trying to piss you off or something, but you’re determined to be a mature adult and keep your composure.

You’re getting tired of this game and you’re not sure anymore if you are willing to wait around until Harry makes his mind up. Not when he doesn’t keep his own rules at least.

“Come on,” you mumble to yourself as you’re trying to open up a new bottle of wine, but the screw just wouldn’t move, no matter what you do. A hand reaches forward and wraps around the neck of the bottle, interrupting your pathetic misery.

“Let me help you.”

You let Harry take the bottle, biting into your bottom lip as you turn around and watch him easily open the bottle you’ve been fighting with the past ten minutes, he grabs your empty glass from the counter and fills it.

“Thank you,” you mumble when he hands it back and you take a sip right away. He places the bottle to the counter, fingers strumming on the surface before he takes a deep breath and speaks up.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“For what exactly?”

“For the way I acted. You were totally right, I called you out for things that I did myself too, that was unfair of me.” He clears his throat, leaning against the counter with his back side as he crosses his arms on his chest. It brings out how toned his arms really are and you give yourself half a second to drool over that before you take another sip from your drink, forcing yourself to keep your thoughts under control.

“Thanks for acknowledging it,” you mumble, not sure what to say exactly. The two of you stand like that in silence, eyes roaming the guests, something clearly weighing down on both of you, but it’s hard to name and address it.

You can tell he is overthinking, the gears are almost visible, turning in that smart head of his, but you don’t want him to go into depths he shouldn’t. He really is making a bigger deal out of the situation that it already is, but it’s going to wreck him.

“Okay, I want to know, what was the worst way someone tried to flirt with you?”

Harry turns to you with a puzzled look, but you just sip on your wine, waiting for his answer.

“Um, I don’t… really keep track of it.”

“Oh come on,” you give him a look. “I know you have a story. I wanna hear it!”

Your eyes meet and he is searching in yours, trying to figure out what’s the sudden change in your mood when an hour ago you were ready to throw him off the balcony. Truth is you are just frustrated, because the situation feels so impossible. You never had to deal with such an amazing man, knowing he is into you as well, but you just can’t have him. The struggle is hard for the both of you but you can’t blame him entirely. Hating on him because he is not willing to take a risk that could easily ruin his entire life but at least his academic career is just not fair and you won’t put him through that.

Harry sees where you’re coming from and he shoots you a thankful smile before it turns into a smirk as he looks down at his hands.

“Professor Davids from the department of linguistics asked me to be her date for her ex-husband’s wedding.”

“What?” you gasp with wide eyes. “For real?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “She started swinging by my office all the time, trying to chat me up and then one day she asked if I wanted to go with her, that we would be staying at this nice hotel and all… she really thought it was a good idea.”

“That’s very awkward,” you laugh, entertained by the thought that Professor Davids would go so low when it came to dating. “I assume, you declined the invitation.”

“Faster than ever,” he chuckles making you laugh even louder. “Okay, your turn.”

“What?”

“I told you an awkward story, now it’s your turn.”

“Um, the worst was probably a promposal I got.”

“A promposal?” he asks with a puzzled look, his forehead creasing as he pulls his eyebrows together.

“Yeah, when they ask you out to go to prom.” “Oh, yeah. Didn’t know it had a specific name.”

“Because you are way too British,” you tease him and he just gives you a narrow-eyed look, but you can see the smirk hiding on his lips. “Well, anyway, I was dating a guy senior year, but this other one was convinced he could win me over and take me to prom. He brought a fucking mariachi band to school and gave me a serenade in the middle of the hallway while my boyfriend was standing next to me. He asked me to prom so confidently at the end of the song, like he actually had a shot but it was so painfully awkward,” you laugh at the memory shaking your head and Harry joins, finding it quite entertaining.

“He really did that to himself.”

“He did, I felt bad a little, but what was I supposed to do?”

You slip into telling more and more awkward stories, staying in the kitchen you create a little bubble, the rest of the guests don’t seem to exist as you enjoy yourself with Harry. This is the most carefree and loosest you’ve ever seen him around you and you quite like this version of him. So easy to talk to and even funnier than his usual self.

A little before midnight Sarah runs around with champagne, filling everyone’s glass, getting ready for the countdown. You and Harry join Charlotte, Adam and his wife in the corner of the living room as everyone is slowly getting excited for the last moments of the year.

Looking around you see a lot of couples, holding hands, hugging, clearly planning to snog the moment the clock hits midnight and when you glance at Harry on your right you’re convinced he is thinking about the same thing.

You’re not naïve, you don’t think he is going to kiss you, but you still allow yourself to play with the thought just a little. He is standing so close to you, just the tiniest move and you’d be touching him, skin to skin again, feel him under your—

The thought is abruptly interrupted when you feel his warm palm wrap around your hand, your whole body freezing and for a split second you think it’s just an accident, that his touch will disappear before you could even blink, but it stays there. Harry maneuvers his fingers until they are laced together with yours and he keeps a firm hold of your hand, hanging between the two of you, staying hidden because you’re standing close to each other. Your breath catches in your throat and you’re afraid if you dare to move he’ll let go of your hand.

Another version of yourself would laugh hysterically at how worked up you are right now just because he is holding your hand, but the you that’s actually in the moment is about to burst just by this small touch. You have absolutely no idea what it means or why he chose to do it, but you don’t really care about it. You just want to absorb all the heat you feel coming from him where his palm meets yours, fingers braided together tightly, as if he is trying to keep you next to him, like he thinks you are about to disappear and it’s way of anchoring you to him, but truth is you don’t want to go anywhere.

“One minute, everyone!” Sarah sings in excitement as she turns on the TV and puts a huge clock on the screen that’s counting the seconds as well. You shyly glance to the side, finding Harry standing motionless next to you and when he notices you looking, his eyes meet yours. He looks terrified, like a lost little boy and you can’t tell if he is afraid of your reaction or because of what his actions might bring on him. But you want him to know that you are completely okay with where it’s heading.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” The countdown begins and you inch closer to Harry so you’re pressed against his side, his body heat radiating into your skin even through the layers of clothes you two are wearing.

Harry leans down the moment you lift your head, his face is so close, it wouldn’t take much for you to finally kiss him, do the one thing you haven’t stopped thinking about for months.

“Y/N…” he breathes out and it’s a tortured plea, he is begging you to stop him from doing something he might regret, but you are dying for him to finally sin. You want him to give it up already, you have absolutely no desire to be the burden that keeps him in his lane. You need him to cross the line and stay there.

“I’m not stopping you, Harry,” you tell him quietly, the urge to close the distance between the two of you is burning inside you.

“Seven! Six! Five!” the countdown continues, but it all tones out, you can only see, hear and feel Harry.

“We can’t,” he whines, closing his eyes as he exhales shakily.

“We can, we just shouldn’t,” you correct him, his eyes snap open and meet yours again. You can tell he is so close to finally giving in and let his feelings and desires take control and you will not try to stop him.

His face inches the tiniest bit closer and his forehead is almost touching yours now, you can see every curly eyelash that frames his gorgeous green eyes that are now filled with fear and nerves.

“Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” Everyone screams together as the clock finally hits midnight while you just stare at Harry holding your breath, praying that he is finally ballsy enough to take this step.

“Harry, please,” you beg, not too proud of it, but you just can’t take it any longer. His hand is gripping yours tightly as he closes his eyes again and for a second you think that it’s gonna happen. He is going to give up the act and finally kiss you.

But right when the moment is burning the most… he pulls back and your heart sinks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand lets go of yours and it feels like your arm is ripped off, tears are welling in your eyes.

“Yeah, me too,” you mumble under your breath, chugging down the champagne before making your way through the living room, determined to leave as soon as possible.

“Y/N, wait, where are you going?” you hear him calling after you, but you don’t stop. You get rid of the empty champagne glass and grab your coat from the rack, storming out of the apartment as if you had somewhere to be.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you run down the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. You hear the other pair of feet running behind you and Harry calling after you, but it’s not stopping you.

You push the front door of the building open, but it’s heavy, so it slows you down just enough that Harry can grab your wrist when you are about to start running down the street.

“Y/N, don’t go, let me explain!”

“No!” you snap at him. “I don’t fucking want to hear your explanation! I’m done, Harry! I’m fucking done! I was trying to be patient and respectful, I didn’t want to make it worse for you and let you do your thing, but you kept dancing back and forth and I can’t keep doing this, so I guess I’m sorry too.”

You’re choking on your own words that echo from the walls, the street is almost entirely empty, the world is still celebrating the new year while you’re at your breaking point. Harry stands in front of you, defeated and panic all over his face as he listens to you.

“I will not sit around and let you play your little games any longer, because you can’t make up your mind whether you want me or not.”

“Y/N I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life!” he snaps, throwing his hands into the air. “That’s the problem! This shouldn’t be happening, but I can’t fucking stop thinking about you, I can’t stop wanting you!”

“Then do something about it!” you beg through your tears.

“I can’t!”

“Yes you can!” you scream at him. “You can but you probably just don’t want me enough to actually do it! And it’s fine, but—“

You don’t get to finish your rant because Harry firmly grabs your arm, yanks you towards him and with one swift movement, his lips are crashing against yours.

It all happens so fast but your body reacts before your mind could process what’s really happening, fists bunching a handful of his sweater as you pull him against you, his hands flying up to your face, cupping them confidently as he kisses you hard and demandingly.

It’s like a fucking dam that’s been broken, everything you both kept bottled up and under control just breaks loose and it’s a kind of a wild fight for trying to devour each other now that all lines has been crossed an blurred into nothingness.

He is the dominant one, but you do some pushing and pulling on your own as well. You’re forced to take a few steps backwards, back arching at how forcefully he is pushing forward, lips smacking against each other over and over again, his tongue meeting yours, swirling and dancing around with yours, a shameless moan escaping your mouth.

His hands roam down your sides and you jumps when they reach the back of your thighs, legs wrapping around his waist. He keeps you up easily, fingers digging into your flesh where your butt meets your thighs and this angle allows you to be completely pressed up against him and feel every single inch of his body that burns for you.

It’s beyond anything you’ve ever imagined, you’re not sure it’s because of the build-up that led to this point or simply the chemistry you two got, but it blows your mind, making you question how you could go this long without ever kissing him.

“Harry, I want you,” you moan when his lips move down to your jawline, kissing and biting on the soft skin, tasting you wherever he can reach.

“I want you too, Y/N,” he breathes out resting his forehead against yours before kissing you again.

“Take me home then.”

“Are you sure?” he pants as you run your fingers through his hair and tug on his gently, earning a whimper from his perfectly pink and swollen lips. You love this satisfied dew on his face, especially because you know it’s because of you.

“Never been more sure about anything in my life.”

You unwrap your legs from around his waist and return to the ground, but not without him leaning down to kiss you once more before he grabs your hand and starts pulling you down the street. You spot his Rover right away and start sprinting, Harry following you right behind with a carefree laugh.

Settled in your seats he starts driving, but you can’t keep yourself away from him. His hand that’s not on the steering wheel is gripping your thigh as you lean over the console and start kissing his cheek, jawline and the corner of his mouth as one of your hands runs down his chest until it reaches his pants.

“Love, if you move further down we’re gonna crash,” he warns you with a shaky breath. “I drank a little too and I’m already fucking gone from kissing you, if you touch me I’m gonna lose it.”

You giggle, pressing one last kiss to his lips before sitting back in your seat. You need every bit of your patience and self-control to stay modest on the way back to his place. Hands gripping his you bring it up to your lips, kissing his knuckles gently as he speeds down the empty streets. It’s still barely over midnight, everyone is still celebrating, oblivious to how important this moment is to the two of you.

You really thought this would be the end. When he pulled away at midnight all hope was lost for you and it broke your heart to know that he will never choose you over his better judgment.

It’s your first time at Harry’s but you don’t really care to look around as the two of you make your way inside the townhouse, lips already melted together as you stumble through the dark hallway, not wanting to let go of each other. You successfully make it into his bedroom and Harry turns on the bedside lamp while you’re already eagerly getting rid of your coat and shoes. He does the same, clothes start to litter the hardwood flooring hastily, but neither of you is thinking about them. Harry scoops you into his arms once again, kissing your lips passionately as he bunches your dress up at your hips until he can finally grip the end of it and pull it over your head.

“Oh shit!” you giggle, the turtleneck getting stuck on your head for a moment before you’re free from it.

“That big head of yours,” he chuckles kissing your forehead.

“Shut up,” you smack his chest gently, pushing him down to the bed so you can straddle him, knees on his sides as you sit on his lap, lips meeting again.

He throws his hands up when you start pulling his t-shirt up and once the fabric is off of his body, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close to his chest. Your skin meets his and it feels heavenly, only little clothing separating the two of you at this point.

Harry scoots backwards and then throws you to the mattress, getting on top of you without your lips ever parting. His hips are pushed against yours and you can feel everything through the thin material of his slacks. Without even knowing you grind your hips, your core meeting his erection in the movement and he moans uncontrollably at the sensation.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes against your lips and you can’t push your smirk down at his reaction.

“Yeah, fuck me, Harry,” you tease him before your lips get occupied once again.

His hands work fast. He unclasps your bra without you even noticing, the straps falling from your shoulders before he gets rid of it, throwing it across the room as if it did something against him. When his hungry eyes fall down on your naked chest you see the same kind of torture in his eyes that was there when he was fighting with himself before.

“Harry, stop thinking,” you tell him, fingers massaging his scalp as you lace them through his hair. “It’s fine, we’re fine.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he questions again and you pull him down for a reassuring kiss.

“One hundred percent. I want this. I want you.”

“Oh God, I want you so bad,” he whines again, lips kissing down your jawline, neck and collarbone before they attack your breasts.

He cups them, licks and bites them, making you a whimpering mess underneath him every time his tongue meets your hot skin. This man will be the death of you. As he moves down your body, his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties and he glances up at your for reassurance once again, you nod eagerly, lifting your hips so he can easily glide the fabric down and off of your body. Harry sits up, eyes burning down on your naked body lying in front of him as he undoes his own pants, pushing them down his long legs until they join the rest on the floor. You push yourself up when his hands move to his boxers, you want to be the one to take them off. He gladly backs his hands off when you reach out and start tugging them down. He kneels on the bed as you pull the fabric down and his erection finally becomes free, making you ache for him immediately. Once the boxers are out of the way completely you want to reach out to touch him, but he stops you, hands wrapping around your wrist before they could reach him.

Your eyes snap up to meet his darkened gaze, questioning why he stopped you.

“Y/N, I… If we do this, there’s no going back,” he breathes out with a pained look. You push yourself up to your knees so you meet his height, hands cupping his cheeks as you pull him into a sweet kiss that he hesitantly but returns.

“I know what you think about us, Harry, but I assure you, that I’m completely fine with it. But if you don’t want it to happen, we can just… lie here. I’m fine with that too. Kissing you was already such a gift for me,” you smile at him, gently pecking his lips.

“I just don’t want you to wake up and regret it. I’m not pushing you, right?”

“If anyone, it’s me pushing you,” you chuckle softly, a small smile tugging on his lips as well. “You didn’t push anything on me, alright? We are both adults and it’s completely fine. We’ll figure out the rest, I just want to focus on you now. Can I do that?”

Harry nods, still looking a little unsure, but you can tell he is starting to settle in his mindset. It’s not just him that worries about the other regretting something. You know how torn up he is about anything that’s about you and though you want him more than anything, you still don’t want to push him into doing something he is not entirely comfortable with.

“Do you want this?” you softly ask, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I do. I’m just—“

“Then it’s all good, Harry. We both want it, nothing else matters for now,” you tell him, wanting nothing else than to finally see him enjoy himself entirely. “Lay down for me,” you tell him, feeling like you taking the lead is a good idea now.

He does as you asked him to, lying down on the mattress, head sinking into his pillow as he blinks up at you, watching you swing a leg over him before settling to sit on his thighs.

“Can I touch you?” you ask, wanting to make sure he feels completely comfortable with you. Pleasing him is your number one priority right now. He nods, lips parting as he watches your hand reach out and wrap around the base of his erected length. He whimpers under your touch, his eyes fall closed when you gently pump him a few times, his cock fits so well in your palms, like pieces of a puzzle.

Leaning down you kiss his fern tattoos on each sides of his hips before placing one to his leaking tip, sliding your hands to the base before you slowly and gradually take him into your mouth.

You’re not planning to make him cum with your mouth, but you’ve been dying to taste him and it’s just as good as you imagined. The way his body reacts to your touch, the noises that leave his kissable lips, this man is completely out of this world and you want to explore every inch of his body.

You bob your head a couple of times, just enough to wet his length and work him up for what’s coming next. When you let him go of your mouth and you move a little up on his body so that his cock can be lined up with your hole, you look at him to see if he is still down to continue. One hand holding his cock, the other one flat on his naked chest, you ask him a question with your eyes that he answers with his hands squeezing your hips.

“I have the implant. Do you want to put on a condom?” you ask him at last.

“I trust you,” he breathes out. “Do you want me to put one on?”

“I want to feel you,” you tell him shaking your head.

“Okay,” he nods so it’s settled.

Leaning down you peck his lips one last time before you push the head inside and then slowly ease yourself down on his throbbing length.

“Oh fuck!”

“Harry, oh my God!” you both moan at the sensation of him finally entering you. You’ve had your fair share of sexual intercourses throughout your life, but none of them felt this good. None of them pleasured you this good so fast and easily, just the feel of him being inside you is making you lose your mind.  

You start off slow, wanting to feel him just right, get used to his size, but as soon as you feel more comfortable, you pick up a faster pace. His fingers are digging into your flesh at your hips as he holds onto you for dear life, panting and moaning at your motions. He glides in and out of you perfectly, setting your senses on fire practically.

“Harry, you feel so good,” you gasp, getting lost in the feeling. Sex has always been a good experience for you, but with Harry it’s a whole different story. As if he just opened a completely new world you never even knew about before.

“Yeah? You’re gonna cum for me?”

“Yes! Oh fuck!”

Harry pushes himself up, an arm coming around your back as he easily flips the two of you over, your back gently hitting the soft mattress. He holds himself up above you, lips crashing with yours as he starts to do the work this time, thrusting in and out of you, his hips smacking against yours forcefully as you both nearing the end.

“You’re making me lose my fucking mind, Y/N,” he cries out, head falling to the crook of your neck and you wrap your arms around him as a shield, holding him tight against you.

It doesn’t take long after that. He is hitting just the right spots, making you moan his name over and over again as your orgasm slowly devours you and washes over your whole body while he is still relentlessly moving.

“Harry! Oh… Fuck!” you gasp, legs and hands shaking and you clench your muscles around him, throwing him over the edge with you. He falls out of his rhythm, his cock twitching inside you as he moans against the hot skin of your neck, coming undone in your arms.

Nothing has ever felt this intense and mind-blowing and you’re now sure you’re addicted to him, there’s no turning back, not that you want that.

He collapses on top of you, still inside you, his body weighing down on you heavily, but it feels just fine. You run your arms up and down his sides, kissing the side of his head as you are both trying to catch your breath. It takes a few minutes for him to come back to reality with you, he lifts his head and moves to the side so he is not crushing you anymore, but an arm remains thrown over your abdomen. His vibrant green eyes are shining like never before when they meet your tired gaze and cupping his face in your palm you pull him in for a slow kiss where you finally have the time to actually taste him without the rushing of your own needs and urges.

“How are you feeling?” you softly asking, knowing well how major this was for him. You wouldn’t want him to spiral and start to self-destruct because of what just happened.

“I’m feeling fine,” he murmurs lowly, his fingers dancing on your naked side. “Just still a little torn if I did the right thing.”

“You worry too much. We did nothing wrong.”

“Not sure everyone would agree with that.”

“Fuck everyone else,” you chuckle and a smile tugs on his lips as well. “I will not feel bad for having the best sex of my life with a hot as fuck man I’m really into,” you bluntly tell him, earning a smug grin.

“Best sex of your life, huh?”

“Not even ashamed to admit,” you nod into the pillow. “How… was it for you?” you shyly ask, afraid his answer might disappoint you. But Harry pulls you closer until you’re pressed up against his chest, his lips capture yours, kissing you fiercely, making your heart skip a few beats for sure.

“Fucking amazing, baby. Probably the best I ever had too,” he admits, lips brushing against yours as he speaks. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips as you nuzzle against his chest once he has rolled to his back.

Silence comes over the two of you, you’re listening to his steady heartbeat, mindlessly drawing patterns over his chest. Lifting your head your eyes meet his and you can tell he has been thinking hard about what this all means for the future now.

“I’m in,” you simply tell him.

“Huh?”

“If you are thinking that I might not want to do this with you, that I just wanted a good fuck, that’s not what I think of this. If you want to give us a chance, I’m totally in.”

“You think we can make it work?” he quietly asks, his voice barely more than just a whisper.

“Of course,” you smile at him warmly. “You don’t?”

“I do, I’m just… there are so many things that can go wrong.”

“Then… we’ll make them right.”

Harry breathes out through his nose, clearly having a hard time to take it as easy as you do and you wish you could magically make all his doubts go away.

Sitting up you put your hands on each of his sides, looking down at him determined to bring out his confidence in the two of you.

“We just have to be patient and careful until I finish. Then we are basically free. That’s just one more semester. It could be way worse, we can make it work for a couple of months before we can finally do whatever we want. That doesn’t sound that bad, does it?” Harry shakes his head, reaching up he tugs your hair behind your ear before running his fingers down the side of your face.

“So we are really doing this?” he breathes out, a small smile on his sweet, pink lips.

“Well, I’m surely not giving up on this, we came a long way to be here,” you chuckle. “Question is, are you gonna give up on us? On… me?”

“Hell no,” he chuckles softly as he shakes his head. You smile down at him and leaning down you peck his lips tenderly.

“Then… we really are doing this.”

SEQUEL: 🌊 AN OCEAN AWAY 🌊

-

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[after-witch]

A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: A Simple Cup of Tea [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You have to be prepared and poised and perfect. But it’s hard to be all those things, even with the looming threat of your husband sitting next to you, when you’ve got a secret hidden underneath your clothes...

Word Count: 1875

Notes: yandere, forced marriage, abuse, bondage, NSFW 

Poised.

You must be poised. Every movement, every gesture, must embody a quiet grace. Your face must be pleasant, without seeming garishly joyous. Your voice must be soft, melodic, clear; yet loud enough to be heard without being required to repeat yourself. 

You must know how to keep a conversation going smoothly, like water in a stream, yet understand when to keep silent. You must know all of these things and so much more, and act on them at all times in the proper degree; all in order to avoid embarrass yourself and more importantly, embarrassing your husband.

In other words, you must be perfect.

And you try--you have to try, because what other choice does Scaramouche leave you?--but it’s difficult. You were never born for this stifled life he’s pushed you into, for a life spent mostly within the walls of his home or at most, behind the high, impenetrable walls of the courtyard.

A life draped in rich clothing, overseeing fine details of the estate that make your head spin. How many bags of this or that must be ordered per week? When should the bedding in that room be washed? What is the appropriate amount of money to put in a servant’s purse when sending them to the market? Questions you never imagined yourself asking yourself, which now fill your day with a gilded tedium.

There’s a deceptive leisure lurking underneath everything here. True, you no longer have to travel far and wide, selling your family’s wares from heavy baskets carried on your back; you no longer have to search the edges of the forest for edible plants to toss into boiling broth on days when you could not afford meat. You never want for food (unless he takes your dinner away as punishment) and any comfort you could need is within reach, so long as you’re behaving.

But you are on edge, always. Preparing yourself for another pitfall that might open up beneath your feet, and always looking for ways to improve yourself. Or at least ways to avoid earning your husband’s sharp disapproval. Regardless of your efforts, you have been on the wrong end of a harsh insult, a slap, a pinch, a cane, more times than you care to count.

Be prepared, be poised, be perfect. It’s the mantra you repeat to yourself every morning.

The mantra you repeated to yourself this particular morning, in preparation for a meeting he insisted you attend. A meeting which apparently required your finely-tuned skills in pleasing conversation and your much-practiced ability to “pour a passable cup of tea.”

Anyone else might assume it was meant to be an insult, but your time with Scaramouche has led to you to understand that the slightest praise towards you, while minuscule to others, was something you were meant to fall on your knees and thank him for. Sometimes literally, depending on his mood.

Why he wanted you to pour tea for some delegates from Fontaine, and what their increasing presence in the area really meant, you didn’t know. But it wasn’t your place to ask him, and the memory of recent stinging pain on your backside keeps you from feeling even remotely tempted to broach the subject.

So here you are. Dressed elegantly, but not garishly, as is proper for his wife. With a tea pot in your hand and perfectly arranged cups and the ghost of a pleasing smile on your face. Charming words drip from your lips, pleasantries, pleasantries, pleasantries--the type of words Scaramouche loathes yet drums into you all the same.

Prepared, poised, perfect.

Except for the slight tremble of your hands.

Except for the uncomfortable hitch in your breath as you speak.

Except for the fact that there are ropes tied snugly around your breasts, wrapping around your chest and criss-crossing between your breasts with an uncomfortable pressure, all hidden underneath the outfit he’d chosen for you that afternoon.

You’d balked, first--then begged. Begged not to be humiliated like this. What if someone sees? What will people say? You’d even tried to appeal to his pride, suggesting that if you couldn’t fully concentrate on your duties, well, how would that reflect on him?

All that earned you was a glint of a smirk and a tug as he knotted the rope encircling your breasts, making it even tighter than before. His final threat at your continued pleading--”I can always make you go out in nothing but the ropes”--finally shut you up.

And so, here you are. Face hot with shame and something more, silently pleading that your clothing won’t somehow shift and reveal the secret underneath. Despite the layers covering you, you still feel naked, exposed. As if the people indulging in polite conversation can see right through you, see the way your breasts are framed by the itchy ropes. See the way your body is responding to such a total humiliation. 

It’s not just the chafing rope that bothers you. It’s the pressure itself. It feels… no, you don’t want to think about how it feels.

Instead, you hone your focus in on the task at hand. Pouring the tea, a nice subtle blend made with Violetgrass flowers. A previous round of guests from Fontaine had enjoyed it so well that Scaramouche had you tell the teashop to start stocking up for future visits.

You wish you could hide the way your hand trembles ever so slightly as you pour the last cup of tea for a woman whose name you regrettably can’t remember. You normally repeat their names over and over in your head, lest you forget and endure Scaramouche’s sharp tongue (if not his cane) later on; but your predicament made it impossible to keep track of new information.

You might be able to enjoy the tea, enjoy the facsimile of polite conversation weaving its way around the table, if only you weren’t so distracted by the tightness, the chafing, the undeniable fact that--oh Archons above, that all of this was making your nipples humiliatingly hard underneath your clothing.

“Do you agree, wife?”

All eyes glance at you. Whatever Scaramouche just said had clearly be addressed to you, only you were too distracted to notice.

In the moments that you’re left half-gaping, mentally groping to somehow pull his previous words out from the ether, his hand snakes around your waist. You feel his fingers on the outside of the soft fabric, searching until they find their intended target--the knot--and tugging hard to tighten it further.

You gasp, your body lurching upward and forward at the sudden sensation of your breasts being squeezed, and the tea pot you’re still holding drops to the table. Time seems to slow to a thick crawl, and you can see the pot is not cracked, but tipped over, hot tea spilling onto the table underneath with abandon.

The sight of the dark brown stain spreading, trickling underneath saucers and cups, leaves you helpless until you force your shaking hands to grab the pot and set it back up on the table.

“I, I--” you start to stutter something. An apology? An explanation? But the constricting ropes and the dawning realization that you have just committed an extensive social faux pas--in front of guests, no less--leaves you helplessly unable to speak.

The guests, for their part, look suitably uncomfortable. The woman whose name you can’t remember is holding onto her cup, saving it from being intercepted by the trickling tea. You don’t know whether their looks are because of your embarrassing display or because they know your husband’s reputation, and feel pity for you. Perhaps a bit of both.

Scaramouche’s voice cuts through the tension, though it does nothing to lessen it.

“I apologize for my wife’s clumsiness,” he says. “I should have realized that she wasn’t up to the apparently complex task of serving tea.” His voice is dripping with condescension, making more heat rise to your cheeks.

Humiliation does not begin to describe what you feel as he gently--public appearances, you think--takes your arm and stands, bringing you with him.

“Perhaps you are ill.” He looks you up and down, faux-concern written all over his face. But you know what he’s really thinking about, as his eyes linger on your chest for a fraction longer than they should.

You swallow hard, and do your best to nod. It doesn’t take any effort to look ashamed at what’s transpired.

“I--I have been feeling unwell,” you say, making sure to project loud enough for the audience he’s curated for you. “I may be too tired.”

He shakes his head, as if he can’t believe your silliness. A silly, silly wife--that’s what you are. Never mind that it’s all his fault. Never mind that he chose to do this to you, and chose to do it in front of guests. 

A small, bitter part of you resents the guests for being there at all, resents the fact that they probably know you’re an unwilling ornament to the Harbringer’s obsession but do nothing about it.

But what good does resenting them do, when it won’t change your fate?

He takes your hand and gives it a pat, each touch patronizing to the core.

“Apologize to our guests and go rest. And send someone more capable to clean up your mess.”

You have to apologize for the fact that you spilled tea due to his decision to engage in some perverse bondage in a public fashion. You have to apologize for the fact that he deliberately made you do it, too, knowing how you might react when he pulled the rope.

It’s horrible and humiliating and unfair. 

But you do it anyway.

Turning towards the guests, gaze downcast with shame, you force out an apology; keeping your voice soft and melodic and clear, as expected.

Then you retreat as calmly as possible, feeling everyone’s gaze--but especially his--on your back as you leave. You catch the eye of the nearest servant as you make your way back to the bedroom, laying out the quickest version of events and not relishing the look of anxiety that crosses their features at the thought of dealing with Scaramouche after such an apparent social travesty.

But you only have enough energy to consider your own anxieties, so you continue on without thinking more about them.

Walking only seems to make the feeling of constriction worse, and you bite down on your lip as your sensitive nipples begin rubbing against the fabric with every step. It feels good, it feels bad--whatever it is, it’s all too much, and you want nothing more to cut off the ropes and hide until the morning.

Not that you have the courage to risk such an endeavor.

You don’t feel any calmer by the time you reach your shared bedroom, but at least your humiliation is a private one, now. And you can rest, at least until he’s finished for the evening. For a moment, you simply stand still, bringing your arm across your chest and pressing to provide some pressure, some relief, to your sensitive breasts. 

There’s an undeniable twist in your stomach when your arms brush against your nipples, and you hate it, and you love it, and you feel just as sick and perverse as he is when you slide a hand inside your clothing and give one aching nipple a pinch. You rub your legs together and ah, there it is--the pleasurable tingling and beginnings of wetness, and well, why not give yourself some pleasure, you think; why not give yourself something good and pleasant before he comes in and ruins everything with whatever sick punishment he’s concocting? 

It’s not until you make to curl up on the large bed, eager to relive the tension building inside you, that you see the scroll wrapped up on the pillow. With a sense of justifiable dread building in your stomach, you sit, and unfurl it. 

The words are written in Scaramouche’s familiar handwriting:

“Take off your clothes. Lay down and spread your legs on the bed until I return. Don’t touch yourself. I will know if you haven’t followed my instructions.”

Bastard, you think. As if your humiliation today wasn’t strong enough. Your hands go to undue the fastenings keeping your clothes together, and the first hints of bare skin leave you with anticipatory goosebumps. How long would you be expected to be on the bed, presenting yourself for his apparent pleasure? 

Bastard, bastard, bastard.

But--well. At least he didn’t tell you to bend over the caning stool again.

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

Paul's Lullaby | part two

<previous | next>

It had been a few days since your attack on the beach. Since then, Paul really didn't like when you were home alone. Or walking to work alone. Or anywhere alone really. It didn't have to be with him, but he needed to know he, or someone he trusted could get to you in time.

He was worried that the leech had caught your scent, and would come back. Sam didn't think so, Sam was under the impression that this person was actually testing their lines, and he wouldn't let the same mistake happen again. You were still waiting for Paul to tell you the whole truth, but you were being patient, as he had been with you. It was clear that whatever it was, was hard for him to say.

Your couch was permanently occupied by Paul, who picked you up from work to drive you home. And if he couldn't make it, he'd send one of the pack, or one of the imprints to pick you up and bring you to Emily's house.

You were cautiously optimistic about where things were going with Paul. There was still some trust issues, but you were working on it together. And no matter how much Embry or Jared talked about Paul's anger issues, you didn't really see it.

Currently, you were at Emily's, sitting on the couch and trying to stay awake until Paul got there. He made you feel safe.

"Have you seen this?" Emily asked holding a newspaper. There were missing people all over Seattle. It's what had Paul working overtime. He was pulling more than his fair share, and you knew that had to do with you. But you didn't understand what.

"Is anyone ever going to tell me what's going on?" you asked, but your tone was light, joking. Emily laughed, and sat by your legs on the couch.

"Paul really is taking his time, huh?" She gave you a sad smile. "He's doing that for your benefit."

"I know, I know," you said. "I'm just really confused. I swear the scenarios I'm making up in my head must be worse."

"Probably," she said. You both laughed this time.

"Well he better snap to it."

"I'm heading to bed," Emily said, patting your leg over the thin blanket. "You okay out here?"

"Yeah, thanks Em. Goodnight," you said.

"Goodnight."

"Wake up honey."

Paul was gently shaking your arm. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, trying to wake you up as nicely as possible. Jared laughed in the background at how soft Paul was around you, but quickly said his goodbyes as he took the night patrol. It takes a tough guy to make fun of someone and then rush out the door. But Paul didn't care.

"Paul?" you asked, finally coming to. "What time is it?"

"Late, it's very late."

"Take me home," you said, holding your arms out to him.

"I like you when you're sleepy, you're very nice." Paul picked you up, and said a quick goodbye to Sam as you closed your eyes again. It made Sam smile.

Paul carried you to his pick up truck, and got you settled into the passenger seat. He even did up your seat belt. You woke up a little more, but your squirming and stretching was the cutest thing to him. He was so enamoured with you. He didn't really care how long it took until you trusted him. Or even if you never wanted to be with him, he didn't care. As long as he got to be around you, he would be fine.

"Let's watch a movie tonight," you said, yawning right after.

"I don't think you'll be able to stay awake," he said, smiling.

"Can we try?"

"How about we watch something tomorrow, after work?"

"Okay," you said, closing your eyes again. "Tomorrow."

You fell back asleep before you got home. Paul was driving slowly, and the cool air was filtering in through his open window. He was listening to some folk band, and the whole thing just lulled you to sleep.

When he parked the truck, he did everything he could to get you into your room without waking you up, and he was pretty successful. But as he was tucking you into bed, you woke up a little. He moved to leave but you grabbed his wrist.

"Goodnight Paul," you said, not letting go of his wrist.

"Goodnight honey," he said, daring to lean down and kiss your forehead. You made a happy sound as you rolled over, getting comfortable in bed.

Paul would've done anything in the world to crawl into bed with you and fall asleep. But he was happy just to be here.

So, Paul went back to the couch. And got as comfortable as he could, and fell asleep, reminding himself that you were safest when he was here. And that he was doing a good job protecting you.

The next morning went better than most mornings. You woke up in a good mood, and decided to make breakfast for Paul. He'd been working so hard to protect you, that he deserved at least a fraction of that devotion back.

You made the lot, pancakes and eggs. A small fruit salad and a plate of bacon. While the pot of coffee finished, Paul wandered into the kitchen stretching.

"Mmm," he groaned, "something smells good."

"I made you breakfast," you said, a smile on your face.

Paul was in love with you, that much he knew for sure. And today he got his first sign that maybe you were at least starting to fall for him too. It was a good day.

"Eat up," you said. "I have to work in a few hours."

"You're going to eat too, right?" he asked.

"Of course I am," you said, stopping before you left the room. You turned on the radio against the wall. It was some band you'd never heard of, but it was nice enough. Paul was already filling his plate, but you went to pour two coffees. "Cream, sugar?"

"Just black," he said, mouthful of food. "Just come sit."

"All right," you said. "But for the record I wanted the coffee."

You chose the chair beside him, instead of across from him, and he took note of that but didn't say anything. You smiled at him, and he smiled back, like he always did.

Breakfast was relatively quiet, you made small talk about what was going on that day, but mostly you just enjoyed the silence. It didn't feel awkward, it felt right. It felt comfortable. When you were done, Paul wasn't. So you carried your plate to the sink, and rubbed your hand across his back as you passed. His breath hitched slightly, and it made you smile, thinking about how different Paul was.

Maybe it was time you cut him a little slack.

When he finished, Paul helped you clean up. And even shooed you away to get ready for work while he did the dishes.

"Thank you," he said, as you walked back down the hallway. He wiped his hands on a dishcloth and dropped it back on the counter. He leaned back, and you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he is.

"Thank you for being here," you said, suddenly self conscience under his intent stare at you. You pulled your sweater sleeves over your hands, keeping the fabric pinched between your fingers.

"I uh, packed up the rest of the fruit salad. I thought you might like to have it at work." Paul had one of your Tupperware containers sitting on the counter.

"And the bacon?"

He looked guilty. "I ate it."

"It's okay!" you said, laughing at his face. "It was made to be eaten."

He drove you to work, and although you missed to walk, you knew you'd get back to it eventually. When he dropped you off, you hesitated to leave. Paul sat patiently, giving you a moment to collect yourself.

"I want the truth tonight," you said.

"Honey..."

"Just, think about it from my perspective. I have no idea what it is I should be scared of, I have no idea where you work or why you're gone all the time. I'm worried about you, and I'm scared."

"I'm scared too." Paul took a deep breath. "I'm scared that something will happen to you. But mostly I'm scared that if you know the truth you'll be scared of me."

"I wouldn't."

"You don't know that," he said, he looked terrified. "You hated me earlier this month. Couldn't even look at me throughout high school and I am so embarrassed about that. And it's going to be even more embarrassing when I tell you everything because then you'll know that we didn't make eye contact from two years attending the same school."

"I'm sure we made eye contact," you said.

"No." He looked at you, and you could see the pain in his eyes. "We didn't." The look on his face made you hurt. It made your heart deflate, and you would've done anything to see him smile again.

You unclicked your seat belt, but didn't move as it sprang back into place. It didn't feel right to leave the air like this.

The heat he gave off seemed to float right into your space, and there was something about his presence that made you feel more settled than you had in a long time. You wanted to touch him, so you leaned across the middle seat, and placed a tender kiss against his cheek.

"Just think about it," you said, sliding back towards the door and starting to get out. You didn't want to leave him feeling sad, but you had to get to work.

"Have a good shift," he said, watching you leave. He hated watching you walk away.

"You too."

Work had been horrible. Your boss was kind of a jerk, and waiting tables had really lost it's appeal. You'd been serving tables in La Push's best diner, but when the new owners took over, it quickly began to lose it's charm. You wanted to buy it when they were selling, but coming right out of high school you didn't have that kind of cash.

You just felt kind of miserable, so when you saw Jared and Kim waiting for you outside, you just felt annoyed. You were under the impression you and Paul had made plans.

"Hey," Kim said, smiling from the passenger seat. You got in behind Jared. "Don't worry. Paul said another hour, tops."

"Can you guys just take me home? I had a long day and I just want to relax," you asked, pulling your upper body between Jared and Kim's seats.

"I don't know, Y/N," Jared said, making a worried face. "I don't think Paul would like that."

"C'mon Jared," you said. "I'll lock the doors, and I'll call you if I get nervous."

"Jared, she wants to go home." Kim smiled at you. You really liked her.

He rolled his eyes and started the car. "When he freaks out on me, I'm throwing you both under the bus."

"He won't get mad at us," you said, "he said himself. An hour tops."

Jared and Kim were actually really great travel companions. Kim always made sure you were included in conversation, and Jared was not afraid to sing at the top of his lungs which was hilarious. They really cheered you up.

And of course, they waited until you were in your house to pull away.

Inside, you were tired, and cold. And you had wanted to spend some time with Paul. But he said an hour, and you figured we wouldn't lie about that. It wasn't too late that you couldn't give him some of the patience that he had given you.

So you spent the time bringing out some blankets, and pillows. When that was done you made some popcorn and fresh lemonade.

Paul should've been there any second. So you just spent some time tidying up the place. You saw some fabric poking out from under on the blankets, and you yanked on it, pulling out one of Paul's shirts. You laughed. Because it seemed rare to even see him in a shirt.

You pulled your shirt over your head, and put on his instead. Your shorts were hidden by his baggy shirt, even baggier on your small frame.

Twigs snapped outside the window, and you gasped. You knew you locked the door, but decided on checking the windows too. Just so you could say that you did. They were all locked. When you walked back into the living room, Paul was standing there - jaw clenched tight just like his fists were. But you could see the restraint. You could tell he was actively calming himself. You took a step closer.

"Don't," he said, voice cracking. He closed his eyes, hating the way you stop dead in your tracks. He didn't want to scare you. "I told you that I didn't want you here alone for a reason."

"I was so tired after work," you explained. "I wanted to sit on the couch and watch a movie like normal people do."

"I am trying to make things as normal as possible for you," he said, the anger was already washed away, but it wasn't gone. Not entirely. "You just have to trust me."

"How can I trust you when you don't trust me?" you said, voice starting to raise with unavoidable frustration.

"You think that I don't trust you?"

"I'm not allowed to be by myself, how else would you like me to interpret that?" You felt tears brimming at your eyes, the confrontation bringing out your anxiety.

"If we're going to fight, I need you to take three steps back."

"For what?"

"Your safety."

"What does that mean?" you shouted. "Are you scared you'll hit me?"

"I would never hit you," he shouted back. "How could you even think that?"

"I don't want to argue," you said, quietly. "I'm sorry I shouted."

He saw the sad look in your eyes, and could've kicked himself for driving you to this. He nodded, prying his eyes away from your sad ones to look anywhere else. He looked at your shirt, for the first time, and even though he was angry with you, he loved the sight. It calmed him down knowing it was you, in his shirt, a couple feet away.

He held his hand out, palm up for you to take. You did, and he guided you, as if you were dancing - not fighting, to the couch. You sat beside him, and he kept your hand in his.

"I need you to really listen to me," he said, his eyes glossing over with the realization that if he loses you, he'd never be whole again. "For now, I need you to follow all my rules. Even when they seem excessive, or dumb. And in return I will explain everything. And I won't keep any secrets from you."

"I can do that," you said. "If you're always honest with me, I'll be honest with you."

"Okay, tomorrow I'll explain everything. You're off, right?"

"Yeah," you said, shuffling over so you could lean your head against Paul's shoulder. "Can we watch our movie now?"

He put an arm around you, and you fit to him. Like you were always meant to be there. Well, technically, you were.

"Yeah, honey. We can watch a movie now."

[if you want to be added to a taglist for this story then let me know :-)]

[dreamerstreamer]

Devil-May-Care

Pairing: demon!Dream / Clay x demon hunter!gn!reader

Summary: [Demon Hunter!AU] When you went in search of the most powerful demon known to mankind, you didn’t expect him to be so charming.

Warnings: a little horror + some violence + tw// weapons (crossbow, gun)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this was requested by a passionate anon! i fell in love with the request at first sight and had loads of fun writing this, although i did take some creative liberty with it. i hope you all enjoy :)

You huffed as you pushed past the branch hanging in your face, wrinkling your nose as you trudged onward. The forest was almost eerily silent around you, the pitch black night doing nothing to ease the tension that had gathered in your shoulders. Above you, the moon and stars twinkled soundlessly, peering down at you with wide, watching eyes.

Where could he possibly be hiding? you thought to yourself with a grimace. Is he even in this forest?

Your mentor had told you that this forest was the last place he’d ever been seen, and that it would be your best bet. But she also told you not to get your hopes too high, since he was known to be a trickster who never stayed in one spot for too long.

You sighed as you stepped over a fallen log, making sure not to trip. Despite how young the night was, you were already getting tired. Tracking was arguably the hardest part of your job, and easily your least favourite part of it.

Then again, no one said being a demon hunter was easy.

With a slight grumble, you squinted through the darkness while walking past another tree. So far, all you’d seen was tree after after tree, and you were getting fed up. Heck, you could have sworn there was a clearing just ahead of you here.

It was at that moment that the trees suddenly parted before you, and you found yourself standing in the middle of a clearing. The soft grass rustled beneath your feet as you took a tentative step forward, your ears perking up for any noise or movement. When nothing came, the muscles in your legs tensed.

This was the first clearing you had found in hours, and something about it just felt off.

“What are you looking for, little hunter?”

You whirled at the sound of the low, curling voice, your gaze frantically darting around the darkness for its source. You kept your lips pursed as your head whipped this way and that, nothing but silence filling the forest air. Even with the light of the moon, all you could make out between the shadows were the silhouettes of trees and their taunting branches looming over you.

There was no way it was who you thought it was... right?

“Not gonna say anything? Hm. Perhaps that’s just because you can’t see me. Here.”

You heard the snap of a finger, and the clearing around you suddenly lit up in a faint, greenish hue. Your eyes widened as the earth you stood upon began to glow, your fingers twitching at your side. Turning again, you quickly searched your surroundings once more for the voice’s owner. Everything seemed to be exactly how it appeared when you first arrived—the trees were just trees and the grass was just grass, even if they were both admittedly glowing.

Just then, there came a whistle from above you.

You lifted your head, and your gaze fell upon a figure sitting atop a tree branch a few feet away. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight.

Piercing, emerald eyes. A green fitted shirt to match. Dark, golden hair. A smattering of freckles. A cold, wicked grin.

The man smiled at you, swinging his legs leisurely as he tilted his head. “Hello there, pet.”

You didn’t wait another second before your arms were reaching up behind you, pulling your crossbow off your back. You slotted the arrow into the flight groove in near record time before aiming it up at him, aiming for but a split second before you pulled the trigger. In a flash, the arrow went flying through the night sky, pointed directly at his face. You could have sworn you caught his eyes turn red before he suddenly vanished, your arrow passing through empty space before pinning itself into the tree trunk he had been leaning against just seconds prior.

You panted, quickly pulling another arrow out of your quiver and reloading your crossbow as you turned in a circle, not a single detail going unnoticed by your watchful eyes. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you tried to focus on the rustling leaves around you. Your fingers curled around the stock of your bow a fraction tighter, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Where is he? Where did he go?

A smooth voice curled around the back of your neck.

“Is this how you greet everyone you meet, or am I just special?”

Whipping around again, you pulled the trigger without even an ounce of hesitation. A twang of satisfaction shot through you as you heard the distinct sound of flesh being pierced, followed by a tumble to the ground. You rushed over at the sight of the man—or demon, as you should be calling him—lying sprawled on the ground, his arms casually tucked under his head as if he hadn’t just been shot.

“Ooh,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the arrow sticking out of his chest, “your arrows are made of dreamshade.” He grinned at you. “Smart one, aren’t you?”

Before you could even react, he ripped the arrow out, watching with amusement as crimson slowly dripped onto the front of his shirt. You stared at the hole in his chest, left behind by your arrow, a glimmer of glee expanding in your chest. Yes! you thought, your lips quirking as your hand floated toward the pistol hanging at your side. Now’s my cha—

All of a sudden, you watched in horror as the skin began to reform, the sinew and muscle stitching themselves back together to fill the gap. In an instant, his chest was whole again, the hole having disappeared entirely with nothing to even hint at its existence, were it not for the tear in his shirt.

“Unfortunately for you,” he said, tossing the arrow behind his head with a flick of his fingers, “I’m tougher than most demons out there.”

In a flash, you were standing over him, one foot digging into his chest. You didn’t even give him the chance to blink before you were pointing your crossbow at him once more, this time just barely allowing the arrow tip to hover above his neck. You tried to calm your breaths, pushing back the sick sense of joy you could feel starting to boil over inside you. You were so, so close to just killing hi—

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to attack me without even asking for my name?” he calmly drawled, looking bored out of his mind.

You blinked in surprise, your thoughts faltering for a moment before your expression hardened once more. “I know who you are.”

He cocked his head at you, something like delight swimming in his viridian eyes. “Do you, now?”

You gulped, hesitating only for a moment before you began to speak. “Y-You’re Dream. Lord of chaos. Progenitor of destruction. Harbinger of nightmares.” You nearly choked on your own words.

“The world’s most powerful demon.”

He grinned at you, clapping his hands together above his head as he let out a small hoot. “Aw, you know all my titles?” He winked. “That’s cute.”

Cute, your brain repeated dumbly, a fuzzy feeling forming in your chest, but you quickly shook the thought from your head with a scowl. You should not be happy that one of the most powerful demon’s known to mankind called you cute.

(Okay, well. Maybe you were a little happy. Not that you would ever admit it.)

With a stony look, your finger wrapped around the crossbow trigger, the cool metal sending a shiver down you spine. “I’m here to kill you, Dream.”

He didn’t look fazed. “Oh? Even though we only just met?”

A snarl ripped itself out of your throat, fury slowly beginning to claw up your insides. Why did he sound so calm? Didn’t he understand that he was about to die to your hand?

“That doesn’t matter,” you said bluntly, trying to ignore your heart ramming away at your ribcage. “You’re a monster that needs to be disposed of.”

He hummed, absentmindedly picking at his nail. “That’s bold of you to say.” His tone was dull and interested, and his eyes seemed to shine even brighter thanks the green glow surrounding his head. ���I can’t remember the last time a demon hunter has ever been so upfront with me.”

The string tying your restraint together snapped. That was it. How could he be so nonchalant? So apathetic? Didn’t he care?

“You’ve killed so many people,” you spat, “taken so many innocent lives, and for what?” You narrowed your eyes, nothing but pure disgust running through your veins as you dug the tip of your crossbow into the soft flesh of his neck. “What reason do I have to stop myself from ending your life right here, right now?”

Below you, Dream only stared blankly at you, his eyebrows raised. Then, he let out a sigh, wrapping a hand around the stock of your crossbow. Panic shot through you as he pulled it away from his throat with ease, his fingers curling around the polished wood. “First of all,” he said lowly, “that little thing isn’t going to do anything.”

In a blink of an eye, you heard the snapping of metal and wood, your gaze going wide. He shot you a cocky grin. “Not anymore.”

You leapt back, gritting you teeth and tossing your now useless crossbow onto the earth beside you. Your hand moved in a blur as you reached down and pulled out your pistol from its holster, pointing it toward him. “Each and every one of these bullets is soaked in holy water,” you shouted, your hand cocking back the safety. “Don’t think I won’t shoot.”

Dream rolled over onto his stomach, his grin widening as he rested his chin on his hand. “Tell me,” he drawled, tilting his head, “do you really think you scare me?”

You ignored the shaking of your fingers. “I—I can and will shoot you.”

He laughed, an uncomfortable warmth wrapping around your gut. “Please, darling—I’ve been alive for longer than you can even fathom. As if you’d be the first to pin me down, let alone try to shoot me.” His eyes flashed crimson, and you felt your stomach drop. “I know all your hunter tricks and tactics, and believe me when I say they won’t work.”

Suddenly, he floated up off the ground, not changing his position whatsoever. In only a matter of seconds, he was hovering above you, blinking down at your shocked expression with mirth glimmering in his scarlet gaze. 

Of course he could levitate—what were you expecting?

“Second,” he said, “I did a lot of those things a long time ago, especially in human years. How long has it been?” He tapped his chin. “Probably centuries by now, which is like forever for you guys.”

You scowled at him, your pistol still pointed at him. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t caused any chaos recently.”

“That’s true!” he chirped, snapping his fingers. “But my more recent activities have been much more... tame in comparison to my golden years, don’t you think?”

As much as you wanted to shoot him right here and now, you also wanted to punch him in the face before you did. “Lives are lives, Dream!” you shouted. “Any more or less lost doesn’t make you any more redeemable.”

A chuckle slipped from his lips, flipping onto his back as he continued to hover in the cool, night air. “Oh, you humans and your morality. How entertaining you all are.”

There was only one word running through your mind as you glared at him, your jaw clenching tight as your rage only multiplied inside you. Monster, monster, monster.

His eyelids fluttered shut as he allowed himself to drift a fraction lower toward you. “Well, I do believe I should ask—who’s to say that I was the one who killed those people, anyways?”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “...what are you talking about?”

He peeked an eye open at you. “It’s not like I flew down from the sky and shot them all with a rifle, and it’s not like I just snapped my fingers and everyone dropped dead.” He hummed at the thought. “Just what kind of person do you take me for?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your toes curling in your boots. “Stop distracting me—you’re dodging the question.”

“On the contrary,” he shot back without missing a beat, “I’d argue that you’re dodging mine, pet.” You could hear the laughter threatening to bubble up his throat as he spoke. “Do you really think I was the one purely responsible for all that destruction?”

You tried to ignore the slight tremble of your hands. “A-Aren’t you?” you stammered out. “You’ve started wars, detonated massive bombs, pushed people to their absolute limits. That stuff’s all your fault.” You gulped. “...isn’t it?”

For a second, he simply stared at you. Then, he burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh, how naïve you are, pet. Just what were you taught?” As he clutched his chest, he sunk a little lower toward you. “I didn’t fight on those battlefields. I didn’t press the red button. I didn’t kick men and women to the ground, pointing guns in their faces. But do you know who did?”

The cogs in your head began to turn as you wracked your mind over his words. Then, a wave of understanding slammed into you, and you lowered your pistol, your arm going limp at your side.

He couldn’t possibly mean...

“Ding, ding, ding! You guessed it.” His lips curled up into a delighted smirk. “Humanity did.”

Your eyes widened in horror. Oh, no.

The manic look in his eyes only grew. “Oh, yes.” He cackled at the look on your face, pointing at you. “I didn’t even have to lift a finger for you to all walk straight into your own demise! How pathetic is that?”

You took a shaky step back, your pistol dropping to the ground. “B-B—”

“B-B-B-But what?” he said mockingly, mimicking you in a high-pitched tone. “Did they tell you that I’m the big, bad wolf and that humanity is Little Red? Because they lied, pet. They lied to you.” He pointed his fingers together to form an X, tilting his head at you. “I’ll have you know that I’m not a liar. A trickster, perhaps. But a liar?” He narrowed his eyes. “Never.”

He bent down where he hovered in the air, waggling a finger in your face. “The truth is, darling, is that I didn’t do anything. I just stood in the room and watched. I might have pointed out that that one little duke was in perfect view, or that that one city only had so many people living in it, but I never took any lives myself.” He lightly tapped your nose, and you shrunk back as he crooned, “Humanity did all that, pet. They’re the real monsters to blame here.”

You wanted to sink to your knees and melt into a puddle on the ground. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Your mentor told you that Dream killed all those people—that he was the one to stab the knife in and twist it while pulling it out. She wouldn’t lie to you, never in a million years.

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But there was something about the freckles scattered across Dream’s face and the way the moonlight bounced off his eyes that made you realize.

He was telling the truth.

A few moments passed in silence as you stared long and hard down at your feet. You could feel Dream’s gaze boring into your figure, eyeing you up and down as you struggled to steady the beating of your heart. You half-expected him to mock you even more, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Maybe he was more human than you thought.

“Why?” you finally whispered after god knows how long.

When you were met with silence, you raised your eyes to meet his once more. “Why did you do it?” you said, louder this time. “Why did you interact with us at all if you wouldn’t even get your own hands dirty? If you knew it would only end like this?”

His eyes flashed, the tiniest hint of carmine swirling in their murky depths. “Isn’t the answer obvious, pet?” He flashed you a wicked grin. “I was bored.”

You blinked, realization slowly setting in. “Bored? Bored?” You were about to lose it, now. “You did all that just because you were bored?”

He shrugged. “Sure did. Chaos makes the world so much more interesting, don’t you think? If only good things happened, you would be bored, too.”

Your stomach churned with disgust. “You’re twisted.”

His smile only widened. “At least I’m having fun.”

All you could do was stare at him in defeat. This wasn’t right. There were more ways to have fun than to toy with humanity’s psyche and drive them to end people’s lives, even for a demon like him. There had to be something you could do. For some inexplicable reason you couldn’t bring yourself to name, a part of you almost wanted to help him.

I must be losing my mind, you thought. What person in their right mind would try to save a demon, let alone the most powerful one of them all?

You, apparently.

The cogs in your head began to churn, your mind bustling as it tried to come up with some alternative, no matter how silly. There had to be something he could do that wasn’t just this.

That was when it hit you.

“Why,” you started slowly, your voice coming out shaky and unsure, “don’t you have fun in a way that doesn’t destroy things... but creates them?”

He blinked lazily at you. “Hm?”

You swallowed, raising your chin. “You—you can have chaos, but it doesn’t need to be destructive.”

He raised his brows. “It doesn’t?”

Your gaze hardened. “Not at all.”

Just then, a flash of memory shot through your skull, and you gasped. “Say, Dream,” you began, “do you—do you know how the Greeks thought the universe came to be?”

You didn’t wait for him to answer. “First,” you said, “there was chaos. And from chaos, life was born. Gods and goddesses, plants and animals.”

“And humans,” he added.

You nodded. “And humans—like me.” You pressed a hand to your chest. “See? Chaos can create things. It doesn’t have to be so full of death and terror.”

While his expression was bemused, there was something sad about it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “You do realize that that’s just a story that you human made up?” he hummed. “How the universe came to be is far more different.”

You blinked. “You were alive for that?”

He sent you a blank smile, the look in his eyes betraying nothing. “Maybe, maybe not.” Waving his hand, he flipped over onto his back, floating a fraction higher than before. “Point is, that kind of chaos probably doesn’t exist.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side. “But it could,” you whispered.

He paused, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “What?”

You dug your heel into the ground, raising your voice. “It could! You don’t know that it doesn’t.” You took a step toward him, throwing your arms out. “Isn’t that fun? Isn’t that exciting? That there’s a whole other form of chaos you’ve never discovered before?!”

Your shout rang out into the quiet forest as Dream stared at you, his lips parted the tiniest bit. Rather than looking amused or arrogant, he almost looked... raw. Real. This might just the most vulnerable look you’d gotten of him all night.

Then, he burst into laughter.

Lowering your arms, you huffed at him, trying and failing to ignore the warmth blossoming between your lungs as you took in his wheezing face. “W-What?”

“Oh,” he gasped between peals of laughter, “what a treat you are, pet.”

Heat flashed across your cheeks as he wiped away a tear from his eye, his chuckles slowly dying down. His laugh should not sound as attractive as it was—he should not be as attractive as he was.

“Tell you what,” he said as he caught his breath once more, sending you a devilish grin. “If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you my real one.”

You stared at him for a moment, then your jaw dropped. “What?”

He stared at you, his emerald eyes glowing in the dim light. “You heard me.”

For a few seconds, you simply gaped, your brain still struggling to process his words. “But... but why?” you finally blurted. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

He hummed at you, flipping upside down. “What about it doesn’t make sense? It seems like a fair trade to me.”

Sputtering, you threw your hands into the air. “A demon’s true name is the source of their power! By handing it over to me, you’re basically putting your life in my hands—in a demon hunter’s hands.” Your face blanched at the mere thought. “A human name and demon name aren’t even remotely comparable.”

He blinked at you, slow and lazy. “I know.”

You didn’t understand—you couldn’t understand. “Then why are you doing this?”

He dipped his down toward you, his face hovering mere inches away from yours. “Isn’t it obvious?” he murmured. “You’re interesting. And rather cute, I suppose.”

You back-pedaled, your eyes wide as you stammered, “I-I could kill you if you told me your real name.”

He hummed, tucking his hand under his chin. “Perhaps, I suppose.” His lips curled upward. “But you won’t.”

Your hand squeezed around nothing. “You don’t know that.”

He chuckled again, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “Oh, yes I do, pet. Don’t act as though I can’t see right through you. I know you’re too wishy-washy to kill me off just like that.”

He tilted his head at you, his gaze brimming with mischief.  “That’s the thing about humans—you’re all so greedy. You all want something you don’t have, something that fuels you to acquire more. It might be power, or fame, or fortune, or love. It’s quite pathetic, really. But curiosity?”

Lowering himself, he pushed himself up until he was standing flat on the ground again, his hands sliding into his pockets. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and your mouth went dry. “Why, curiosity is your greatest flaw of all. You humans always want to know more, and I know that you want to know what I do next, whether you’re aware of it or not.”

You felt like your blood was going to tear right out of your veins. You hated how right he was, how well he seemed to know you. “You’re insane,” you said.

His smile was lazy and wide as he took a single step toward you. “Probably. But I’ve been alive for ages now, and you might be the most fun thing I’ve seen in millennia. I want to know your name, pet.”

This was crazy in every sense of the word. Any other demon wouldn’t even dare utter their true name aloud, even to themselves, yet here Dream was, bargaining his for yours.

You’d be an idiot not to tell him your name, now.

Swallowing, you didn’t dare look away from his piercing eyes. “It—my name is [Y/N].”

His lips parted in awe, and he stepped toward you once more. “[Y/N],” he repeated, slowly. Carefully, like a wolf stalking its prey. “Fascinating name. Haven’t met too many of those in my lifetime, shocking as it may be.” He paused for a moment, and you could have sworn his smile looked different. “It’s pretty.”

A rush of heat went shooting down your spine, your stomach doing a flip. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glared at him. “Well, stop dawdling! What’s your real name, Dream?”

For a long, excruciatingly slow minute, he only stared at you, scanning every inch of your face. You could feel anxiety begin to crawl up your throat as he did nothing more than watch the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed.

All of a sudden, he was standing in front of you, his hand tucked underneath your chin and lifting it upward. You barely had the chance to gasp before you felt a soft warmth pressing against your lips, light as a feather and tasting like ash and smoke.

Before you could even register what had just happened, he was gone.

You whirled, your face growing astronomically hot. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears again, but for an entirely different reason this time. You raised your hand to touch your lips while your cheeks burned furiously.

Did he just... kiss me?

Just then, a whisper ran along the shell of your ear, so soft that you almost missed it.

“My name is Clay.”

[galaxxiwrites]

I haven't gotten a request like this yet, actually :D

note: I decided to kind of do a breaking the 4th wall thing here and have WoL get on the daily roulette grind. I originally planned to make them the I-don't-wait-for-the-healer kind of chaotic but when I thought about it, just doing the daily roulette must seem like chaotic behavior in the world of Eorzea 😂 Additionally, for some reason I can't edit the original draft for some reason?? That's why posting this took longer than I wanted to I'm so sorry ;-;

Protective over f!WoL (ft. Haurchefant, Estinien & Aymeric)

Haurchefant always worried about her well being, especially when he sees her everyday with fresh new battle scars over ones that have barely begun to heal. But he doesn't have the heart to outright stop her, after all, this was her dream. He just want to be as supportive as he can.

"My dear, are you sure you need to do this everyday?"

He asks her as he replaces the bandages he just applied yesterday.

She gave him a solemn nod, saying that she needed to master all her jobs.

Honestly, most of the things she says just flies right over his head. He didn't see why it was so important for her to become a master of many when many normal people would probably take their whole life simply trying to master one.

But he knows he can't do anything about it, after all, she was always so stubborn—in a charming sense. Still, he hopes that she would think of herself for even a fraction of how much he worries about her.

Knowing that she was out and about somewhere, and knowing her rushing into danger, made focusing on his paper work all the more difficult.

He wasn't much for prayer, he was rather a man of action. Lately however, he finds himself by the steps of the Cathedral, offering up a small prayer to Halone to keep WoL safe when he could not be around her.

Every time before she goes off, Haurchefant will always double to check with her to make sure she's brought everything she needed.

"Do you have enough food with you? Are your potions stocked? Do you need any armor or weapon upgrades? Are you sure you don't need me to tag along? Perhaps I should come after all, so I can keep my eye on you."

She reassures Haurchefant that there's no need for him to be so protective of her- she was a warrior...of light.

"(Y/n), I realize you've been blessed with so many gifts...but I will always worry about you. After all, just the thought of losing you is unbearable to me... So please, promise me you'll come back. Alive. Okay?"

Estinien Wyrmblood

Estinien, at first payed no mind to her running off to wherever everyday. After all, who was he to stop her journey to get stronger? If anything, he supported her commitment to those everyday raids.

He wasn't much for extravagant displays of affection. He was rather the type to either give her a small pat on the head or back, or says See you later when she's about to head off.

Her daily raids quickly shows its results- as in the span of a few months she was becoming a master of many arts. He was proud, seeing her attain such feats of strength. Though he's still upset that she beat him.

Seeing her grow so quickly made him curious as to what exactly she was doing. Was it all the power of the crystal, or were these raids just that gruesome?

He needed to know, so one day he tells her that he would join her on what she called the daily grind.

It just so happened that they needed another person to fill their slot for a day of raiding. And so, Estinien joined the band of adventurers she was associated with.

The dungeon raiding had his blood pumping...but not from joy. He saw the way she ventured into these dangerous lands, eyes only looking forward and never stopping. He swore he could feel his heart drop whenever she pulled so much monsters to herself.

So he decides to stay beside her, watching her back as best as he could.

The whole fight he was grumbling, saying how it was hard for him to focus on protecting himself when he was too focused on protecting her. WoL apologizes, but it was obviously just one in passing, as she continued to press forward without any sense of caution.

At the end of their expedition of Aurum Vale, Estinien immediately excused the both of them for the day. WoL was complaining, saying how she wasn't done yet. He wasn't having any of it.

Once they were out of ear shot from her companions, Estinien finally voiced his concerns.

"Do you really do this everyday? Jump at the first sight of danger? You know there's a difference between courageous and stupidity-"

Estinien catches himself before he goes on a rant.

"We're going home to rethink battle strategies. And from now on, you're not leaving my sight, got it? I'm coming with you whenever you go out for these runs."

Despite his glare, she couldn't help but chuckle, saying how nice it was to see Estinien be protective of her for once.

"...That's your takeaway from this?"

Aymeric de Borel

The first time WoL tells Aymeric of her routine raiding, he swore he felt his heart drop.

"That seems like a quite ordeal, though I do pray you keep yourself safe."

Still, he lets her be. He knows of her strength, after all, she felled the mighty Nidhogg and ended the Dragonsong War. She changed the entire course of his country, and he will never stop praising her for such a feat.

...That is until he hears of her return from one of these ventures, so injured that she needed immediate medical attention.

Aymeric immediately dropped all his work and came to visit her in the infirmary, being attended by an astrologian whom he recognized was her friend. He immediately inquired of her status.

"How is she? How bad was she injured?"

He asked, almost intimidating the astrologian. Her acquaintance quickly gained composure however, and said that she will be fine after this healing session- after all this was how she has always been.

"The voidsent didn't get her that bad- she was just caught off guard. She's been through worse, so I assure you she'll be right back at her feet after she wakes up."

Aymeric, for the first time in a while, thought his heart stopped. Always? Voidsent? She's been through worse?

Aymeric was so worried that he couldn't get back to work and chose to remain by her bedside. He wanted to have a talk to her as soon as possible.

Not long after, she awoke from her slumber, and Aymeric gives her a tight embrace- so tight that it hurt her still fatigues body. He apologizes for not controlling his strength, but was thankful that was awake.

"My beloved, you never told me just how dangerous these daily raids were."

He holds both of her hands in his, giving them a solemn kiss.

"Please be more careful. I don't know what I would do if I lost you too."

She apologizes, but assures him that these type of injuries were nothing. Aymeric shakes his head, not believing that she made light of such a situation.

"My love, promise me you'll be careful. Please?"

He pleads with large puppy dog eyes, making it hard for her to reject nor look away from him.

The next day, Aymeric ordered armor and weapons of the highest quality and durability, taking the funds directly from his own, just to make sure she was beyond adequately geared up.

Aymeric also started to dissuade her from traversing these dungeons everyday, and reasons that she should at least have days of rest.

[alvfr]

Trust

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader

Prompt: Y for Yolo (Public Sex), requested by Anon

Rating: Explicit. 18+, minors DNI

Words: 7.2K

Includes: Semi-public sex. Shieldmaiden!Reader. PiV (unprotected). Fingering. Some exhibitionism, some overstim.

A/N: Takes place before Thor 1, when Loki was a bit more innocent. A hint of feelings, but mostly smut. Cross-posted to AO3, link in my masterlist. Enjoy ❤

Trust

Some people said Loki Odinson had a tongue of silver. An innate charm and ability to get his way. Volstagg teased him about it, but the moniker didn’t come entirely unearned. There had been many times where Loki had talked his way out of trouble — or as had happened lately — into your breeches.

It was Freya’s blessing he wanted to keep this thing as secret as you. No one in your little troop of warriors would ever let you live it down if they found out he had talked you into this.

No one ever came up here, he said. Private and secluded, he said. More private than either of your chambers, he said. And the wind carried the noise away so you wouldn’t need to be quiet. All things he’d said to convince you to join him on one of the higher balconies.

“Loki,” you almost hissed, withdrawing slightly from the heavy make-out session where he had you pinned up against a column. He took advantage of your new position and latched his mouth onto the soft parts of your throat instead. There were plenty of reasons to call him Silvertongue, you thought hazily, but forced your eyes open to glare at him. “Loki, I can see all of fucking Asgard from here!”

“And they,” he didn’t even stop layering kisses on your neck, but now his hands joined in on the fun where he groped the few available inches of your waist below the thick leather bodice you wore, “can’t see us.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He finally straightened up to look at you, forcing you to tilt your head back to keep him in focus and making your heart beat uncomfortably fast by the intensity of his stare. Bright eyes giving you their full attention and his lips pulled up in a small smirk — like he was thinking of a joke and not about to share. His normally thin lips now plump and wet from the heavy kisses, and his lithely muscled chest moving in tune with his slightly hard breaths. Even if there weren’t any feelings involved in this — because there weren’t — there was no escaping the fact that the youngest prince was as handsome as he was clever.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve, Shieldmaiden,” he said and squeezed the available flesh on your hips almost in affection. The movement pulled you into him where something hot and hard rubbed against the upper edge of your breeches. His eyebrow lifted on the same side where his lip remained pulled up in semi-amusement. “I thought we were in agreement.”

He wasn’t taunting you. In fact, his voice was smooth as the marble of the balcony, but it felt like a challenge. That was probably how all of this had started in the first place when you thought about it. A trap disguised as a challenge, one he knew you’d never back down from. It should have angered you, but right now it only made you slicker within the confines of your underclothes and your nipples tightened against the molded cups of hardened leather, separated by the rough cloth of your tunic. He knew you and he’d wanted you, so he figured out how to get you. And now he had you.

“There is no one here,” Loki murmured, probably interpreting your thoughtful silence for what it was — a desire to be persuaded. He bent his head down to nip gently at your throat again. Never hard enough to leave marks somehow, but hard enough that you felt them. “I thought it’d be more comfortable than rutting like animals behind the mead hall.”

The vibration from his lips on your sensitive skin had your body humming in tune. You dropped your head back against the column, closing your eyes briefly. “You thought a marble balcony would be more comfortable?”

“At least it doesn’t smell like horse shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that and felt him smile against the curve of your neck. “I don’t know, I think it gave a specific ambiance.”

“Mm,” he murmured in mock agreement and moved his mouth lower, deftly pulling loose the strings keeping the neckline of your tunic decent and exposing more skin. “And there’s light here.”

Rolling your eyes, trying to conceal how good his tongue felt slipping over your collar bone, you muttered: “Yes, it usually is outside in the middle of the day.”

“Well, forgive me,” Loki moved up again, caging you in and making you feel tiny in a way no one else ever had, “for wanting to see you for once.”

He accompanied his words by pulling the open ends of your tunic apart, exposing the swell of your breasts to the midday sun. Maybe the light was another part that made you nervous. This arrangement you had — hurried and desperate groping on top of hay bales after returning from a quest, usually after having too much mead or if Volstagg got sufficiently under Loki’s skin so he again needed to get under yours — didn’t seem fit for daylight.

As handsome as he was, it bordered on too much to see the glint in his eye — never letting you doubt that he was watching you watching him in turn. Your breath hitched when Loki, not dropping his eyes down even a fraction, ran a finger along the edge where your leather bodice cupped your breasts. Goosebumps trailed in his wake that had nothing to do with temperature and your nippled stiffened further. You wondered if he would be able to see them from his angle, and the thought sent zings of excitement into your core.

“Tell me if you changed your mind,” Loki drawled, dipping the finger a bit lower and running it back so it whispered over the upper edge of your nipples. A teasing and fleeting touch that had your spine curving to get more. His voice never wavered, eyes still glittering in the sunlight, but this was the Loki you knew best. The dangerous Loki, who watched and listened and schemed while the rest of you just fought blindly and readily. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, unable to speak when he leaned against the side of your head. Breath hot in the shell of your ear as he whispered: “Shieldmaiden.”

A challenge, but by now your slick underclothes and your stubborn mind were in agreement. With a huff, you grabbed one of the latches by his hip and pulled him closer. “Make it fast.”

The smile stretching over his lips infuriated you so much you kissed him only to make it disappear. It didn’t, but he kissed back as best he could while you both worked to get sufficiently out of your clothes to scratch that itch. An itch you hadn’t known before Loki first propositioned you, and now made it hard to focus with him nearby. Neither were wearing full armor and as intricate as the Asgardian fashion design went, certain practicalities were still maintained and it made things infinitely easier.

This was more how you knew it, you thought, while Loki forced his hand into your open breeches, dipping straight into your wet core. Desperate and hurried, without the need for all this talking. A hard finger rubbed in between your folds, working its way up to where you needed him the most. His taller frame had you pinned against the column; his heavy breaths echoed over your skin while you struggled to undo the bindings of his trousers.

“Oh fuck me,” you moaned and bit down a louder sound. Loki took pride in your pleasure and now two of his fingers circled your clit that steadily swelled with arousal. You already had your hand over his hard erection, and palmed it through the supple leather, knowing his size and how good he’d feel inside of you in a bit.

“That is the plan.” Loki didn’t even sound smug, just that same even tone, and only his nostrils flared slightly to give any indication at how your hand clumsily rubbed his length. His brows furrowed and he flicked your clit harder, while you pressed into the cool marble behind you. “The wind carries sound away, Shieldmaiden. Let me hear you, no one else will.”

“There’s-” You inhaled sharply when he made a particularly harsh swipe, sending shockwaves of pleasure to your outer limbs. “There’s guards not even twenty feet below us.”

This upper balcony overlooked the vast rows of the golden patios adorning the entire side of the palace. Maybe Loki was right and this one was left alone — possibly reserved for the royal family now that you considered it — but the heavily armored guards trawled every other possible vantage point. Never mind that Asgard hadn’t faced attackers in centuries — Odin might have grown fat, but never careless.

Another hard gasp when Loki shifted his hand to slip two long, elegant fingers inside of you. A tight fit, no matter how many times he’d done it, and you gasped at the intrusion mixed with the overwhelming sensation. Your cunt burned now, throbbing and needy, while your rationality detached from your brain.

“Don’t,” he warned, penetrating you equally hard with his stare, “let your mind wander now. I see you biting your tongue when you want to mewl, Shieldmaiden, don’t hold back. Not here, not with me.”

The heel of his hand ground against your clit and you writhed against the column, fully at his mercy and mind blanking with ecstasy. “The guards-”

“Won’t hear a thing over the wind.” Loki licked his lips, staring at your heaving chest, then back to focus at your widened eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Your first instinct was to laugh with a whole-hearted ‘No!’, but an edge to his voice drowned yours in your throat. The things he was doing with his hand, thrusting two fingers sloppily into your wet cunt, made it hard to breathe, let alone think clearly. Did you trust him? You shouldn’t. And yet...

“I trust you.”

The handsome smile stretching over his face — handsome and dangerous — quickened your heart again, but then he pressed his lips against yours for a deep kiss while his fingers positively danced over your clit. The warm taste of his tongue and the hard edge of his teeth nipping your bottom lip made your head swim. Your knees trembled, all thoughts of how this would look should someone come wandering to this part of the balcony gone from your mind. Nothing in focus except the burning ache in your clit where he continued to rub and rub and rub-

His wet lips shimmered across yours when he spoke. “Let me hear you.”

You stared at him with pleading eyes. The occasions to fornicate without an unsuspecting audience nearby had been few and far between in your life. Either quick and messy thrusts near the campsite or muffled grinding at your chambers where the walls seemed paper-thin despite being made of stone. At this point, biting down your moans had become second nature, but Loki’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh fuck,” you breath out, more a grunt than anything more enticing when he shoved the two fingers back into your dripping wet sex. He had long arms, but you were still on your toes to give him better access. The reward came in his fingers curling, rubbing against that blasted spot inside your channel that made your eyes cross. “Loki, what-”

“Let,” his thumb swiped across your clit, “me,” the two fingers inside pumped steadily, “hear you.”

He massaged that particular spot again and your legs would have squeezed together if his knee hadn’t shoved in to keep them apart.

At this point, you didn’t even care about the guards. The sounds stuck in your throat, so many years of training hindering anything louder than your hard breaths. You quivered in his grip, no longer paying any attention to the hardness in his trousers, and realized you would have collapsed if he hadn’t held you upright.

“Loki, I-”

Words failed you again and you momentarily hated how whiny you sounded. The wind might have drowned out most sounds, but you swore you heard the wet squelches from his fingering louder than your own heartbeat. He had learned since this started where to touch you. How to make your clit scream after his touch and how to rub it until your wet cunt clamped around nothing, desperate for something to fill it.

“Oh Freya’s tits,” you swore softly, leaning into his slim body, caring less about anything else by each passing stroke of his fingers. “Gods, yes, plea-”

Loki’s silver tongue ran along the curve of your ear, his fingers never stilling on your tight bundle of nerves, and you trembled all over. His voice raised every hair on your body, although you weren’t sure if it was in a good way or not. He only said one word, but it rushed a new flood of wetness around his fingers.

“God.”

Too far gone to argue or think clearly, you just nodded and tried to keep breathing. The wave — the roaring gale of sheer bliss — rose inside of you, stoked higher every passing second and every passing swipe of his fingers. A moan rose from your chest, but was instinctively bit down before it reached past your lips.

With a growling sound of frustration, Loki tore his hand from your cunt and the sudden loss left you dizzy.

“What-”

His hand glistened and left smears on the front of his own trousers where he completed the work you had started to get himself free. You caught the briefest glimpse of a thatch of smooth black hair and his veined heavy cock before he spun you around.

“Since you insist on remaining quiet,” he said with his mouth near your ear while manhandling you like you were some dainty elfling instead of a battle-forged warrior, “we might as well take full advantage.”

It was easy to forget how strong Loki was, especially when you usually saw him next to his beefcake of a brother. Even without the gleaming biceps on display, Loki still had this functional strength that took you by surprise even now. Long, lean muscles that you knew on a rational level could lift you easily — as he had done behind the mead hall at times — but quickened your breath every time he did so. Like now, where he steered you to face the spectacular view of Asgard with him directly behind you. Despite his strength, his hand skated over your back with only the faintest hint of pressure to have you lean forward. You did, still reeling from the loss of his hand in the first place, and braced yourself on the tall marble parapet.

Next thing you knew, he pushed your tunic up to your waist and yanked your open breeches down so the aforementioned wind caressed the naked flesh of your buttocks. Not just the wind — Loki’s hand also massaged you appreciatively, kneading the supple flesh and spreading your cheeks. It spread your swollen nether lips too, where the wind cooled your glistening parts that his fingers had teased open and ready.

Staring wide-eyed into nothing, you thought you heard the sounds of him stroking himself. He had large hands and a large cock — one that reached far beyond your comfort level when shoved down your throat — and you suddenly realized that you hadn’t seen him either in daylight. Rubbed it, sucked it, and fucked it, but never seen it.

It made you arch your back and peer over your shoulder, too curious for your own good. God. That was exactly what he looked like. A god. All his clothes intact save from the open fly where his pale, strong cock protruded a few inches before disappearing into his moving fist. The hint of a deep pink head, smeared with pearly white pre-cum. His eyes were glued to you where you were on full display, legs spread as far as they went with your breeches gathered somewhere around knee height.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbled, where his hand went faster over his cock. Your cunt throbbed while your heart jumped as he looked up, that tell-tale smirk back on his lips when he had caught you looking at him. Still a hint of something softer in his eyes when he dipped his fingers between your folds again, as if gauging your wetness. “Are you ready?”

Your eyelashes fluttered down when the soft pad of his finger circled your clit. It somehow made him look godlier where he stood, proud and tall outlined against the marble backdrop. Mouth dry, you nodded, too far gone to be embarrassed by how you pushed against his finger. The teasing had reached an excruciating level where it burned from your clit and up to a tight ball in your lower stomach.

With a close-lipped smile, Loki’s gaze dropped to between your legs again and his eyelids drooped down a bit. Your neck strained from watching him at the awkward angle, but you couldn’t help it. Everything you saw made you wetter and more eager for him. The sunlight bouncing off his sleek black hair, the carved contours of his throat muscles flexing when he swallowed, and the thick head of his cock that now disappeared from view before you felt it separate your folds instead.

“Fuck,” you moaned, still under your breath, and caught the satisfied curl to Loki’s lips before you fell forward to support yourself on the tall balustrade. There was no way to spread your legs further, but you tried to bend so your hips pushed backward and gave him more room. The sound of Loki’s hardened breaths sent tingles up your spine, but when his cock pushed deeper inside you didn’t hear anything anymore. The round curve of his head poked into your heat, before he pulled back, spreading your essence around and driving in again. Always careful, always mindful of your reactions, using his demanding grip on your hips to move you back and forth.

“You are,” Loki murmured and his hands shifted to spread your cheeks again, probably giving him the view of your swollen cunt speared by his cock, “absolutely stunning. Who would have known what an exquisite quim you were hiding underneath that armor?”

The compliment had you burning hotter than being fully exposed like this. At least you could glare at the long stretches of Asgardian architecture instead of facing his infuriating smirk. Infuriating and handsome smirk. Gorgeous. Stunning. Exquisite. Not words you normally heard about yourself. They were soft words, painting a picture that didn’t fit with your image. Silvertongue, you reminded yourself, knowing Loki treated talking like a game to be won.

“I thought I said to make it fast,” you bit out over your shoulder, headstrong as always even with half of Loki’s cock buried in your wet channel. “Ah — fuck!”

It was now all of Loki’s cock buried in you.

He’d pushed forward with a sharp thrust so his balls slapped against your clit with an embarrassingly wet sound. Fingers biting into your hips like yours tried to carve their way into the marble parapet, he held himself there. All the way inside. Just on the slight verge of being too big. Too thick, too long, too something to possibly fit inside. Yet he did and you ground your teeth together, now not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing your so-called mewls because he felt fucking good.

“Very well,” Loki said somewhere behind you, his voice breaking even if he tried to sound nonchalant. He had to feel how you clamped down on him, still tight no matter how wet he’d made you. You fucking hoped he felt it because your vision almost blurred while your sex rejoiced at being so thoroughly stuffed. “Have it your way then, Shieldmaiden.”

You tried to breathe, but the next hard thrust he made had you seeing stars. The glittering rooftops of Asgard blurred and stretched, like a personal replica of the Bifrost, while Loki fucked you into oblivion. Breasts jerking forward inside your bodice, threatening to spill over the edge where your tunic hung more open than closed, while your cunt tried to swallow his cock whole.

At least his unforgiving pace left little space for conversation, and you heard the sharp breaths that you knew meant he hissed through his teeth at every hard push forward with his hips. Large hands pulled you back to meet him, meaning every single stroke hit that soft spot inside of you that made your legs shake.

Eyes closed, mouth hanging open, you felt the wave build again. That deep and hard pleasure from his cock sliding into you over and over again, continuing the work his fingers had started. Eyes rolling back, it was sheer luck you happened to open them just when you did.

“Loki, stop, stop,” you hissed under your breath, holding a hand back blindly to make him pause. “Guards.”

A handful of them, moving on the patio below you, the sun glinting off their heavy helmets. You swallowed a groan when Loki pushed back in — your cunt well open and inviting for him by now — and felt his breath shimmer across your neck as he leaned forward to look. His tall frame bent over yours, covering you completely while his hands landed on the parapet.

“What are you worried about?” he murmured directly into your ear, the smoothness of his voice gliding straight down into your core. Fully lodged inside of you, he ground against your backside so you felt the clasps on his trousers push into your skin. The heat from his breath felt like dragonfire, and you didn’t have the forethought to push back when he maneuvered you closer to the parapet. “You’re not making any sounds.”

Gods, he felt good. His cock carving out your cunt, like no lover ever had before. You still tried to think, to keep your wits somewhat. “If they look up—”

“They’ll see your pretty face,” Loki whispered and his teeth grazed your earlobe. “And nothing more.”

Of course your treacherous mind wandered. If the guards happened to glance up, would they be able to tell what was happening? From your face alone, maybe? From the sheen of sweat on your cheeks or the heat burning in your eyes? Surely they’d see the movement, how every firm push from Loki jolted you forward and had your mouth dropping open even if you tried to bite your jaw shut?

“They won’t be able to tell,” Loki snaked his hand forward and around your waist, “that this honorable Shieldmaiden is getting her cunt stuffed full of royal cock.”

The words dropped like iron weights into your soul. Loki rarely swore — never had a need for it — and you tightened involuntarily by how elegant he still made it sound. And the bastard caught on.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His thrusts gained strength again, but he didn’t pull back too far, still whispering straight into your soul. “For them to see you like this? See you gasping for air and biting your tongue?”

His fingers found your clit and he drew tight circles around it. You writhed, not sure where to push or pull, wanting more and less at the same time.

“See beyond the armor,” you squeezed your eyes shut when he bucked forward and hit that blasted spot again, “and the jokes,” another wet sound when his balls slapped against your spread cunt, “and the stubborn pride?”

“Loki,” you whispered, staring at the guards that made no indication of hearing what was happening above them. You told yourself you were watching for signs of movement. Of anyone on the cusp of glancing up at the pair of you. That you weren’t looking because Loki’s words only stoked a fire ignited by your own thoughts. That you weren’t looking because you wanted them to look.

The slap of skin against skin, the thundering heartbeat in your chest, the wet squelches from Loki’s fingers on your clit — it sounded louder than Fossegrim’s violin in the echoes of his cave. How could they not hear you? How could they not realize that you were getting fucked within an inch of your life by the youngest Odinson less than twenty feet away?

Loki’s raw voice continued, each syllable slotted into place with meticulous precision. “What would they think if they saw their beloved Shieldmaiden bent over and fucked like some common whore?”

His words shouldn’t have made you wetter. On a rational level, you knew that, and yet they seemed to tease your burning clit with the same intensity as his fingers. The thrill of doing something so outrageous and indecent so close to guards who would salute you on the battlefield had your inner walls tighten around Loki’s irresistibly hard cock.

Their helmets were designed to withstand heavy blows. Clunky and inelegant for the wearers — they wouldn’t glance up without reason. You knew that, but the risk was still there. That one of them might want to stretch his neck. Or break regulations to scratch his scalp, sweaty and hot from wearing the golden bucket for so long. The risk that now had you pushing back to meet Loki’s strokes, rocking your hips to get more of his fingers on your clit. Harder, faster — you wanted him, more of him.

Almost flush against Loki’s chest where he rutted into you, you weren’t sure which heartbeat belonged to who. Whose breath burned its way into your lungs. Or whose head turned first to claim the other one’s lips in a wet, sloppy kiss.

But you definitely knew it was Loki’s hands trailing up the hard edge of your bodice and shoving it down below your breasts. Your nipples tightened in the sudden onrush of fresh air and you stifled a gasp at the full exposure. Indecent. Improper. Half-naked with your tits jerking forward with each of Loki’s hard thrusts. A far cry from the decorated warrior you were.

Not sure where to look — eyes for some reason glued at the guards’ helmets below — you knew you should ask him to stop. Ask him to move back so you weren’t halfway hanging over the parapet like this. Ask him to-

Ask him-

Something.

“Fuck, Loki,” you gasped. His long arms circled around you, one hand back in your sopping wet cunt and the other groping your breasts, tugging and tweaking each nipple in turn. “If they-”

“If they what?” His voice had turned less hard; a murmur into your neck. “See these?” He pinched one of your nipples, working you so quickly up against that edge that would have you pulse around his cock. “They should thank Freya for her blessings then, for throwing them a glimpse of paradise. Or they should curse her name, for how they will never get the image out of their head for as long as they live. Can you imagine? All those guards stroking their cocks to the memory of your naked tits? Spilling into their own hands while wishing — praying — that it would be onto your breasts?”

“F-fuck,” you moaned, arching your back to push your breasts into Loki’s hard hands and your ass into his groin. The lewd sounds of your fucking drowned out all else, while his other hand continued with the ruthless stimulation of your clit. “Fuck me, Loki, fuck-”

“In front of the guards?” Loki hissed, a frantic edge to his voice, his mouth open in a slit while he panted over the curve of your throat. “You’d like that? How about I take you down in the throne room? On your hands and knees, like an animal with the whole court watching your cunt take my cock? I’ll fuck you in front of the whole Asgardian army if you’d like. Have you ride my cock, jumping up and down until your knees give in and I have to take over? Using you like I’d use my hand before?”

Gods, you were close. Mind lost in a haze of lust and debauchery, you didn’t know where to focus. The tug of your nipples, the intense burn in your clit, the wet rub of his hard length against your inner walls. Or his voice. His beautiful, smooth voice whispering nothing but filth in your ear, filling your mind with images forbidden and forsakenly arousing. At this point, you’d agree to anything. You’d let him fuck you on Odin’s throne if he asked right now. On top of Odin, so your tits would jiggle into the old man’s face while Loki fucked you recklessly.

Anything, as long as he kept pushing you further and further against that sweet, sweet climax that would wreck your entire body.

“Let me hear you,” Loki whispered then and you allowed a slight whimper past your lips. “Let me hear your sweet voice, Shieldmaiden. I’ll ask for nothing else and give you all you want if you stop holding back.”

“Loki,” you moaned in a voice so unlike your own. Needy and wanton, strained from your awkward angled neck where you tried to turn your head to kiss him again. “Gods, Loki, I-”

He crushed his lips onto yours, so inelegant and hurried it didn’t feel like him for a second. Then his lips pushed yours open, slipping his tongue inside to dance next to yours, and it was him. All him. His taste and his heat and his beautiful mouth kissing yours. The thrusts lost the steady rhythm, the hand on your breast now moved down to your waist while his fingers on your clit never paused. Not once, not even when the kiss ended and you stared at him over your shoulder, trying to see all of him you could. Beautiful, beautiful Loki.

His skin shone with sweat, bright eyes wide open and focused on you. Spit smeared around his mouth, for once open and hard instead of smirking at some private joke.

“Loki.”

“There you go,” he murmured and trailed his fingers harder over your clit to the point where your knees buckled. “Say my name. Like that. Let me hear you.”

“Loki.”

“Beautiful, beautiful maiden.” He sounded less coherent than you, some part in the back of your mind noting the vast difference between ‘maiden’ and ‘common whore’. “My gorgeous Shieldmaiden, please let me hear you. Let me hear what this does to you. For once, let me-”

The heavy door to the upper balcony flew open with a bang.

There wasn’t enough time to hide — for fuck’s sake, your breeches were still hooked around your knees — but just as one of the many housemaids of the palace poked her head through the door, a slight ripple enveloped you and Loki.

Not able to breathe, you froze solid with Loki halfway inside of you. An illusion. He’d cast an illusion to cover you. He’d done it enough times on the battlefield for you to recognize the way the air seemed to buckle a bit around you, like watching the world through uneven glass. It came in handy for an ambush or when you were simply outnumbered, needing time to regroup. You had never appreciated his skills as much as now. A simple beheading sounded more welcome than getting caught like this.

Neither moved while the maid stepped onto the balcony, a broom in her hands as she started to sweep.She started to sweep.

Fucking sweep.

No one ever came up here, he’d said. Private and secluded, he’d said. More private than either of your chambers, he’d said.

“Loki,” you whispered so low you barely heard it yourself, praying to anyone who would listen that the blasted wind really did cover most of the sounds up here. “Lok-”

“Sh, sh. Don’t move.”

Easy for him to say, you wanted to scream. He wasn’t the one half-naked and stuffed full of cock. Tits out, cunt bared, and your face flushed with wanton lust. You had been so fucking close too and your body bemoaned the sudden drop, urging you to move your hips to get back up. You clenched without intending to and heard his slight hiss that sent chills down your spine.

“Tell me the illusion will hold.”

“It’ll hold.”

You stared at the older maid who scuttled around, humming under her breath and apparently oblivious to your presence. “Are you lying?”

“It’ll hold.” His voice had moved closer to your ear and your stomach dropped when you felt him buck slowly into you. “Trust me.”

“Don’t you fucking da-”

“Shh.”

“I swear if we get caught, I’ll disemb-”

“Quiet, or we will get caught.”

With excruciating slow and controlled movements — so slow you could feel every vein rub against your spongy insides — he continued fucking you.

Fucked you in full display of a clueless maid who swept the large balcony without a care in the world. Without seeing how Loki Odinson had you squirming in his grip. Back arched, held up by a strong arm around your midriff, you bit your lip to remain quiet. He felt so fucking good, so good you felt dumb. Cockdumb? Was that a term? It felt appropriate, and you were so wet you could feel your own juices run down your leg, dripping onto your undergarments.

“She’s coming closer.”

The ripples in the air in front of you didn’t budge and for once, Loki’s tone sounded reassuring. “She can’t see us.”

“Can she hear us?”

He nipped the side of your throat while the head of his cock brushed against the deepest parts of you. “If I say yes?”

“Lok, I swea-”

He shushed you again and you felt the bastard smile against your skin. “If you’re worried, just be quiet.”

You had never been the one for magic and had no idea how much of Loki’s focus it took to keep the illusion intact. You could hardly stand from the intense pleasure spinning through your limbs, yet he somehow could keep fucking you while concealing you from the approaching maid with her broom. A broom that swept steadily over the marble floor, and you suddenly realized that you were invisible and not incorporeal.

Loki must have realized the same based on how he slowed down to a halt. His whisper edged its way to your conscious mind: “Do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Move with me.”

“Gods, Loki, I’ll get you for this.”

“Move.”

The maid was still ten feet away when Loki pulled you backward. The ripple followed you, this small bubble of just you and him and raw heat, and the maid did not even glance up. Loki fell back over one of the benches lining the inner part of the parapet and you fell on top of him. Spearing you thoroughly so you felt a small sharp pain on your inner parts. The swear died in your throat because Loki grabbed the underside of your thighs and tilted you back to lay against his chest and continued to fuck you.

“Have you lost your mind? Are you compl-”

“Will you have me stop?” he hissed in your ear, voice more ragged than ever before. “When you are dripping around me, hot and tight like the underside of a blacksmith’s forge? When I can feel your heartbeat through my cock? Shieldmaiden, you’re gripping me so hard, I don’t think I have a choice.”

“Just pull out or something.” Your protest sounded weak in your own ears. “Wait until she’s gone.”

“Do you really want that?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

He made a dark sound, but not displeased. “Your stubbornness will be the death of me, I’m sure. Lay back, maiden.”

His words rained on your skin like molten lava while you tried to fight the rising tidal wave of your approaching climax. You felt so good, so right, so beyond caring about the maid or the guards or anything beyond the delicious stretch of your sex. “But the illusion...”

“I think-”

A small gasp choked away in your chest when Loki spread your legs on top of him, giving the unwitting maid a show she couldn’t see. It was less about the public display of your swollen sex, and more to give him better access again.

“-that I have proved my abilities to do several things at once before.”

He held you up with that surprising strength, one hand on each thigh where you were nearly folded in half, knees pushed up to your shoulders. You almost went cross-eyed when he started making good of his promise to bounce you up and down on his cock. No one had ever made you feel small like he did. Tiny and weightless, even if you heard his hard breaths at what it cost him. Every snap of his hips upward should have roused the maid’s suspicion, but the illusion somehow held. Even with Loki working your insides to a frenzy, it held.

At a certain point, you stopped caring again. The maid seemed as inconsequential as the guards below where nothing mattered except Loki inside of you.

Your toes curled at the sensation of him dragging across your inner walls. His hot breath on your neck, his strong hands on your thighs, and that point he hit with each thrust upward that dislodged that block in your throat. You could feel it building alongside your rapidly approaching climax. The sounds he had asked for. It was not a sound the wind could ever hope to overpower.

“Loki, please, wait-” You babbled and moaned in a mixture of incoherent breaths. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“The illusion will hold, Shieldmaiden. She’ll be gone soon before I spill my seed, I am not that far gone yet.”

“It’s not- it’s not that.” Your voice low and tight, just like your cunt where you tried to squeeze more of him inside. “Loki, it’s me, I’m close, I can’t- I can’t hold- I-”

Loki shifted under you, staring at the maid moving towards the door at a leisurely pace. “A little longer, she’s almost gone.”

“I can’t-”

He stilled his thrusts and dropped you down so you sat in his lap. “Ten seconds, my b-”

“I can’t,” you moaned and found footing on the marble to move on your own. Sliding his cock in and out of you with abandon. “I can’t stop.” You wanted him so much. You needed to come now. You needed him, now. “Loki-”

“Shhh.” A newfound panic in Loki’s voice, and if you had paid attention, you would have seen the ripple in the air thinning out momentarily. The maid had her back turned on you where she headed for the balcony doors. “Oh hells. Wait, please-”

But you were so close and he felt so good. It rose and rose inside of you, this wave — this avalanche — of pure hot-white bliss, getting closer each time your ass slammed against his groin. You leaned back against his chest, pushing your breasts out, and rode him hard as you would a warhorse. Like a valkyrie on their proud steeds.

The scream that had built inside your chest along with your climax bubbled up to your throat now, threatening to spill. You were beyond caring about anything else, just impaling yourself over and over again, letting him hit every sweet spot inside of you.

And you would have screamed when the wave loosened — when the climax whipped into your body like a thunderstorm — if Loki hadn’t clamped his hand over your mouth at the same second. You still screamed, but the sound drowned in his strong hand, muted into nothing by the wind.

The balcony door swung shut — a sound barely registering through your foggy mind — and Loki’s illusion rippled before it snapped. While you still rocked your hips to prolong the wave of pleasure filling every particle of your being, you felt Loki’s deep groan in his chest as he joined you. Felt his seed spill deep into your pulsing sex while you rode out your own peak, whimpering against Loki’s hand, grinding against his chest.

Everything tingled and he twitched and spasmed inside you where string after string of thick white semen filled you up. It seemed to never stop, but eventually, it did. You slumped back against Loki’s chest, going up and down with each hard breath, and he gently removed his hand from your mouth to allow you to gulp down air. It helped somewhat, but you were so lightheaded the world spun circles around you, and you realized there were tears perched in your eyes from the intensity of it all.

His softening cock dislodged — leaving you thoroughly empty — while he moved you around so you could rest your cheek on his shoulder. He held you tight, rubbing your arm and thighs to help you down from whatever ethereal plane you had reached.

Finally you returned to this world and took in all the minor details. Breeches around your knees, bodice below your breasts, and covered in sweat and fluids. A mess, through and through, and your heart raced all over again at the multiple close calls.

“One day,” Loki murmured and tipped your head his way so he could place a gentle kiss on your raw lips, “I will learn all the sounds you can make.” He gave you a wide smile, tainted by exhaustion. “Shieldmaiden.”

It took some focus to find your voice, and you still sounded more breathless than fierce despite your best efforts. “Maybe not in a way we risk traumatizing the palace staff?”

He let out a low laugh, a comfortable sound despite the predicament of your clothing and appearance. “I swear, my beautiful warrior, I have never seen anyone up here before.”

“You still knew the guards were down below.”

“The wind-”

“You fuck off with that wind, Loki Liesmith.” You cupped his cheek with your palm and stared at his bright eyes. “Don’t think your Silver Tongue can talk you out of this one. We nearly got caught and when I catch my breath, I’ll break your jaw for it.”

And there was that infuriating and handsome smirk again. He swallowed, covering your hand with his own so he could bring it to his mouth where he placed a kiss in your palm. “You are in luck, Shieldmaiden.”

A warning sign, but you ignored it for now. “How so?”

“I just noticed there is a lock on that balcony door.”

Another warning sign.

“So when I find the key that fits,” he whispered in your ear, voice smooth as silk again, “I can use this tongue to both win your forgiveness,” you shivered when he ran the hot tip of his tongue down the curve your throat, “and learn all the sounds you can make.”

Some people said Loki Odinson had a tongue of silver. An innate charm and ability to get his way.

You were starting to think they had a point.

—

A/N: First time writing for Loki, so feedback appreciated - feel free to send me a message on anon if you’re shy. Remember to reblog if you like it ❤

[chatonne-rousse]

Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave

This is one akuma whose intentions are good. After all, who couldn't use an extra dose of courage to overcome fear?

A superhero whose identity will be immediately revealed in the process, for one.

When an akuma causes several secrets to come to light all at once, our heroes will need to drum up some courage to face their fears - and each other.

But what's waiting after that looks like it might be a dream come true. It'll just take a bit of bravery and a lot of heart. Piece of cake.

***

Only eight days late and several dollars short, I’m wishing @jennagrinsoverml a happy belated birthday with this gift, written just for her.  ILY, my friend!  

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Ladybug has to give Courageous some credit: she's a rarity, an akuma born of selfless means. A teenager who hadn't mustered the courage to stand up for a younger student being bullied at school, she'd been so ashamed, so angry with herself, that Hawkmoth had found an easy target to ply with honeyed words and promises.

Her power isn't even a terrible one. The beam of light she shoots from her right hand simply causes the person it strikes to relive the last encounter they had when their bravery failed them, this time with courage aplenty. It's admirable, really.

Admirable, but terrifying nonethless.

(The fear of Chat Noir finding out her identity is deep and dark and often floats to the surface of her nightmares with blue eyes and white hair and a drowned, ruined world. He cannot know. The cost is too high.)

"Whatever you do," she calls to her partner, frantic and scared, "don't let her hit you! Please, Chat!"

She hears the desperation in her own voice, and the look on his face conveys that he certainly does. He nods solemnly.

"I'll do my best, My Lady."

She nods back, and off they go into the fray.

For well over an hour, they fight Courageous through parks and plazas, sidewalks and thoroughfares. All around them, the people of Paris have squared their shoulders, lifted their chins, and braved conversations big and small with people only they could see.

Ladybug has to smile as she hears a young man confidently ask for a raise and watches his eyes light up at the response.

That smile fades when she remembers once again that the last time her courage had failed her was just as they were dismissed for lunch break, when she'd tried to invite Adrien to a movie that weekend. His eyes had been so kind as he'd waited for her to gather her words properly, and somehow that had just made it harder.

Then Lila had "accidentally" tripped and knocked into her, sending her to the floor. The memory of Adrien's hand reaching out to her to help her up, those same kind, patient eyes locked on hers, makes Ladybug's cheeks heat even now. But after she was upright again, after Lila had stalked off because no one seemed to care that she "probably would need surgery now because her arthritis would flare", Nino had reminded Adrien about the gig he was DJing on Friday and Alya had led her away to show her something on her phone.

Just like that, her opportunity was gone.

And that would be fine, honestly. Marinette was used to moments of stuttering and botched declarations when it came to Adrien.

But if she's hit by Courageous, Chat Noir - plus the citizens of Paris, Hawkmoth, everyone - will hear Ladybug try to ask Adrien Agreste on a date, and that will be a disaster of epic proportions.

"Ladybug, look out!"

Chat's body slams into hers, sending them rolling on the sidewalk just as a beam of magical light zips over their heads. In a flash, Chat Noir bundles her in his arms and vaults them to the rooftop above, making sure she's steady on her feet once they land.

"Thank you, Ki-" The words die in her throat when she sees over her partner's shoulder that Courageous has followed them.

Chat turns, his baton at the ready, while Ladybug reaches for her yo-yo, but neither is quick enough to stop the akuma's beam from finally finding one of its main targets.

"I'm sorry, Bug," he murmurs as his eyes glaze over.

Using her yo-yo as a spinning shield, Ladybug drags her partner behind the nearest chimney stack just as he begins to speak.

Panic sets in as her mind screams at her over the hum of her yo-yo, the akuma's laughter, her partner's voice.

I can't just leave him!

"Father, may I come in?"

Oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't hear this!

"Yes, Nathalie said she penciled me into your schedule for noon."

Nathalie?

Ladybug's gaze snaps to her partner, yo-yo still spinning to deflect beams of light. She's surprised to find Chat Noir's head bowed in deference, though his eyes shine with a confident gleam.

"I requested this appointment to ask you again if I could attend the event with my friends tomorrow evening. I've already completed my assignments for school and the homework from my Mandarin tutor."

Mandarin tutor? What?!

"Yes, Father, I'm aware that you don't care for Nino, but..."

The panicked scream in her mind gives up any attempt at coherence; by this point, it's no more than a muddled loop of Nathalie, Mandarin, Nino, Father.

Ladybug feints to the left to avoid being hit by the akuma as a mix of terror and adrenaline floods her system. She leaps forward, leaving Chat behind the chimney in the hope that she can engage the akuma just long enough to get her partner back and finally, finally finish this off.

She knows too much already. The cat has bolted straight out of the bag and is running loose on this rooftop beneath her feet, a distraction she can't handle right now.

On hero autopilot, she hurdles one beam after another, then tucks and rolls and pops up to roundhouse kick Courageous in the chest, sending her flying.

She hears the akuma's "oof" just as Chat Noir's jubilant voice rings out from behind the chimney.

"Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!"

She can hear his grin in those simple words, the sheer joy in being given permission to leave the house. Everyone in their class knows what a tight leash Gabriel Agreste keeps on his son. It breaks her heart every time she thinks of it. In fact, she's successfully fought for his release from that marble prison on more than one occasion! So yes, she'd already known with all the clues in place, but there was truly no mistaking it now: that was Adrien talking to his father.

Because Adrien is Chat Noir.

Her heart cracks. Oh, Chaton.

Suddenly, the akuma's progress in clambering to her feet is impeded by the whoosh and subsequent metallic thunk of Chat's overhand swing with his baton.

Relief floods her heart at the return of her partner. No matter who he is, Chat Noir is her other half, and Ladybug is never quite herself without him.

"Maybe we could use a little extra luck, My Lady!" Chat winks at her over his shoulder before facing the akuma again.

"Yes! Right! You bet!"

Get it together, Marinette, she thinks. Her face heats and she scampers away to the safety of the chimney stack where Chat was hidden to call for her lucky charm.

A red and black spotted can opener drops into her hands and she looks at it in confusion. "What am I supposed to do with this?" she grumbles, looking around frantically but seeing nothing to help her decipher how to use the lucky charm.

She takes a deep breath, peeks out from behind the bricks, and promptly takes a light beam to the face.

No, no, no, no!

It feels vaguely like having a water balloon popped on her head, a chill of sensation dripping down her spine and rippling through her nerves. It's a small mercy that being hit by an akuma rarely hurts physically. Her vision swims like a mirage in the desert, the familiar courtyard at school coalescing from vapor around her.

The last thing she sees is her partner's stricken face.

The last thing she hears is the akuma cackling.

"Heylo! Who! I mean," she takes a deep breath, a rush of confidence tingling along her nerves. "Hey, Adrien!" She smiles and gives him a little wave.

His grin takes her breath away. "Hi, Marinette! How are you?"

"I'm great!"

You can do it, you can do it!, her heart sings, and miraculously, her brain listens. Her smile turns coy. She taps her lip with her index finger. Her pulse pounds a bolstering tattoo in her ears. Go for it, girl!

"But I could be better."

Adrien's smile drops a fraction. "Are you okay? Is there something I can do?"

With another deep breath, she squares her shoulders and looks him in the eyes, her very cells imbued with a courage unparalleled even when she's wearing spots. She could do anything, anything, right now, but she has her mind set on accomplishing one thing and one thing only.

"You could join me for a movie on Saturday."

"I could...?" His brows furrow, but his grin grows slowly, bright but incredulous. "Are you asking me....?" He blinks, takes two shallow breaths. "Do you mean just the two of us?"

She nods decisively. "A date."

You did it. You did it! A veritable party erupts in the back of her mind, radiant relief spreading to her fingertips. It feels so good to finally break through her anxiety and fear and ask him that simple question that felt like an impossible task just a few hours ago.

Thankfully, he doesn't keep her waiting. The answer is in his eyes, anyway. "I would love to," he breathes, cheeks pink and smile dazzling.

"Really?" Marinette squeaks, and now it's his turn to nod.

"I'll be there even if I have to sneak out." Adrien reaches for her hand and gives it a little squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods again, her chest so full of emotion she can barely breathe. Not only did she ask him, but he said yes!

Suddenly, blue sky fills her vision and she regains awareness to the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the chimney stack. Ladybug tentatively gets to her feet, reaching for her yo-yo and setting it spinning immediately. This time there's no peeking around the corner; she bursts from behind the bricks on the offensive, ready to finish the fight.

What she finds is Courageous struggling under Chat's baton, twisted up like a pretzel and unable to move for the steel-toed boot resting across her shoulders.

"Just in time, LB!" Chat crows triumphantly. He tosses her a bracelet emblazoned with the words Be Bold, Be Kind, Be Brave that currently pulses with Hawkmoth's dark energy.

In moments, the bracelet is broken, the akuma is freed and purified, and a confused teenager sits where Courageous was restrained a moment ago.

Chat docks his baton at his back and looks at his partner with the softest eyes she's ever seen, a tiny, equally soft smile playing at his lips.

Her heart sighs. Adrien. That's Adrien, and he knows.

The lucky charm sits heavy in her palm. Abject fear makes her hope against hope that she won't remember his identity when she casts her miraculous cure, just as her heart longs to hold on to the knowledge that her precious partner is the boy of her deepest desires, and maybe, maybe they really can have it all.

With a deep breath, she throws the unused can opener into the air, watching magical ladybugs and healing light burst forth and spread throughout the city. She waits, holding her breath, but when pink light swirls around them, the only affect it has is the healing of the twinge in her ankle from when she fell mid-fight.

She looks up, and her partner's eyes say it all.

He remembers, too.

Even as fear grips her heart, radiant joy shines from his face as his grin spreads. It scrunches his eyes behind the mask and pinkens his cheeks, delight seeming to glow from his pores. Ladybug has never seen her partner so happy. That elation is a balm to her soul, and she can't help but smile right along with him.

Ladybug turns to the akuma victim and holds out her hand, offering the bracelet back to her. "I really like that inscription" she says, pointing at the now-silver bracelet as the girl fixes it back on her wrist.

She smiles shyly at the two heroes. "I wish I had the courage to do more. I wish I was brave like you."

"We get scared sometimes, too. Everyone does," Ladybug starts, before her partner nudges her shoulder with his elbow.

"Speak for yourself, Bugaboo. This cat has no fear." Chat Noir throws her an exaggerated wink, and the girl laughs. "But real talk, anyone can be a hero in their own way. Little things, big stuff...you're stronger than you think, I promise. Cat's honor."

She nods. "Thank you for, you know, saving me and everything." Glancing at the street below, she gestures toward the edge of the roof. "Would it be too much trouble to get me back down there?"

"Not at all," Ladybug replies with a smile. Calling on her own courage, she looks at her partner and takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thinks. "The usual spot in five? Or less, I guess, since it...doesn't matter now," she says with a shrug that she hopes looks nonchalant.

And there's that smile that shines like the summer sun. He gives her a jaunty salute. "I'll be there with bells on," he says, tapping the bell at his throat and making it jingle.

Ladybug just shakes her head and giggles.

A few minutes later, when she lands beside Chat Noir on their familiar rooftop, her earrings are beeping a frantic rhythm, signaling mere seconds before she detransforms. Instinct has her looking around the roof, ready to dart behind anything she can use to hide.

Before she can move, Chat steps toward her and quietly asks, "Marinette?"

Her transformation dissolves in a wave of pink light, and she hears him gasp as she catches Tikki gently in her palms. Marinette takes her time retrieving a macaron from her purse to feed her kwami, deliberately moving slowly in an attempt to get herself under control before she looks up at her partner. He knows, and he's thrilled, and that's amazing, but it feels like the entire world will change when their gazes finally meet, and she's just not ready yet.

"I, um...I didn't use my cataclysm, so I can stay transformed if you'd prefer, but..." he trails off.

There's something in his voice that finally makes her look at him. Just like when he talked to his father under the akuma's control, his head is bowed slightly, but instead of confidence, this time his eyes are bright with nervous hope.

Marinette understands both the nerves and the hope, and she'll joke with her partner until the end of time about who's in charge, but it feels wrong for either Chat or Adrien to look at her with uneasy deference.

And that's what she thinks of as courage wells in her chest. Her brave, steadfast partner, the other half of their unstoppable team, the boy with terrible timing who can still make her laugh, her best friend whom she loves so fiercely, should never feel he has to approach her in fear.

"Oh, Minou," she breathes. "Of course, go ahead. I...I already know."

He nods and stands a little straighter, and with a whisper and a flash of green, Chat's magical leather is replaced with denim and cotton poplin.

Predictably, her brain is short-circuiting, hollering in panic and terror, but even as her heart pounds wildly in her chest, it whispers quietly, gently, that this is her partner. Her silly kitty. Her dearest friend. He just happens to look like Adrien Agreste at the moment.

(Okay, this is going to take some getting used to.)

Tikki flies off to join Plagg nearby, while Marinette sits down on the roof with her knees pulled to her chest. She pats the space to her right and Adrien settles in cross-legged next to her.

He's the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Marinette. I shouldn't have gotten hit. I shouldn't have let you get hit. I know this wasn't what you wanted, and-"

"No, no, don't apologize," she interrupts, shaking her head. "It happens. It's...not the first time." Marinette sighs and closes her eyes, suddenly feeling a lot less courageous in the face of this world-bending change now that they're in their civilian clothes and it's Adrien apologizing to her. She presses her forehead to her knees and tries to imagine the boy beside her in magical leather and cat ears. It only helps a little, but it's enough. "We, um-" she pauses, licks her lips. "We have a lot to talk about. I just don't know if I'm ready for...all of it."

Adrien is silent for an uncomfortably long moment. "Yeah. We do." She hears him take a deep breath that shakes a bit on the exhale and turns her head a fraction to peek at him. His eyes are on the distant horizon. "I...think I understand some things now."

Abruptly, he turns toward her, a little smile tilting the corners of his mouth when he his eyes meet hers. Fear tells her to look away, but she tamps it down and holds his gaze. His smile widens.

"May I ask you something, Marinette?"

She nods.

"When you came up to me at lunch today, were you...planning to ask me on a date?"

Her pulse pounds in her ears. She could give in to fear, say no and brush it off like Chat had misheard her when she was under the akuma's spell. But suddenly her heartbeat seems to drum, "be bold, be kind, be brave," over and over again, and just as the smile begins to slip from his face, she finds the nerve to nod again.

Just like on the other rooftop a few minutes ago, his face lights up like the first rays of sun after a week of rain, shining splendid even in the early afternoon light.

"Am I--" he whispers, his breath hitching though his joy never dims, "Am I the boy?"

Be bold, be kind, be brave.

She calls on her Ladybug courage and nods once more.

His breath catches again and his eyes fill with tears that he brushes away quickly.

Clarity dawns all of a sudden, sweeping her fears to the corners of her mind to be dealt with later. She understood Chat Noir being happy to know his partner's identity, his excitement in finding out his Lady was his friend, too. But this is so much more. Beside her sits Adrien, wiping tears of joy from his eyes at the knowledge that Marinette is in love with him. This might just be a dream coming true on a random rooftop on a random Thursday afternoon.

"Chaton," she breathes, stretching her legs in front of her and placing a hand on his knee.

His hand covers hers, and she meets his gaze, words caught in her throat at the intensity in his eyes.

"I have a confession to make." He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and takes a deep breath. "I think everyone in Paris knows that Chat Noir is in love with Ladybug. I...know you know." He shrugs as his smile turns a little helpless. "But no one knows that I might have a little tiny bit of a huge crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, too."

"Kid, don't lie to your girlfriend. You know very well that I knew, because I've been telling you forever!" Plagg calls from somewhere behind them. Tikki hushes him loudly.

"Okay, he's not wrong," Adrien says, huffing out a combination of a laugh and a sigh. I'm just very stupid, apparently."

"Hey, don't talk that way about my partner." Marinette bumps his shoulder with hers. "I have a teeny, tiny, huge crush on him, too, you know, and I don't appreciate your tone."

Adrien's surprised laugh rings out across the rooftop, filling her heart with so much love she can barely breathe with the force of it. She could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life. She hopes she'll have that chance.

He brushes tears from his eyes again as his laughter subsides, his grin still shining bright. "I'm so happy it's you, Marinette. Beyond happy." He turns her hand beneath his and threads his fingers through hers. "Honestly, there's no one else I would rather have as my partner."

"Me too, Minou," she murmurs, squeezing his hand lightly as incredulous joy sings through her veins.

Tikki's little voice pipes up nearby. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's almost time to go back to class."

Adrien lets go of her hand to fish for his phone and curses under his breath when he sees the time. "She's right, My Lady. Could we meet up this evening? I know we have, um...a lot of things to talk about."

Marinette nods. It feels like she's done a lot of that in the last few minutes.

When Adrien stands, he offers his hand to help her up. Just like in the courtyard at lunch, his eyes are patient and kind, but now they shine with something more. She lets him pull her to her feet, then wraps her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

His soft exhale at her ear as he melts against her makes her smile, scrunching up his white overshirt under her cheek. Her senses are filled with him, and she's surprised to realize that it's a feeling of comfort and safety instead of the usual panic.

Maybe loving Adrien and being loved in return will be easier than it seemed all this time. Her fears seem so silly when his arms are wrapped around her shoulders and his head rests on top of hers - a perfect fit.

Even the nightmarish terror of Chat Blanc is diminished. Adrien never told anyone her identity; he knew because he himself was Chat Noir, and there's no way in the world that Chat would hurt his Lady, nor would Adrien ever harm Marinette on purpose. She must have misunderstood. He must have misunderstood. He was an akuma, after all. She sighs into Adrien's shirt. She can never allow that terrible timeline to occur, but whatever happens after this, they'll face it together. Stronger. She'll make sure of it.

"Do you think my father will let me go to Nino's gig in real life?" he asks quietly.

The sad note in his voice breaks her heart. She squeezes him tighter.

"I don't know, Kitty. Do you think we'll be having a movie date on Saturday?"

He leans back abruptly, though his hands still grip her shoulders. "Of course! I'll be there if I have to sneak out!"

Marinette boops his nose, laughing when his eyes cross. "I think that's your answer for Friday night, too."

Suddenly she's in his arms again, this time lifted off the ground and spinning. She can't help but giggle.

"I knew I was in love with a genius!" he cries, jubilant. He sets her down and plants a kiss in the middle of her forehead before calling for Plagg to transform him.

When he turns his masked face back to her, it's like the world is different. She can easily see the brilliant green of Adrien's eyes in Chat's glowing sclerae. The blending of two of her favorite people into one extraordinary boy who - oh my goodness - just said he loves her gives her a shot of courage even before she suits up again.

"You missed, beau gosse."

His eyes widen comically. "I....what?"

Marinette smiles and calls for her transformation, then taps her lips with her gloved fingers. "You kissed me, but you missed."

The sly gleam in his eyes makes her breathing speed up.

"First of all, I would ask before I did that," Chat says, sticking out his thumb before raising his clawed index finger. "Second, I thought I'd save our first kiss for Saturday. Seems like a great way to end our first date, doesn't it?"

Our first date. A tingle runs down her spine. She likes the sound of that.

"I guess I can wait." Her smile turns cheeky. "But it'll be our third--"

"Ah, ah, ah," Chat cuts her off with a grin. He extends his thumb again. "First of all, I don't remember either of those."

Ladybug rolls her eyes, still smiling.

"And second," he says, his voice pitching lower and making her heart skip a beat, "it will be Marinette and Adrien's first kiss."

Oh, this boy, she thinks as her heart soars.

She bites her lip to keep from giggling. "I suppose you're right, even though we both know we're the same people."

Chat gives her a deadpan look. "Just let me have this, Bug."

She bursts into laughter and reaches for her yo-yo, delighting in watching a grin light her partner's face.

"I really am looking forward to Saturday," he says, unhooking his baton from his back. He reaches for her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "We'll talk about it later today, okay?"

She nods and watches him vault off toward home.

The wind against her face is exhilarating as she swings back to the bakery. It's amazing how one revelation seems to have changed everything. Even the zip of her yo-yo through the air sounds different to her ears now that she knows, now that he knows.

Marinette detransforms as she touches down on the terrace and sinks into her pink-striped chair while Tikki phases through the hatch into her room in search of food. A quick check of her phone tells her that she has ten minutes before she has to go back to school.

School. One more thing that's going to be different.

Before nerves can creep in, she thinks of Chat Noir and his beaming joy at learning the identity of his beloved partner. That was Adrien. She thinks of the comfort of being wrapped in Adrien's arms, his scent, his warmth. That was Chat Noir.

And when she sits down in class behind him in a few short minutes, that boy with the soft smile and shining eyes will look like Adrien, but now he's so much more.

Marinette stands up from her chair with a lighter heart than she can remember having in a long, long time. She's suddenly looking forward to the second half of the day, even more excited for Nino's event tomorrow night, and positively thrilled that she has a date with Adrien - who is Chat Noir! - on Saturday.

There's so much to experience, so many memories to be made. It feels a bit like a dream. It feels more than a bit scary. But it's going to be great.

It's just going to take a little courage.

She's got this.